Chapter Text
For all that Bree was a city with no other nearby, it was remarkable in its lack of metal workers. It took Thorin a very short amount of time to negotiate the use of a forge for the season. And Bree being where it was, it could be a long season - it would take him only a short time to return to Ered Luin where his family was, so he could stay long into autumn.
Proximity to the Shire meant that the Men of Bree were used to dealing with people who were smaller of stature than they were, and Thorin felt far less condescended to than he usually did away from his home. And when he asked after rooming houses, he was directed to Bag End.
It was a large house, built partially into the side of a hill in the style favored by Hobbits, and had ten rooms for let. It was run by a young Hobbit woman, one Mistress Belladonna Baggins. She looked up at Thorin, and he thought her a strangely plain woman for one who was so obviously beautiful.
Her hair was copper colored and long, curled into a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Curls of it had pulled out to frame her face in a way that was lovely but obviously accidental. She had a fine, determined jaw with a strong chin under lips that were neither too thin nor too generous. Her eyes were the dark blue gray of stormy skies, and he sensed a bit of that storm behind her calm expression. They were darkly lashed in a way that almost disguised the fact that she wore no color on her face. There was no artifice about her.
She dressed like a settled woman despite her youth, and simply as a working woman. Her blouse was clean, white linen and she had a bodice of deep, forest green over it. Her skirt was coal gray with white snow drops embroidered on it, the green of their stems complementing the green of her bodice. The colors were darker than Thorin had come it expect from Hobbits, but he knew better than to ask. It wasn't his place as a customer and stranger, curious though he was.
She quoted him her prices - by the day, week, month, or year - a longer stay met with a more economical price. He told her his stay would be six months, perhaps a bit longer, and paid the first month's rent from his pocket.
He followed her down the hall to a room that was blessedly the right size. She handed him the key and showed him the wardrobe, the linen drawer, and the clothes basket.
"I do the washing once a week on Fridays. I expect the basket outside your door when you leave for work with everything needing washing in it. I keep anything in the pockets unless you come to ask for it back. Fold anything in need of mending and place it on top. I won't go searching for it."
Her voice was a brisk alto, and he nodded his understanding.
She pointed across the hall. "The washroom is shared for the three rooms in this hall. You should keep your things in here. I don't abide thieves, but things can walk away and everyone meaning the best." She gave him a hard look and he nodded again. He would not walk away with anything not his own.
"Breakfast is seven in the morning, supper is seven in the evening. Try not to be late. Second breakfast, elevenses, luncheon, tea, and dinner are your own look out."
This made him stare. He had heard that Hobbits did nothing but eat, but had always thought it was just a rumor. She smiled at his surprise, and his breath caught at how it made her eyes lighten.
"The parlor's to the right of the front door," she said, and even her voice had gentled with the smile. "Lady callers will be met there and there alone."
"And if the caller is male?"
That earned him a sharp look, and her voice fell back to briskness. "Gentleman callers will go no farther than the parlor as well."
He shook his head, stifling a smile at how calmly she dealt with any possibility. "I have cousins who might stop to visit or help with my work."
She looked him over and decided he was telling the truth. "If I've a room open, they can pay to stay the night. If they sleep on your floor they pay a third and are welcome to breakfast."
"Thank you, Mistress Baggins," he said with a bow. "I start work tomorrow, so I will take the time this afternoon to settle in. Should you need help while I am here, please do not hesitate to ask."
She nodded her head in return. "I will keep that in mind, Master Thráinson. I will see you for supper at seven. Tonight is roast chicken, potatoes, and asparagus." She turned and vanished back down the hall to the parlor and her kitchen.
Thorin watched her go, admiring her brisk walk and swaying hips before turning to the task of unpacking himself. He made the bed, using the linens in the wardrobe. There was an extra change of sheets so that they could be washed, but only a single, well-used pillow and one warm blanket. He changed out of his travel worn clothes, conscientiously putting them in the basket, and changed to clean clothes before putting his clothing in the wardrobe. Tools and the few books he carried went on the shelf next to the bed. There was a small basket hung next to the door that he assumed was for washroom supplies, and he filled it accordingly.
There was a small desk and chair, and he put his paper and pens on it. He settled into the chair and started penning a letter to Dís, letting her know he had safely found work for the season, and that he was close if needed. He knew he wouldn't be. She was at least as capable a leader, and spent much more time on it than he did. His part had always been ensuring survival, earning money, and procuring supplies. Dís and Balin were the ones his people went to with disputes and requests.
At supper he met the six other boarders: five quiet Hobbit men and another Dwarf who had dark hair and a perpetual smile. The Hobbits were hired workers, young men who weren't married yet but were too old to comfortably live with their parents. They asked questions about the world outside Bree and the Shire, but seemed content to do nothing but ask.
The Dwarf was named Bofur, and made toys and commissioned wood work. He turned out to be doing the same thing as Thorin - sending money home to a younger sibling with children, although in his case they were also supporting a crippled cousin. Bofur was the one at the table who did most of the talking, which seemed to suit everyone fine. Mistress Baggins only stopped him when he was talking around his food, and even then it was with a smile.
Thorin felt a spurt of jealousy, but put it neatly down. He had only just met the woman. Certainly she was lovely, but that was no reason to feel jealous of her attention. And her attention was on him as well, as she made sure he had plenty on his plate. As he had been told, there was chicken, potatoes, and asparagus. He hadn't been told there would also be three different kinds of bread with butter and jam, or salad, or a strong herbal tea that eased him of the weariness of travel.
He let out a long sigh at the end of the meal, and there was laughter from the other boarders and a gentle smile from Mistress Baggins.
"Took me the same way the first night," Bofur said with a wink. "I think most days I don't bother with a mid day meal because breakfast and supper are enough."
The woman colored slightly. "It's nothing special," she said, swiftly rising and collecting plates.
"No, Mistress Baggins," Thorin said, stacking his things neatly for her. "This was an excellent meal, and I thank you for it."
The others echoed his sentiment, and the color in the woman's cheeks darkened as she ducked back into the kitchen.
The Hobbit men gave greetings again and vanished back to their rooms in the hill, and Thorin was left alone with Bofur. The way the other Dwarf paused to look at him let Thorin know that he, or at least his name, had been recognized. It was not something he wanted to talk about, so he continued collecting dishes and carefully carried them through the door to the kitchen.
"Oh, Master Thráinson! You needn't've--"
He shook his head. "The least I can do is assist with the cleaning. I do for my sister, and she cooks for fewer than you do."
"Thank you, then," she said, and Thorin was taken by the sweetness in her voice.
He pushed his sleeves up to do the washing while she put away the little that had been left behind, brushing past him as she moved from the counters to the ice box. The feel of her skirt brushing his leg or the air of her movement behind him felt strangely intimate, and Thorin was glad he had offered to help.
The next morning, after a breakfast of truly astounding proportions, Thorin started working at his rented smithy. It seemed that Bree had been awaiting a smith for a long time, because he immediately got work of all kinds, from fixing cookware to forging swords for the guard.
Knowing Bree, Thorin set his prices lower than he would charge in Gondor or Rohan. There was more than enough work to keep him busy for the season, grates and fences, plows and scythes, swords and axes, pots and knives. He worked hard and saved his money. As Bofur had said that first evening, often the two meals a day provided with his room were enough for him for the whole day.
He and the other Dwarf had the conversation he dreaded the second day he was there. Bofur's room was in the same hall, and he was waiting when Thorin came out for breakfast.
"So, son of Thráin."
Thorin shook his head. "I am an itinerant smith and nothing more," he said. "My position is no different from yours. I am here to make money to support my family."
The look Bofur favored him with said that while they had the same goal, their positions were anything but the same. Still, he dropped the line of conversation with an easy smile, and it was never brought up again.
The toy maker was one of the boarders who had been with Mistress Baggins the longest, and Thorin couldn't help envying him the familiarity she let him get away with. He called her "Mistress Baggins" as they all did, but he could do it with a sideways hug or a resounding kiss to her plump cheek. He treated her like a brother would, and she let him with nothing more than a fond smile.
One morning at breakfast, the Dwarf announced, "I'm off for a round of the Shire. Expect me in a week."
He was gone soon after, and Thorin saw how she watched after him until he was out of sight. She seemed on edge that week, and the day he was to return she paced by the windows until she could see him.
The first time Thorin came home late because of work, he was surprised to find the front door unlocked. He entered cautiously, listening for signs of struggle or intrusion.
Mistress Baggins came to the entry to meet him, wrapped in a dressing gown of dark, smoky blue and bright, firey orange. Her hair was down and braided simply for the night, and it fell to the small of her back. Thorin's fingers ached to bury themselves in the thick curls that gleamed in the lamplight.
"I saved you some supper," she said, gesturing him into the dining room. There was a plate set out for him with a wide heel of his favorite kind of bread, a few slices of roast pork with gravy, and candied carrots. A mug of tea finished the meal.
He stared, then turned to her. "You didn't have to do this, Mistress Baggins," he protested.
She looked away, folding her arms around her body. "I was awake. You shouldn't go to bed hungry. It's all gone cold by now, anyway. It's almost ten."
"Thank you," he said, voice soft and intimate. He watched her cheeks pink, wanting to reach out to touch them and having to consciously hold himself back at the end of the long day he had had. He sat and ate, and she stayed standing behind him, both of them silent until he finished. He bade her a good night, and they didn't speak of it again.
That was the way his late nights went. Most days, he was home in time for supper and ate with everyone, but every night he had to work late, she would be waiting for him. He was certain she did - or would do - the same for any of the others, but it still warmed him that she did it for him. He ate his late supper and they talked of the day just finished. he would tell her of the work he was doing and she spoke of her housework and the other boarders. The time sitting together and washing up after made him admire her more.
Dwalin came at midsummer, traveling back toward Ered Luin from parts farther east before signing on with a caravan as a guard for the summer and autumn. He had sent word that he would arrive midday, and as noon rolled around Thorin shut up shop. They would set Dwalin up in his own room, or on the floor of Thorin's, and get something to eat before opening the shop again.
The door to Bag End was open, which it never was. Thorin went from a walk to a dash in one step, fearing for Mistress Baggins. The scene that met his eyes made him stop on the threshold and gape.
Mistress Baggins stood in the door to the parlor, holding a poker from the fireplace threateningly. Though her hand shook, she stood firm, and her determination and bravery were beautiful. She was facing Dwalin, and it was no wonder she was afraid. The Dwarf was larger than Thorin, bristling with weapons, covered with tattoos, bald, and scarred. At the moment, he had his empty hands up in front of him and was trying to give good account of himself.
Thorin sighed in relief and approached, clapping Dwalin on the shoulder, and forcing him into a bow.
"Mistress Baggins, this is my cousin Dwalin. I mentioned a cousin coming to stay for a few days?"
She wavered and lowered the poker, although she didn't let go of it. "He doesn't look like the kind of man I usually let rooms to," she said, voice faint.
Thorin moved to her side, a steadying arm at her elbow. "I swear to you that he is not dangerous to you or any who are here. I understand he doesn't make the best first impression...."
She snorted, forcing herself back to normal. "I would say not. Burst through my front door like an--" He saw her mouth curve into the start of the word Orc before she hesitated. "Like a conqueror." She laid the poker against the wall and looked at Dwalin again from the corner of her eye. "I had already prepared my luncheon, and there is enough to share."
"We wouldn't put you out," Thorin started.
"I don't want to make hasty decisions about your cousin, Master Thráinson. Despite your good word, I'm still minded to turn him out this instant."
She was a brave one to give him a chance, and Thorin thanked her. He shut the door and walked between the two as they went to the kitchen for a simple luncheon of cold meats, bread and honey, fresh greens, and iced raspberry tea.
Chastened after frightening a woman, Dwalin didn't even complain about the salad and ate with the best manners he could. He kept his voice low, asked few questions, and answered everything put to him. Thorin stayed quiet through the meal except when he praised Mistress Baggins' cooking or talked about Dwalin helping with his nephews.
By the end of the meal, she had calmed. "It is good of you to come help your cousin, Master Dwalin," she said. "How long are you planning to stay?"
"Only a week," Dwalin answered. "If you've room for me, I'd be grateful. I should have enough coin, and I'd be happy to replace your fireplace tools. I noticed that poker looked old."
She gave a small smile at that. "I have been meaning to replace them for years. I would thank you for it." She quoted him a week's rate and led him down to the room next to Thorin.
The two of them worked hard that week. With two of them, they ran through a lot of the current work Thorin had, and they spent time picking out the goods that were needed in Ered Luin for Dwalin to bring with him. The last night he was there, they worked quite late.
As usual, Mistress Baggins was waiting when Thorin walked in. He smiled at her, and her lips turned up in return.
"Where is Master Dwalin?" she asked.
"He's finishing something. He should be back within the hour."
She sighed, leaning against the wall and looking tired.
"You don't have to wait," Thorin said gently.
She shook her head. "It's not so long. I may doze on the sofa while I wait."
Jealousy sparked in Thorin's heart. He had known he wasn't the only one she would wait up for, but seeing the proof in front of him was something he hadn't wanted. "I'll keep you company," he offered, sitting in an armchair across from her.
The fire was low but it still gilded the edges of her hair. She worried the end of her long braid as they waited, and her eyes grew heavier although they never fully closed. When there was a noise at the door she rose instantly to greet her returning boarder.
Dwalin looked as shocked as Thorin remembered being the first time. He greeted her with a bow, and then stood stunned at the tired, welcoming smile that crossed her face.
"There's supper for both of you," she said, pointing toward the dining room.
"And we thank you," Thorin put in quickly. "You go to your rest, Mistress. We will clean up after ourselves."
Though she looked ready to protest, she was rocked by a yawn. She gave them good nights and went to her rooms in the back of the boarding house.
The next morning after breakfast, Dwalin returned the key. He thanked Mistress Baggins for her hospitality and presented her with the new tools he had made. She held them tightly and when he left the house she looked like she was going to chase after him.
"He will write when he reaches Ered Luin," Thorin assured. "I will let you know."
She looked at him in gratitude. "Not knowing is the worst part," she said softly, before hurrying to replace the tools in the parlor.
Toward the end of summer, some of the workers in the shops around the smithy decided to go out drinking and invited him. It was nearing the end of his time in Bree, and he decided to go. I would be the friendly thing, and he considered many of the Men friends. He knew his limits and would be sure not to get drunk.
Except others kept filling his glass when he wasn't looking, so he wasn't sure how much he had drunk. He managed to stop himself, but the walk home seemed longer than it should have, and the road wasn't always where it should have been. He would know where it was while lowering his foot, but it would be somewhere else when his foot reached where he'd thought it was.
Opening the door was more of a struggle than it should have been as well. He gave up any remaining hope that he had managed to avoid drunkenness, and just hoped - in the small piece of his mind that was still under control - that he did nothing he would regret.
She was waiting for him, eyes narrowed at his demeanor, but he smiled to see her.
"Mistress Bell!" he greeted, using a name he had wanted to call her for months but had never had the bravery to use and stumbling forward. "Waiting like a good little wife!" He reached out to touch her gently, but his large hand met the softness of her cheek with more force than he had anticipated.
She shied back, hugging herself. "You are drunk, Master Thráinson," she said, voice tight.
"Didn't mean to," he apologized, reaching for her braid and groaning at the feel of it. He had moved close enough to feel her shaking, although he didn't know when that had happened. "Scared, Mistress Bell? I'd never hurt you."
"Leave me, Master Thráinson," she said, voice steady.
He was confused that she would say that to him, but he stumbled away to his room.
When he woke, it was late into the morning. He hadn't done more than enter his room and collapse onto his bed, so he was still fully dressed, and the door was open. He groaned, rolling to his feet and thanking everything he could think of that he rarely got hungover. He pushed the door closed so he could change into fresh clothes, cleaned himself in the washroom, and went to apologize.
She was in the kitchen, and when she turned to him he could see how red her eyes were. He dropped to one knee, bowing his head in remorse. "I was at fault. I swear, if you forgive me it will not happen again. You are so small and so brave a woman. But I will offer no unasked for advances, and I will not lose myself to drink again."
There was a bitter laugh, and he looked up to see her clutching herself with one arm, the other hand pressed to her mouth. She was all in black today, skirt so long it touched the floor and neckline high despite the heat.
"Brave!" she exclaimed after a moment, voice a sob. "When I ran away to Bree so I wouldn't have to hear anyone call me that name again?"
She started into restless motion, both hands pressed to her mouth this time. He stayed on his knees, watching silently and waiting for her to continue.
"I had a beau once. When I was a teen we courted, and we would have married. My parents approved, and we were only waiting to be old enough." She stopped at a counter and held the edge with a white knuckled grip as if it was all that kept her standing.
The silence went on so long that Thorin prompted, softly, "what happened?"
She spun to face him. "The Fell Winter. I was twenty one that year, when the crops failed, and the winter was so cold that the wolves came into the Shire. And after the wolves came the Orcs. My Rory refused to spend the night, even though it wouldn't have harmed my reputation. My parents were home and everyone knew we were engaged. But he left, and must have been set upon by the wolves, because no one saw him after he left my door."
She was shaking now, face buried in both hands, and it muffled her following words. "And then the Orcs came and destroyed everything they came in contact with. Both my parents. They were searching for aid against the wolves, and they never came home. I was left alone in that house, Master Thráinson, do you understand? A soon as spring came, I came to Bree."
Her eyes were streaming tears when she looked at him. "Waiting like a good little wife? I wait for you like a scared little girl! All the others have steady hours and I've never had to fear them not returning. But you! Thorin son of Thráin works until his job is finished, and how am I to be sure you'll come home?"
She broke into ugly sobs and collapsed to her knees. He was unsure what was proper for him to do, but he couldn't leave her like that, so he moved to her side. She threw herself into his arms, and he held her tight.
"I will not work late and worry you again," he swore softly.
"That's a worthless promise," she said. "You're leaving soon."
He paused to examine his thoughts and then answered. "I would stay with you, if you would have me." She looked up at him with wide eyes, and this time when he reached out he was able to touch her as gently as he meant to. He swiped at her tears with his thumb and ran his fingers into her hair.
"Your responsibilities...."
"I can send money and goods as easily as bring it," Thorin answered, shifting so that she was tenderly wrapped in his arms. "Work here won't dry up. If nothing else, the Rangers will always need things. I can't charge as much here, but work is steadier and the Men more friendly."
She looked up at him with wide eyes and he caressed her cheek again. "I would stay with you, Mistress Baggins, if you would be my Mistress Baggins. My beautiful Bell."
She began to cry again, slipping her arms around him. "Yes. Please stay, Thorin."
He felt justified in kissing her tears away, and comforting her for as long as she needed him to.