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The day of Thorin’s coronation arrived with a whirlwind of arriving dignitaries and fanfare. The ceremony, while important, was mostly a formality at this point, as he had been acting as the ruling monarch for most of the past year. Still, after all their careful planning, it was a relief to be officially crowned.
The celebrations stretched far into the night as the food and drink flowed. Thorin had been busy overseeing the night's festivities, greeting his subjects, sharing well-wishes with the hope of wandering off for a quick pint of ale when no one was looking. The night had been good, but it had noticeably been missing one person in particular
Scanning the room, he did not find Bilbo, but instead spotted the stout figure of Dwalin hovering close to Nori. It was good to see that they were still getting along so well. There had been a time when the guard captain would have sooner offered to clean his soldiers' chamber pots than share a drink with the former thief. Now. the two stood together, their shoulders nearly touching as they leaned in close, lost in conversation.
At his approach, Dwalin’s eyes shifted to him. With a jerk of his mug, he called out. “Thorin, you’ve come to join us at last.” Nodding his head in polite acknowledgment to Nori, the King turned his focus back to Dwalin. “Yes, the niceties are done, and now I can relax.”
Dwalin laughed, slapping him on the back with a hearty chuckle. “Aye, get a drink in you, you've earned it after all the strutting around my brother’s made you do.”
Thorin shook his head at the memory, sharing a knowing look. Dwalin and Thorin had been brothers in arms since Thorin had entered his second year of training and if anyone understood how much Thorin hated putting on airs, it was him. “I will, but before that, have you seen our hobbit?”
Nori motioned towards a table in the corner of the hall where the hobbit sat by himself. He seemed far away, his eyes fixed somewhere in the distance as he distractedly swirled the last dregs of his tankard.
Frowning, Thorin turned more fully to observe Bilbo, causing Dwalin to stop and follow his line of sight before landing on the despondent-looking hobbit. “Is there a rock in his boot?”
“He doesn’t wear boots,” Nori quipped. Thorin glanced over at him wryly before returning his gaze back to Bilbo, mood growing somber again. “I don't know, he's been more solemn lately.”
Dwalin hummed in thought while taking another long drink from his tankard. “Looks like he could use some company.”
Thorin nodded in solemn agreement, but made no move to interfere. Rolling his eyes, Dwalin pushed him pointedly towards the drinks table. “Go get another ale and keep him company.”
Irritated, Thorin spared one more glance back towards the hobbit before turning back to obtain their drinks.
It took him a few minutes to acquire the ale, being stopped several times by merrily drunk dwarves wanting to wish their king well. By the time that he returned with drinks in hand, he was dismayed to discover that the hobbit was gone, the seat that he had formerly occupied now taken over by a rowdy group of dwarves partaking in an enthusiastic drinking song.
Frowning, he turned about the room searching for the small, auburn-haired form of his lost hobbit.
“Lost your way again, ‘ave you?” A laughing voice to his left asked and Thorin turned to see Bofur’s smiling form. ‘Have you seen Bilbo?” Thorin demanded over the sound of the crowd, watching as Bofur’s posture stiffened.
“Oh aye, saw him wandering off in a bit of a sulk, that way.” He said, motioning towards the eastern exit. “I was just about to go after him.”
“No need,” Thorin stated firmly, thrusting one of the ales into Bofur’s empty hands as he rushed past him.
Now concerned, he pushed his way through the dwarves with single-minded determination. Reaching the door unimpeded. As he left the noisy crowd, his steps thundered through the empty halls.
Thorin cursed the many corridors and alcoves that sprouted from his path. His eyes were darting from room to room, but he found no evidence of the hobbit. He had nearly made it to the end of the great hall when something caught his attention. A faint beam of light flickered from the open door to the old gallery. It had been intended as a place to display great works of art from the master carvers, but it had fallen into disuse long ago. In all his years in the mountain he'd only had reason to enter once or twice. Even as a king, he had never found a reason to enter.
Leaning close and squinting, he could just make out the faint smears where small fingers had disturbed the dust that clung to its frame. Heart beating faster, Thorin wrapped his fingers around the handle and pulled.
The door opened into a long hallway that housed the statues and busts of olden kings. Their images were carved from every stone under the mountain. Somewhere among them, Thorin knew, was his own. A large bust with an uncanny resemblance to himself. Made from the finest marble and as white as moonlight.
Warm light from the flaming braziers lit the long hall, revealing the line of stone busts stretched across the room of kings all the way back to Durin I. The floor was marbled with green and white stones just as he had remembered it, and a thick, blue carpet ran the length of the room, beckoning him in.
The air in the room smelled musty and stale from the dust sheets that hung over the statues; few, if any, had any reason to enter this place. It was little more than a glorified storage room, dedicated to once great kings. Thorin may not have given the old room a second thought were it not for the faint glow of firelight from the far corner of the room. Curious, Thorin took slow steps down the aisle. Mindful to keep his breathing low and even as he squinted into the dim light. It took a moment before his mind made sense of the sight before him.
The first thing that caught his eye was the statue.
It had been a gift from Dain, who had presented it on the one-year anniversary of the start of the quest. Thorin had had little interest in the idea of his own image being immortalized and had considered it unnecessarily gaudy in a time when he had been more concerned with keeping his people fed. Thorin suspected that might have been half of Dain’s reasoning for commissioning it in the first place. He had given his thanks and praise as was expected from such a gift. But as soon as Dain left, he had banished the thing into the gallery and promptly forgotten about its existence. But what Thorin noticed next was far more surprising.
Bilbo stood at the end of the hall, the thick dust cloth that had once been draped over the stone bust now pooled around his feet. He stood nearly nose to nose with the statue that bore Thorin’s likeness, his fingers tracing the smooth whirls up and down the grooves of its hair.
Thorin could see his lips moving, but could not make out the words, as quiet as they were. Bilbo’s eyes lifted to those of the stone, staring into its sightless eyes. Reverently, Bilbo’s hand rose, gently cupping its cheek. The statue’s sightless eyes stared down impassively.
With bated breath, Thorin watched as Bilbo stroked its smooth cheek before slowly leaning forward. Closing his eyes, the hobbit slowly leaned forward onto his toes and pressed a lingering kiss to the statue's unmoving lips.
The tankards slipped from Thorin’s hands, clattering to the ground with a deafening crash. Ale sloshed across the floor, wetting his boots and soaking into the carpeting.
At the sound, Bilbo fell to the floor, his eyes searching blindly through the darkness for the source of the commotion. “Thorin?” He asked in a voice that was half dread, half accusation.
Thorin had no words to say as he blinked in shock, looking from the statue back down to where Bilbo still sat on the ground. As if compelled by some unseen force, Thorin stepped within the ring of light. Thorin knew the exact moment that Bilbo spotted him, his hazel eyes widening as he stared back dumbly from the floor.
Clearing his throat, Thorin offered in explanation. “You were missing from the party, and I came to find you…”
Bilbo did not speak for a moment, only wetting his lips as the silence grew thicker between them. “You found me.” He said at last, and then closed his eyes tightly as though Thorin might disappear if only he refused to open them again. “Well, I suppose this is it then,” he pronounced with a bitter chuckle. “You've discovered our torrid affair.”
Thorin’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
Bilbo let out an exasperated breath, interrupted by a hiccup. “It was a joke.” He said with a wry smile, yet there was the shine of tears in his eyes as he began pushing himself to his feet with the trembling sway of someone still well within their cups.
“Well? Don't you have anything to say?” Bilbo asked as he stumbled. Thorin lurched forward to stop him, only for Bilbo to catch himself on the stone bust, bracing himself before he precariously managed to right himself. “What a sad, sad hobbit I turned out to be, can't even have the real thing, so here I am, stealing time with your counterfeit.” He muttered under his breath before his shoulders fell and his forehead slowly knocked against the statue's stone cheek. “Pathetic.”
Thorin frowned in confusion. How could Bilbo think for a moment that he had not been interested in him? Thorin hadn’t made any effort to hide his feelings. Or at least, not since their last night in Laketown. Certainly, he’d made no grand confessions of love, but he had assumed that there had been an understanding between them. “You think I do not love you?” Thorin said under his breath in utter disbelief.
Bilbo seemed not to hear, his head swaying as he stared back up at the statue of Thorin’s likeness with a miserable expression. “It's sad, isn't it? To be in love with a figment? Someone who I can never have?” He reached out, his knuckles caressing the cold stone. “But he has no duty, no kingdom…”
Thorin shivered at the imagined feel against his own skin as Bilbo turned back at last, his voice was painfully small. ”Well, laugh if you’ve come to laugh, but please, just don’t send me away in the morning when I wake up and remember what I’ve done.”
“You love me.” Thorin hadn't meant it to sound so much like an accusation, but Bilbo's shoulders immediately stiffened, before he began to laugh. Bilbo laughed, and laughed, and the hollow sound of it echoed off the stone walls, like a false note as it turned into a half sob.
Thorin’s next breath caught in his throat as Bilbo wobbled and then caught himself on the sides of the bust. The stand teetered dangerously as Bilbo swayed back to stare at Thorin. “You are a king.” Bilbo bemoaned in utter despair. “And I know that I’m only a little fellow. I know-, but I had thought for a moment that you might, that you might-” He stuttered, his expression crumbling at last as he buried his face into the stone Thorin, his shoulders shaking.
Thorin realized what was about to happen a moment before it did as Bilbo’s knees crumpled and the stone bust pitched forward. Unbalanced, Bilbo began to fall backwards, the heavy stone carving teetering towards him.
On instinct, the dwarf surged forward, fear driving his movements as he grabbed hold of Bilbo, pulling him out of the trajectory of the falling stone. As they went to the floor, Thorin rolled them, landing hard on his knee to prevent himself from crushing Bilbo. Behind him, there was a loud crash. Looking back, the bust lay face down on the ground, shards of white stone littering the floor.
Thorin’s chest rose and fell as he stared in bafflement at the sight. Beneath him, he could feel the ragged rise and fall of the hobbit’s chest against his own. “You think that I do not care for you?” Thorin growled, holding Bilbo tightly to himself. “Did I not give you mithril, worth more than the whole of your shire? And a place to live within my own kingdom?” Thorin insisted, his hand's shaking with fear and adrenaline as he nearly shouted. “I have wanted you since you shielded me with your own body against that foul creature, Azog!”
Bilbo looked back up, hesitant but hopeful, even as a tear rolled down his cheek.“I want this to be real.” He whispered.
“I am real,” Thorin promised, reaching forward to catch the tear with his finger. Thorin took Bilbo’s hand and pressed it into the opening of his shirt, where his skin was warm and alive. “I am a dwarf, made of flesh and blood.”
Bilbo’s lips were slightly parted. Thorin could feel the warm puffs of his breath centimeters from his own lips. close enough to taste. “Would you not taste my lips and see how they compare?”
Bilbo's head fell back, lightly knocking into the floor as Thorin caged him in between his arms. “Are you teasing me?” He accused.
Thorin took Bilbo’s other hand, placing a kiss on his knuckles. “I’m flesh and blood and yours,” Thorin promised, slowly leaning down to kiss him. Bilbo’s eyes fell shut as he leaned in, slowly pressing their lips together. As if drawn in by some magnetic force, they melted into every push and pull, losing all track of time and space. Bilbo's mouth was pliant as Thorin continued to kiss him, pouring all his longing and desperation and hope into the action. Holding him so tightly that Bilbo might never doubt his devotion again.
Thorin pressed forward, capturing his mouth as they moved together. Feeling daring and languid, Thorin licked into his mouth, intertwining their tongues together in a hungry kiss. He tasted sweet, and Thorin swore that he could still taste the faint aftertaste of ale and blackberry jam.
After some time, Thorin reluctantly pulled away. “Well?” he asked, amusement in his voice as he observed Bilbo's stunned expression, “How was I?”
Shaking himself from his reverie, Bilbo wetted his lips. “Better,” he insisted, half stifled as he surged forward for another kiss, moaning as he dug his fingers into Thorin's overcoat, pulling him back down.
Thorin growled, caging him in with his larger form. “Stay.” He commanded. “I would have you stay with me.”
“Yes,” Bilbo agreed, swallowing his words as Thorin kissed him again. "I would have this, even if you would have me as nothing more than a friend, I would let you have me like this, now and for always.” He clutched at Thorin's tunic, desperate to hold on to him a little longer. “I want you.” Bilbo gasped into his mouth as Thorin pressed forward, their mouths crashing together. “I just want you.” He echoed between kisses.
When Bilbo tipped his head back to catch his breath, Thorin took advantage of the new position, kissing stubbly kisses down Bilbo’s neck as the hobbit continued. “I want you stubborn, and rude, and loyal to a fault.”
Thorin was grasping the fabric of Bilbo’s shirt, slipping his fingers into his hair and holding him close as Bilbo gave up on carrying his own body weight. Bilbo kissed him once more before his lips slid away and he pressed his face into Thorin’s chest, nuzzling into his tunic. “I’m sorry.’ Bilbo’s small voice came muffled from between the dwarf’s shirt. “About breaking your statue.”
Thorin lowered his head to Bilbo’s, resting his chin there for a moment while he fought to control himself. “It was an ugly thing anyway.”
“No, it wasn’t.” Bilbo’s muffled protest came as he tiredly rubbed his face against Thorin’s tunic.
“My people know what I look like,” Thorin reasoned, sliding an arm beneath Bilbo and gently rolling them onto their sides. “They don't need a stone carving to remind them.”
When the hobbit made to continue his protests, Thorin shushed him, gently rocking him until he quieted once more. Bilbo’s eyes had shut again, and he made no reply. For a long moment, Thorin wondered if he had fallen asleep. Slowly, Bilbo’s tired eyes opened again, and he murmured, “Will you still love me when I wake up tomorrow?”
Placing a kiss on his forehead, Thorin vowed. “I would love you all of the tomorrows that are, till the world is remade and after.”
Bilbo sighed and slumped further into Thorin's arms, his eyes once more closing.
“I’m taking you to bed.” Thorin decided, gently scooping up the hobbit.
Bilbo’s eyes fluttered back open, a naughty little grin pulling at his lips
“To sleep,” Thorin clarified, and then paused for a moment to think. “And perhaps to drink some water.”
“I’d drink you,” Bilbo mumbled half-coherently through a yawn, causing Thorin to chuckle.
In the morning, there would be time to worry about the future and how Bilbo would fit into it. But for tonight, Thorin carried Bilbo to his quiet bed. Crawling in beside him, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift off with his hobbit securely in his arms.