Chapter Text
Thorin had never been in so much pain before. Every breath felt like it was cutting straight through him. Oin and Dain’s medics kept assuring him he would be fine, but he could see the looks they gave each other when they thought he wasn’t watching. It was entirely possible that Thorin Oakenshield, newly reclaimed King of Erebor, would not survive the night. And there was only one person he wanted to see before he went on to meet his Maker.
“Thorin? I’m here.” A soft voice called from beside him.
Thorin weakly opened his eyes, not having realized he had closed them. Bilbo stood there, shifting from foot to foot. A thick bandage wrapped around his head tinged pink with blood in one spot. His heart seized for a moment thinking how even this small injury was too much of a price for their dear hobbit to have borne. He should have been safe inside Erebor, not trapped in the middle of a war due to Thorin’s failings. Not stuck between the clashing of five armies because Thorin sent him away with scornful words and unjust accusations. His eyes lingered on the neckline of Bilbo’s coat wondering with horror if he would see bruises in the shape of his fingers if he looked hard enough.
Yet, even after such unwarranted aggression on Thorin’s part, Bilbo still came when summoned. Bilbo still showed that he remained loyal to Thorin in every way that truly counted, and Thorin realized he was unworthy of such devotion. He watched as Bilbo reached out to lay his hand on Thorin’s arm before appearing to think better of it. A bitter smile stole across his face. Devotion, yes. The easy camaraderie that held the potential of something more in every touch was lost though. He had allowed himself to dream that night in Laketown, before facing the mountain the next morning, that this quest might end with a courtship gift. Now, he knew he didn’t even deserve the chance to try. Now, he knew he didn’t even have the time to try.
“Bilbo.” Thorin gasped, fighting for breath after every word. “I would take back my words and my deeds in the mountain. You did what only a true friend would, and I’m sorry to have led you in such peril.”
Bilbo released what could only have been described as a whimper as he broke whatever internal dilemma he had and latched onto Thorin’s hand tightly with both of his own. Thorin felt his mouth drop open slightly as he watched Bilbo through wide eyes. Could it be so simple? Could he earn forgiveness from the one he wronged the most with so little he had to offer?
“No, Thorin. I’m glad to have shared in your perils. It is far more than any Baggins deserves.”
Thorin felt completely unworthy of the soft, fond smile that Bilbo beamed at him. It spoke of things that could not be his. Not when his future was so uncertain. The noble thing would be to send him on his way. To let him go back to his books and his armchair and his gardens and his trees. Balin would see to making sure that Bilbo was well rewarded before he left. If Thorin had any honor left in him, that would be the scenario that would follow. However, Thorin had something worse than honor. He had hope. Hope that he could survive, hope that Bilbo would stay, hope that he could win back the hobbit’s favor, hope that the possibility of love still remained within reach. And it was on that hope that he made a rash decision.
“Bilbo, take the bead from my right braid.”
Bilbo’s brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth as if to say something before closing it again. Slowly, he released Thorin’s hand to take the mentioned bead. Bilbo searched Thorin’s expression once more, and Thorin just gave him a nod. Carefully, untangling the silver bead from Thorin’s hair, he held it reverently in his hand.
“What do you know of dwarves and our beads?” Thorin asked him softly.
Bilbo shook his head. “Not as much as I would like. I know they are important to you.”
Thorin nodded as he tried to gather his thoughts. He grunted as his injury gave a particularly painful throb and knew Oin would be in here to try and sedate him soon.
“I wish there was a good word for it in Westron. But they represent a…debt? No, that’s not right. An oath? An oath! It is a vow we make to others, to ourselves, to our people. This bead I wear on the left side bears the Raven, the symbol of my line, and represents the oath I made to my grandfather, my king, to be a worthy successor. The one in your hand bears the hammer, my father’s mark. It was an oath I made to him to represent my family well. That I would uphold the traditions and values of my family line.”
Bilbo looked down at the small bead in his hand with a serious expression. He quickly tried to push it back into Thorin’s hands, and Thorin felt his heart drop at the rejection.
“Thorin, this does not sound like something you should hand over to a mere hobbit.” Bilbo urged.
Thorin hissed as he moved too quickly, closing Bilbo’s hand around the bead, and pushing it back to his chest. Bilbo looked equal parts concerned and confused.
“No, you must take it. I failed my father, I failed my family, I failed you when I fell to the goldsickness. This bead will give you the protection of my family’s line as well as forge a new oath. One to you, Bilbo Baggins. That I will see you happy and healthy til the end of my days, whether that comes sooner than expected or not.”
“No, Thorin!” Bilbo cried out, latching onto his hand once more. “You mustn’t think like that. You’re going to be fine. You’ll see. You must live. You must.”
Thorin felt his vision darkening at the corners as his strength waned with that last burst. Pleas fell from his lips as he insisted Bilbo keep the bead, and it was only when the hobbit finally agreed that he felt himself go limp. Thorin could feel Bilbo’s hands shaking his shoulder as his shouts for Oin became more distant.
There was a second meaning behind giving Bilbo a bead from his hair. Yes, Bilbo would have his family’s protection. Yes, he would make his vow to him, but it was also an intention of seeing their family lines united. It would mean Bilbo was open to the idea of courtship with Thorin, and as he fell into the darkness, he held onto that hope forgetting that he failed to explain this to Bilbo.
***
Thorin strolled through his mountain home, nodding to the dwarves he passed, and trying not to make his limp too obvious as the brace on his boot kept him from using his ankle too much. It had taken almost a year and a half, but the stone was clean, the sconces were lit, and there were now more places active and working than not. Truly it was a feat of dwarven craftsmanship considering they all but moved into a tomb after the bloody and gruesome battle that Thorin feared would take his life.
It had certainly been a rough winter full of cold nights and tight belts, but they endured. Even when Thorin despaired that they wouldn’t, and he owed it all to their fourteenth companion. Thorin’s hand drifted into his pocket to roll the little golden treasure around with his fingers. Thorin hadn’t expected him to stay. Thorin had been prepared with that first thaw to pack Bilbo up in a cart with honors and riches and send him back to his peaceful little Shire. Yet even after Thorin explained multiple times that the bead in his hair did not bind him to Thorin’s side, Bilbo remained, and in the farthest corner of Thorin’s mind, he rejoiced.
He owed Bilbo so much. A debt that could not be easily repaid, and still he yearned for more. He had done his best in that first year to distance himself from these feelings, reminding himself that his first priority to Bilbo was protection and the ability to provide a suitable home. It would be laughable if Thorin were to try to court upon the ruins left by Smaug and his own gold-blinded ambition and expect to be taken seriously. It had been just after Durin’s Day when they had finally cleared the palace halls enough for the company to move into their own individual rooms that Thorin made his way to the forge. He had crafted his first gift for Bilbo that night. A golden circlet fit for a consort of Erebor. One he never saw adorned amongst the curls he so lovingly crafted it for. Yet, Thorin did not despair.
It was typical amongst dwarven courting that there was a bit of a trial and error process to find the right gift. Not every courting began with the first item offered. Thorin’s own mother kept and held onto twenty-three gifts as she patiently waited for Thrain to try harder to find the ikmêth bannô (singing treasure). The one object that spoke so deeply to a dwarf’s heart that they felt like their suitor would truly know them. If a dwarf no longer wanted their suitor to continue trying to win their favor, they would simply return the gift with no hard feelings. Thorin would always trace the patterns woven into the bear-shaped clasp that sat just under Fredis’ chin, holding her robe around her shoulders as he listened to his parents’ story, and wonder why such a simple gift was enough to win her heart.
It wasn’t until he saw the tiny acorn nestled in his hobbit’s palm, even goldsick as he was, that he finally understood the ikmêth bannô. So he responded the only way he could in his sickened state. With mithril. And though the gift was worn proudly, even to this day, he made sure that the company knew it was a gift given out of turn. He had not opened courtship with a bead, he did not ask for Bilbo’s consent as he ordered the hobbit to put it on. No, as kingly a gift it may be, and one that he was proud and relieved had kept his hobbit alive, it would have to remain exactly as he said. It was a token of his friendship. The gift sitting in his pocket that marked his thirty-eighth attempt, that would be how they started their bond of love.
Thorin sighed and shook his head free of his worries as he entered into the Hall of Records. He quickly had to sidestep a dwarf who was racing by with a large stack of papers, only to encounter the same thing a little further in. They were quick to offer apologies and give Thorin a short bow, but it was clear that their attention was elsewhere than their wayward king which suited Thorin just fine. In the middle of the room, walled-in by scrolls in various states of decay was the dwarf Thorin was hoping to find.
“If you were looking to get out of council meetings, I would have thought there would be better ways than upending every scrap of paper in my kingdom.” Thorin teased.
Balin gave him a flat look before going back to his organizing.
“I’m quite sure it will surprise you none that nothing had been filed correctly during Thror’s goldsickness.”
Thorin nodded, his good mood evaporating.
“Is something wrong?”
“Wrong? Nay, lad.” Balin sighed. “It’s just a bit of a records nightmare. We’ve got foreign issues dating back to Thorin I mixed with domestic issues all the way from Ered Luin. There’s nothing for it but to make the mess into an even bigger mess and then put it back together. Did I miss anything important?”
Thorin leaned his hip against the nearest desk devoid of clutter as he took some of the pressure off his bad foot. An ever present reminder of what Azog took from him, and despite Oin’s best efforts, not one that would get better with time.
“Bofur is worried about the southeastern tunnel leading to the docks. His stone sense is going wild, but he has yet to be able to identify the instability. It’s been blocked off and the level above evacuated.”
“The southeastern tunnel is for foreign visitors, correct?” Balin clarified, his eyes scanning the pages in front of him as fast as he could.
“Yes, which I can’t foresee us getting anytime in the near future.”
Balin nodded. “That’s good.” He answered distractedly. “What else?”
“The guilds are one coin from going at each other. The jewelers think the markets are getting too much in rent. The smiths think the jewelers are getting too many commissions, and the markets think the smiths are purposefully raising their prices.”
“The joys of running a wealthy kingdom.” Balin mused.
“You should have used this as a way to warn me off the quest.” Thorin mumbled, finally getting a real reaction from the older dwarf.
Balin laughed heartedly as he met Thorin’s eyes with fondness. “Lad, if a dragon wasn’t about to stop you, I sincerely doubt a bunch of nobles would have.”
Thorin gave him a small grin as he ducked his head.
“So what are you really here for?” Balin asked curiously.
Thorin sucked in a deep breath as he straightened up, his hand falling back to the brooch in his pocket.
“I think I’m going to go for it this time. With…with Bilbo.”
Balin raised his eyebrows, but didn’t give an answer one way or another. It was part of the process to hand off courting gifts to a third party and have them delivered first, in order to spare both sides the embarrassment of a rejection. A gift could be returned through a third party, and that dwarf could report back to the one sending the gift to give them insight into what might be accepted. Only once a suitor gives a courting gift directly, if it is rejected, that terminates the courting for good. Up until this point, Thorin has let his nephews, a servant, even Dwalin on one unlucky attempt deliver his gifts. This time, though, he would do it himself.
“I don’t know how to make anything better than what I have been. So I thought I would make it special by taking him somewhere…one of a kind.”
“Ah.” Balin nodded knowingly. “I take it you found your secret place.”
Thorin ducked his head with a shy smile as he nodded. “It took a bit of time. The original tunnel collapsed. And it’s…not as it once was, but still just as beautiful.”
“I’m quite sure Bilbo will love it.” Balin smiled. “It’s perfect.”
Thorin released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. Mahal, he hoped so. Bilbo deserved perfect, and Thorin wanted more than anything to be the one to give it to him.
“Okay. Good.” Thorin decided with a single nod. “Do you happen to know where he is?”
Balin stared at him in exasperation before looking around at all the papers gathered around him. Thorin mentally winced. Right, stupid question.
“I heard him say this morning something about going to Dale to do some shopping for Bombur.”
Thorin blinked, craning around Balin to see Ori was in fact kneeling on the ground, hidden by the piles he was making. He couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed that the younger dwarf overheard everything, and braced himself for the rest of the company finding out before dinner. Ori gave him a small, tired smile.
“We all want to see the two of you together. I don’t exactly know what you and Balin are talking about, but trust yourself. You and Bilbo are too close to choose something he might hate.”
Thorin found himself unexpectedly bolstered by the younger dwarf’s encouragement. He nodded his head towards him in his show of gratitude as his mind started to whirl with plans. He bid the two dwarves farewell, taking his time on the way to his office, not looking forward in the least bit to the mound of his own paperwork that surely awaited him.
“Thorin!” Dwalin’s voice called out.
Thorin spun around, his brows raised when he caught sight of the grimness of Dwalin’s face.
“What’s wrong?” Thorin demanded.
“There’s a dwarven warship in Dale’s harbor.”
Thorin’s foot gave a twinge, causing him to falter for a step before he was able to right himself. This would not be like last time, he would be better, he would be wiser. He maintained a facade of calm as he motioned for Dwalin to follow him, trying and failing to keep from limping as they headed down to their own docks. Thorin had thought it was a possibility. The gold of Erebor too tempting to some of the other clans that had scorned Thorin for his quest in the first place, and while they were vastly improved defensively since the battle, he wouldn’t say they could hold off an invasion.
“Did you see a flag?”
“Aye, they fly two. One declaring themselves independent of any kingdom, and the other declaring they come with peaceful intentions.”
Thorin’s brows furrowed together. That didn’t make any sense. The flag of independence was seen as the pirate’s flag. Used for cutthroats and plunderers who had been exiled from any and all corners of the world where a dwarf would normally be welcomed. And if it were a warship, Thorin would think it would be Stiffbeard pirates. Why would they come to Erebor though? Especially under the guise of peaceful intentions? They couldn’t possibly think Thorin was stupid enough to trust them and let them in anyways.
“We will welcome them into Erebor’s docks, but with a host of eighty at the ready. I don’t want to take any chances. Find Fili and have him send a raven both to Bard and Kili who should still be in the Greenwoods. Tell them to be ready for Erebor’s signal should the worst happen.”
Dwalin nodded, walking off to carry out Thorin’s orders. Thorin made a beeline to his rooms. He always took to carrying Orcrist out of habit anyways, but he thought he should at least put on some armor just in case. He had just stepped inside when he froze, a horrible realization hitting him. The warship was in Dale where Bilbo had gone to do his shopping. What were the chances the hobbit would stay far away from it?
None. There was a zero chance trouble would not find him.
***
Bilbo hummed to himself as he nearly skipped from stall to stall in the open air markets of Dale. The sun beat down on him, warming his face and coloring his cheeks as he investigated the offered assortment of fruits. Bombur had been very specific about what he was looking for, and while Bilbo intended to follow his instructions to the letter, he couldn’t help but do a bit of shopping for himself. It had been awhile since he had been able to do any cooking or baking on his own considering the limited options they had for so long. Now though, Bilbo had moved into a suite that he specifically made sure had its own kitchen for his use. He loved Bombur and his cooking dearly, but sometimes Bilbo just missed the independence he had in the Shire.
Bilbo bought himself a small basket’s worth of different berries and a couple of lemons, paying the merchant far beyond what was asked for and moving onto the next stall while the man spluttered behind him. Dale was once more rich in coin and product as the former men of Laketown picked themselves up after the devastation of that first year, and plowed on to recreate the town of old. Bilbo knew from his conversations with both Bard and Thorin that they had a long way to go, but they were far from the starving fishermen he met on the quest. Still, Bilbo felt responsible to them in a way and considering there was a lifetime's worth of gold in his name that he was never going to be able to spend, he didn’t mind being a bit generous with his coin here and there.
Bilbo began to make his way to the next stall only to quickly move away lest he be stepped on by an overzealous man wanting to get first cuts of a newly butchered cow. Bilbo scowled at his backside. That was one thing Bilbo desperately missed about the Shire. Everyone was the proper size and at least attempted to feign politeness. Even in Erebor, with its vaulted ceilings and depth-defying walkways made Bilbo feel small. He had caught himself more than once questioning why he still lingered here. What use was there for a hobbit in a dwarven kingdom? And he found there was only one answer that truly made sense.
Because Thorin asked him to.
Bilbo swallowed his sigh as reached up to fiddle with the bead and braid attached to the right side of his head. He found he didn’t much understand this dwarven oath nonsense, and he couldn’t help wishing that the small weight held a different kind of promise than one of life debts and familial protection. Bilbo wanted to be accepted into the Durin’s House, but it was for a reason that was far more personal and intimate. Bilbo Baggins was in love with Thorin Oakenshield. How could he not be? The dwarf had barged into his smial bigger than life itself, and yet it was with a gentle song of longing and suffering that saw him squeeze his way into Bilbo’s heart.
Bilbo had thought maybe if he stayed. Maybe if he continued to prove his usefulness in Erebor, Thorin would come to see him in the same light. And while it did succeed in repairing their damaged friendship, anything Bilbo might have perceived as fondness and desire seemed to be walled behind a layer of distance and duty. Bilbo couldn’t actually think of the last time he had truly spoken to Thorin outside of council meetings. A king’s time belonged to his people and the small speck of spare moments Thorin could find were hoarded away in his forge.
All this to say, Bilbo hadn’t given up yet. For all that his heart was sick and heavy, Bilbo’s dear friends kept him grounded and encouraged him to keep trying. Bilbo long suspected by now that they knew of his feelings for Thorin, but while dwarves could be blunt in most everything else, matters of the heart were kept secret. The thing was, hobbit courtings were anything but a secret. Sweethearts were discovered and gossiped about within minutes of their declarations for each other. So how was he, a hobbit, to go about courting a secretive dwarf?
Bilbo was torn from his revelries as several long legs crossed his path, almost running into him. Bilbo looked up with a frown to see they were all pointing out something down on the docks. In fact, there seemed to be quite a gathering amassing that way.
“Looks like trouble’s stirring in these waters.”
Bilbo looked over at the old beggar with the hunched back hidden under a heavy cloak.
“What makes you say that?” Bilbo asked.
The dwarf, for it had to be one with his size, pointed at the skyline over the tall buildings of Dale where flags rose above to snap in the wind. Only they were moving closer, and fast.
“See that top one there? Pirates.”
“Pirates.” Bilbo repeated, stunned.
“You should run on back to Erebor now.” The beggar told him kindly.
Bilbo didn’t ask how he knew where he was from. He was the lone hobbit this side of the Misties, it wasn’t a great mystery. Instead, Bilbo pressed a few coins into the old dwarf’s hand. He threw them up where they clinked against each other before catching them again. Bilbo thanked him for the information before racing to the docks, following the cobblestone path until he finally escaped the towering homes.
A crowd was already gathered along the wall overlooking the river, and Bilbo pushed and shoved his way until he reached the front of the group, only to gasp in amazement. Quite easily, the largest ship he had ever seen crept closer to the docks. Comparing it to Bard’s old barge, it was easily fifteen of them in length and at least seven in height. It was wooden at the base of it, but coated in metal armor that shined brightly in the sun. On either side of it were two large wheels that were motionless for the moment as the large white sail carried it onward, and the iron stack in the back lazily released steam into the air. Having lived around dwarves, Bilbo immediately recognized the craftsmanship for what it was, yet it still surpassed Bilbo’s wildest imaginations.
The men and women surrounding him were nervously talking about invasions and warships. Bilbo’s gaze fell to the flag at the top, remembering the dwarf’s warning of pirates as he noted the long spiked poles jutting out of it, and the barrels of weapons pointed out the portholes placed along its length. Bard needed to be warned. A shiver went down his spine as he looked back to the mountain, just a little more than a half an hour from Dale by the riverway. Thorin needed to be warned!
Bilbo took one last look, noting the flurry of activity on the deck of the ship, and the figure standing on the pole jutting out of the front. Hanging on to the dangling ropes, his fiery hair caught in the light of the sun. Bilbo squinted his eyes. Wait. Were these…dwarves?
“AWAY FROM THE DOCKS! GET AWAY FROM THE DOCKS!”
The Dale guards shouted at the gathered assembly, and Bilbo grunted as people began to push closer together as they were urged away from the wall. The first elbow, to his shoulder, he was able to dodge. The second one caught him right in the sternum with his back already pressed against the wall. Bilbo felt his feet leave the ground as he became weightless for a moment. He had just enough time to yelp before he hit the water, sinking below its surface.
Bilbo closed his mouth and flailed his limbs trying to push himself into a general ‘up’ direction. He never told the dwarves. He never felt a need to. After all, he survived the river barrel ride. Why would they need to know he didn’t know how to swim? It would only worry them, and his dwarves were far too protective of him as it were. Now though, as his lungs and eyes burned and his senses were beyond disoriented, he rather wished he may have gotten one, if not two, lessons on how not to drown.
The urge to breathe became one he could no longer fight as his nose sucked water straight into his lungs. Bilbo opened his mouth, coughing and hacking with no relief. His chest felt like a rope was tightening around it, and that’s when the exhaustion started to settle in. Bilbo gave a lazy blink focusing on the light filtering through the blue-green water. There was a great splash beside him as Bilbo closed his eyes, quite sure this was the end for him. A strong, thick arm wrapped around his waist, and Bilbo felt a smile pull at his face thinking of one person. Thorin. He found me.
He was suddenly wrenched from the water and dropped down on a solid surface as that strong hand pressed up and down on Bilbo’s chest. It took very little persuasion in Bilbo’s opinion before he was vomiting up water, coughing against the sharp burn of air against his throat.
“There ya go, lad.” A surprisingly deep voice uttered with a clipped accent Bilbo didn’t recognize.
That was certainly not Thorin. He sat up on his hands and knees, blinking against the sun and the water dripping down his face to get a glimpse of his rescuer. For a moment, he was nothing more than a tall silhouette. Then he shifted his head, and Bilbo was momentarily bewildered. He was a dwarf, a tall dwarf, maybe as tall as Thorin, but broad like Dwalin, with fiery, uneven hair and a close cropped beard framing a square jaw. His skin was sun-kissed in a way he didn’t see in the mountain-dwelling people which somehow seemed to be the perfect foil to his pine-green eyes that glittered against the gold trailing his neck and ears. He tilted his head, seeming to be studying Bilbo in the same way Bilbo was with him.
“No, you’re not a lad at all are you?” The dwarf assessed.
Bilbo slowly shook his head. “I’m a h-hobbit.” He stuttered past his sore throat.
The dwarf frowned, his brows pulling together as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with this information. Bilbo, still trying to get some semblance of coherency himself, continued to stare back. Bilbo watched a drop of water slide down his face, through his beard, along his neck, and rest on his heaving chest before Bilbo realized this was who he owed his rescue to. Before he could thank him, another dwarf with dark hair and an eyepatch over his left eye stepped up beside the red haired dwarf.
“Captain! We are being hailed. Uzbad Basnbizaru (King of Dale-lands).”
Bilbo blinked, confused and wary at the unfamiliar words.
“Dale is not my concern.” The red head grunted.
“I don’t think they’re giving us much of a choice.” The dwarf with the eyepatch pointed out.
Bilbo shakily got to his feet, nearly stumbling with his first step had it not been for the light grip of his savior at his shoulder.
“Careful there. Haven’t got your sealegs yet.”
Regrettably, it took Bilbo exactly that long to realize he was on that massive ship he had seen earlier, and ahead of them, the river gate was closing. Bilbo looked up at the dwarf in alarm, worried about what the pirate would do with him. However, once he was certain Bilbo wasn’t about to fall over, he gave him a pat on the shoulder, and moved towards the railing.
“Hail, Basnbizar'atun (Men of Dale). Why won’t you let us pass peacefully?”
“I am King Bard, and if it is your intention to go peacefully, we will let you do so with glad tidings. Who do I have the honor of addressing and what business do you have in this part of the world?”
“Greetings, King Bard! I am Marlok, son of Marlon, Prince of the Stiffbeards. My business is my own.”
Bilbo turned his head sharply, staring at his rescuer in a new light. Prince? What was a prince doing on a pirate ship? Perhaps that old beggar hadn’t known what he was talking about after all. It would make sense for Thorin to get royal guests, wouldn’t it?
“Well met, Prince Marlok of the Stiffbeards, but I’m afraid I must press further. Recent events have made us a hardy folk, but a cautious one. Why do you travel to Erebor?” Bard continued.
Bilbo watched as the red head, Marlok’s, smile turned a bit sharper and his brows narrowed a bit more. It rather reminded Bilbo of Thorin having to deal with Thranduil. Holding onto the barest semblance of patience by the skin of his teeth and his noble upbringing. It managed to bring a smile to Bilbo’s face, all things considered.
“I have business with Thorin Oakenshield, Uzbad Azsâlul'abadu (King of the Lonely Mountain), my friend. You will get no more from me than that.”
“Strange for you to come armed for war to visit a friend.” Bard remarked.
“Though she was once, this is no warship, Friend Bard. And if I am armed, it is only due to the dangers lurking both in and out of these waters. Can we not reach a settlement on allowing me to pass?”
“I’m afraid…”
Bilbo had quite had enough of this banter by this point. He knew dwarves, and he knew royal dwarves on top of that. He would rather save Bard the effort and the gate if he could. Bilbo climbed atop a crate stacked nearby so he could be seen above the railing as he waved down to Bard. The King of Dale cut a magnificent picture wearing his crown and robes atop his horse trimmed with gleaming bridles and saddle, wearing the same serious look he always did when dealing with the ‘tedium of royal decorum’. It was almost comical to watch that slip away in surprise and despair when he noticed Bilbo.
“King Bard! It’s alright. I will vouch for this dwarf’s passage as he has saved my life.” Bilbo announced. “You may open the gate.”
Bard shot him a look, not dissimilar to ones he had seen him give Bain or Tilda when they had done something rather foolish. Bilbo held his head up high, seeing as he was not a child, and would not allow the king to treat him as one.
“I’ll explain to Thorin. I’m quite sure he has had ample time to prepare for our arrival at this point.” Bilbo pointed out as he watched a raven circle overhead before turning back north to the mountain.
“Perhaps. But if it’s all the same to you, Master Baggins, let me send a barge to deliver you back to our shores. I’m sure you will be more comfortable that way.”
“That is a kind offer, but the next thing my feet touch will be mountain stone or soil. I’m not too keen on being loaded like cargo on another boat.”
Bard did sigh at that. Bilbo would have felt bad were he not so adamant. No, one experience of nearly drowning was enough for him. He didn’t need to bungle a ferrying attempt on his already unstable legs. Bilbo held the man’s gaze for a long moment before he finally raised his arm. The gate began to move, freeing the way for the massive ship.
“Safe travels, Friend.” Bard cut his eyes back to Marlok. “I would ensure that Master Baggins is delivered safely to the mountain if you do not want to endure the wrath of Erebor.”
“Understood.” Marlok waved to him before turning away.
Bilbo waved as well before jumping down from his perch, steadying himself as he stumbled, and reaching down to wring out his still soaked tunic. That was about the point that he realized the entire crew of dwarves were staring at him in utter bewilderment, including his red-headed rescuer. Bilbo immediately began to question if he made the right decision in vouching for these dwarves.
“Master Baggins, was it?” Marlok finally prompted.
“Uh, yes. Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He introduced.
A grin spread across the dwarf’s face that Bilbo wasn’t sure how he should interpret.
“I think…I would be quite interested in hearing your story.”