Chapter Text
“Your Majesty, I regret to inform you that there’s been some unrest as of late amongst the new arrivals,” Balin stated.
Bilbo tensed.
He and the rest of the King’s Council of Erebor were seated around a long table in the council chamber; Thorin sat to Bilbo’s left at the head of the table. Balin was to Bilbo’s right, holding some parchment with a list of matters to be discussed, if Bilbo had to guess.
“Why?” Thorin asked, his face appearing impassive, though Bilbo knew it to be a mask for calculating, as well.
“It appears news of what happened on the quest, while you were in the throes of your goldsickness, has begun to spread,” Balin replied directly after.
Bilbo’s heart dropped. Similarly, it felt as if all of the air had been sucked out of the chamber following the ill news.
“It has been years since that happened,” Bilbo said, when no one else dared to speak.
Balin nodded.
“Aye, but there are now questions of whether or not Thorin might become enthralled by the affliction again.”
A pin could’ve been heard dropping in the aftermath of Balin’s assertion, were one to have fallen, until Thorin spoke again.
“They mean to question my authority and my rule,” Thorin said tersely.
Balin shifted a bit in his seat, then said in a soft tone, “That is what it appears, I’m afraid.”
In truth, at least to Bilbo, Balin genuinely did seem to be empathetic to Thorin’s plight.
The council chamber remained silent, waiting for Thorin to speak once more. In a rare show of exhaustion, the king dropped his head into his hands and exhaled heavily.
Bilbo wanted to reach a hand out and comfort his husband, but something told him it was not the time.
When Thorin raised his head, he looked to Balin and asked, “What would you have me do, old friend? What assurances can I give that would appease this unrest?”
Balin frowned whilst stroking his beard before he plainly stated, “Aside from abdicating and handing over your crown to another well respected Dwarf, there has been talk of securing the next in line.”
Bilbo turned in time to see the confusion on Thorin’s face before he said firmly, “The line has been secured since I named both Fíli and Kíli as my heirs.”
Bilbo’s eyes flew back to Balin, whose lips flattened together. A shiver of worry slid down his back, unsure of what might be coming out of their advisor’s mouth next. He had an inkling, but he hoped for all which was green in Yavanna’s gardens that he was wrong.
“No, laddie, I mean, announcing an arranged marriage between the Crown Prince and a Dwarf outside of your direct line who might bear the next ruler at his side.”
There was a loud clatter, which drew Bilbo’s eyes over to where Kíli sat. Or, where he had been sitting, as Kíli had clearly rushed to his feet once he understood what Balin was proposing. Kíli was the first to speak, before any demanded he sit back down.
“You would have Fíli marry someone he does not love?”
Fíli, the poor lad, looked to his uncle, his face tight as Thorin’s was likely still to be.
Bilbo’s heart went out to Kíli as much as Fíli. But in a way, the suggestion made sense. He did not like it at all, regardless of if that was true.
Thorin was inclined to agree with the idea, everyone learnt some moments later. His voice was taut, as he said in a gravelly tone, “If that is what you think is best, we shall see to it that it is done. Draw up a list of viable candidates and we shall go over them next session.”
“Uncle!” Kíli cried, his indignation speaking for his brother where Fíli would not.
Bilbo’s heart clenched.
Fíli was dutiful, where Kíli was known to wear his heart on his sleeve. Even if Fíli disagreed with Thorin’s edict, he would not challenge it unless it was truly outrageous or would harm others outside of himself. Bilbo cursed the idea of royalty as he watched the brothers, who had become nephews of his own over time. They both deserved to follow their hearts; Bilbo only wished he had the power to make it so, while Kíli’s eyes bore into Thorin’s with anger.
Bilbo’s gaze flitted to Thorin again, who for a brief moment did look at him. There was sorrow and weariness there, but also, pure exhaustion. Were they not dangling such a decision as an arranged marriage before their nephews, Bilbo would have reached out and comforted Thorin in some way. However, it felt cruel to flaunt their love match before someone whose own choice of partner might be taken.
Thorin turned tired eyes to Kíli, who was still standing to his brother’s left, next to Dís, who sat at Thorin’s left. Their mother, Bilbo noticed, was uncharacteristically silent, though her face was set in a grim expression.
“Irak’dashat, as much as I understand your anger, this is a duty the Crown Prince must bear when it is required. I cannot shield either of you from the harsher realities of ruling a kingdom forever. We are here now, and what must be done should be, otherwise we will all find ourselves in a much more precarious position than we are at the present.”
“It’s alright, Irak’adad. I understand,” Fíli said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
There was a determination in his words that Bilbo felt confident Fíli had only uttered to ease his brother’s mind.
“This isn’t right,” Kíli muttered, then returned to his seat.
“Right or not, as I said, for the kingdom’s sake and its place in the future of our realm, it must be done,” Thorin stated, with a sense of finality no one challenged.
Hours later, while the council had begun to gather a list of eligible candidates, Ori had followed Fíli to a random terrace which had not been smashed to bits by a dragon. The rebuilding was going well, all things considered. It had been thirteen years since they reclaimed the mountain, but only so much could be changed, even over that amount of time.
Together, they stood solemnly before Ori turned to his right to look at the prince and said, “I’ll marry you.”
Fíli didn’t even bother to hide the shock which overcame his features when he looked at Ori.
“Why? You don’t even like me all that much,” Fíli said in bewilderment, then stopped, a sly grin sliding onto his face.
“Well, except that one time.”
Ori’s face heated up at the reminder of their one time hasty coupling. It had happened the night after Fíli had been discharged from Óin’s care, following the Battle of the Five Armies, as it had been dubbed by many everywhere. Ori had done his best to forget the whole affair, since it had indeed been a last minute decision, and one he could only justify to himself at the darkest hours of the night. It had happened in a pure rush of adrenaline and meant nothing, really.
At least, that’s what Ori told himself.
“Marriages were built upon less, and I am a bearer, after all.”
Ori tried to appear nonchalant, however, his offer was anything but; calculated, more like.
Fíli frowned.
“This isn’t just my life we’re talking about, or yours, Ori. This will impact our kingdom, and all of Arda. Are you truly prepared to take on what that could mean for you, and for us?”
Ori sucked in a deep breath then heavily exhaled after.
“Need I remind you, I’m not some random Dwarf but Balin’s former apprentice, with my own Mastery in my craft. Of course, I understand the ramifications of this idea. Probably more so even than you.”
Fíli raised an eyebrow.
“You think so?”
Ori heard the challenge in Fíli’s tone, but he had not yet received an outright no, so that was something, at the very least.
“Yes,” Ori replied evenly.
Unlike the heir to the throne of Erebor, and his brother, Ori had paid more mind to their lessons, and Balin’s own private instruction later on. Ori did, in fact, believe he understood more than Fíli.
Fíli braced his hands on the railing before him then turned to fix Ori with a searching look.
“Why would you want to do this? It can’t have been our moment together, as that really wasn’t my best work, and I know you’re too smart for that.”
Fíli quieted, then looked at Ori again, and asked, “Right?”
“Yes, of course,” Ori snapped.
Nevermind that Ori had lied in bed for hours on many nights, remembering how he had felt after; warm and safe. Still, it was nothing to write home about, as his prior bed partner had noted, and it’s not as if he loved Fíli. For years, he had tolerated Fíli’s and Kíli’s antics, at best. They were a distraction to his own ambitions but nothing more. Except, somehow, Ori had sought Fíli out, needing some sort of constant after the horrors they had witnessed, and instead, he had been met with unexpected softness.
No, he didn’t love Fíli, but Ori could grow to like him more, one day.
What Ori did love was Erebor, and everything they had begun to build within it. Furthermore, he had never been so disinclined to attract suitors once they had reclaimed their ancestral home; most only saw his face or his status as a ‘Hero of Erebor’ then, rather than who Ori might be behind it all. For Fíli, Ori knew there were a multitude of disingenuous reasons someone might seek a courtship with him, too. At least, even if they entered a loveless marriage, it would be because they chose it; to save what they had all fought and bled for.
After all, it’s not as if the Dwarf Ori was choosing to marry was a stranger. He knew Fíli and had known him since they were children.
Fíli was cocksure but brave and noble to a fault. In turn, he, like Ori, loved Erebor. Or, at least, the idea he had been sold on to follow his uncle and younger brother to reclaim it. Were Fíli to have so little faith in the kingdom, Ori imagined Thorin might have given Fíli’s title to Kíli, instead.
“Are you sure?” Fíli asked, more softly than anything else he had said before.
Ori had rarely ever seen Fíli so uncertain. A part of him knew this was someone he could share a life with, even if it was only built upon a kernel of friendship and a love for their fellow Dwarrow.
Ori nodded.
“Yes.”
In a fit of daring, Ori then reached out and placed his right hand over Fíli’s left. Just like that one night, it was hasty, but it felt right.
Fíli’s eyes widened a bit before he glanced down at their hands resting together, with Ori’s atop his own, still. Rather than moving it away from the touch altogether, Fíli slowly turned over his own left hand and laced their fingers together properly. Then, he turned a tentative but warm smile down upon Ori.
Ori returned the smile with a small one of his own, suddenly feeling like a flower reaching up towards the sun.
They stood there, scrutinizing each other for a few moments, before Ori felt the hand around his own give a firm squeeze. He expected a loss of warmth after, but instead, his hand was lifted up, and lips alongside hair brushed his knuckles. A shock of lightning felt like it had zipped through Ori after, as he met Fíli’s steady gaze boring down on him.
The look Ori saw was one he had become familiar with over the many years they had known each other; it was the face of the Crown Prince preparing for a fight. The determination alone threatened to knock Ori off his feet. After quickly cobbling together a plan, the scribe wasn’t sure of the reaction he would be met with, but it certainly was not the one he received.
“Alright. We should go see my uncles then. No doubt this news will please them. Or, at the very least, ease their minds more, I hope.”
Ori gulped audibly.
He had told no one of his plan, save Fíli, as time had been of the essence following that dreadful council meeting.
Ori’s brothers were going to kill him, or perhaps, commit regicide and then take him far from Erebor. Nori was quite creative, after all.