Chapter Text
The first thing Bilbo noticed was that Fíli always knew where Kíli was.
Not in the ordinary way one knew where one’s companion sat around a fire, or where one’s brother had gone to fetch water. It was not even the sharp, wary awareness all the Company had learned to keep after too many ambushes and too little rest.
It was stranger than that.
Fíli knew where Kíli was the way Bilbo knew where his own hands were.
Without looking.
Without thinking.
If Kíli shifted too close to a crumbling edge, Fíli’s hand rose before his eyes did. If Kíli coughed once, Fíli’s head tilted, listening. If Kíli laughed too brightly after taking a hit to the shoulder, Fíli’s mouth flattened, and by the time Kíli tried to wave him off, Fíli was already there, fingers firm under his chin, turning his face toward the light.
“Kee,” Fíli would say, in that tone.
It was not quite a warning. Not quite a scold. Not quite tenderness.
It was all three, wrapped in gold and exasperation.
And Kíli, who was perfectly capable of facing down orcs, wargs, goblins, bad weather, worse cooking, and Thorin Oakenshield in one of his moods, would sigh as though greatly burdened by fate and say, “I’m fine, Fee.”
“You say that when you’re bleeding.”
“I say many true things when I’m bleeding.”
“You also say stupid things when you’re bleeding.”
“That doesn’t make them untrue.”
And then Fíli would cuff him lightly at the back of the head, and Kíli would grin like he had been waiting for it.
Bilbo watched this for three days.
He did not mean to watch. That was the trouble. Watching people with intent was rude. Watching people because one’s heart had become an unruly, curious thing was apparently unavoidable.
The Company had split for a few days to make better time through a narrow stretch of forest and rock where too many boots together would leave too obvious a trail. Thorin had taken Dwalin, Nori, and Bofur ahead to scout a pass. Balin, Óin, Glóin, Dori, Ori, and the others were following at a slower pace with the pack pony and supplies.
Bilbo had found himself assigned to Fíli and Kíli.
Or, rather, Fíli and Kíli had assigned themselves to Bilbo.
Thorin had glanced at them, then at Bilbo, then given a weary grunt that seemed to say: better them than an argument.
So now Bilbo walked with the princes.
And the princes watched over him.
It was ridiculous.
It was unbearable.
It was lovely.
“Step there, amrâlimê,” Kíli said, hopping down from a mossy stone and holding out a hand to Bilbo. “This bit’s slippery.”
“I can see that,” Bilbo said, though he took the offered hand anyway.
Kíli’s fingers were warm and callused, his grip steady. He grinned down at Bilbo as if personally delighted by his continued survival.
Behind them, Fíli made a small sound.
Kíli did not even turn. “He was going to take the wrong step.”
“I was not,” Bilbo protested.
“You were.”
“I was considering my options.”
“You were considering the wrong option.”
Fíli came down after him with far less drama, boots finding safe purchase with practiced ease. “He’s right. You were.”
Bilbo looked between them, offended. “I beg your pardon, but I have walked over difficult ground before.”
“Aye,” said Fíli. “And how many times have you fallen?”
“That is neither here nor there.”
Kíli’s smile widened. “So, more than once.”
Bilbo sniffed and tugged his hand from Kíli’s grip. “I shall remember this betrayal.”
“Good,” Kíli smiled brightly. “Remember it while stepping where I tell you.”
Fíli laughed under his breath.
Bilbo turned that laugh over in his mind as they continued on. It was a soft sound, one Fíli gave away rarely. Around Thorin, he was careful. Around the Company, he was charming when he chose to be, sharp when he needed to be, and watchful nearly always.
Around Kíli, he became something else.
Older and younger at once.
There was authority in the way he looked after his brother. A certain long-suffering patience. But there was also an ease that made Bilbo’s chest ache. Kíli could make him laugh with one look. Could make him sigh with one grin. Could make him soften just by leaning against him at the fire.
That night, Bilbo saw it again.
They had made camp in the shelter of three leaning pines, their branches thick enough to hide the firelight from a distance. Fíli had taken charge of setting snares. Kíli had taken charge of making himself a nuisance.
“Pass me the cord,” Fíli said.
Kíli passed him a twig.
Fíli looked at it.
Kíli looked innocent.
Bilbo covered his smile with his hand.
“Kíli.”
“What?”
“The cord.”
“You said the word strangely. I thought perhaps you meant twig.”
“I have never, in my life, mistaken the word cord for twig.”
“Could happen. Common mistake.”
Fíli’s eyes narrowed. Kíli’s grin grew reckless.
Then, faster than Bilbo expected, Fíli lunged. Kíli yelped and bolted, laughing, only to be caught around the waist three steps later and hauled backward.
“No, no, wait! Fee, mercy!”
“You wanted to be helpful, did you?”
“I was being helpful!”
“You were being a menace.”
“A helpful menace.”
Fíli hooked an arm around Kíli’s neck and ruffled his hair viciously with his free hand. Kíli squawked, twisting, but he was laughing too hard to put any real strength into escape.
Bilbo should not have felt quite so warm watching them.
But he did.
Kíli’s dark hair tumbled loose from its half-tied knot, and Fíli’s fingers buried themselves in it with the familiar care of someone who had done this a thousand times. There was no hesitation in the touch. No awkwardness. Only a rough sort of tenderness disguised as punishment.
“Bilbo!” Kíli cried, reaching a hand toward him. “Save me!”
Bilbo sat on a fallen log, peeling a strip of bark from his walking stick. “I am afraid I cannot interfere in royal discipline.”
“Traitor!”
“Quite possibly.”
Fíli gave Kíli one last ruffle and released him. Kíli stumbled forward dramatically, hand pressed to his chest.
“I have been abandoned by the one hobbit I trusted.”
“You trust too easily,” Bilbo said.
“I know. It’s one of my many charming qualities.”
Fíli snorted. “You have one charming quality.”
Kíli turned to him, wounded. “Only one?”
“Aye.”
“And what is it?”
Fíli considered him for a long moment. Then he reached out and smoothed Kíli’s ruined hair back from his forehead with surprising gentleness.
“You’re mine,” he said simply.
Kíli went still.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then the teasing returned to his face, softer this time. “Possessive, aren’t you?”
“Someone has to claim responsibility for you.”
“I am a prince of Durin.”
“You are a disaster of Durin.”
Bilbo laughed before he could help himself.
Kíli pointed at him. “You’re laughing now, ghivashel, but he’ll start on you next. He can’t help himself. Fíli sees a loose braid or crooked strap and becomes impossible.”
“I do not,” Fíli protested with a mock gasp.
Kíli stepped behind Bilbo and placed both hands on his shoulders, leaning over him. His hair brushed Bilbo’s cheek. “Bilbo, sweet thing, beloved burglar, tell him.”
Bilbo blinked hard at the pet names.
Sweet thing.
Beloved burglar.
His face heated traitorously. They were not names Bilbo was used to hearing, especially to himself. It made him feel warm inside. Not a bad feeling though. Definetly not. Not that he would tell the princes that.
Fíli noticed, because of course he did. His mouth curved.
“Oh?” he said.
“Don’t,” Bilbo warned.
“I said nothing.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to ask if our burglar has gone shy.”
“He has not.”
Kíli bent lower, his voice warm near Bilbo’s ear. “He has. Look at him, Fee. Pink as a rosehip.”
“I am not pink.”
Fíli crouched in front of him, eyes bright with amusement. “No?”
“No.”
Kíli hummed. “A very stern rosehip, then.”
Bilbo swatted backward without looking and caught Kíli’s arm. Kíli laughed and caught his hand, holding it easily against his chest. His thumb moved once over Bilbo’s knuckles.
That tiny movement did something absurd to Bilbo’s breathing.
Fíli saw that too.
The amusement gentled.
For all their teasing, neither brother pushed when Bilbo began to feel cornered. It was one of the things that made him feel safest with them. Kíli might flirt like a man whose heart had never learned caution, but he watched. Fíli might tease with a wicked glint, but he listened.
When Bilbo swallowed and glanced away, Kíli straightened. Fíli rose, reaching for the abandoned cord.
“Come, menace,” Fíli said lightly. “Help me with the snares properly this time.”
Kíli squeezed Bilbo’s hand once before letting go. “As my prince commands.”
“I hate when you call me that.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You get all stern and golden.”
Fíli groaned. “Burglar, tell him to stop.”
Bilbo, still warm-cheeked but smiling, said, “I’m afraid I cannot interfere in royal discipline.”
Kíli beamed. “See? He’s learning.”
Fíli muttered something in Khuzdul that made Kíli laugh so hard he nearly tripped over a root.
Later, when the snares were set and supper was no more than a thin stew with wild onion and dried meat, they settled close around the fire. The evening had turned cold. Mist crept between the trees, silvering the world beyond their small circle of light.
Kíli sat to Bilbo’s left. Fíli sat across from them, sharpening a knife with slow, practiced strokes.
For a while, they spoke of ordinary things. Food they missed. Roads they hated. Which Company member snored most offensively.
“Bifur,” said Kíli.
“Glóin,” said Fíli at the same time.
Bilbo shook his head. “Bombur.”
Both princes looked at him.
Bilbo lifted his chin. “He snores with enthusiasm.”
Kíli delightedly slapped his knee. “With enthusiasm!”
Fíli’s lips twitched. “That’s one way to put it.”
“I have lain awake composing rude letters to his nose,” Bilbo said. “Dear Sir, your nightly trumpet solo is neither requested nor appreciated.”
Kíli dissolved.
Fíli’s laugh came quieter, but no less real. His shoulders lowered. His face softened in the firelight. For a moment, he looked younger. Less like a prince. More like a brother.
Bilbo’s gaze lingered.
Kíli noticed, because he noticed almost everything when it came to Fíli.
“He’s handsome, isn’t he?” Kíli said.
Bilbo nearly choked on his stew.
Fíli looked up. “Kíli.”
“What? He was looking.”
“I was not,” Bilbo said, too quickly.
Fíli’s brows rose.
“I mean, I was looking because he was laughing, and that is unusual enough to be noteworthy.”
Kíli leaned into Bilbo’s side. “He thinks you’re handsome.”
“I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to, ghivashel.”
Fíli set his knife aside and leaned back on his hands, eyes fixed on Bilbo with a warmth that was almost worse than teasing. “And do you?”
Bilbo stared at the fire.
This was the danger of dwarves. They could be blunt as hammers when it suited them, and then tender as candlelight without warning.
“You are both perfectly aware of your own looks,” Bilbo said.
Kíli gasped. “That is not an answer.”
“It is the answer you’re getting.”
Fíli smiled. “Aye, he thinks I’m handsome.”
Kíli nudged Bilbo. “He thinks I’m handsome too.”
“You are both insufferable.”
“And handsome,” Kíli added.
Bilbo took a pointed bite of stew.
Kíli laughed softly and pressed closer, shoulder to shoulder. Bilbo let him. Fíli’s gaze followed the movement, and something quiet passed through his expression. Not jealousy. Not exactly.
Tenderness, perhaps.
And watchfulness.
Always watchfulness.
As the night deepened, Kíli’s brightness began to dim. His yawns grew wider. He leaned heavier against Bilbo, until his head slipped down to rest on Bilbo’s shoulder.
Bilbo froze.
Kíli was warm. Solid. His loose hair tickled Bilbo’s neck. One of his hands rested carelessly near Bilbo’s knee, fingers twitching with sleep.
Across the fire, Fíli did not look surprised. He merely watched them for a moment, then said softly, “He does that.”
“Falls asleep on people?”
“People he trusts.”
Bilbo looked down at Kíli.
The younger prince’s face in sleep was softer than waking, though not entirely peaceful. Even at rest, his brow held a faint crease, as if some part of him remained ready to wake and fight.
Bilbo’s heart gave a small, dangerous turn.
“He trusts rather easily, then,” Bilbo murmured.
“No,” Fíli said.
The word was quiet but certain.
Bilbo looked up.
Fíli’s blue eyes were steady on him. “He likes easily. Laughs easily. Trusts loudly when he wants folk to think so. But real trust?” His gaze dropped to Kíli. “No. Not easily.”
Kíli made a sleepy sound and shifted closer to Bilbo.
Bilbo dared, very carefully, to lift a hand and touch Kíli’s hair.
Only a little.
Just the ends.
Kíli sighed.
Fíli’s expression changed.
Bilbo snatched his hand back. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“Bilbo.” Fíli’s voice softened. “Don’t be.”
Kíli grumbled, eyes still closed, “Stopped.”
Bilbo blinked. “What?”
Kíli nudged his head against Bilbo’s shoulder like an oversized cat. “You stopped.”
Fíli’s mouth curved. “He likes his hair touched.”
“I noticed,” Bilbo said dryly, though his hand had already returned.
Kíli hummed with shameless pleasure as Bilbo combed his fingers through the dark strands, slow and careful. The texture was different from hobbit curls, heavier and silkier in places, tangled from the day’s travel. Bilbo worked through a small knot with patience.
Fíli watched them in silence.
After a while, Bilbo asked the question that had been sitting in him for days.
“Were you always this close?”
His fingers stilled the instant the words left him.
Kíli’s eyes opened.
Fíli’s face did not close exactly, but something shuttered.
Bilbo’s stomach dropped. “Forgive me. That was impertinent.”
“No,” Kíli said, though his voice was no longer sleepy. “It’s all right.”
Fíli looked into the fire.
Bilbo wished he could gather the question back and bury it under the roots.
“I only meant,” he said quietly, “I’ve known brothers. Cousins. Families in the Shire who are close. But you two are… well. You are not merely close.”
Kíli did not smile.
Fíli’s hand moved to the end of one of his moustache braids, worrying the bead there.
“We had to be,” Fíli said at last.
Kíli sat up slowly, though he did not move away from Bilbo. If anything, he pressed his side more firmly against him.
Fíli’s eyes stayed on the flames. “When our father died, Kíli was very young.”
“I remember him,” Kíli said.
“I know.”
“I do.”
“I know, Kee.”
There was no irritation in it this time. Only gentleness.
Bilbo’s hand found Kíli’s hair again because he could not think what else to do. Kíli leaned into it at once.
“Our mother did all she could,” Fíli continued. “More than anyone should have had to. But grief…” He paused. “Grief does strange things to a home.”
Kíli’s mouth tightened. “She loved us.”
“Aye,” Fíli said, immediate and firm. “She did. She does. Fiercely.”
“Just not always loudly.”
Fíli nodded.
Bilbo listened.
The forest beyond them seemed to hold its breath.
“Uncle had duties,” Fíli said. “A kingdom lost. A people scattered. Enemies watching from every dark place. He loved us too, but Thorin’s love often came shaped like command.”
Kíli gave a small huff that was almost fond. “Or glaring.”
“Mostly glaring,” Fíli agreed.
Bilbo smiled faintly despite the ache in his chest.
“So,” Fíli said, “I watched him.”
Kíli looked at him.
Fíli still did not look back. “He was small. Too clever. Too fearless. Always running toward the very thing he ought to run from.”
“I was curious.”
“You were impossible.”
“I was five.”
“You were impossible at five.”
Kíli’s mouth twitched. “I was adorable.”
“You were sticky.”
Bilbo laughed softly.
Fíli’s gaze flicked up at the sound, and some of the tension eased from his shoulders.
“I thought if I watched him closely enough,” Fíli said, “nothing would happen to him.”
Kíli’s expression went quiet.
“And when things did happen?” Bilbo asked gently.
Fíli smiled without humor. “Then I watched closer.”
Kíli reached across the small distance and took one of Fíli’s hands.
The movement was so natural Bilbo nearly looked away.
But Kíli kept his other hand tangled loosely in Bilbo’s sleeve, holding him there too.
“He makes it sound like he did everything,” Kíli said. “He didn’t.”
Fíli frowned. “Kee.”
“No.” Kíli’s voice sharpened, though not cruelly. “You always do this.”
“I do not.”
“You do. You tell stories like you carried me on your back from the moment I was born and I spent my youth wandering into wells.”
“You did fall into a well.”
“One time.”
“Twice.”
“The second one barely counts.”
Bilbo stared. “How does one barely fall into a well?”
“I caught the edge.”
“With your face,” Fíli said.
Kíli pointed at him. “Details.”
Bilbo pressed his lips together. Failed. Laughed.
Kíli’s grin flashed, but it faded gently. “I looked after him too. Still do.”
“You do,” Bilbo nodded.
Fíli looked surprised by that. His full attention went to Bilbo. Eve Kíli looked at Bilbo stunned. Neither had apparently expected Bilbo to notice such a thing.
Bilbo turned to him. “He does. You may fuss over his coat and food and whether he is too near ledges…”
“With good reason,” Fíli muttered.
“…but he watches you just as closely.”
Kíli went still.
Bilbo felt suddenly shy, but the truth had already risen in him and would not be pushed down.
“He lets you fuss,” Bilbo shrugged softly, “because it steadies you. He complains, but he doesn’t truly stop you. When you forget to eat, he makes some spectacle of stealing from your plate so you’ll notice and eat too. When you’re too quiet, he acts ridiculous until you scold him. When you’re tired, he leans on you so you’ll sit down.”
Kíli’s ears had gone pink.
Fíli stared at him.
Bilbo’s voice gentled further. “He knows you need to look after him. So he lets you. But that does not mean he is not looking after you.”
For a long moment, neither brother spoke.
Then Fíli looked at Kíli.
Kíli shrugged, very badly pretending not to be moved. “Well. Someone has to manage you.”
Fíli blinked once.
Then he gave a soft, helpless laugh and covered his face with his free hand.
“Kíli.”
“What?”
“You are unbearable.”
Kíli leaned forward, still holding Bilbo’s sleeve. “Aye, but I’m yours.”
Fíli lowered his hand.
The look between them then was old. Older than the Quest. Older than Erebor’s ruins. Older than Bilbo could ever hope to fully understand.
But he was not outside it.
Not anymore.
Kíli tugged Bilbo gently closer. “And he’s ours too, isn’t he?”
Bilbo’s heart stumbled.
Fíli looked at him.
All at once, the fire seemed too bright. The forest too quiet.
“Kíli,” Bilbo whispered.
The younger prince’s expression softened. “Only if he wants to be.”
Fíli’s voice was lower. “Do you?”
Bilbo looked from one to the other.
There were a dozen sensible things to say. A hundred cautious ones. He was a hobbit. They were dwarven princes. They were in the wild, on a dangerous road, with enemies behind and ahead. This was not the time for soft declarations by firelight.
But Kíli’s fingers were still curled in his sleeve.
Fíli’s hand, still held by Kíli, rested open and waiting.
Bilbo reached for it.
Fíli inhaled softly when Bilbo’s fingers slipped into his.
“Yes,” Bilbo said, and the word was smaller than he meant but strong enough to stand. “If there is room.”
Kíli made a wounded sound. “Room? Mahal, Bilbo.”
Fíli’s thumb brushed over Bilbo’s knuckles. “There is room.”
“You say that,” Bilbo said, trying to smile, though his throat had gone tight. “But you two are rather… complete.”
Kíli’s brows drew together.
Fíli’s face softened in understanding before Kíli’s did. He shifted closer around the fire, still holding Bilbo’s hand. “Is that what you thought?”
Bilbo looked down. “At times.”
“Oh, ghivashel,” Kíli murmured.
Bilbo tried to wave it off. “It isn’t jealousy. Not truly. I love how you are with one another. I do. It’s just that watching you is rather like watching a song already written.”
Fíli squeezed his hand.
Bilbo continued, quieter now. “I wasn’t sure there was a verse for me.”
Kíli moved first.
He did not lunge or laugh or make some grand foolish display. He simply gathered Bilbo into his arms.
Bilbo made a startled sound as Kíli pulled him against his chest. His arms came around Bilbo firmly, protectively, one hand cradling the back of his head.
“There is,” Kíli said into his hair. “There is, there is, there is.”
“Kíli…”
“No. You don’t get to think that.”
“It is not a matter of getting…”
“You don’t.” Kíli held him tighter. “You silly, brave, sharp-tongued little heart. There is room.”
Fíli came closer too. He sat at Bilbo’s other side, one hand settling warm at his back.
“We do not love you around each other,” Fíli said. “Or in spite of each other.”
Bilbo turned his face slightly, enough to see him.
Fíli’s eyes shone in the firelight. “We love you together.”
Kíli nodded fiercely against Bilbo’s hair. “With each other.”
“That is a very dwarvish thing to say,” Bilbo whispered.
Fíli smiled. “Good.”
“It is also a very confusing thing to say.”
Kíli pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes bright. “Then we’ll explain slowly.”
“Oh?”
“With cuddles.”
Bilbo huffed a laugh, half teary despite himself. “I see.”
“And perhaps hair touching.”
“Yours or mine?”
“Yes,” said Kíli.
Fíli laughed, and then his hand rose to Bilbo’s curls.
Bilbo went very still.
Fíli paused at once. “May I?”
Bilbo swallowed.
His curls had been patted before. Ruffled by cousins, tugged by unthinking children, fussed over by aunties who thought him too young to object. But this was different. Fíli’s hand hovered as though Bilbo were something precious. As though permission mattered.
“Yes,” Bilbo said.
Fíli touched him gently.
His fingers moved through Bilbo’s curls with care, slow and reverent at first, then with growing confidence when Bilbo’s eyes fluttered despite himself.
Kíli made a delighted sound. “Oh, he likes that.”
“I said nothing.”
“You melted.”
“I did not melt.”
Fíli’s fingertips scratched lightly at his scalp.
Bilbo’s argument dissolved into an embarrassingly soft sigh.
Kíli beamed. “Melted.”
Fíli’s smile turned fond and wicked. “Completely.”
“I despise you both,” Bilbo murmured.
“No, you don’t,” Kíli said, kissing the top of his head.
Bilbo froze again.
Kíli did too. “Was that—”
Bilbo tilted his head back and looked at him.
Kíli’s confidence had vanished so quickly Bilbo almost laughed. The prince who flirted shamelessly over breakfast, who called him sweet thing and beloved burglar as though such words cost nothing, now looked terrified because he had kissed Bilbo’s hair.
Bilbo reached up, caught one of Kíli’s loose locks, and tugged lightly.
Kíli’s eyes widened.
“Do it again properly,” Bilbo said.
Fíli made a soft sound beside them.
Kíli’s smile returned, slow and radiant.
He bent and kissed Bilbo’s forehead.
Gentle. Lingering. Warm.
Bilbo closed his eyes.
Fíli’s hand continued moving through his curls, a steady comfort.
“There,” Kíli whispered. “Better?”
Bilbo opened one eye. “Acceptable.”
“Acceptable?”
“You may improve with practice.”
Kíli laughed, bright and relieved, and kissed his cheek next. “Greedy hobbit.”
“Protective dwarf.”
“Aye.” Kíli’s voice lowered. “Very.”
Something in that word settled over them.
Protective.
Bilbo had felt it these past days in every offered hand, every careful warning, every cloak tucked around his shoulders when the wind grew sharp. But now he saw it plainly, and not just from them toward him.
Kíli and Fíli guarded each other like flame.
And Bilbo, somehow, had begun guarding them too.
He thought of the way he had snapped at Kíli that morning for walking too long on a twisted ankle he had tried to hide. The way he had pushed a bowl into Fíli’s hands at supper and refused to let him “check the perimeter” until he had eaten. The way he had started keeping track of both their moods without meaning to.
“Oh,” Bilbo said softly.
Fíli’s hand stilled. “What?”
Bilbo looked between them. “I’m doing it too.”
Kíli blinked. “Doing what?”
“Watching.”
Fíli’s expression warmed.
Bilbo felt shy again and tried to cover it with briskness. “Not in the absurd way you two do, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Fíli said solemnly.
“I do not hover.”
Kíli opened his mouth.
Bilbo pointed at him. “Careful.”
Kíli closed his mouth, eyes dancing.
“I merely notice,” Bilbo said. “When you are both being idiots.”
Fíli nodded. “A constant burden for you.”
“Enormous.”
“And yet you bear it bravely,” Kíli said, pressing a hand over his heart.
“Someone has to.”
Kíli leaned in until their noses almost touched. “Our hobbit.”
Bilbo’s breath caught.
Fíli’s fingers slid from his curls to the nape of his neck, grounding him.
“Our Bilbo,” Fíli said.
That did it.
Bilbo made a small sound he would deny later and buried his face against Kíli’s shoulder.
Kíli’s arms closed around him immediately.
Fíli shifted closer still, until Bilbo was tucked between them. Not trapped. Never trapped. Held.
The fire crackled. The trees sighed overhead.
For several minutes, no one spoke.
Then Kíli mumbled, “My foot’s asleep.”
Bilbo laughed into his tunic.
Fíli groaned. “You ruin everything.”
“I do not. I enhance moments.”
“You enhanced my patience into an early grave.”
Bilbo lifted his head, smiling helplessly. “Move your foot, then.”
“I can’t. Bilbo is on me.”
“You dragged me here.”
“And I stand by that decision.”
Fíli reached across Bilbo and shoved Kíli’s shoulder. “Shift, you great lump.”
Kíli shifted with much dramatic groaning, taking Bilbo with him. Somehow this ended with Bilbo half in Kíli’s lap and leaning against Fíli’s chest, which Kíli seemed to consider an excellent improvement.
Fíli looked down at Bilbo. “Comfortable?”
Bilbo considered pretending otherwise, but Fíli was warm behind him and Kíli’s arms were secure around his waist. The fire painted the world gold. Kíli’s chin rested lightly on his shoulder. Fíli’s hand returned to his hair.
“Yes,” Bilbo admitted.
Kíli hummed. “Good.”
Fíli’s voice was softer. “Safe?”
Bilbo looked up.
The question was not casual. Not to them.
Safe places mattered to dwarves who had lost kingdoms. Safe places mattered to princes who had grown up in exile, measuring love by who remained within reach. Safe places mattered to Bilbo too, though he had not known how badly until he left Bag End and found safety in the most unlikely hands imaginable.
He reached up and caught Fíli’s wrist, holding it gently.
“Yes,” he said. “Safe.”
Fíli’s eyes softened.
Kíli pressed his face into Bilbo’s neck with a muffled sound.
Bilbo smiled and reached back with his free hand, fumbling until he found Kíli’s hair. He combed his fingers through it, and Kíli went boneless almost immediately.
Fíli huffed. “Shameless.”
“You like it too,” Kíli muttered.
“I have dignity.”
Bilbo turned slightly. “Do you?”
Fíli looked offended. “More than him.”
“That is not difficult.”
“Oi,” Kíli protested, without lifting his head.
Bilbo patted his hair. “Hush, darling.”
Kíli went utterly still.
Fíli’s fingers froze in Bilbo’s curls.
Bilbo realized what he had said.
Darling.
The word hung there, small and enormous.
Kíli lifted his head slowly. “Say that again.”
Bilbo’s face burned. “No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Bilbo.”
“You cannot simply demand pet names.”
Kíli’s eyes went wide and soft in a way that was frankly unfair. “Can’t I?”
Fíli leaned closer, voice low with amusement. “He asked nicely.”
Bilbo glared at him. “You are supposed to be the responsible one.”
“I am responsibly encouraging you to call my brother darling again before he expires.”
Kíli nodded solemnly. “I am fading.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“Your ridiculous darling?”
Bilbo covered his face.
Kíli laughed, delighted but gentle, and kissed his knuckles. “All right, all right. I’ll earn it.”
Fíli’s arm came around Bilbo’s middle from behind, his chin resting briefly against Bilbo’s hair. “And me?”
Bilbo’s heart kicked.
“You too?” he asked faintly.
Fíli’s voice was soft at his ear. “If you have one to spare.”
Kíli grinned. “Oh, Fee wants a pet name.”
“I do not want anything.”
“You do.”
“I am humoring our hobbit.”
“Our hobbit is about to flee into the forest,” Bilbo said.
Fíli held him a little closer. “No, he isn’t.”
“No?” Bilbo asked.
“No.” Fíli’s thumb moved against his waist. “We’d follow.”
Kíli nodded. “Protectively.”
“Annoyingly,” Bilbo corrected.
“Lovingly.”
“Those are not mutually exclusive with you.”
Kíli looked pleased. “He knows us so well.”
Bilbo drew in a breath, gathered every scrap of courage he possessed, and reached up to touch Fíli’s hair.
Fíli stilled.
Unlike Kíli’s dark waves, Fíli’s golden hair had been tied with more care. Braids, beads, and clasps marked rank and family and memory. Bilbo did not disturb them. He only smoothed his fingers over a loose strand near Fíli’s temple.
“My golden one,” Bilbo murmured quietly, before he could lose nerve.
Fíli’s eyes changed. Blue eyes softening in sucha way that Bilbo has no doubt very little people get a chance to truly experience.
Kíli’s smile softened into something almost reverent.
Bilbo swallowed. “Is that all right?”
Fíli bent his head until his forehead touched Bilbo’s.
“Aye,” he whispered. “That is very all right.”
Kíli’s hand found both of theirs and covered them. “And me?”
Bilbo turned, pretending sternness even though his eyes felt suspiciously warm. “You are my darling, apparently.”
Kíli’s grin broke open like sunrise.
Fíli kissed Bilbo’s temple.
Kíli kissed the corner of his mouth.
Barely. A question more than a claim.
Bilbo answered by turning into it.
The kiss was soft, sweet, and clumsy only because they were smiling too much. Kíli made a small, pleased sound against him, one hand cupping Bilbo’s cheek as if afraid he might vanish.
When they parted, Fíli watched them with such open tenderness that Bilbo reached for him without thinking.
Fíli came willingly.
His kiss was steadier. Slower. A warm press of promise, his fingers threading carefully through Bilbo’s curls. Bilbo felt Kíli’s hand at his back and Fíli’s palm at his cheek and thought, dazedly, that perhaps this was what they had meant.
Together.
Not a choice.
A circle.
When Fíli drew back, Bilbo was breathless.
Kíli looked smug. “Melted again.”
Bilbo groaned. “I should never have kissed either of you.”
Fíli smiled. “Too late.”
“Far too late,” Kíli said, and tucked Bilbo closer.
They banked the fire low soon after. Fíli insisted on taking the first watch, which led to a five-minute argument in which Kíli accused him of being impossible, Fíli accused Kíli of having no sense of self-preservation, and Bilbo finally threatened to take the first watch himself.
Both princes turned on him at once.
“No,” said Fíli.
“Absolutely not,” said Kíli.
Bilbo folded his arms. “Oh? And why not?”
“You were nearly asleep ten minutes ago,” Fíli said.
“So was Kíli.”
“Kíli is always nearly asleep,” Fíli replied.
Kíli nodded, then frowned. “Wait.”
Bilbo lifted his chin. “I can keep watch.”
“We know,” Kíli said, suddenly gentle.
That took the wind out of him.
Fíli stepped close and brushed Bilbo’s curls back from his forehead. “We know you can, ghivashel. That is not why we say no.”
Bilbo looked away. “I do not need to be wrapped in blankets and guarded like some delicate teacup.”
Kíli’s smile flickered. “No. You’re sharper than a teacup.”
“And louder when dropped,” Fíli added.
Bilbo tried not to laugh. “Rude.”
Kíli took his hand. “Let us care for you.”
Bilbo’s protest faded.
Fíli’s voice softened. “And you may care for us by letting us.”
Oh, that was unfair.
That was precisely what Bilbo had said about Kíli earlier, thrown back at him with devastating accuracy.
“You are both terrible,” Bilbo said.
Kíli kissed his fingers. “Aye.”
Fíli guided him down onto the bedrolls. “And protective.”
“Bossy.”
“That too.”
Somehow, through dwarven stubbornness and hobbit grumbling, they arranged themselves beneath the cloaks. Fíli did take first watch, but he sat close enough that Bilbo’s head rested against his thigh. Kíli curled around Bilbo from the other side, one arm thrown over him, nose tucked against his shoulder.
Bilbo lay awake longer than he expected.
Fíli’s hand rested in his curls, moving now and then. Kíli’s breathing warmed his neck. Above them, the branches swayed, and beyond the trees there were dangers enough to fill any sensible hobbit with dread.
But here, in this small hollow of pine and fire-ash and steady hands, Bilbo felt no dread.
He felt Kíli shift in sleep, fingers tightening in his waistcoat.
He felt Fíli’s hand pause, then resume, gentler than before.
“Fee?” Kíli mumbled.
“I’m here,” Fíli said immediately.
Kíli relaxed.
Bilbo’s chest ached.
Fíli looked down at him, perhaps sensing the change. “All right?”
Bilbo reached up and caught his hand.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Only thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
Bilbo smiled. “It often is.”
Fíli’s thumb brushed his palm. “What about?”
“You two.”
Fíli’s expression softened. “Ah.”
“I wondered what made you so close,” Bilbo said, voice low so as not to wake Kíli fully. “I think I understand a little better now.”
“Only a little?”
Bilbo squeezed his hand. “Some things cannot be understood from the outside.”
Fíli’s gaze held his.
Then he bent and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s curls.
“You are not outside.”
Bilbo closed his eyes.
Kíli stirred, muttering, “Our hobbit.”
Fíli smiled. “Aye. Our hobbit.”
Bilbo should have objected to being discussed while half-asleep and pinned under a dwarven prince. He should have made some sharp comment about possession and manners and the presumption of Durins.
Instead, he reached back until his fingers found Kíli’s hair, and up until his other hand found Fíli’s braid.
He held both.
“My dwarves,” he murmured.
Kíli made a happy, sleepy sound and clung tighter.
Fíli went very still, then very soft.
Outside their little ring of warmth, the night stretched vast and uncertain.
Inside it, Bilbo lay between two halves of a whole and felt, for the first time, the shape changing around him.
Not breaking.
Not making room reluctantly.
Opening.
Fíli watched over them until the stars shifted. Kíli slept with one hand fisted in Bilbo’s shirt. Bilbo drifted at last to the sound of their breathing, safe beneath the shelter of their bodies, their hair beneath his fingers, their love wrapped around him like a promise.
And when morning came, and Kíli woke with a leaf stuck in his hair, and Fíli laughed so hard he nearly dropped the waterskin, and Bilbo had to endure both of them kissing him before breakfast while insisting that he was the one who looked most rumpled, he found he did not mind.
Not even a little.
After all, he was beginning to understand.
This was how they loved.
With teasing. With watching. With hands held out before the fall. With fingers in hair and cloaks tucked around shoulders and names whispered in the dark.
With safe places made not from walls or doors or round green hills, but from the people who knew where you were without looking.
Fíli knew where Kíli was.
Kíli knew where Fíli was.
And now, somehow, impossibly, beautifully,
They knew where Bilbo was too.