Chapter Text
In no world was Bilbo Baggins supposed to be here. This room of twirling gowns and champagne glasses was so far out of the hobbit's comfort zone that he wondered why he had ever listened to Gandalf in the first place.
To say that Bilbo was skeptical when the wizard had shown up on his doorstep would be an understatement, but Gandalf had offered something that Bilbo couldn't refuse: a chance to get that blasted mark off of his forearm.
The pattern wasn't ugly by any means, just a simple trail of flowers that wrapped itself around his left forearm and up to his bicep, but no self-respecting hobbit in the Shire had any kind of mark like this, so Bilbo had taken to covering it (his collection of long sleeved shirts had grown impressively large over the years). When he did stop to study it, which was rarely, he noted that the flowers were rather pretty, a twisted trail of hyacinths, like the white ones he could see outside his kitchen window, intertwined with another flower he'd never seen before.
When Gandalf had appeared late one afternoon, Bilbo had been out in his garden tending to his flowers, sleeves rolled all the way up in an attempt to get some respite from the heat. The wizard's shadow had prompted Bilbo to look up and he had been about to tell him to be on his way when Gandalf, without any previous introduction, mentioned Bilbo's mark. He spoke of it as if it was more than simply a curiosity to gawk or giggle at, so reluctantly Bilbo invited the strange man into his home.
Over a steaming up of earl gray tea, Gandalf explained that the mark that had plagued Bilbo all his life was a soulmark. They were bestowed by some higher power and were meant to guide someone to their 'One' who would have a matching pattern. Once the two souls had met and touched each other's marks, the bond would be claimed and the marks would disappear.
As Ganfalf talked, Bilbo's eyebrows rose higher and higher on his forehead, but the wizard was not one to be dissuaded by a doubtful audience. "The reason, my dear hobbit, that you do not see any others with similar markings here is because soulmarks most commonly appear among dwarrow. That is to say they only appear among dwarrow… until you."
Bilbo leaned back in his chair, tea sitting forgotten in front of him. "But I'm no dwarf. You must understand, this makes no sense!"
"Right you are Master Baggins, you are certainly not a dwarf. That is why I propose a deal. I'm searching for company as I travel East to the corronation of the new King of Erebor. In exchange for conversation on the journey I would gladly take you with me to the new kingdom of dwarrow, I have a few connections there you see. Once there, you would be free to roam the city. Think of it as a vacation." Gandalf's voice held the smallest twinge of amusement that Bilbo did not appreciate.
"Look, I don't know who you are or how you know anything about me, but if you think I'm the type of hobbit to go galavanting off on some spontaneous adventure you're wrong!"
"Be that as it may, I am leaving tomorrow at noon from the Prancing Pony in Bree. If you should change your mind simply find me before then." With that he stood with what would have been a dramatic sweep of his cape if he had not in the same moment banged his head on the ceiling . After recovering himself, Gandalf made his way to the door, leaving Bilbo still in his seat, staring dumbfounded into his tea.
As Bilbo readied himself for bed that night he couldn't help his mind wandering to the wizard's unusual proposition. Could he leave behind everything he's ever known? It's not like he wouldn't ever be coming back? No, no, no. This was ridiculous, he was a Baggins, and Baggins' did not go running off after some mad adventure. There, it was settled, Gandalf would just have to leave without him.
The next morning Bilbo went about his business or he tried to, that is. He was determined to forget about the strange visit from last night, but found it impossible to ignore the pull he felt. As he was slicing cheese for his second breakfast it all became too much.
"Alright, fine! I'll go!" Bilbo exclaimed to the empty room. For though he might be a Baggins, deep down he was also a Took, and no self-respecting Took would let an opportunity like this go to waste.
His supplies were all gathered in a pack on his back as Bilbo rushed out the door, a slice of cheese between his teeth. He rushed towards Bree, dodging Hobbiton's inhabitants who were quite started to see anyone sprinting (tripping) down the hills at this early hour, praying he wasn't too late.
When he finally made it to the prancing pony Bilbo was quite thoroughly out of breath, but he thankfully spotted Gandalf sitting in a cart piled high with supplies.
"Gandalf," Bilbo called out, panting. "Gandalf, I've– I'd like to come, if that's all right with you. Am I too late?"
"No need to worry, Master Baggins, you're right on time. Climb up."
And that, long story long, was how Bilbo Baggins found himself at a dwarven ball halfway across Arda. When the wizard had said he had connections, Bilbo had never thought they were the kind that would warrant an invitation to this kind of party.
The coronation itself had been lovely, if a little boring. Bilbo had sat with Gandalf at the back of the large chamber, so was unable to see any of the proceedings. Instead he had been busy admiring the giant sloping ceilings and ornate chandeliers that adorned the room.
The ballroom too was a spectacle. It was filled with more gemstones than Bilbo had ever seen in all his life. And the music, oh the music was divine. He knew Gandalf was at this ball somewhere, but he could not manage to find him, the wizard having disappeared shortly after they had arrived muttering something about dwarven pipeweed.
That left Bilbo alone amongst these crowds of strange dwarrow celebrating their new king. This whole excursion had been nice and all, but Bilbo really had no desire to stay here much longer simply to stand in the corner and admire the crown moulding. He was just about to slip out of the ballroom and escape to the quiet of the kitchens when he saw him.
Across the floor of swaying dancers Bilbo made eye contact with the most striking dwarf he'd ever seen (not that he'd seen any at all before today but his point stills stood). Among all the hobbits of the Shire, this dwarf would've been an oddity indeed, but here, amongst his kin, his short dark beard and long braids made him appear rather dashing. Dark robes, the colour of deep cobalt, wrapped his body and highlighted his piercing blue eyes.
The stranger's eyebrows rose and Bilbo himself out of it. He had just been caught staring. He shouldn't be thinking about this stranger's piercing blue eyes, he hardly knew the dwarf! Looking away awkwardly he searched the crowd for Gandalf. Where was that wizard when you needed him?
In his scan of the crowd Bilbo noticed that the dwarf was no longer standing across the dancing circle, instead he was moving determinedly through the crowd. Oh Yavanna, he was coming over. Bilbo turned, scanning the room for any escape from this conversation that would doubtlessly involve him being reprimanded for his supreme lack of basic manners. He found nothing.
A tap on his shoulder alerted Bilbo that the dwarf had finally made his way through the crowd. Inwardly cursing himself, Bilbo turned and looked up at the dwarf. How was he even more stunning up close? Instead of kicking Bilbo out of the kingdom for his rudeness, the dwarf did the thing Bilbo least expected: he introduced himself.
"Hello, I am Thorin Oakenshield. Welcome to Erebor…"
"Bilbo Baggins," Bilbo supplied, shifting his weight from side to side. "Thank you for having me."
"The pleasure is all mine," the dwarf, Thorin, responded. He took Bilbo's hand and, bowing, brushed his lips over the back of his hand. Bilbo tried to will away the redness creeping up his cheeks but it was no use, he'd always had the unfortunate proclivity of looking like a tomato and that was not about to change now.
Rising from his bow seemingly oblivious to his effect on Bilbo, Thorin asked, "Would you do me the honour of accompanying me for this dance?"
As he was unable to congure any intelligent response Bilbo simply nodded and let himself be whisked onto the dance floor. While they talked the music had changed from a lively jig to a song that was slower, but no less beautiful.
Bilbo could feel the eyes on him as he ventured out of the crowd with Thorin's hand in his. Why had he thought this was a good idea? He didn't even know how to dance! Surely Thorin would now think him an idiot and not worth his time. As the dance started in earnest Thorin took the lead, guiding Bilbo's hand up to his shoulder and clasping his other hand in his while Bilbo felt Thorin's remaining hand fall to his waist.
It was clear as they began to turn about the floor that Thorin was an excellent dancer, though it was difficult to focus on his skill when Bilbo could feel the warmth eminating from Thorin's body as it pressed against his own. With each spin Thorin appeared to lose more and more of his rigid formality, instead surrendering himself to the motion of the dance as if it were as natural as breathing. Their eyes remained locked while the unhurried music wove itself around them, as though the pull between them was more important than anyone else in the whole grand hall.
But Bilbo should have known it was not to last when a white-haired dwarf came up behind them, clearing his throat and snapping them out of whatever daze they'd been in. The dwarf bowed once before addressing Thorin. "Your Majesty, the delegates from the Iron Hills are still waiting by the dias."
Thorin scowled, shaking his head as he replied, "Iklifumunî, Balin, can't you see I'm–"
Bilbo didn't stay long enough to hear the rest of their conversation, he'd already heard enough. Enough to realize his gigantic mistake, so before Thorin was done talking to this Balin dwarf, before he could even turn his head back to Bilbo, Bilbo took the chance and disappeared into the crowd.
All this time he had been dancing with the newly crowned King!? How could he not have seen it? Thorin– The king did have a regal air about him, and he certainly had the looks of a king. Yavanna, why out of all the dwarrow in this blasted hall had Bilbo had to choose the blasted king to dance with?
A little voice in his head told him that he already knew the answer, but Bilbo pushed that thought away instantly. True, he had almost begun to think that Thorin was his One. The pull between them had felt real, hadn't it? But that was out of the question now, after all, Bilbo knew better than to think himself worthy of a dwarven king.
In his rush to escape Bilbo now found himself lost in the halls of Erebor. He was about to give up, sink to the floor, and cry when he noticed a strange crack in the wall. Upon further examination, and a slight nudge from Bilbo, the wall shifted, revealing what appeared to be a… secret balcony?
Bilbo ventured out carefully, not entirely certain he was supposed to be out here, however it was so inviting he was unable to resist. The balcony seemed to be well used, with pillows strewn about as if someone used the space often. As Bilbo peered over the railing he realized he could see the ballroom he had just left, however from up here it didn't appear so daunting. He wondered where Thorin was down there, if he had met with those delegates that–
"Looking for something?"
The voice from behind started Bilbo so much for a second he feared falling over the edge of the balcony. He spun around quickly, only to find Thorin standing there, leaning against the doorway he had clearly just entered from.
"Your Majesty!" Bilbo exclaimed, beginning to bow in an attempt to make up for his earlier indiscretions, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Please don't. I have no need for all that fanfare, truly." Thorin's deep voice washed over him and Bilbo almost forgot to be embarrassed. "Up here I'm simply Thorin."
"But you're the king, aren't you needed down there? I heard that dwarf mention the Iron Hills–"
Thorin's mouth twitched. "Erebor has managed without a king for this long I figure they can last the rest of the night."
"Well I wouldn't say a dragon infestation is 'managing.'" Bilbo chuckled. At the sound of his laugh, Thorin glanced away quickly, like the sound had undone a part of him that he had fought too long to keep hidden.
"You know of Smaug?" Thorin murmered, recovering himself.
Bilbo winced. Perhaps he shouldn't have said anything. "The journey here was rather long, and the wizard I was travelling with was quite talkative…"
Then Thorin smiled. "That's Gandalf for you." He moved from the doorway to settle himself on one of the cushions. "How did you find this place?"
Bilbo lowered himself onto a pillow opposite Thorin. "I couldn't take much more of the crowds down there. I happened to see the crack in the wall and I gave it a nudge, not expecting anything. How wrong I was." Though it still felt peculiar to find himself in such an informal situation with a King, now that he knew Thorin could never be his One, Bilbo felt much more at ease with him. "Do you come here often?"
"It's my escape," Thorin replied simply, looking about the cozy space with a fond gleam in his eye.
"What do you have to escape from tonight?"
Fingers toying with the tassel of his cushion Thorin remarked, "You have no idea…"
Their conversation continued late into the night and strangely, Bilbo found it exceedingly easy to talk to Thorin. As the evening progressed and the sounds from the ballroom beneath them quieted, their conversation changed from light topics to more serious ones, before eventually landing on the one topic Bilbo never wanted to touch.
"Do hobbits have soulmarks?" Thorin asked after a moment of silence, reaching up to run his hand through his hair.
Of all the questions to ask, it just had to be this one. "No, hobbits don't have soulmarks…" Bilbo returned quietly.
Thorin let out a resigned sigh. "Maybe that's better for you. More often than not, soulmarks are more trouble than they're worth."
Bilbo's heart broke for Thorin. "What makes you say that? Surely being tied to another, the one you are destined for, could never be such a horrible burden."
"It is a burden when your mark is the cause of ridicule. Even when I was young I was expected to be king, a great leader with a strong soulmark to match." Sighing once more, Thorin shrugged off his outer robe as he explained, "Dwarrow receive marks reminiscent of designs carved from stone, meant to symbolize the enduring nature of our love. Mine is… not that."
He continued to speak as he uncovered his arms, the process seemingly meditative for the king. "My mark was late in appearing, so late that my whole family began to believe that I was among the dwarrow who are bonded to their craft rather than another soul. However after it did show up around my 80th year, I almost wished it had never come at all."
With Thorin's arms now bare before him, Bilbo could see a strangely familiar pattern winding its way up the king's arm. His pattern. On Thorin's skin the flowers he saw everyday in the mirror looked both foreign and familiar at once. Bilbo had to fight the urge to run his fingers over Thorin's arm.
"I was told to cover it," Thorin continued, eyes downcast, "after all, no one wants a king whose own soulmark reflects fragility instead of the devotion required to care for his kingdom and his One."
Despite his better judgement Bilbo reached forward and rested his hand over Thorin's. "I don't think that these flowers represent fragility, much the opposite. I don't know about that strange angular flower, but I have these hyacinths in my garden back at home and they are some of the hardest perennials I've ever grown. Even after the harshest winter they come back. They keep coming back, spring after spring, year after year."
Hesitantly Thorin pointed to his own arm. "This flower is edelweiss, an alpine flower that grows on this very mountain."
Bilbo nodded sagely. "Only the strongest flowers could make the cliffs of Erebor their home. Don't you see? These flowers do not speak of weakness or fragility, but rather persistent, enduring love and that is an admirable quality to have in a leader if I do say so myself."
When Thorin raised his head Bilbo thought he could see tears in his eyes. "That is a very nice thought." After a few more moments of silence he spoke again. "Thank you for your company tonight, Bilbo. You've been kinder to me than I deserve and yet I've hardly asked you anything about yourself, at all."
"Oh, I really don't mind," Bilbo insisted, but it was too late, he'd piqued the king's interest.
"I'd wager you're awfully far from your home. What brought you all the way out to Erebor?"
Bilbo shifted on his cushion, his leg accidentally brushing Thorin's. "I suppose I simply came to find something I was missing."
"And have you found it?" Thorin's voice was soft, softer than Bilbo would except from any king.
Feeling Thorin's inquisitive gaze resting on him Bilbo met Thorin's eyes as he replied, "I think I'm beginning to."