Chapter Text
“These are your diplomatic documents?”
Bilbo’s voice was incredulous. The dusty halls of Erebor were slowly being cleaned and repaired and with each step Bilbo found himself learning more about the resolute kingdom that called the mountain home. However, his awe regarding the heritage of his new family was paused as he observed the limited store of documents that marked the long reign of Durin’s foreign affairs.
“This is it?” Bilbo's voice continued to rise, “I have more documented family history than this, and that's just of the Tooks!”
Balin, Thorin, and Dis all exchanged glances as they watched the dwobbit explore the dusty room. Truth be told, diplomacy was rarely a concern of the kings or Erebor. They had ruled an isolated people, then a mutually beneficial trade empire. There had been little need to document peace talks, trade agreements, or war time meetings. Instead, in a separate hall, there was a wide collection of provenances regarding the vast treasures and oncoming goods of the mountain's past. They were dwarves after all, and dwarves had priorities.
The mention of the Tooks, Bilbo’s other family, was another reason for the sharp glances between the adults. With winter descending over the mountain it had been decided that Bilbo would stay within Erebor until the weather permitted a safer journey to collect his things and end his business in the Shire.
The dwobbit, despite his formal adoption, was still awkward about his belonging to the line of Durin. Something that Thorin, Fili, Kili, Dis, and every member of the party tried to assuage. Bilbo hid it well, his smile was almost always present, barring situations like this when his shrewd mind was flabbergasted at the abysmal record keeping of the Dwarrow. Thorin often caught Bilbo worrying the beads decorating his slowly lengthening hair. The simple action was incredibly reminiscent of Frerin’s own nervous behaviors. Thorin was lost everyday battling the past and present as he tried to adjust himself to the crown that decorated his brow. The shift from refugee warrior to king was not an easy one and he often wished himself sweating in the forge instead of leaning over alliances and maps. Life was good, but the simplicity of the wandering days was lost.
“Truly, did you expect we would have vast documents of each foreign relation?” Thorin let humor coat his voice.
“Yes!”
“By Mahal!” Dis exclaimed, “we are dwarves, irakadshat, not elves, lengthy histories are better recorded over a fire and a pint, not on paper.”
“But, but,” Bilbo stuttered out.
“But what?” Thorin gently rested his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, steering him out of the room, “we have time enough to document things now, and you have yet to enlighten me on your ongoing garden plans.”
That quelled the commentary on their poor records as Bilbo humphed in the direction of the small study he’d been offered. Thorin could only rub the bridge of his nose as he followed. Dis shooting him a sympathetic smile as she headed toward the main halls. Why had she not warned him of the trials of parenting?
Truly, even a hint would have been helpful.
“I was thinking an orchard would be nice. The ground is fertile and while the trees won’t really offer much for the first couple years they will go a long way in maintaining Erebor’s stores.”
Bilbo unfurled a small sketch. Thorin leaned over it, his hand curling around Bilbo’s shoulders as he examined the plan. It contained a flower meadow, with a small section for an apiary, herb garden, orchard, and a series of terraced vegetable patches around the outer walls. The spacing seemed random, however, Thorin trusted that Bilbo had surveyed the stone and soil for the most appropriate locations for each plant.
“This is well crafted,” Thorin murmured.
The subtle praise caused the tips of Bilbo’s ears to pinken. The dwobbit was still unused to the positive and encouraging sentiments passed upon him by his Dwarven kin, a fact that still flared resentment toward the creature's kin in the Shire deep with the king under the mountain's heart.
“We will begin the construction of the necessary plant beds as soon as possible. Come spring all will be ready to begin the garden, karkith.”
The fidgeting creature still looked nervous and Thorin sensed there was more bothering his son than the disastrous records room.
"Tell me," Thorin sighed as he sat down beside his child, "what bothers you on such a day as this, hmmm, the sun is out and yet here you hide."
"I'm not hiding."
"You aren't?" Thorin tugged at one of Bilbo's braids, "then why haven't your cousins seen you all day? I know for a fact Kili asked for you to join him in his studies, in fact, you are to be given a tutor of your own soon."
"I don't need more schooling, I assure you, I have had a complete education,"
"Of the Shire," Thorin interrupted, "You have an education befitting one of your status in the Shire, but, Karkith, Bilbo, you are not just of the Shire. You need a proper education in the ways of your people here."
"Why can't you tutor me," Bilbo pouted, truly, his lip pushed out as his hands wove through his hair.
Thorin sighed again, the weight of the crown an uncomfortable one in this moment, "I am king, time has become a…commodity. I wish to spend my time with you, my family, but I do not wish to spend it on education and duty. You are my son, mine to treasure, I fear that if I were to educate you on matters of state and culture we would lose the little pleasures this familial life has brought to us, do you sense the reason behind my words?"
Bilbo simply nodded, his eyes directed downward.
"Come," Thorin scooped Bilbo into a hug, nestling the little figure under his chin as he let the words rumble through him, "tell me what is on your mind, we may yet find a solution."
"Do you think they miss me?"
The question was so muffled that Thorin had to pause for a second in order to decipher it.
"I believe anyone who was blessed enough to know you would be prone to missing your presence."
"Yes, you have to say that, I believe it's in the contract somewhere, clause 5, section c if I'm not mistaken," Bilbo pushed away from Thorin with a huff, "but do you think they miss me?"
Thorin did not, but he did not wish to say it. The Thain, a bespectacled old man of great cheer and seemingly little substance, had accepted the Dwarrow's request of Bilbo's aid almost too eagerly. There had been no worry, no hesitation, and no perceived examination of the quest's mission and dangers. These evidences, compiled with Bilbo's own narration of his time in the Shire led Thorin to believe that he was not a missed figure. Maybe one or two hobbits missed the fellow, his gardener had seemed of good stock, but that was all. If he were to be completely honest, the disappearance of Bilbo probably freed several hobbits up to do mischief they had long since been planning against both the dwobbit and his estate. Perhaps they should send a missive, something to let the Shire know its brightest star was still living. If only to prevent the worst of the mischief that was no doubt already underway. The few tales Bilbo had told of his cousins, of Lobelia, had seemed…less than ideal to the stoic dwarf.
"You don't think they miss me, do you?"
It seems Thorin's hesitation had voiced what he himself was unwilling to say.
"I cannot speak for them, gulmalûm."
Bilbo sighed, his head leaning back against the cool stone. Slowly, his breathing matched a new rhythm, Thorin suspected that it was the mountain's breath. The silence between them was not light, but it was not as heavy as one might have suspected.
"I didn't think they would."
Thorin let himself stay silent, the reassurances on his tongue biding their time.
"I couldn't tell how long it had been since someone had come to visit. I hadn't had cause to host in ages, despite the unconventional circumstances I did greatly enjoy preparing that dinner," Bilbo's eyes were closed as a smile tilted his lips upward, "I still haven't forgiven Gandalf for the chaos though…I should have a nephew soon you know, my cousins Primula and Drogo had only just announced their expectation of a child a week before we departed. I have so much family there, in the Shire, and I know, I know, I have family here, but…"
The smile was gone from Bilbo's face as he finished talking. Thorin didn't know what to say. There was no perfect method, no ideal words, no generalized script to address the grief brought on by family. How could he wipe away tears that never fell?
"But your mother is there."
"My mother is dead."
That flat tone. Thorin was growing familiar with it, familiar with the malaise that came over his son from time to time. An emptiness, so hollow, that Thorin had often observed in the weary soldiers of his people was also present in his gulmalûm.
"She may be dead, but her spirit is not. Nor is her legacy, Bilbo," Thorin tugged at the braids once more, "you have her memories there, and in your heart. It is not a weakness to revisit the past and your homestead to see what still remains for you, only do not lose yourself in what might have been."
The dwarf was speaking to his own heart. He had Frerin's legacy in front of him, memories of a brother behind him…the past was always waiting to tear at your heart it seemed.
"No, you're right. I am losing myself in the maybes," Bilbo butted his head against Thorin's hand, "I suppose I hoped that my leaving the Shire might make those tied in blood reconsider their feelings toward me."
"They may have."
Bilbo just looked up at his uncle tiredly, "maybe."
"Come, Fili will be done with his lesson and he told me of a new braid he wished to adorn you with, I think, while Kili remains with his tutor," Thorin stood and smiled down at his child with a beckoning hand, "that now is your best chance to have a peaceful exchange with Fili."
Bilbo cracked a smile, the hollowness still hidden in his eyes, but not as present as it had been mere minutes ago. Thorin would watch for the emptiness. It would not overcome his son. Perhaps he would talk to the healers, they had ways with sicknesses of the mind.
The two meandered through the halls, the bustling dwarrow filling the old rooms with new life as Erebor prepared for the winter. It didn't take them long to find Fili, he was occupied in his rooms, adjacent to the other royal suites, seated in a wheelchair by one of the great tapestries. Thorin greeted his nephew with a pressed kiss on the crown of his head. The king under the mountain thanked Mahal everyday in his heart for the survival of his blood. The jewels of his family, so bright in their youth, were the salvation of his soul. Bilbo…the dwobbit's stubbornness, his persistence and faith had brought light back and Thorin had seen his blessings emerge from the shadows.
"I trust you two will refrain from any mischief if I leave?"
"Uncle, how could you even suggest we would know how to engage in mischief, Kili's not with us," Fili said with a perfectly innocent expression decorating his face.
"Yes, we are two well adjusted, responsible, individuals. No mischief will occur."
Bilbo and Fili's affirmations did not give Thorin the ease of spirit that he wished they did. There would be mischief, he and Dis would be called, and without a doubt, there would be some paperwork involved. There was no silence under the mountain anymore, and Thorin wouldn't change it for the world.