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Chapter Text

“At dusk I tempt the sun,
set a glass of water on the ledge,
to lure it into clarity and cold.”

Sneaking a glance to his left, and then to his right, checking that the stone walkway was clear, Bilbo reached up and curled his fingers over a dusty ledge, establishing a sure grip on the red, rocky wall of the sparring arena. He’d received many a reprimand from the arena supervisors over the years for deciding that the doors which led to the Temple’s training ground simply weren’t good enough for him – and instead deciding to scale the arena’s wall and climb over the top of it into the stands.

Of course, much to the supervisors’ annoyance, Gandalf had positively encouraged it. He agreed with his padawan’s reasoning that it was playing to his strengths as a Jedi: that he was able to pass by unseen and light on his feet. He also understood Bilbo’s point that as the arena’s walls were part of the original mountain that was the very foundation of the Jedi Temple, the rock itself was holy ground, sacred to their Order, and spending some time reacquainting oneself with it should hardly be frowned upon. Equally, Bilbo simply enjoyed getting a look at possible sparring partners before officially entering the arena… Walking in through the doors always provided a moment of awkwardness, especially if one was the only Hobbit the Order had seen for ninety-seven solar years, and so Bilbo preferred to assess the arena before making his presence known.

Pulling himself up onto the first ledge with ease, Bilbo began to climb. His bare feet, although made for grass and soft soil, had been through much since he first began his training as a youngling, and as a result they were now far more a help than a hindrance – whatever the other Jedi may think of them. Gandalf said he was as sure-footed as a Brentaalan mountain goat, and Bilbo had learnt to take it as a compliment.

Half-way up the wall, Bilbo found he had to change the path of his ascent due to a large boulder outcrop with no discernible footholds, and so, summoning a few wisps of Force to keep him steady, he edged over to his left until he was able to continue his climb, the lightsaber on his belt clinking lightly against the rock.

He was looking forward to sparring again. His first solo mission for the Order had been a successful but arduous affair. He’d been sent to Taris, an urban planet in the Ojoster sector of the Outer Rim, to help settle some of the civil unrest between the noble families and the underclasses. Bilbo had personally drawn up a treaty which, after several tendays of negotiations, both parties agreed to sign and he had left the planet triumphant. He knew the Order had him pegged as a negotiator, but in his debriefing with the Jedi High Council, he had made sure he explained in great detail his foiling of an early assassination attempt and his pursuing and capture of the culprit. 

The debriefing, as it turned out, seemed to last almost as long as the negotiations did with Master Saruman questioning him on every insignificant detail, to the point where it felt more like an interrogation. It didn’t help that he could sense Gandalf and Master Galadriel communicating telepathically throughout the proceedings, making rather snarky comments about Master Saruman. With his training bond only recently severed at the conclusion of his Trials, Bilbo could still feel the odd echo of his former master’s thoughts, and it was with a pang that he realised, as insufferable as Gandalf could be, he greatly missed their bond. His mind was silent now, filled solely with his own musings and the occasional shiver of communication when he and Gandalf were in closer proximity, and he was left alone with only the Force’s presence for company.

With a soft sigh, Bilbo wound the threads of these negative thoughts into a tight ball and then dispersed them into the Force, quieting his mind once again. It was dangerous to dwell on such things, and really, there was much to be glad about.

He was nearing the crumbling battlements at the top of the wall when a flash of red and yellow caught his eye: a single Jebwa flower, usually native to Corellia, was peeking out from the depths of a scar-like crack in the rock. Adjusting his footing so he could move closer, Bilbo leaned across and stretched out his fingertips, gently stroking a red petal between finger and thumb. He felt a tingling trickle of energy flow from the flower, sparking at the pads of his fingers and filling him with a soft, gentle happiness. His home may be far across the Galaxy, but he was still a Hobbit after all, and it was only natural that he should find such delight in growing things.

Shire, Bilbo’s homeworld, was a small, green planet in the Eriador System, tucked away in a quiet corner of the Republic. Although it was part of an intergalactic trade route, Shire very rarely had anything to do with outsiders. Its people were a gentle, peaceful race who had little interest in the goings on in the Republic and they rejected most developed technology in the favour of simple, ancient methods that had served them well for several millennia. In fact, the only Hobbit who regularly left the planet was Shire’s representative in the Galactic Senate and she was thought to be a very odd sort of fellow.

And so, it understandably caused quite a stir when, one night, a very tall Jedi Master showed up on Bungo and Belladonna Baggins’ doorstep unannounced and disappeared off the next day with their baby. Bilbo knew his mother, thought very strange indeed by other Hobbits, had very probably been a Force-sensitive and therefore it had been no surprise to Gandalf that her son should be born a Force-adept. Jedi were so rarely found amongst Hobbits and although his parents had been devastated at losing him, Gandalf had always told Bilbo just how proud they were to see him being taken off to Coruscant to start his training.

Bilbo hadn’t been back to Shire for almost forty solar years, not since the death of his parents, and so little reminders of home, even if they were only a Jebwa flower growing out of red, dusty rock, were welcomed, and Bilbo took what strength he could from them.

With a little bout of scrambling that would probably make most Jedi cringe, Bilbo clambered over the top of the arena’s wall and dropped down into the stands. He straightened up and dusted down his dark brown robes with a quick patter of hands. Eyes scanning the training ground, Bilbo’s fingers unconsciously sought out his padawan braid – a little nervous habit he had developed over the years – but found only short, golden bristles behind his leaf-shaped ear from where it had been cut by Gandalf at his Knighting ceremony. Instead, Bilbo’s hands moved over his curls to the short, stubby ponytail at the back of his head, tied with thin leather cord – another sign of an apprentice that he wasn’t quite ready to relinquish. Gandalf had conceded that he may keep the ponytail for his first solo mission, as a form of security and a reminder of his training, but even this should really be cut – like his braid and their bond – during his stay at the Jedi Temple.

Settling himself on a stone bench at the top of the stands and folding his legs into an almost meditative pose, Bilbo’s grey-green gaze moved over the arena below. Many sparring sessions were already in full-swing, with Jedi Knights, senior padawans, and masters with their older apprentices moving about their designated squares in graceful, practiced movements. Flashes of blue and green could be seen in every corner, the Jedi’s lightsabers standing out starkly against the sandy ground. And the whole arena thrummed with the triumphant, harmonising flow of the Force, as each fighter channelled it into every stroke and attack.

This would be Bilbo’s first time sparring as a Knight and not a senior padawan and he was looking forward to duelling with a fellow Knight… or perhaps even a Master, if there were any left without partners. Slipping from the bench, Bilbo made quick work of the stone steps and soon he felt soft, warm sand beneath his feet. Few Jedi looked over as he entered the arena, although he did receive a few knowing smiles from padawans who realised he must have alluded the supervisors and sneaked in over the wall again.

Squinting against the sun that was still high in Coruscant’s light blue sky, Bilbo selected a free square, the one furthest from the sparring arena’s entrance, that would be suitable for his warm-up katas. He unhooked a small square of cream fabric from his belt and unfolded it into mat that covered about half of the sparring space – not all Jedi used mats for their katas, but as Bilbo’s preferred warm-up exercises involved some kneeling poses and some acrobatics, he’d always followed Gandalf’s lead in using one. Shrugging off his cloak, he folded it neatly and placed it at the edge of the mat.

The kata, inspired by the trees he had seen when he last visited Shire and other green planets, began in a meditative kneeling pose, with slow, deliberate movements. Bilbo closed his eyes and worked his way through the kata, his mind becoming absolutely focused as he felt the Force singing through each flex of his muscles, each bend of his arms, each step his feet took on the mat.

He was almost completely lost to the exercise when he suddenly felt a tremor in the Force and his eyes shot open. It wasn’t a disquieting shudder, like the disturbances he felt when he and Gandalf were out on missions and something was about to go very, very wrong… No, this was more like an insistent prickling at his fingertips, a tugging somewhere beneath his ribs. It was, altogether, a very curious, unfamiliar sensation and Bilbo’s eyes surveyed the sparring arena, looking for the source of this unexpected trembling.

It was then that Bilbo spotted a group of Dwarven Jedi standing by the training ground’s entranceway. They may not have been the cause of the Force’s twitchings, but their presence was still very unusual and they seemed to be attracting quite a bit of attention – albeit of a fairly subtle nature, as Jedi were, naturally, very tactful people. A few heads turned, and training bonds were clearly in full flow of discussion, but then Masters reminded their padawans to focus their minds and the sparring sessions were once again resumed.

Bilbo, however, paused his kata and narrowed his eyes at the newcomers. There were four of them: two Masters and two padawan learners by the looks of it. Even from a distance, Bilbo recognised their distinct braids and patterned robes as identifying features of Dwarven Jedi from Ered Luin, a mountainous, sparsely populated planet in the Outer Rim. If they heralded from Ered Luin, it was likely that their families had once lived on Erebor in the Rhovanion System. It was very unclear, even to the Order, what had happened to the Dwarves’ homeworld – they were a very secretive race and had stalwartly refused the Republic’s help in the matter – all that was known was the planet had been invaded and the Dwarves had fled half-way across the galaxy to settle anew.

If Dwarves were secretive, then the Jedi amongst them were even more so. They were infamously distrustful of the Republic and tended not to venture to Coruscant unless absolutely necessary, preferring to take lengthy missions beyond the Outer Rim. Dwarven Jedi were warriors, not negotiators, and if Bilbo was honest, from the tales Gandalf told, they seemed a little lightsaber happy. They had led their people in many campaigns this past millennia, some more successful than others, and this had cemented their reputation as battle-hardened, formidable combatants.

Another intriguing thing about Dwarven Jedi was the unprecedented prevalence of soul-bonds amongst their ranks. Soul-bonds between Jedi had always existed, of course, long before the High Council chose to recognise them and legitimise this unique form of attachment. But, for some reason, as rare as soul-bonds were, they were most often found amongst Dwarven Jedi – and as Force-adept parents are bound to produce Force-adept children, there were whole families of Jedi to be found on Dwarven planets and Masters regularly took on their relatives as padawan learners.

Bilbo’s eyes moved from the older, bearded Dwarves to their younger charges, wondering if they were family and knowing this was likely to be the case. The group seemed to be taking their time sussing out the arena and when they continued to do very little for a few long moments, Bilbo decided it was best not to be rude and to stop staring. He reluctantly closed his eyes and continued with his kata, twisting his body in smooth, lunging motions.

He was dipping down into a particularly gruelling stretch when he felt the Force tickling at his fingertips again, the same thrill shooting through him, and then he heard voices – sounding much closer to him than the arena entranceway.

“But all the senior padawans are already paired up, Master… I don’t want to spar with Kili again!”

“Hey! What’s wrong with sparring with me?”

“You’re far too predictable.”

“Am not!”

“By the Force, will both of you be quiet… Look, we may have found you a sparring partner, Fili.”

Bilbo knew, before he opened his eyes, what he was going to find… and, sure enough, there were four Dwarven Jedi assembled at the edge of his kata mat. He slowly lowered his arms and straightened up, unsure why he suddenly felt his heart thumping against his chest.

“Greetings, padawan,” said one of the bearded Jedi Masters, his voice a soft, deep rumble. 

He was at least a head taller than Bilbo with a broad, well-muscled build. His long, dark hair, which was shot through with silver, held two identical braids, although Bilbo wasn’t sure what they were supposed to signify. And his eyes were the same blue as one of Shire’s moons, although Bilbo chided himself for even drawing this parallel – especially when he was still bristling over the Dwarf’s assumption that he was a padawan learner.

When Bilbo made no reply, he continued: “I am Master Thorin and this is my apprentice, Fili.”

Master Thorin indicated the young, golden-haired Dwarf to his left who was the shortest of the four but still stocky in build. Bilbo was intrigued by his braided moustache, wondering if this was a normal practice for Dwarven padawans. Fili made a short, respectful bow and gave Bilbo a warm smile.

“And this is Master Dwalin and his apprentice, Kili.”

The second Jedi Master was even taller than Master Thorin and resembled a small mountain. His head was bald and tattooed – a practice almost exclusive to Dwarven Jedi – and there was a distinct, pale scar running across his eyebrow and over his forehead. From what Bilbo could see, he had no lightsaber at his belt and going by the leather buckles across his shoulders, Bilbo would wager that his weapons were actually strapped to his back.

Kili, his apprentice, was lither than his kin and although there was dark stubble colouring his cheeks, he had no braids to speak of. Bilbo was also surprised to see what was most definitely a blaster attached to his belt, along with his lightsaber.

Both Master Dwalin and Kili bowed, holding their sleeved hands in front of them, and then the group stared at Bilbo expectantly, obviously beginning to wonder if they were about to encounter a language barrier and this would explain his silence.

“P-pleased to make your acquaintance,” Bilbo said quietly, remembering his manners, and he swallowed, a little nervously, before adding: “But I’m not a padawan learner, I’m a Jedi Knight.”

Master Thorin immediately let out a low chuckle and Bilbo shot a glare at him, squaring his shoulders a little. On realising his mistake, the Jedi’s eyes widened slightly, before he turned to his kin with a smirk.

“Really? He looks more like a youngling than a Jedi Knight.”

The other Dwarves sniggered, only making Bilbo’s irritation prickle further, and before he could stop himself, he replied: “Well, you have manners more befitting a rancor than a Jedi Master, but I suppose there’s no helping that.”

Both Fili and Kili almost choked on their laughs before they were silenced by stern looks from their masters and they quickly straightened up, schooling their expression into something more neutral, even if their eyes did remain bright with glee.

It was then that Master Thorin stepped forward onto the kata mat, his heavy, dark leather boots pushing it further into the sand, and he actually began to walk around Bilbo, as if inspecting him. Bilbo was surprised to feel the Force give another tingling pull at the bottom of his ribcage, but he told himself this was just out of annoyance for being treated like a derlac at a Kian’thar cattle market.

“Tell me, Jedi Knight, who was your Master?” Master Thorin asked, eyes lingering on Bilbo’s lightly-wooled bare feet.

“My name is Bilbo Baggins,” Bilbo replied through slightly-gritted teeth, as he attempted to release his irritation into the Force. “And I was trained by Master Gandalf.”

A murmur of excitement passed between Fili and Kili.

“But he’s a member of the Jedi High Council, isn’t he?” Kili asked, looking suitably impressed.

“Yes, well, Master Gandalf is notorious for his strange taste in padawans,” Master Thorin said, sounding almost bored.

Bilbo told himself his fingers most definitely didn’t twitch for his lightsaber, but Force help him he was going to need a lot of palomella tea and a long stint in the Temple’s meditation gardens once this encounter was over.

At least Fili and Kili’s genuine curiosity, vibrating through the Force surrounding them, was a little encouraging. The young padawans were obviously still in the process of building and sustaining their mental shields and so when Bilbo’s mind reached out, telepathic tendrils curling out like vines in the air, he could sense their intrigue at his training, his appearance, and their near obsession with his bare feet – they seemed to have an awful lot of questions about them.

In a moment of daring, Bilbo turned to Master Thorin, wondering if he could discover the source of his disdain, but he suddenly found the Dwarven Jedi’s mental shields slamming like blast doors in his face. Master Thorin seemed to have figured out exactly what he was intending and his blue eyes darkened as he stared down at Bilbo, almost threatening what would happen if he even thought about trying to enter his mind again. In retaliation – behaviour most definitely not befitting a newly-minted Jedi Knight – Bilbo raised up another layer of his own mental shields, implying that two could very much play at this game.

“My apprentice would like to spar with you,” Master Thorin stated, voice very much a growl this time, as he finished his inspection and returned to Fili’s side.

“I didn’t come to the arena to spar with padawans,” Bilbo answered curtly. “I would much rather spar with you.”

A shiver of surprise and anticipation ran through Fili and Kili, and even the silent, stoic Master Dwalin raised a bushy eyebrow. Master Thorin, however, only returned a glower.

“No,” he said bluntly. “You will spar with Fili or we will leave you to your solitary exercises.”

Bilbo felt a definite prickle between his ribs at this assertion of his solo status out on the training ground. Too many times had senior padawans refused to even consider sparring with him because of his strangeness, because they believed his abilities to be below their own. Bilbo had a way of showing them just how wrong they were, and this was going to be no exception.

“Very well,” he said, eyes moving to Fili, who was already beaming. “I will spar with Fili.”

Master Thorin gave a stiff nod, before putting his hand on Fili’s shoulder and whispering something to him in Khuzdul, the language of the Dwarves. Fili only grinned in reply, suddenly looking very eager and determined.

Bilbo stepped from the kata mat and used the Force to fold it back into a neat square with a few waves of his hand, before clipping it back onto his belt. Master Thorin, Master Dwalin, and Kili moved away to the edge of the sparring square and both Fili and Bilbo took their positions at either end.

Powering up the light blue blade of his lightsaber, Bilbo took the opening stance of the Ataru form and was pleased to see that Fili didn’t react: his limited knowledge of Dwarven combat was obviously correct and the young Jedi had no idea what was coming. In fact, Fili was looking fairly smug as he shrugged off his robes and pulled two lightsabers from his belt, igniting their bright green blades. He held one above his head, the other pointing forward in an attack position, and seemed to be under the impression that the fact that he was a dual-wielder was intimidating… Bilbo would tell him later that he’d regularly trained with a quadruple-wielding, four-armed Codru-Ji master from the distant planet of Munto Codru.

Bilbo waited, wrapping the Force around him, trying to slow his thundering heartbeat and focus on Fili in front of him and not on Master Thorin’s scowling expression. After one long moment, it was Master Dwalin who gave the signal, and Fili made his first mistake.

The young padawan lunged forward, immediately going on the offensive, but his strike met only air: Bilbo had somersaulted right over his head before he’d even had the chance to clash sabers. In one, smooth movement, Bilbo dropped down onto the ground behind the confused Dwarf and reaching his leg back, he hooked his foot around Fili’s ankle and pulled. Fili smacked down into the sand on his stomach, thoroughly winded, but still managing to turn onto his back – but not before Bilbo had his bare foot on his chest and had summoned his twin sabers to his hands. He held them crossed at the Dwarf’s throat, staring down at him with a wicked grin, his own lightsaber already secured on his belt.

“Yield?” he asked simply.

“How… how in the Force’s name did you do that?” Fili breathed, eyes wide with wonder. “Can your race teleport or something?”

“No, Fee! He flipped right over your head, it was amazing!” Kili called out, before being scolded into silence by Master Dwalin.

Master Thorin was suddenly standing by his padawan’s head, glaring down at him with a look of fury. He barked something in Khuzdul, avoiding all eye contact with Bilbo, followed by: “On your feet!”

He suddenly reached down and hauled his padawan up by the collar of his tunic, almost sending Bilbo toppling backwards, but he managed to right himself as Fili brushed himself off.

“Again,” Master Thorin stated, stepping back out of the square, dark blue eyes moving to Bilbo. “Return the lightsabers to my apprentice.”

Manners of a rancor, Bilbo thought again, or maybe that’s too kind… A nexu perhaps, or an acklay – definitely similarities in disposition there. Still, Bilbo held Fili’s sabers out to him, which he took with a quiet word of thanks. He twisted his back in a few stretches before getting into position, this time with one lightsaber held behind him, the other in front. Bilbo took a different Ataru starting position, one arm held out, palm flat, sensing the Force pulsing around them, the other, holding his lightsaber, was stretched out at his side. This time it was Master Thorin who gave the signal.

It was predictable really, when Fili took a step back, obviously anticipating more acrobatics, but this meant he was wholly unprepared for Bilbo’s forward assault and he almost didn’t block the blue saber as its stroke fell right in front of him. From that moment, Bilbo had the upper hand, and as they exchanged fairly furious blows, the young Dwarf found himself constantly fighting to keep up. Bilbo knew he could have bested Fili in two moves, like in their first match – if it could even be called that – but he wanted to show Master Thorin he was in no way a one-trick shaak. Instead, he let the young Dwarven padawan get a few blows in, if only to show his glaring Master just how easily he could block them.

Which he did, for a few more minutes, before Fili left himself open for one of Bilbo’s favourite tricks. He was fighting with a widened stance, his arms left unprotected beyond his lightsabers, and so when he raised his hand to deliver a higher blow, Bilbo grabbed his wrist with his free hand and flipped him over, dropping him down onto his back in the sand. Fili could do nothing but stare up at his sparring partner with a shocked, dazed expression as his lightsabers were once again summoned from him.

“Yield?” Bilbo asked, with another wicked grin.

“By the Force, Fili, you’re like three times the size of Knight Boggins… How in Mahal’s name did he do that?”

Bilbo couldn’t deny that Kili’s excited words cheered him and he could feel his awe throbbing through the Force around them. But then he reminded himself to let go of his pride – it was not becoming of a Jedi to boast. He held out a hand, which Fili gladly took, and pulled the padawan to his feet.

He then slowly turned to Master Thorin, who had a face like a Kaminoan storm cloud. Undeterred, Bilbo said simply: “I think I’d like to spar with you now, Master Thorin.”

“No,” Master Thorin replied, in a definite snarl. “I will not spar with you.”

Bilbo tried not to flinch, stung by the Jedi’s words in a way he couldn’t explain… and still there was that strange plucking at the centre of his chest, as if an insistent youngling were pulling at a Master’s hand, trying to show him something.

“Can I have a go then, Master?” Kili piped up, peering around Master Thorin, looking positively giddy.

But then Master Thorin was whirling around, his dark robes almost brushing Bilbo’s knees, and he looked to the young apprentice with disdain in his gaze. “Neither of you are to spar with Knight Baggins, do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” both Kili and Fili replied, looking bewildered.

“Good, now we shall return to our quarters for meditation: there are no suitable sparring partners in the arena today.”

And with that, Master Thorin strode away towards the training ground doors. Master Dwalin followed at his side, his expression giving nothing away, and then Fili and Kili hurried after them, exchanging looks of confusion and peering over their shoulders at Bilbo as they went, offering what seemed to be sympathetic smiles… but they did nothing to ease the disquiet in Bilbo’s mind.

Taking a few steady breaths, Bilbo tried to gather together the shreds of his irritation and hurt and release them into the Force, but still an ache remained. He had been involved in countless negotiations and battles with Gandalf during his training, but still he had never felt so despised… What exactly had he done that had offended Master Thorin so?

Sighing, Bilbo collected his brown cloak from the ground and slipped it on, brushing a few sand particles from his sleeves. He then made his way through the sparring squares to the arena’s entrance, choosing to exit via the traditional doors this time, trying not to notice the curious looks and whispers humming around him.

Yes, it was certainly going to take an awful lot of tea and meditation to make his peace with this afternoon.

Chapter Text

"At dawn I wake to find
a twist of albumen suspended,
sun snared in the act of setting,
unable to raise itself." 

“More tea, Knight Baggins?”

Bilbo looked up from his bowl of scrambled Quor’sav eggs to find Meggi T’rell, the Temple canteen’s head chef, standing at his table with a steaming pot of palomella tea poised over his empty glass mug.

“Thank you, Meggi,” Bilbo nodded. “And you know you can still call me ‘Bilbo’, don’t you?”

“Well, seen as it’s a title so well-earned, I figured I should use it,” Meggi replied, with a wink.

Feeling too tired to argue, Bilbo pulled the warm mug of tea towards him and closed his eyes, breathing in the fragrant, floral fumes that were curling up in delicate spirals from the gold-coloured tea. He had slept fitfully last night, no amount of meditation able to quieten his mind after the events in the sparring arena. His dreams had been uncomfortable, coming in short, confusing bursts, and so he had risen early, arriving at the Temple’s canteen just before dawn, finding it almost empty with only a few Jedi scattered amongst the silver tables.

Located on one of the highest levels in the Temple, the canteen had floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing its patrons to admire a rather breath-taking view of Coruscant’s cityscape whilst they ate their meals. The dawn sky was the colour of gargrell blossoms, a fiery orange shot through with pink and red, and the planet’s only sun crept higher and higher into the sky, peeking out from behind the domed Senate Building. Coruscant’s four moons were still visible, although with the growing light each one was now only a faint, curved brushstroke on the skyline’s bright canvas.

“How are your eggs?” came Meggi’s next gentle question, obviously not wanting to startle Bilbo from his thoughts.

“Oh, er, perfect as always,” he said, his smile genuine: everything Meggi cooked up in the kitchens was always beyond delicious.

The batch of scrambled Quor’sav eggs were particularly pale and fluffy this morning, lightly salted and more heavily seasoned so that their taste was just right. She had also provided him with a large intergalactic bread basket which featured warmed loaves from no less than seven different systems. The charcoal-toasted Shoo bread was a favourite of Bilbo’s, along with the five blossom rolls from Naboo and the bread-puffs which were best when dipped in different oils and butters – Meggi had set these out in little dishes for him before he could say a single word.

Meggi was a Force-sensitive Besalisk from Ojom, a planet in the Deep Core, a long way from Coruscant. Unlike her four-armed male counterparts, Meggi had six muscular arms, which meant she could cook up anything in a matter of minutes. Despite her bulky, seven-foot frame, she moved around the canteen and her kitchen with ease and a commanding grace: all Jedi at the Temple knew that this was her domain and to cross her would be a very dangerous move indeed.

“I hope those Tarisians haven’t been starving you,” Meggi commented casually, trying to mask her obvious concern as she bent down to get a closer look at Bilbo, her wattle wobbling as she tilted her head in scrutiny. “You’ve definitely lost weight.”

“Not much,” Bilbo said, a little defensively. “And the Tarisian nobles were falling over each other trying to fatten me up and win my favour, hoping I’d honour their interests in the negotiations.”

This wasn’t exactly untrue: the Tarisians had certainly taken a keen interest in the dietary habits of their Hobbit Jedi when Bilbo first arrived, plying him with food whilst also making their demands clear, but when the negotiations had become tense and time-consuming, the flow of food had ceased. Bilbo had turned to his trusty nutritional supplement capsules and snack bars as meal substitutes – the healers in the Medical Bay had given him a thorough examination when he returned from his mission and although they weren’t exactly happy about how much he had had to rely on the meal replacements they had provided, they had still declared him fit and healthy… and then sent him straight to Meggi at the Temple canteen.

But Bilbo was no stranger to such challenges, it was a fact he had always known to be true: that the Hobbit diet and Jedi lifestyle were not compatible, and so compromises sometimes had to be made. His body had adapted over the years, allowing him to go without his seven meals a day for some time without causing major damage to his health, but the healers were always looking for ways to ensure it never came to that. Whilst he was still a youngling, the Jedi High Council had been adamant that he should stick to his Hobbit dietary requirements: after all, they honoured the dietary practices of all their Order members.

This had, however, led to some teasing from the other padawans and one of Bilbo’s earliest memories was of ending up in a scrap with a Mon Calamari youngling because they’d shouted down the table: “If you eat so much, how come you’re still so small?” Meggi had pulled them apart and Bilbo had been so distraught she’d taken him off with her, back into the safety of the kitchen. She’d cradled him in one arm whilst she continued to tend to her steaming pots and pans with the other five. From that point on, Meggi and Bilbo had been firm friends, and he knew she was very fond of him, enjoying cooking for someone who actually appreciated her culinary skills and didn’t just see food as a necessity for survival.

“Can I get you anything else? More eggs? A Shoo bread refill?” Meggi pressed, her voice still soft, as if she knew Bilbo was preoccupied.

“No thank you, Meggi,” Bilbo said kindly, sipping his tea again. “But the bread basket was a real triumph.”

“I thought you might appreciate the addition of those five blossom rolls,” Meggi grinned. “Now, what can I rustle up for your second breakfast? I might as well get cracking on it!”

Bilbo paused. As much as he had enjoyed the breakfast spread Meggi had laid out for him, he wasn’t sure he could stomach another – his ill-coloured dreams and the strange tremors in the Force that had been plaguing him since yesterday afternoon had left him without his usual appetite.

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll have time to –” he began, but Meggi cut him off with a glare.

“Oh no you don’t, you will not be skipping meals on my watch, Bilbo Baggins!”

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but promptly shut it again, dropping his eyes to his half-empty mug of palomella tea and taking another sip.

“How about an omelette?” Meggi prompted, sounding contrite at having been so stern. “There are plenty of Quor’sav eggs left over… I could throw in some Tailring bacon, some topatos, maybe a few chunks of nuna sausage?”

“That does sound good,” Bilbo agreed, managing a smile. “But can I have Corellian instead of nuna sausage? It tastes better with bacon.”

Meggi let out a hearty laugh, her wattle trembling, and placed a soft hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Now you’re talking, tumble bunny, now you’re talking.”

Bilbo felt a warmth spread in his chest as Meggi used her nickname for him: although he knew he should be offended at being compared to one of the rabbit-like creatures that lived on the forest moon of Endor, he knew he would always be small in comparison to Meggi’s seven foot stature and there was no malice when she used it, only utmost affection. Bilbo was glad the Force had seen fit to bring Meggi into his life, and he would always be thankful to her for everything she had done for him.

There was a resounding hiss as the doors to the canteen slid open and Bilbo jumped, eyes darting towards them, but no Dwarven Jedi entered, only Elven Jedi Knights Legolas and Tauriel, who moved to take seats at a table by the window. Meggi had watched Bilbo’s reaction with narrowed eyes and now she slowly pulled out the chair opposite him and sat down.

“Something’s troubling you, Bilbo,” she murmured, with an unmistakably maternal expression. “If someone’s bothering you, I can always slip a Zabrak pepper into their scrimpi this evening?”

Bilbo sighed, fingers curling around the warm glass of his mug, Master Thorin’s angry words still echoing around the corners of his mind. He thought about telling Meggi the truth, about what had passed yesterday in the sparring arena, but then he also couldn’t deny the fact that he was no longer a youngling, nor was he a padawan learner: he was a Jedi Knight and he couldn’t ask Meggi to fight his battles for him. No, this was a challenge he must face alone.

“I’m just a little tired,” Bilbo said, smiling across at her. “I’m going to go to the Meditation gardens this morning – I think it’ll help, and then I’ll be back for my omelette.”

Meggi’s dark yellow eyes lingered on him for a few moments, but then she straightened up and rose from the table. “Right you are, Knight Baggins, I’ll go and get a skillet warmed up for you.”

With a parting smile, Meggi strode off back towards the kitchens, stopping off at Legolas and Tauriel’s table to take their order. Bilbo’s eyes scanned the canteen again before he downed the rest of his palomella tea, took a final bite of the remaining five blossom roll, shrugged on his brown robes, and then made his way towards the canteen doors.

…

The Jedi Temple meditation gardens were Bilbo’s absolute favourite place on all of Coruscant and, given his heritage, this was hardly surprising really. The gardens, in all their green and organic glory, were a distinct contrast to the rest of the planet’s ecumenopolis. Here, the noisy, chaotic lights and technological whirrings of the city were juxtaposed with the quiet rustlings of nature and whole place hummed with the steady, reassuring heartbeat of the Force.

Bilbo felt completely at home amongst the shrubbery and glittering, tinkling streams and waterfalls. The gardens were intersected by a maze of gravel and stone-paved paths which wound around trees and fountains, but Bilbo preferred to wander over the grass, feeling the blades, still wet and glistening with the morning dew, licking at his ankles and sticking to the soles of his feet.

He followed one of the larger streams, knowing that after a few bends and bridges, he would reach a little secluded grotto that was hidden away in the corner of the gardens: it was his favourite place to meditate and he was so rarely disturbed there that he was beginning to wonder whether other Jedi actually knew it existed.

An enormous Mimban lily pad floated past him, caught on the stream’s gentle current, and Bilbo smiled, remembering the afternoon he had spent meditating on one such lily pad and travelling slowly around the gardens’ waterways. At first he had thought Gandalf was trying to trick him when he said the Mimban lily pads could support his weight, but he’d been ecstatic to discover his Master hadn’t been lying and many other Jedi had caught on, joining him in enjoying this slightly unorthodox meditation practice. However, the lily pad’s only occupant today was a Klatooine paddy frog which croaked happily at Bilbo as it passed.

Looking into the shimmering water, Bilbo saw the shadows of Faa and Mee scalefish swimming downstream, some breaking apart from the group and going to look for food in the forests of Corulag bamboo by the opposite bank. Being surrounding by nature was so incredibly soothing for Bilbo and he let out a sigh of contentment as he drew closer to the grotto. He felt at peace here, he felt the Force flowing through him like the stream beside him; the darkness of his dreams dissipated into the morning mist and –

Bilbo stopped. He had just felt it again: a small, curious tremor in the Force around him… like its strings of energy were being gently plucked by an unseen hand. Bilbo turned around, but there was no one in sight, he was still alone in the gardens with only the trickling of the stream and the distant calls of whisper birds breaking the silence. Releasing his tension into the Force, Bilbo wondered why his heart had begun fluttering inside his ribcage, but this too, was another thought which he willingly cleared from his mind.

Rounding the final bend of the little river, he reached out and began to gently push through the leafy branches of the gardens’ undergrowth, following the grassy path to the hidden grotto. As his opened palms brushed over the branches he felt the Force wrapping around his fingers, tickling his knuckles in a way that was unknown to him… but perhaps this was simply the result of being once again reunited with nature after such a long time spent on a polluted, industrial planet such as Taris.

Successfully navigating his way through the trees, Bilbo stepped out into the small clearing and froze: Master Thorin was kneeling on his robes by the grotto’s pool, his back to Bilbo, lost in his own meditation.

Barely daring to breathe, Bilbo couldn’t stop his eyes from widening and he had to summon all of his willpower to stop himself from cursing under his breath. Of all the places to meditate in the Temple’s gardens, why in the Force’s name had Master Thorin chosen his favourite spot? It wasn’t like it was a very well-known grotto either – Jedi who spent most of their time on Coruscant didn’t even seem to know about it… so why had this Dwarven Jedi, the last person Bilbo really wanted to meet that morning, decided to challenge his claim to the grotto? Was the Force testing him? Well, Bilbo wanted no part in that – what he wanted was to meditate in peace, without distraction. At that moment he was very, very glad that he was so light on his feet. He was preparing to quite literally backflip out of this unwanted situation when Master Thorin stirred.

“Knight Baggins, please desist with your fretting and come and meditate.”

Bilbo felt his stomach twist with surprise and confusion: Master Thorin hadn’t turned his head once since his arrival – how did he know it was Bilbo standing behind him? And had the scowling Jedi Master really just extended an invitation to join him?

“I… I do not wish to disturb your meditation,” Bilbo stammered, unsure how he had found the strength to speak at all.

“You have already disturbed my meditation,” Master Thorin stated, in his usual blunt fashion.

Bilbo swallowed and took a step back, feeling his heart thumping against his chest, as he prepared to execute an impressive feat of acrobatics.

But then Master Thorin spoke again: “You may stay. Your presence is… not unpleasant.”

Ah, well it seems we’ve gone from severe disdain to mild indifference, Bilbo thought, wisely deciding against voicing this fact. Although he couldn’t deny that this was a serious improvement on their last meeting… and so, after a few moments of hesitation, he moved forward into the grotto and slipped off his robes. He folded them neatly and placed them on the grass in front of him, lowering himself down into a meditative kneeling pose, his hands coming to rest in his lap.

He sneaked a glance at Master Thorin, kneeling at his side. The Jedi Master had barely moved at all since Bilbo’s discovery of him by the grotto’s circular pool and his eyes remained closed, back ramrod straight but shoulders relaxed, his own hands resting on each of his knees. Feeling another peculiar ripple in the Force, Bilbo turned his face back towards the water and let his eyes flutter shut as he exhaled slowly.

“This is my favourite place to meditate,” he said, after a minute or so had passed. “I didn’t realise anyone else knew about it.”

He hoped Master Thorin wouldn’t sense his lingering irritation, but Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if the Dwarf had somehow figured this out and had chosen this spot to meditate as some kind of bizarre act of passive aggression.

It took Master Thorin a long time to reply, to the point where Bilbo believed he was actually being ignored, but then the Jedi Master murmured: “I am unfamiliar with these gardens… but the Force is very strong here.”

This was not the answer Bilbo had been expecting, but still he couldn’t argue with it. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he said quietly, opening one eye to peek at Master Thorin, who remained as still as stone at his side.

Deciding his unexpected companion was clearly not one for idle conversation, Bilbo settled himself down to his meditation. He closed his eyes and focused on guiding himself through some gentle breathing exercises, trying not to notice how his breaths fell into a rhythm with Master Thorin’s until they appeared to be inhaling and exhaling in unison. The Force wrapped itself around him as he quietened his mind, rushing over his skin and binding itself with every rise and fall of his chest… but the little, intermittent shivers continued. They’d definitely grown stronger since he entered the gardens, but Bilbo was still so very unsure of their source. Perhaps this was something he should ask Gandalf about later on today.

Bilbo wasn’t sure how long he had been carrying out his breathing exercises when the Dwarf’s soft rumble sounded from his right, startling him from his meditation so that he almost choked on a breath.

“I wish to apologise for my actions at the sparring arena yesterday,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I misjudged you.”

Apologise? Bilbo’s eyes flew open as he turned to Master Thorin, who remained as stoic as ever, holding his meditative pose and keeping his eyes firmly closed. His face was expressionless apart from a slight crease between his brows, and Bilbo was beginning to wonder if he might actually be hearing things.

“It… it’s alright,” he said, feeling a lump growing in his throat. “Most people underestimate me… I, er, I’m used to it.”

Master Thorin’s blue eyes finally flickered open and Bilbo was shocked to see his look of regret as he slowly turned to him. “But I was unkind to you,” he continued slowly. “And I did not set a good example for my apprentice… I am a Jedi Master, I should know better.”

Bilbo was aware that his mouth was hanging open slightly, so he quickly closed it, not wanting to gape at Master Thorin like one of the scalefish no doubt blubbing in the pool before them. But he hadn’t misheard… the Jedi Master was really expressing his remorse and Bilbo suddenly felt a giddiness stirring inside his chest.

“Masters have done much worse,” he said gently, as if trying to console him. “Gandalf accidentally left me on Yavin 4 once… The ship was halfway back to Coruscant by the time he realised.”

Master Thorin’s lips twitched into a smirk and Bilbo wasn’t sure whether he was pleased by his abandonment or he appreciated his humour… but he sincerely hoped it was the latter, and he had a strange feeling this might be the case.

“I shall tell Fili that story as a warning for the next time he loses a lightsaber,” Master Thorin said quietly, and his smirk became a fond smile.

Realising he was very probably staring, and had been doing for the entire exchange, Bilbo returned his eyes to the pool, slightly mortified when he felt a little heat creep into his cheeks. Honestly, he wasn’t a tween anymore: he hoped he hadn’t made Master Thorin feel uncomfortable.

Bilbo heard Master Thorin return to his former pose for meditation and so he too returned his hands to his lap and let his shoulders slump as he tried to relax. Closing his eyes, he listened to the gentle burbling of the stream feeding the grotto’s pool and the scratching of the bright leaves against their branches and the Jedi Master’s soft, steady breathing.

It was then that Bilbo had an idea. It would be a peace offering of sorts, a gesture of goodwill, and a way for him and Master Thorin to become better acquainted with each other. He’d seen Gandalf use it as a method of reconciliation between two bickering padawans… and yes, Bilbo had once been one of the padawans in question.

Very slowly and very carefully, he lowered his outer mental shields. From the depths of his mind, he conjured up no less than a dozen memories and lay them out beyond his shields, presenting them to Master Thorin as a gift, should he choose to explore them. He knew the Jedi Master must have felt him remove his outer shields and now all he could do was wait and see if his offerings were of interest.

The minutes seemed to drag by and Bilbo began to feel his body tense up in panic as his breathing faltered. He was starting to think he had been far too forward in lowering his shields when he felt Master Thorin’s mind very tentatively reach out to his. Bilbo froze, staying impossibly still, as the Dwarven Jedi brushed against his inner shields before sorting through the memories presented to him and seemingly selecting one at random.

The memory in question was from part of Bilbo’s survival training on the ice planet of Hoth. He was hiding behind a wall of snow, blaster in hand, waiting to see if any sort of creature was going to venture out from the nest he had discovered – whatever was unfortunate enough to rear its head was going to be his and Gandalf’s dinner for the night. He waited, expression one of absolute focus, and that was when a levitating snowball floated over to him and then smashed into the back of his head. Bilbo reacted instantly, grabbing his lightsaber from his belt and igniting its blue blade. He whirled around to see Gandalf stood there and glared at his Master, who only pointed at the tauntaun next to him, feigning innocence. What followed was a furious snowball fight where he and his Master used the Force to project their icy missiles. Gandalf won in the end, of course, and that night they feasted on the delicious packaged food he’d been withholding.

Master Thorin politely returned the memory after looking his fill. Bilbo daren’t open his eyes to see the Jedi Master’s reaction, but he could still feel an unexpected lightness in the Force as it continued to quiver around him. Letting out a controlled breath, Bilbo waited to see if Master Thorin’s mind would retreat or whether he would choose to explore another of Bilbo’s memories. Bilbo sensed his hesitation, a flicker of disappointment running through him, but then Master Thorin plucked out another memory and Bilbo couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his lips.

This one was from his recent Trials. He was duelling with Master Elrond, an Elven Jedi and member of the High Council, on Mustafar, a small, volcanic planet in the Outer Rim. They were both standing on a metal plank that was suspended above a fiery flow of lava. The plank itself was only four inches wide, but this didn’t stop the fierce clashing of their lightsabers as they fought. Bilbo watched the memory again with Master Thorin, feeling his heart swell as Master Elrond lunged forward, taking a wide swipe at him with his green lightsaber, but Bilbo jumped clean over it, tucking his knees into his chest as he leapt, and then landed with one foot in front of the other on the plank, appearing completely unfazed. Master Elrond continued his assault, forcing Bilbo back, but he didn’t fall – only flipped further down the plank in a one-handed cartwheel, still managing to block Master Elrond’s blow whilst upside down.

Impressive.

Bilbo’s heart missed a beat. Master Thorin’s voice had just echoed inside his mind… had the Dwarf realised his inner shields must have faltered, had he meant to let the thought slip through? But still Bilbo felt further giddiness building at Master Thorin’s approval and the Force crackled with electricity between them.

It was with little hesitation this time that Master Thorin picked another memory, a simpler, softer one this time. It was Bilbo’s view of Shire, when he returned to his home planet after his parents’ deaths, and it was a beautiful, sunny day as a much younger Bilbo gazed out across the green, patchwork of fields, the gentle slopes and rolling hills, watching the grey clouds of smoke rising from the smials dotted about the rural landscape. It was quiet and calm, with birds twittering in the trees and the distant sounds of children playing and singing carrying on the wind.

“This is your homeworld,” Master Thorin said, with a touch of reverence.

Bilbo opened his eyes, risking a glance at the Jedi Master. He was still kneeling at Bilbo’s side, his eyelids flickering as he explored the memory, and there was such a serene expression on his face. Bilbo couldn’t look away, couldn’t help but notice how handsome Master Thorin was when he was no longer frowning and appeared perfectly relaxed.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied, unsure why his voice had dropped to a whisper.

“You miss it,” Master Thorin continued, sounding almost sad.

Bilbo wasn’t sure if Master Thorin had simply made the deduction or he had somehow let the thought past his privacy shields, but still he answered: “Sometimes… It’s silly, really, seen as I’ve never lived there, not since I was a babe.”

“Not at all,” Master Thorin said, voice unbelievably gentle. “I too know what it is to miss your homeworld.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened at this revelation: it appeared he was correct in assuming Master Thorin’s family must have once lived on Erebor. It was a shame that they had found common ground over something so saddening, but Bilbo still felt very glad that they had shared this with each other.

And that was when something even more unexpected happened. After another shivering of energy, Master Thorin slowly lowered his outer shields, leaving a little part of his mind open in invitation. He offered up only two memories, but Bilbo found he couldn’t begrudge him that – he was a Dwarf after all, and there was a reason most of their Jedi Archive entries were incomplete.

Waiting a few beats and restraining himself from simply diving in like he so desperately wanted to, Bilbo’s mind carefully curled out and slipped past Master Thorin’s lowered shields. He selected the first memory and closed his eyes, immediately finding himself looking at a single, solitary mountain peak. At first he assumed this was Ered Luin, but then he realised this was Erebor: Master Thorin’s true home. The sky in the memory was a brilliant blue, cold but clear, and Bilbo could just make out a little snowfall on the mountain’s grey crags.

“It’s very beautiful,” Bilbo whispered, quietly withdrawing, not wishing to intrude for too long.

Master Thorin gave only a soft hum in answer.

Waiting another moment, if only to demonstrate his manners, Bilbo turned to the second memory, feeling a little prickle of anticipation at what he might find. After the peace of the mountains, he had not expected to be dropped into a crowded room with a group of Dwarves all tightly clustered around one bed, talking excitedly in Khuzdul – but then a switch was made to Galactic Standard and Bilbo sensed Master Thorin was purposefully translating the memory for him.

With a jolt, Bilbo realised a much younger Master Thorin was standing at his side by the bed, his hair shorter and completely black, not a strand of grey to be seen. The scene’s point of focus seemed to be the female Dwarf in the bed who, with her dark hair, bright blue eyes and prominent nose, bore a striking resemblance to Master Thorin. She was pale and sweaty but beaming and in her arms she held a wriggling Dwarfling wrapped in a soft, patterned blanket. The babe, despite appearing to be only a few hours old, had a few curls of golden hair on his head and… Wait. Could this be…?

The Dwarrowdam lifted her swaddled baby and carefully handed him over to Master Thorin, who cradled him in his arms and smiled down at him as if he were the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. He reached out and stroked the Dwarfling’s cheek with his thumb.

“The Force is strong with him,” he said, with clear approval.

“Like his uncle,” the Dwarrowdam grinned, her blue eyes shining.

“Like his mother,” Master Thorin returned.

Bilbo felt himself holding a breath, certain that he was witnessing the birth of Fili… and he had been right in believing he and Master Thorin were related. It appeared Master Thorin’s apprentice was also, in fact, his nephew.

“Will you train him?” the Dwarrowdam, Master Thorin’s sister, asked quietly.

Bilbo felt the Jedi Master’s shock as he replied: “You… don’t want to train him?” He looked from his sister to the golden-haired Dwarf standing at her side and with a jolt, Bilbo realised he was wearing Jedi robes. So Master Thorin’s sister and her partner were both Jedi?

“Things can get a little crowded with soul-bonds,” the Dwarrowdam replied, smiling up at her husband as he took her hand. “And besides, despite the fight this one put up… we’d like more.”

Master Thorin nodded. “Of course,” he murmured. “Of course I’ll train him, it would be an honour.”

Sensing this was all he was meant to see, Bilbo was about to withdraw from the memory when he felt a very cold, very dark tremor in the Force and then suddenly his vision was filled with a hideous white face whose scarred mouth opened in a terrifying roar, its glowing eyes ablaze with so much anger and hatred.

Bilbo’s eyes shot open as he fell back, his whole body shaking with coldness and fear. Master Thorin staggered to his feet at his side, his chest heaving as his own trembling hands reached for his temples.

“Was… was that a Sith Lord?” Bilbo gasped out, struggling to catch his breath.

“You saw nothing!” Master Thorin snarled, stumbling further away from him.

“But Master Thorin –”

“NOTHING!”

Master Thorin thrashed his way back through the trees with his final roar of “Force-be-damned Hobbit!” reaching Bilbo, still sitting by the pool’s edge, and making his eyes sting.

Trying – and failing – to steady his breathing, Bilbo’s gaze frantically darted about the space around him as he tried to understand. Where had that horrifying image come from? He was certain it was something he was never supposed to see… but he had felt it all the same: the icy, hateful call of the dark side of the Force. He was sure the face had belonged to one of its devoted practitioners thought long extinct by the Jedi Order: the Sith. But why had a Sith Lord appeared so suddenly in one of Master Thorin’s memories? And why had he reacted so violently?

Bilbo sat back on his hands, closing his eyes and drawing in the deepest breath he could manage. He had come to the Meditation gardens to find peace… instead he had found Master Thorin. Still, they had begun to make some real headway in their relationship, perhaps even becoming friends… but then darkness had intervened and now he was left with far more questions than answers.

Chapter Text

“Now we have it, what do we do?”

The Western Atrium, like the canteen, was located on one of the highest levels of the Jedi Temple. It was a large, airy space that had served as a communal area for Knights and senior padawans for as long as most Jedi could remember. The parquet floor was made up of different coloured marble – pale blue, sand, ochre, and a brown the colour of Endorian redwood bark – and the shapes all intersected in a complex geometric pattern. Many of the atrium’s visitors spent hours meditating on the beautiful images it created.

The ceilings were high, rising into a dome at one end of the bright space, and two walls were lined with tall windows that offered views of either the meditation gardens or the bustling Senate District. Between each window stood intricately carved statues of great Jedi Masters, balancing on high plinths, so surprisingly detailed and lifelike that they looked as if they were about to jump down at any moment and challenge the atrium’s inhabitants to a duel. There were two dozen statues in total, honouring some of the greatest Jedi the Order had ever seen. There were neither Hobbits nor Dwarves among them.

Although armed combat was not allowed in the Western Atrium, there were several large, dark blue mats set into the marble floor which the Knights and padawans used for their katas and to practice both Ataru acrobatics and hand-to-hand combat. For those looking for less trying activities, there was a section of the Jedi Archives located in one corner, providing a wealth of reading material, and beneath the dome were clusters of soft, circular chairs where Jedi gathered for conversation, reflection and debate.

Bilbo, however, had chosen one of the wide window sills away from the groups of chattering Knights and padawans as his place of repose. He sat, leaning against the cool marble which framed the window, with his legs stretched out on the sill, bare feet almost basking in the warmth of Coruscant’s powerful sun. He watched the other Jedi from a distance as they laughed and smiled with each other, sharing tales of missions gone awry and training victories. To a casual observer, he might have looked quite content, quite comfortable, settled as he was on the sill, datapad in hand as his eyes moved around the atrium… but this was so very far from the case.

After his and Master Thorin’s second meeting in the meditation gardens had come to its disastrous end, Bilbo’s mind had been consumed with questions. Desperate to find answers, he had gone straight to the Jedi Archives and asked to see all the entries they had on the Dwarves of Ered Luin and on Erebor, as well as quite a few documents on the Sith and their supposed extinction. The librarian, a Cerean from the Mid Rim region, looked quite perturbed as they compiled all the entries onto Bilbo’s datapad, but he did his best to control his emotions and emit an aura of calm, lest word get back to Gandalf that he was up to something.

Bilbo spent hours poring over the information on the screen in front of him and didn’t return to the Temple canteen for his omelette, choosing to hole up in the Western Atrium instead. He had also missed elevenses, luncheon, and afternoon tea by the time he was ready to admit defeat and give up his futile search for answers. The nutritional supplement snackbars that he’d been nibbling on would have to suffice for now… Although he was half-expecting Meggi to show up in the atrium, yelling about dismembering stubborn Hobbits, and dragging a whole banquet table of food with her.

Sighing, Bilbo tapped at the datapad’s screen and returned, once again, to the Archives’ entry on Master Thorin. All of the entries on Dwarven Jedi and their culture were marked ‘incomplete’ with very little information being available – not that this surprised Bilbo, it made sense that the Dwarves, with their infamous penchant for secrecy, wouldn’t want such things committing to the Archive, able to be viewed by anyone who asked.

Master Thorin’s entry was disappointingly sparse: it listed his rank as Master, Fili as his padawan learner, and that his own Master had been a Dwarf named Thrain. It also included Erebor as his homeworld, but aside from that, there was no further biographical information, not even a year of birth or the year he passed his Trials. There was, however, a blue-lined portrait of the Jedi Master in the top corner of the page. Bilbo clicked on it – again – so that it filled the datapad’s screen. This was the younger Master Thorin that he had seen in the memory of Fili’s birth, yet this image didn’t hold the light and joy of that moment. Master Thorin was looking incredibly serious, almost frowning, as he stared off into the distance at something unseen. Bilbo felt quite sad that the monochromatic portrait was unable to capture just how blue the Jedi Master’s eyes really were and –

“Hello, Knight Boggins!”

Bilbo told himself he most definitely did not yelp and throw the datapad into the air as a very familiar voice sounded right next to him. Scrambling to switch off the screen, Bilbo turned to see Fili and Kili standing by the window sill wearing identical grins. Oh Force, had they seen what he was looking at…? Is that why they seemed so pleased with themselves? Heat flooded Bilbo’s cheeks and he also found himself profoundly irritated that a couple of padawans had managed to sneak up on him without his knowledge: he hadn’t been caught off-guard for a very long time and he was loath to break such an impeccable track record.

“We hope we’re not disturbing you, Knight Boggins,” Fili said politely, with a short bow.

“No… No, you’re not disturbing me,” Bilbo replied carefully, eyes moving between the two brothers – for the Archives had told him that much about them. He sensed their excitement and also their nervousness, but was unable to locate the source of their anxiety. He felt his own chest tighten as he swung his legs over the side of the windowsill, feet coming to rest of the marble floor. “And it’s Baggins, but you can call me Bilbo.”

Both Fili and Kili beamed, but neither was forthcoming with information regarding their sudden, unexpected appearance.

“Where are your Masters?” Bilbo asked slowly, trying not to let his suspicion show and ignoring the extra little thump of his heart.

The young padawans exchanged glances.

“They’re meeting with the Jedi High Council,” Fili explained simply, seeming to hope his smile would cover for the brevity of his response and repel further questions.

“Right,” Bilbo said, raising an eyebrow. “And do they know where you are?”

The brothers’ expressions said it all.

Bilbo let out another sigh, rubbing a hand over his brow. “So the first chance you get you decide to come and find me, or is our meeting just a happy accident?”

Again, the Dwarves’ silence spoke volumes and Bilbo closed his eyes, taking a moment to release his irritation into the Force.

“We were wondering…” Fili began.

“… If you’d be able to teach us how to flip around using the Force?” Kili finished, looking excited again, eyes bright and wide like an Akk pup.

“‘Flip around using the Force’?” Bilbo repeated. “You mean how to practise Ataru, the fourth form of combat?”

“Yes, that’s the one!” Fili said happily. “We weren’t sure what it was called – Dwarves aren’t trained in it.”

“Our Masters think we fight better when we have our feet firmly on the ground,” Kili added. “Dwarves feel the Force in rock and stone, so we’re told it’s better to keep contact with the floor in combat.”

“Well, maybe your Masters are right,” Bilbo said, feeling another annoying double-thump inside his chest. “I really don’t think they’d approve of me tutoring you.”

Fili sneaked a glance at his brother. “… We don’t have to tell them, they don’t really need to know about this, do they?”

“Oh no,” Bilbo said, wagging a finger at the pair like a disapproving mother. “No, no, no, no, no… I am not lying to your Masters about this.”

Force only knew how Master Thorin would react if he found out, but Bilbo had a strong suspicion he might end up in the Medical Bay. No, it most definitely was not worth the risk.

“Besides, they’re going to figure out what you’re up to through your training bonds, if they haven’t already,” Bilbo pointed out, rubbing a hand over his curls, fingers fiddling with the remains of his padawan braid.

“Our Masters have closed off our training bonds for the duration of their meeting with the Council,” Kili said, a little more quietly this time. “It’s top secret stuff: they don’t want us getting in the way.”

“They’ll only be able to sense if we put out a distress call,” Fili said , nodding in agreement.

Well, you might just be sending out a distress call in a moment, Bilbo thought, before quickly pushing such a notion away. He had dealt with unruly younglings before on many occasions, a pair of overeager Dwarven padawans shouldn’t be too difficult to dissuade – even if he had heard a little about the stubbornness of Dwarves.

“I don’t think Master Thorin would appreciate my input on your training,” Bilbo said, hoping to put a stop to the matter once and for all.

But then Fili’s posture suddenly stiffened and Kili followed suit. The brothers held their sleeved hands together in front of them and their once giddy expressions became matching frowns.

When Fili spoke, it was with a low, deep voice that was an uncanny imitation of his uncle’s: “No, Fili, that is not the Dwarven way: your actions bring shame on our family, how dare you disobey the flawless teachings of your Master.”

Bilbo’s mouth fell open and he was unable to get a word out before Kili joined in.

“Idiotic boys, I would have more luck training a Bantha than putting up with your shameful displays. You will never be serious and majestic like me, now let’s practice brooding and staring off into middle distance –”

“Alright, alright, please just… just stop!” Bilbo cut in, unable to take anymore. He told himself he most definitely did not find this mockery of Master Thorin amusing, no, not amusing in the slightest.

“So you’ll teach us?” Fili asked, blue eyes bright and hopeful.

“Please, Bilbo, please!” Kili said, and Bilbo was scared he might actually fall onto his knees and beg.

Bilbo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Oh Force, he was definitely going to regret this… “Yes, alright.”

Fili and Kili both cheered, but when Bilbo shushed them they quietened down straight away like scolded younglings.

“Let’s use one of the larger mats over here…”

Bilbo led them to one of blue training mats that was lowered into the marble floor. It was about the size of a sparring square and perfect for the practise of aerial combat. Stepping down onto one corner, Bilbo shrugged off his brown robes, folding them neatly, and placed the datapad on top of them. Fili and Kili did the same without a word. Bilbo then took a few steps further onto the mat, stretching his arms and feeling the spongier surface beneath his bare feet. He turned around to find the two padawans watching him expectantly.

“Will you show us some of your favourite moves first?” Fili asked keenly.

“Like… like a demonstration? We want to see you somersault again!” Kili added.

“I… I don’t think that’s really necessary,” Bilbo replied softly. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of showing off, it’s not very becoming of a Jedi Knight.”

“So you’re telling me you weren’t showing off when you beat me into the dust yesterday afternoon?” Fili grinned.

“Beat you into the dust twice,” Kili said, for emphasis.

Bilbo’s shoulders slumped. He really should give Fili and Kili more credit: they had obviously figured out exactly what he was up to in the sparring arena. “Oh, alright… but just once across the mat, nothing more.”

The brothers replied with a chorus of: “That’s fine!”

Bilbo walked back to the corner of the mat and Fili and Kili took their places on the side-lines. Limbering up with a few quick stretches and wrapping the Force around his limbs, feeling it flowing through his muscles and tingling at his fingertips, Bilbo inhaled a deep breath… and then set off. He bounded into a handstand before flipping over into a high double somersault and then landed at the other side of the mat in a tensed, crouched positon. Straightening up with a learned grace, he turned to find Fili and Kili clapping politely.

“That was amazing!” Fili gushed.

“Yeah, no wonder he floored you twice, Fee,” Kili said, giving his brother a nudge.

Bilbo couldn’t help but feel a warm rush of pride at the unexpected compliments, but quickly released the emotion into the Force – pride had been the downfall of many a Jedi, and he always erred on the side of caution.

“Alright, now it’s your turn,” he announced. “Fili, step into the middle of the mat for me.”

Kili looked a little crestfallen as his brother moved forward, but Bilbo flashed him a reassuring smile: “Don’t worry, Kili, you’ll get your chance very soon.”

Bilbo could feel the excitement radiating from Fili as he guided him through a few basic stretches that formed the start of a kata and then he was encouraging the young Dwarf to close his eyes.

“The key with the Ataru form is to let the Force carry you,” Bilbo explained in an almost awed whisper. “Draw its energy around you, feel it surging through your muscles, believe in its ability to lift you and use it to enhance all of your movements…”

“A Jedi Knight and a poet,” Fili said, with a little smirk. “It seems you’ve got many talents, Bilbo.”

Bilbo frowned as Kili chided his brother: “Be nice to Knight Boggins, Fee, or he’ll stop teaching us!”

“Sorry, Bilbo, I was only teasing,” Fili said, and he did look remorseful. “I do understand what you mean.”

Bilbo nodded before stepping away. “I’m going to guide you through the movements of a somersault first, and with enough practice, you should be able to do it on your own.”

Fili beamed. “Alright!”

Bilbo slowly lifted his hands. “Now I need you to jump in the air for me, Fili.”

“Jump?” Fili asked, confused.

“Yes, into the air, or has Master Thorin forbidden you from jumping and letting your feet leave the ground?”

Bilbo heard Kili snort behind him, but still he felt a little bad for making a joke at Master Thorin’s expense.

“No, I can jump,” Fili said, limbering up again.

“As high as you can,” Bilbo instructed.

Bending his knees, Fili then leapt up into the air and Bilbo’s hands shot out, using the Force to hold the young Dwarf suspended above them.

“Oh Mahal!” Fili cried out, flailing his arms and legs in panic.

“Stop wriggling, Fili!” Bilbo said sharply, lest his thrashing make him lose his concentration. He focused all his energy into keeping the padawan levitating above the mat, feeling the Force singing through him.

Fili responded to the command and stilled, looking down at Bilbo, waiting for his next instruction.

“Right, now I need you to tip forward and roll yourself over into a somersault,” Bilbo explained. “Feel the Force guiding your movements, let yourself be directed, trust in the Force, Fili, and it won’t steer you wrong.”

Fili hesitated for a few moments, eyeing the mat as if his face was about to get smacked into it, but then, very slowly, he began to roll. Bilbo’s fingers curled slightly and he gritted his teeth, it being a while since he had supported anything of Fili’s weight, but he too let the Force lead him and surge through his arms, into the tiniest cells in the pads of his fingers. He twisted his hands and helped the Dwarf in his somersault, guiding him gently over until he was once again the right way up, and then he lowered him down until his heavy leather boots were touching the mat.

“That… that was incredible!” Fili gasped, eyes wide with wonder. “I’ve never felt the Force like that… but it’s just as you said: letting it guide me, letting it flow through every muscle…”

“Who’s the poet now?” Kili called from the side of the mat, but he too looked fairly awestruck.

“Can we try again?” Fili asked, almost bouncing up and down on the mat.

Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle, feeling lighter than he had done in days. “Of course: this time we’re going to go through the exact same motions, but much faster. As soon as you jump, try to go into a roll and I’ll help you over and back onto your feet.”

Fili nodded eagerly before taking his place on the mat again. On Bilbo’s signal, he jumped without hesitation and dove straight into a somersault, rolling over in the air without difficulty, before Bilbo gently dropped him back to the floor. Obviously, Bilbo had contributed quite a lot to the somersault, but he could still sense the Force clinging to Fili as the young Dwarf called it to him.

“… Was that alright?” Fili asked, and he suddenly looked nervous, desperate for approval.

“It was brilliant,” Bilbo smiled. “You’re a very fast learner, Fili. Now, do you want to try on your own this time?”

Fili’s first few attempts led to him smacking down onto the mat with a heavy thud, but with practice he was soon able to carry himself over into a definite somersault and land safely and steadily. The more the young padawan practised, the higher and longer his arcs became, until he was able to go almost from one end of the mat to the other. Bilbo took Kili through the same motions and he picked it up quicker than his brother had done, although neither of them voiced this fact.

Their session had started to draw a bit of a crowd by the time both Fili and Kili were flipping across the training mat in synchronisation, and the brothers definitely seemed to appreciate the approving smiles and applause from their fellow Jedi.

“Bilbo, you need to somersault with us now!” Fili said, suddenly grabbing Bilbo’s arm.

“I’m not sure…” Bilbo began, but then Kili chipped in.

“Come on, Bilbo, you’re such a good teacher – we’d like to do at least one jump with all three of us!”

Bilbo was surprised to hear a murmur of agreement from the gathered crowd and, looking around, he saw many Knights that frequented the sparring arena eyeing him with interest and respect.

“Oh, go on then,” Bilbo smiled, feeling his face grow a little red as the brothers all but manoeuvred him into position, standing between the two of them at the edge of the mat.

One of the Jedi Knights watching gave the signal and then the three of them leapt forward, all soaring into high-arced somersaults, moving in sync and with ease, before they dropped down into crouches at the other end of the dark blue mat.

Bilbo stared down at his flattened palms with an overwhelming feeling of triumph, but then the Force was suddenly plucking at his ribs and tickling the tiny, sandy-coloured hairs on the backs of his fingers. Oh no…

Slowly rising to his feet, Bilbo found Master Thorin and Master Dwalin standing in front of the mat. And Master Thorin looked about ready to slaughter someone. Probably Bilbo. Or his wayward padawan, who was certainly looking very sheepish at Bilbo’s side.

For a very long time, nobody spoke and the silence was almost suffocating. Bilbo had no idea how to defend his actions and was internally cursing Fili and Kili for ever talking him into this.

Master Thorin’s blue eyes were dark as they moved from Fili to Kili, passing over Bilbo entirely. “I thought I told you two that you were not to spar with Knight Baggins?” Master Thorin’s voice was low and dangerous.

“But we weren’t sparring, Master, we were just –” Kili began, but then winced, and Bilbo guessed that Master Dwalin was very probably shouting him down through their training bond.

“Please don’t be angry, Master,” Fili pleaded. “Kili and I were only curious. You said our trip to Coruscant would be a chance for us to explore other cultures besides our own.”

“This is not what I meant and you know it,” Master Thorin retorted, in a definite growl.

And then something happened that Bilbo didn’t expect. Fili’s expression was suddenly full of fire as he narrowed his eyes at his uncle and Master Thorin’s frown only deepened. Neither Dwarf spoke a word, but Bilbo knew they were communicating through their bond. He and Gandalf had had enough telepathic arguments for him to know exactly what this looked like.

Bilbo watched in shock as Master Thorin’s murderous expression very slowly softened into something closer to irritation… and then blue eyes were suddenly trained on him. Bilbo felt his heart give another double-thump as the Force prickled under his skin.

“I understand that you meant no harm, Knight Baggins,” Master Thorin said, his voice impossibly deep and quiet. “And it is my nephews who are at fault.” Fili and Kili received a glare each. “However, I ask that you do not offer them instruction again. Our practices are very different to your own and I do not want anything to interfere with their training.”

Fili directed a meaningful look at Master Thorin, more words clearly being exchanged. Master Thorin appeared to be dismissing them at first, but then he let out a soft breath.

Bilbo almost jumped out of his skin when Master Thorin awkwardly reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was the first time they had ever touched and Bilbo went very, very still.

“When you have a padawan of your own, you will understand,” Master Thorin murmured. “And now I must have some serious words with mine.”

The hand fell from Bilbo’s shoulder, leaving it feeling curiously warm and tingling. But he didn’t have much time to dwell on this before Master Thorin turned away and strode off out of the atrium. Fili and Kili scrambled for their robes and Master Dwalin watched the pair with a look Bilbo couldn’t place, almost as if he was actually chuckling to himself beneath his frankly terrifying façade.

“Thanks, Bilbo,” Fili whispered, as he adjusted his robes.

“We’re sorry, Bilbo,” Kili mumbled, looking very much like a kicked Fondorian mud puppy.

The two padawans then hurried off after Master Thorin and Bilbo was surprised when Master Dwalin lingered.

“Dinnae worry, wee one,” he said, with a small smile. “I’ll talk ‘im round.”

Bilbo gaped at the Jedi Master, unable to form a suitable response, and then Master Dwalin turned away with a wider smile and followed his kin out of the atrium. Bilbo was once again left confused and hurt, but this time there was something else lingering in the Force… Hope maybe? He really wasn’t sure, but still the strange feelings remained, scurrying over his ribs, sending tingles through his fingers, and tickling up around his shoulder.

…

Bilbo awoke in a cold sweat. He sat bolt upright in the darkness, his chest heaving, as his eyes darted around his quarters. It was the early hours of the morning, Coruscant’s four moons glowed brightly through his slatted blinds, and Bilbo had absolutely no idea what had woken him so suddenly.

He felt cold, so curiously cold, like the bones within his body were frozen over with ice… and there was fear too, fear lurking in the corners of his mind. Fingers running through his damp curls, Bilbo searched his feelings, desperately trying to release such dark emotions into the Force. Breathing in deeply, he continued to sift through his consciousness, searching for the source of his panic and then…

Master Thorin was in pain.

Bilbo felt his heart still all together before beginning a heavy, frantic thudding against his ribs.

Master Thorin was suffering.

He had no idea how he could possibly know this, but all at once he knew it to be true, and he knew he needed to help. Kicking off the sheets and clambering from the bed, Bilbo decided against dressing: he needed to leave now. Instead, he clipped his utility belt and his lightsaber around his waist, over his sleep tunic, and then darted from the bedroom, hurrying across the living area of his quarters and out of the doors, which hissed open at his approach.

The Temple was quiet at this hour and Bilbo met no one as he stole along the endless, dimly lit corridors. His heart continued its manic thumping inside his chest and he felt the sweat darkening his curls and sticking them to his forehead. His fingers itched for his lightsaber, but he held off, knowing he had no real evidence of danger… just the horrible, cold feelings sitting at the bottom of his stomach and clouding his mind. Master Thorin is in terrible pain. The thought repeated itself over and over like some ominous chant and Bilbo sped up his pace.

It never once occurred to him that he had no idea where the Dwarven Jedi’s quarters actually were: something was leading him straight to Master Thorin, and he had no choice but to follow it, as if each of his footsteps was already anticipated. He turned another corner and suddenly the darkness and the cold intensified: he knew he was close.

The doors which led to Master Thorin’s quarters were nondescript, the same as every other silver set of doors on the corridor, but as soon as Bilbo reached them, he knew to stop. He hesitated there, eyeing up the call-pad beside them, wondering how in the Force’s name he was supposed to explain his arriving there in the middle of the night, still in his sleep-clothes, but fully-armed.

And that was when he heard Master Thorin’s desperate cries.

In an instant, Bilbo had ignited his saber’s bright blue blade and used the Force to throw open the doors. He burst into Master Thorin’s darkened quarters, heart seeming to stop altogether, and followed the Jedi’s shouts to an adjoining room… where he found Master Thorin thrashing about in his bed, being wrestled back by a terrified Fili, and it was only then that Bilbo realised the Jedi Master’s eyes were closed. He was still asleep and appeared to be trapped in some kind of terrible nightmare.

“Bilbo?!” Fili cried. “I can’t get him to wake up! He’s closed off our training bond!”

It took Bilbo only a beat to react. He powered down his lightsaber and shoved it back onto his belt before climbing onto the bed.

“Move away, Fili,” he said urgently, and Fili let go of his uncle’s arms, taking a step back, face completely drained of colour.

Bilbo took his place and grabbed Master Thorin’s arms, summoning as much of the Force as he was able to give him the strength to pin the Jedi Master down. Master Thorin tried to fight back, letting out a broken sob of “Grandfather!”, but Bilbo held firm, all but straddling Master Thorin’s waist and forcing him down. Master Thorin began to whimper then, terrified pleas almost swaying Bilbo’s resolve, along with the silver tear tracks on his cheeks, but still Bilbo prevented him from rising and hurting himself or anyone else in the process.

“Listen to me, Master Thorin,” he said, voice ringing out clear and firm. “You must release your pain to the Force, do not give in to the Darkness.”

Taking a risk, Bilbo moved his hands up to Master Thorin’s face, pressing his fingers into the Dwarf’s temples. “Release your pain, Master Thorin… Let go of your anger… and your fear… You are safe… You are far from harm…”

Bilbo’s tone was low and melodic as he began to draw out the darkness from the Jedi Master. He knew, lost as he was to his memories, that he would be unable to release his emotions on his own, and so Bilbo stretched out his mind to help, guiding the unconscious Jedi away from the Darkness and back into the Light.

The flashes of memory came then, and Bilbo saw them before his waking eyes: a dark blue blade clashing with one of red light, and then he heard Master Thorin calling out for his grandfather, and a terrifying roar that shook Bilbo to the bone, but he persevered, continuing to fight against the other Jedi’s pain, trying to ignore the fact that he knew the roar belonged to the Sith lord that he had been unable to find any traces of in the Archives.

Rubbing his fingers in gentle circles over Master Thorin’s temples, Bilbo began to project bright and happy memories into the sleeping Dwarf’s mind. He showed him Erebor, its peak rising into a cloudless blue sky, and he showed him Fili, wriggling and joyful in his arms. He wished he knew more of Master Thorin so that he could have shown him more of his own happiness, but Bilbo didn’t dwell on this, only added his own happy memories to his projections to strengthen the power of the Light in Master Thorin’s mind. He filled the world behind his eyes with images of Shire, peaceful and green and sunny, of his Knighting ceremony, and of mornings spent sharing laughter with Meggi over hot, delicious food.

Slowly but surely, Master Thorin quietened. Bilbo felt the older Jedi relax beneath him and slip into safer, happier dreams, his arms stilling at his sides, fingers still twitching slightly. His head rolled to the side under Bilbo’s continued soothing.

When he was certain that the Darkness would not be claiming Master Thorin again, Bilbo carefully slipped from the bed… only then realising what an incredibly compromising position he had been in when pinning the Dwarf down. However, he was far too exhausted to be embarrassed. Dragging Master Thorin from his nightmares had been a very draining ordeal, as such use of the Force always was, and Bilbo collapsed down onto a chair at the bedside, closing his eyes and trying to control his breathing.

After a few moments, he lifted a hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. Fili was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting, almost protectively, on his Master’s forearm.

“He’s opened our bond again,” Fili said quietly, eyes moving from Master Thorin to Bilbo with an enigmatic expression. “He’s… dreaming about your homeworld.”

Bilbo nodded; he wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“What did you do?” Fili asked, and his soft tone was more baffled than accusatory.

“I helped your Master release his pain into the Force,” Bilbo explained. “I led him away from the Darkness, reminding him of happy memories to help him on his way back into the Light.”

Fili straightened up a little, and he was no longer the young and carefree padawan Bilbo had instructed in the Western Atrium. “Did… you see my uncle’s memories?”

Bilbo realised the Dwarf was worried about a breach of privacy, of his having seen something no non-Dwarf was meant to know. He thought of the scarred, white face that had burst into his mind in the meditation gardens, of the glowing red blade, but decided now was not the time to panic Fili – he looked completely worn out.

“No,” he murmured, ensuring all his mental shields were firmly in place. “I only gave him some of my own.”

They were both silent for a few moments, watching Master Thorin as he slept on, breathing deeply and steadily, eyes flickering behind closed lids, still lost to brighter dreams.

“We should send for the healers,” Bilbo said finally.

“No,” came Fili’s instant reply, making Bilbo frown. “Uncle hates healers… Master Oin almost lost an arm once because he tried to examine him against his will.”

Bilbo sensed there was a lot more to this story – and he had a feeling he understood why Master Thorin would hate the Jedi’s fairly invasive healing methods – and so he decided not to question Fili further.

“It’s been a really long time since he had any nightmares,” Fili said, looking at his uncle with a sadness that made Bilbo ache. “I think it’s being here, talking with the Council…”

Fili suddenly trailed off, as if he realised he had revealed too much. Bilbo decided to spare him any stumbling explanations by changing the subject.

“I don’t mind staying here, until he wakes up,” he said gently. “I’ll watch over him, in case the nightmares return… You should go and get some rest, Fili. You look like you’ve been trampled by a herd of dewbacks.”

Fili smiled slightly, before frowning again. “He’s my Master, I should stay with him.”

“But sitting up all night won’t do either of you any good,” Bilbo replied patiently. “Please, Fili. I know your uncle wouldn’t want you to exhaust yourself so unnecessarily.”

Fili hesitated for a moment and then let out a sigh as he gave in. “Alright,” he whispered. “Thank you, Bilbo… for helping him.”

Bilbo nodded as Fili rose from the bed. He didn’t leave straight away, however, but leaned down and gently touched his forehead to his uncle's in a gesture of affection unknown to Bilbo, but still it made him smile. Fili was halfway to the door when he stopped.

“Bilbo…?”

“Yes, Fili?”

“How did you know to come here? How did you know Uncle was having nightmares?”

Bilbo stared at the young Dwarf, mouth opening and closing as he debated telling him varying versions of the truth. But then he settled on a safer option. “Taris has a thirty-two hour day, I’m still adjusting to Coruscant’s time-zone – I was taking a walk around the Temple when I heard your uncle shouting.”

“Oh,” Fili said, seeming a little unsure. “Well, I’m glad you were here, anyway.”

Bilbo smiled as Fili slipped from the room, and as soon as he was gone, he felt a bizarre tightening inside his chest and his stomach. How had he known there was something wrong? The Force certainly was behaving very strangely these days.

Releasing the confusion and the worry from his mind, Bilbo rose and went into the fresher located just off Master Thorin’s room. He returned with a basin of cool water and a washcloth. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he slowly began to wipe the sweat from Master Thorin’s brow, hoping such an act would be seen as kind and not unwelcome.

And in the darkness of the room, the Force’s insistent nudges continued, only increasing in intensity any time Bilbo tried to push them away or ignore them, until finally he stared down at Master Thorin, still sleeping soundly, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could sense it too.  

Chapter Text

“I dip a finger, paint your skin with light”

Bilbo cracked open one eye and squinted against the brightness of the morning sunlight. He must have fallen asleep some time before dawn. He had dosed on and off throughout the early hours of the morning, keeping his senses attuned to Master Thorin and his dreams, ready to intervene if the darkness sought to drag him under again. There had been one moment, not long after Bilbo had settled himself at Master Thorin’s bedside, when the Dwarf had started mumbling Bilbo’s name… and it had been ‘Bilbo’, not ‘Knight Baggins’, that he had been murmuring. Bilbo had listened, half perturbed and half fascinated, hearing his own fluttering heartbeat in his ears as the Force seemed to wash over him, prickling from his fingertips to the hair on his bare toes. But then Master Thorin had fallen silent and Bilbo had been able to breathe again.

The Jedi Master was still sleeping soundly, lying on his back with one hand resting on his stomach. The thin bedcovers were pulled down to his chest and Bilbo scolded himself for once again sneaking a glance at the edges of the beautiful, black-inked pattern that was just visible in the V of Master Thorin’s pale blue sleep tunic. He hadn’t noticed them at first: it was only when he was wiping the sweat from the older Jedi’s neck that he had realised Master Thorin’s skin bore similar tattoos to those Master Dwalin had inked over his bald head and knuckles. Bilbo found himself wondering what the symbols meant and whether they spread over Master Thorin’s shoulders, over his back… and then he stopped himself, releasing his thoughts into the Force. Such curiosity was certainly inappropriate, especially when the Jedi Master had been left in such a vulnerable position by his nightmares.

Bilbo’s eyes moved from the Dwarf’s chest to his face, which was relaxed in sleep, making him appear almost tranquil – just as he had done when he and Bilbo had shared their memories in the meditation gardens. Reposing so, with his long black hair spread out on the pillows beneath his head, Bilbo couldn’t help but think Master Thorin resembled some of the ancient paintings he had seen covering the ceilings of the temples on Takodana… Bilbo scolded himself again, feeling colour blossoming in his cheeks and he quickly looked away from Master Thorin altogether. What in the Force’s name was wrong with him? This kind of hopeless behaviour just wasn’t acceptable for a Jedi Knight... Perhaps he should speak to Gandalf and ask his old Master for guidance on how to focus his mind and ignore these strange ripples in the Force.

Master Thorin suddenly stirred and Bilbo froze. He knew he should have excused himself at first light, but now here he was, rooted to the spot with trepidation and a horrible sense of foreboding: he had a feeling the Jedi Master wasn’t going to be very pleased to see him. Master Thorin’s eyes fluttered open and Bilbo braced himself for the shouting and for the insults, and mentally prepared himself to deflect anything the Jedi deemed fit to throw at him – his bet was on the metal washbowl on the bedside table.

The expected growl came as Master Thorin pulled himself up in the bed, fingers clutching at the sheets in his lap, and Bilbo felt him slam multiple layers of mental shielding right up… but then there was no yelling, no insults, no throwing of inanimate objects, only a moment of absolute quiet as Master Thorin’s blue eyes bore into Bilbo, as if seeing right into him. Bilbo told himself it didn’t make him shudder as he waited, like a prisoner with his executioner.

“You were in my dreams last night,” Master Thorin rumbled, his voice a little harsh, yet not unkind… and his expression was one of confusion, rather than anger or hatred.

Bilbo stared at him, mouth flopping open uselessly, surprised and rather shocked at how calm Master Thorin appeared to be in light of the situation. After a few tense moments passed, Bilbo finally regained the ability to speak: “I… gave you some of my memories,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady as his chest tightened.

Master Thorin knitted his black brows together in a frown, gaze still intently focused on the Hobbit at his bedside, and Bilbo sensed he was waiting for a proper explanation.

“You were having nightmares,” Bilbo said carefully. “Fili was unable to wake you so I shared some memories with you, to guide you back to safer dreams.”

Master Thorin’s eyes finally moved away from Bilbo, flitting to the door of his bedroom, and in the silence Bilbo suspected his mind may have been seeking out his padawan. Fili hadn’t returned to the room since Bilbo had convinced him to go and get some rest, and he wasn’t sure whether this communication through their training bond was successful.

The Dwarf’s gaze once again returned to Bilbo and he asked quietly: “Who sent for you?”

It wasn’t quite an accusation and Bilbo could tell Master Thorin’s confusion at this turn of events still lingered – and rightly so, this wasn’t exactly a routine wake up call. Bilbo thought about telling Master Thorin the truth: that he had woken in a cold sweat, already knowing what was occurring in these quarters… but he wasn’t sure he would be believed, or that such an idea would be welcome, especially when Bilbo simply didn’t have an explanation for it. And so he decided to use the same line as he had with Fili earlier that morning.

“No one sent for me,” Bilbo replied slowly. “I was walking past your quarters when I heard you shouting – my last mission was to Taris, which has a thirty-two hour day, and so I’m struggling to adjust to Coruscant’s timezone.”

“You were walking the Temple in your sleepclothes?” Master Thorin asked, one eyebrow raised – again, not in accusation, more in bafflement.

“Oh…” Bilbo’s eyes flickered to his sleep tunic in panic, realising Master was definitely sharper than apprentice in this case. “Er… yes, I thought I would be more comfortable, more likely to fall asleep when I returned to my quarters.”

Master Thorin’s expression suddenly became pained and Bilbo flinched, wondering if he had somehow managed to offend, but then the Dwarf spoke softly: “Are the healers unable to give you something to help you sleep?”

Bilbo’s eyes widened when it finally dawned on him that Master Thorin was actually concerned, and then he felt even worse for lying to him. “They, erm, they say my body should right itself in a day or two… I suppose I just have to wait the time out.”

Master Thorin’s expression only grew more troubled. “It sounds like they are only trying to avoid doing their job… It is a shame Master Oin did not join us from Ered Luin: he has perfected a draught which all my kin take when moving from system to system, it stops us from feeling the effects of such travel.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but then realised Master Thorin was speaking of the same healer whom Fili had said had once almost lost an arm due to the Jedi Master’s aversion to treatment… It seemed he held him in high esteem, believing in his ability to heal others, but not himself.

“Oh,” Bilbo said, definitely not feeling very eloquent that morning. “Yes, it… it is a shame.”

They shared a moment of silence, not quite looking at each other, and then Master Thorin’s fingers twitched around the bedsheets again and he spoke slowly, with a slight edge in his voice: “When you shared your memories with me, did you also share my nightmares?”

“I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” Bilbo stuttered, feeling his heart begin a heavy thudding against his ribs.

“Did you share my nightmares?” Master Thorin repeated, more forcefully this time, with a definite scowl.

“Yes,” Bilbo breathed, chest tightening again. “I… saw a red lightsaber… and… and I heard you call out for your grandfather… and there was a roar, a most terrible roar…”

Master Thorin studied him carefully, blue eyes searching his face, but clearly finding only truth in his words. He didn’t reply, only continued to stare at him, making the hair on Bilbo’s toes prickle.

“Please accept my sincerest apologies, Master Thorin,” Bilbo said, worried the older Jedi might actually throw something at him now. “I only wished to help, I did not –”

“You know my kin and I are from Erebor,” Master Thorin said, speaking over Bilbo, his tone quiet but commanding.

Bilbo was once again surprised that the Jedi Master was yet to raise his voice to him. “Yes… You showed me the mountain…” he murmured, remembering the beautiful, solitary peak he had projected into Master Thorin’s sleeping mind only a few hours ago.

“And you know we were forced to flee our homeworld when it was attacked?” Master Thorin continued, the beginnings of pain flickering in his gaze.

Bilbo only nodded, unsure there was anything else he could do or say in response.

“But what you do not know is that it was my family who summoned the darkness to Erebor.”

Bilbo’s heart gave a double-thump as he fought to keep his expression neutral… was this why he had seen the horrifying white face of a Sith Lord in Master Thorin’s mind?

“My grandfather was a great Jedi,” Master Thorin said, and Bilbo felt rather than saw the ache taking hold of the Dwarf’s heart. “He was a great leader of my people… but then he became consumed by greed, by selfish desires…” Master Thorin’s gaze became distant as he remembered. “He lost his way, choosing a path far from the Light… and instead he submitted himself to the Darkness…”

Bilbo felt a cold wave wash over him and icy talons folded themselves around his insides. Had Master Thorin’s grandfather really been won over by the Dark Side of the Force?

“He brought the Darkness to Erebor,” Master Thorin whispered. “But in the end, he would not join them and he escaped with us, half-way across the Galaxy… and we all left our home behind.”

The questions began mounting up, stumbling over each other inside Bilbo’s mind, and he did his best to shield his morbid intrigue, lest Master Thorin find it offensive when he was obviously hurting. But still Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder if the Sith, long thought extinct by the Council, had really come to Erebor? And why hadn’t the Order reacted to such a threat? Why had no one else sensed their presence?

“The Darkness never really left my grandfather.” Master Thorin was looking at him again, blue eyes shining. “He led us into war after war, across the Outer Rim, driven by his greed… Until he was slain in battle on Azanulbizar.”

Master Thorin’s desperate cries for his grandfather rang in Bilbo’s ears and he felt an ache gnawing into his chest… the Dwarf had witnessed his grandfather’s death, and Bilbo had felt all the pain and the cold and the darkness that had come with it.

“He was killed by the Sith I saw in your memories,” Bilbo murmured, before instantly regretting this assertion, certain he was going to provoke the same anger as the last time he mentioned it in the meditation gardens.

However, Master Thorin only drew his lips into a thin line, looking pale as he answered: “Yes. His name was Darth Azog, an Orc from Gundabad in the Angmar System.”

Bilbo nodded, dropping his eyes into his lap, feeling his heart rattling the bars of his ribcage… Here was his confirmation that the Sith were not extinct, that followers of the Dark Side still existed across the galaxy, but he collected together his tangles of fear and let them fade into the Force, turning his attentions back to Master Thorin and his pain. “I’m so sorry,” he said, daring to meet the Dwarf’s gaze.

“But I avenged my grandfather’s death, I killed that piece of Sith filth on that very battlefield and –”

Master Thorin stopped, wincing in pain as he rubbed a finger at his temple, and Bilbo leaned forward, having the sudden desire to reach out and aid him in his self-soothing… but he stopped himself, sitting back in the chair. No wonder he didn’t want to spar with me on the training ground, he thought. Master Thorin might have been the only member of the Order to kill a Sith Lord for centuries; of course he wouldn’t want to spar with a newly-Knighted Hobbit.

“But my grandfather’s death… it drove my father, my Master, into despair… He was warped by anger and by fear… and when he disappeared, we could only think that the Darkness had claimed him too.”

Bilbo’s expression was one of sympathy as he once again fought the urge to reach out to Master Thorin. He was certain he would be beside himself if anything happened to Gandalf, and so he could only imagine what the Dwarf must have been going through all these years. “Well, let us hope that wherever your Master is, he has found his way back to the Light.”

Master Thorin didn’t answer and he was looking troubled again, not quite able to meet Bilbo’s eye as a shadow fell over his features.

“Master Thorin?” Bilbo whispered, wondering if his nightmares were having some lingering effects.

“I am afraid that I will end up like them,” Master Thorin said, voice slightly strained. “I am afraid that I will fall prey to the Darkness… Sometimes I feel so much anger… so much fear…”

Bilbo couldn’t believe that Master Thorin was sharing these thoughts with him, something so personal, and he was confessing his worst fears to him of all people… Bilbo only wished he knew what to say to offer him what little comfort he was capable of.

“That afternoon… out on the training grounds,” Master Thorin said slowly. “I would not spar with you because I was afraid you would make me look weak… such pride is a path to the Dark Side… and sometimes I wonder if I have already started on the path to Darkness.”

I was afraid you would make me look weak. Bilbo’s stomach scrunched in on itself as his mind echoed Master Thorin’s words… Did he really believe that he, a Hobbit barely past his Trials, would best him in combat? The thought was doing some strange things to his insides and making the Force curl around his ankles and nuzzle at his stomach like an overly-affectionate tooka. But this was not something to dwell on, not when Master Thorin was clearly hurting. No, Bilbo was going to focus his mind on what was important here.

“I do not believe you will fall to Darkness, Master Thorin” he said gently, shuffling forward a little in his chair. “We all feel its call at some point during our lives… I know I felt it, when my parents died, but I resisted its tempting, just as you did when you lost your grandfather and your father.”

Bilbo drew in a slightly shuddering but deep breath and then took the plunge, reaching out and placing his hand over Master Thorin’s on the bed. At first the Jedi Master stiffened and Bilbo was sure he had overstepped. He was about to draw away when Master Thorin relaxed his fingers and suddenly Bilbo’s palm felt curiously warm, the heat sending a fuzzy, almost electrical tingling up his arm, making him feel very giddy indeed. Spurred on by this, Bilbo inhaled slowly and continued his reassurances.

“You have fought against pain and suffering all your life, but it’s a fight that makes you strong, not weak… and I sense so much of the Light in you, Master Thorin. I do not think you will go to the Dark Side, no matter how many times it calls to you.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke, and Bilbo coughed, slowly withdrawing his hand, which only felt all the colder for it. He did, however, feel the skin of his forearms continue tingling as his heart thudded in his ears.

And then Master Thorin smiled.

Bilbo blinked in surprise, but it didn’t change the picture before him. The Jedi Master was positively beaming and the smile lit up his face like a shaft of light.

“You are full of surprises, Knight Baggins,” Master Thorin said, his voice impossibly deep.

“Bilbo,” Bilbo said quietly. “Please… call me Bilbo.”

Master Thorin nodded, only seeming to smile more. “Bilbo,” he repeated, and the Force sent a positive zap straight through Bilbo’s fingertips. “You may call me Thorin.”

Bilbo was sure he had an eloquent response prepared, but instead his lips couldn’t quite manage to form any words, and he simply ended up smiling rather dopily as he held Ma- …Thorin’s gaze.

But then, all too soon, Thorin looked away and Bilbo recognised his expression as one of someone communicating through a bond.

“Fili would like to know if you would join us for breakfast in the canteen?” he said softly, before blinking in a way that came with a telepathic nudge and added: “And, er, obviously I… I would very much like you to join us as well.”

Bilbo smiled, telling himself he was most definitely not blushing. “Yes… I’d like that.”

Thorin nodded, seeming infinitely pleased at his response, before his expression grew more serious. “And… thank you, Bilbo, for everything you did last night. Fili and I… we very much appreciate your help.”

Bilbo had a sneaking suspicion that Thorin was being telepathically schooled on proper manners by his apprentice, but he would accept the thank you nonetheless.

“You’re most welcome,” he replied. “Thank you for… well, for sharing some of your past with me. I know you Dwarves value your privacy and –”

And then, in a show of the exact opposite of valuing privacy, the doors to Thorin’s bedroom hissed open and Fili waltzed in, already dressed for the day in his light brown robes.

“Oh!” he said, stopping in the doorway. “I didn’t realise neither of you were dressed yet…” The young Dwarf seemed to have gained some confidence from giving his uncle a successful lesson in etiquette. “Well, chop, chop… I’m hungrier than a Gungan at an Onderonian fish market!”

“Yes, thank you, Fili,” Thorin scowled, but his padawan was already gone.

…

After returning to his own quarters to dress, Bilbo made his way to the Temple Canteen. As Coruscant’s sun had now clambered a significant stretch into the blue morning sky, he found the canteen was a positive hive of activity. Most of the tables were taken by groups of chattering Jedi and as soon as Bilbo entered through the silver doors he caught a delicious whiff of warm rolls and sizzling meats and spiced eggs. It certainly made his mouth water and his stomach gave a faint rumble. It was now well over twenty-four hours since Bilbo had last stepped foot in the canteen: after failing to show up for his omelette – and several meals after that – he had elected to eat an evening meal alone in his quarters, sprinkling nutritional supplement powder into a bag of boiling water so that it formed itself into a kind of stew once stirred. He just hoped Meggi wouldn’t be too upset with him.

“Bilbo!”

Bilbo followed the familiar voice and spotted Kili waving at him from a table in the corner of the canteen. The rest of the Dwarves were already gathered there and Bilbo felt his heart give an acrobatic flip when Thorin turned and offered him a small smile in greeting. By the Force, control yourself, Bilbo Baggins, Bilbo chided himself as he weaved his way around the tables to join his new companions.

The Dwarves had chosen a fairly large circular table and as he approached, Kili pushed out the seat between himself and Thorin, turning to Bilbo with a bright, eager look. Bilbo suddenly wasn’t sure whether what had transpired that night had been shared with Kili and Master Dwalin, but he swiftly decided to follow Thorin and Fili’s lead on that one. He took a seat at the table, hoping his smile didn’t look too uneasy as he greeted them.

“Good morning,” he said, with what he hoped was sufficient cheer.

His ‘good morning’ was echoed around the table and he couldn’t help but notice the way Master Dwalin’s eyes crinkled – possibly with amusement – when he grunted his ‘mornin’’.

“We, er, we haven’t ordered yet,” Thorin explained quietly, glancing at Bilbo before quickly looking away, around the table at his kin. “We weren’t sure what Hobbits usually eat for breakfast, so…”

Thorin trailed off and Bilbo told himself he didn’t find this new awkwardness incredibly endearing, although he honestly wasn’t sure of its cause. “That’s quite alright, I have to say, I’m very partial to the intergalactic bread basket and the scrambled Quor’sav eggs.”

Bilbo turned around in his seat, eyes searching out Meggi, knowing that at least he could get them served fairly quickly. He spotted the Besalisk through the serving hatch, moving around her kitchen, and she suddenly stopped, her dark yellow eyes locking with Bilbo’s and narrowing.

“BILBO BAGGINS!”

Oh no. Bilbo realised he had completely misjudged the severity of Meggi’s reaction to his meal-skipping. Today, it looked like she was intent on making quite a melodramatic show out of it as Besalisks were wont to do. The Temple’s population had certainly witnessed such spectacles before: she would come bounding across the canteen and scoop him up, dangling him in the air so she could loudly declare how much weight he had lost due to his poor diet and then proceed to ply him with dish after dish until she was satisfied. It appeared this morning was to be no exception and Bilbo already felt his cheeks colouring at the thought of Thorin bearing witness to this embarrassing display of maternal affection.

Bracing himself for the inevitable, Bilbo pushed his chair back just as Meggi bolted out of her kitchen, crossing the whole canteen in a matter of seconds as she charged at their table like a reek at a red cloak. As expected, Bilbo found himself being snatched up out of his seat by several large hands… but then the entire canteen suddenly fell into deathly silence at the very distinctive sound of a lightsaber being ignited.

[Link to Art]

Bilbo looked down to see Thorin holding his saber in an attack position, its dark blue blade throwing an eerie light on his face as he stared up at Meggi with a look of fury, his teeth bared. Fili was at his side, twin sabers drawn but not powered up, and both Kili and Master Dwalin were on their feet.

Whispers started around their table as other Jedi prepared to intervene, although everyone was clearly stunned. No one ever armed themselves in Meggi’s canteen, let alone threatened Meggi themselves, and Bilbo was sure he had stopped breathing altogether. Had Thorin really believed him to be in danger? Even though he had shared memories with him of his affection for Meggi? And why had he acted so rashly, without even taking a moment to sense Meggi’s intentions and the nature of the situation?

“Meggi,” Bilbo breathed, and the Besalisk very carefully lowered him back onto the floor, her eyes not leaving Thorin, but then she wrapped one muscular arm around Bilbo and pulled him into her side, keeping him pressed against her in an undeniably protective embrace. She glared down at Thorin, her dark pink skin flushing bright red and her wattle inflating in a clear show of intimidation.

“Put that away!” Meggi snapped. “What in the Force’s name do you think you’re doing, arming yourself in my canteen?”

Thorin slowly lowered his lightsaber and powered down the blade, although his stance still remained wide and tense, and his eyes moved from Meggi to Bilbo. “I… I thought…”

“You really thought I was going to hurt him?” Meggi demanded, and even if it was lost on others, Bilbo could hear the hurt in her voice.

But that was still no excuse for this ridiculous display. Honestly, she had him cradled against her like he was a youngling again and he had had quite enough of being treated like a child.

“Meggi,” he said firmly, trying – and failing – to pull away from her grip. “It was a mistake, Master Thorin just didn’t understand… You know he meant no real harm.”

Meggi let out a snort and leaned down, narrowing her eyes at Thorin in a way that made Bilbo uneasy.

“You’re the reason he hasn’t been eating,” she growled, her expression searching.

Bilbo’s stomach began to knot itself. He knew Meggi was Force-sensitive, but beyond her culinary expertise, he wasn’t actually sure what the Besalisk was capable of… and now he wasn’t very happy that he’d just found out how attuned her senses really were.

Thorin’s eyes flickered to Bilbo as he furrowed his brows, somehow managing to look both furious and bewildered. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, through gritted teeth.

Meggi’s wattle wobbled ominously as she prepared herself for an argument, but then Bilbo conjured up a little extra Force to give himself the strength to push away from the Besalisk’s side.

“Meggi, please, enough now,” he said, looking up at her as he continued his pleading. “Master Thorin has nothing to do with me missing a few meals – I’ve just been really busy since I returned from Taris… and now I’m here so you can help me make up for the meals I’ve missed.”

Meggi studied him for a long time, but Bilbo held firm, having no intention of budging on this, even if she did clearly suspect the truth. After another tense few moments, Meggi gently relinquished her hold on him and moved one of her large hands to his shoulder.

“Alright, tumble bunny, alright,” she soothed, the flush ebbing away from her skin as she smiled at him. “I’m going to cook you up the biggest omelette you’ve ever seen right this instant and you’ll be needing two bread baskets.”

Bilbo nodded, resting his cheek briefly on Meggi’s hand in a show of reconciliation.

And then Meggi turned back to Thorin, jabbing the air in front of him with one clawed finger. “And you. If I ever find out you’ve come between my boy and his meals, I’ll be adding your internal organs to my specials board… Have I made myself clear?”

Thorin’s expression was still fairly thunderous but he answered, a little begrudgingly: “Of course, Mistress T’rell.”

Meggi gave a grunt of satisfaction and then, after one final glare, she ambled away, back to her kitchen to prepare Bilbo’s omelette. Most of the Jedi had returned to their tables, but they were still glancing over at Bilbo and Thorin with expressions of shock and mild dismay. One by one, the Dwarves retreated to their seats and Bilbo did the same. No one spoke for a long time and Bilbo noticed they were mostly avoiding each other’s eye. Thorin seemed to have withdrawn completely into himself, staring down at the table with a dark expression… and if Bilbo didn’t know any better, he would say he was sulking. But he didn’t want a little cultural misunderstanding to ruin their breakfast – or undo any of the headway he and Thorin had made in their friendship, and so he decided he would be the one to break the silence.

“I’m terribly sorry about all of that,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t sound too strained. “Meggi is, er, she’s just very protective of me, she always has been.”

Fili grinned over at Kili and whispered something in Khuzdul, making both of them laugh and Master Dwalin smirk. Thorin, however, let out a slightly exasperated ‘Fili’.

“What did he say?” Bilbo asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know I’m right,” Fili said, still grinning.

Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but then Kili cut in with: “He said that your mother is just like ours… Oh, and that he’d love to put them in the same room together.”

“Oh, right,” Bilbo said, smiling at the thought. He pictured Thorin’s sister, the dark-haired Dwarrowdam he had seen in his memories, and tried to imagine what would happen if she and Meggi were to meet… Well, he supposed it would depend on whether either of them felt there was need to come to anyone’s defence. And then Bilbo thought for a moment and stopped – surely the young Dwarves knew Meggi was a different species and it wasn’t that female Hobbits looked rather dramatically different to their male counterparts, as it was with some races. “You do realise Meggi isn’t, er, my real mother, don’t you?” he asked carefully.

Both Fili and Kili burst out laughing.

“Yes, don’t worry, us Dwarves might have hard heads but we figured that one out, tumble bunny,” Fili snickered.

“And anyway, for all we have our soul-bonds, Dwarves are all about families of choice,” Kili shrugged. “It’s nice that you’ve got someone looking out for you besides Master Gandalf.”

Bilbo smiled at that, glancing around the table, trying to ignore the heavier thud of his heart when he caught Thorin staring at him. He realised then that, despite the rather troubling circumstances that had brought him here, this was the first time since he had completed his Trials that he didn’t feel quite so lonely… and he couldn’t deny what a pleasant feeling that was.

Chapter Text

“then we both drink the rest”

Whenever Bilbo thought of his childhood, he always thought of sunrises. The Jedi Temple’s crèche, located on the east side of the building, took up four levels and every window looked out onto the horizon that welcomed Coruscant’s single sun into the sky every morning. When he was still a youngling, Bilbo found he always awoke with the sun. He would watch the way it migrated slowly and steadily across the sky like a grazing nudfuh, fascinated by the splashes of bright colours, of rich oranges and reds and pinks, which made him think of the stories the crèche masters told them of the spice markets on Jakku and the desert sands of Er’kit. Bilbo supposed the sunrise had been a comfort to him as he took his first steps on the long and uncertain road towards becoming a Jedi – the future held many uncertainties, the Force positively rippling with them, and he was so very far from home… But every morning the sun would wake him, warm and reassuring rays stroking through his curls, and it had given him strength and balance.

The crèche’s lowest level had large glass doors which opened out onto a section of the meditation gardens. An area was cordoned off so that the younglings could play and explore and learn to attune themselves to the living Force. Bilbo approached the doors now and his eyes scanned the greenery, feeling a little envious of this particular youngling clan’s delight as they chased each other through the long grass and went tumbling down the gentle slopes. As it was now late afternoon, the sun was beginning its plodding descent towards the western horizon and a few of the little ones seemed content to simply settle by the stream that ran through the garden and bask in its warmth, sensing the Force ebbing and flowing around them. The clan was being supervised by three Jedi Masters, none of whom was the Jedi Master Bilbo was seeking. Stepping almost tentatively through the doors and enquiring after the whereabouts of Master Gandalf, Bilbo was directed to the crèche’s third level where his Master should be finishing up his weekly meditation class.

Stepping into the lift, Bilbo wondered whether he was making the right decision in asking his old Master for advice. After the incident with Meggi in the canteen that morning, Bilbo had spent a few hours meditating on all the odd things that had occurred since he and Thorin had met in the sparring arena. The Force was indeed behaving very strangely and when this period of solitude and reflection offered up no answers, Bilbo felt it was finally time to turn to Gandalf for guidance. Although he was also aware that the likelihood of getting any straightforward or simple answers from his Master was quite slim – Gandalf seemed to enjoy speaking in riddles, his responses so cryptic that Bilbo was forced to figure out the solution for himself… which, of course, was always the Jedi Master’s intention. Equally, Bilbo was a little concerned that Gandalf may be able to sense some of the less than respectable thoughts he had been having about Thorin, and he wasn’t sure whether his mental shields would be able to hold against his Master’s never-ending curiosity.

The lift doors hissed open and Bilbo stepped out onto the crèche’s third level, the dappled grey marble smooth and cool beneath his bare feet. Turning left down the corridor, he soon found himself standing in front of the meditation room and his fingers immediately reached up to fidget with the short, bristly strands of golden hair behind his ear. Taking a deep breath, Bilbo tapped the call-pad beside the doors which instantly slid open to admit him.

The meditation room was fairly small and circular in shape. Thin black-out blinds were usually drawn during sessions, but they had been raised, signalling that Gandalf’s tutelage was now at an end and sunlight was streaming into the room. A clan of about a dozen younglings was sitting on circular, dark red meditation cushions, spread out throughout the room, with Gandalf sitting on his own, larger cushion at the front of the group, his grey robes – an unusual choice for a Jedi Master – pooling on the floor around him. As soon as Bilbo entered, a ripple of excitement and joy spread through the room and the younglings greeted him with a chorus of: “Hello, Knight Baggins!”

Bilbo smiled in return and wide, curious eyes followed his movements as he came to stand at his Master’s side.

“My dear Bilbo,” Gandalf said warmly, blue eyes bright. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting, Master,” Bilbo replied, giving a short bow. “I was just wondering if I could have a word with you?”

“If you can say all you need to in a single word, you really have come very far, my not-so-young apprentice,” Gandalf chuckled, eyeing his group of young charges who began giggling. “All thanks to my training, of course.” He winked at the class, causing more giggles.

Bilbo only smiled at his Master’s gentle teasing – if there was one thing being trained by Gandalf had taught him, it was unending patience. “I confess I may need more than a single word, Master,” he said quietly.

“In that case, I believe it may be time for you all to return to your dormitory and prepare for dinner,” Gandalf said, smiling at his students, who all began to stagger to their feet.

This particular youngling clan were only three or four years old, still a good few solar years away from achieving padawan status. They were all bursting with energy and assurance despite most being drowned by their tunics and some not quite so steady on their feet. Bilbo caught Gandalf nodding into the group, lowering his head in silent approval, but he wasn’t quite sure why until one youngling broke ranks and rushed forward with an elated yowl.

“Kit!” Bilbo grinned, unable to hide his surprise. He hadn’t spotted the Wookie youngling sitting at the back of the room, but now he lifted him into his arms and let him snuggle into his chest.

Kithra-Wodi – whom Bilbo knew affectionately as ‘Kit’ – was a Wookie youngling that he and Gandalf had discovered during a mission to the forest planet of Kashyyyk last year. It had taken a long time to convince Kit’s parents to allow him to be taken back to Coruscant to begin his training with the Order, but finally they had handed him over into Bilbo’s arms and the two had been nearly inseparable for the rest of the mission and their journey home.

“Have you been enjoying your lessons?” Bilbo asked quietly, resting his chin on Kit’s head, the Wookie’s dark brown fur tickling his nose. “Is everyone being kind to you?”

Bilbo’s grasp of Shyriiwook was fairly basic, but he still understood Kit’s responding grunts and growls to be an affirmative and he was glad. He was about to enquire further when he felt something wrap around his right leg: he tensed, his grip on Kit tightening, but one glance down confirmed that a tiny Twi’lek girl had decided to latch onto him, her arms and legs wrapped around his shin, and Bilbo couldn’t help but think of the Dagobah swamp sloths that clung to branches in much the same way.

“Hello there,” Bilbo smiled. “What’s your name?”

“Kyra,” she replied, peering up at him with light purple eyes as she pressed her cheek into the soft fabric of his trousers.

It was then that Bilbo felt small fingers inspecting the hair on his left foot. Kit appeared to have started a bit of a mad rush and now the younglings were greeting their guest in their own preferred way, as opposed to the disciplined and decorous methods usually expected from Jedi initiates. As a result, Bilbo found he had a Wookie in his arms, a Twi’lek wrapped around his right leg and a Tholothian youngling curiously tangling her fingers in the sandy curls on his left foot. Bilbo opened his mouth to greet her, but then she curled up into a ball and rested her head on his foot, obviously deciding this would be a suitable place for a nap.

Bilbo’s attention was torn away from his growing brood by a soft laugh and he looked up to see Master Bard, a dark-haired human from the watery shores of Esgaroth, had entered the meditation room.

“I’m still not sure why you won’t accept my offer of taking one of our classes, Knight Baggins,” the Crèche Master said kindly. “You’re obviously a natural with our younglings.”

Bilbo offered only a smile in reply and shifted Kit on his hip. It was true that the little ones appeared to be drawn to him – as they were every time he visited the crèche – however, Bilbo couldn’t say he always felt at ease with children. Given his heritage, it was only to be expected that other Jedi would assume he had an affinity with the youngest members of their Order. Hobbits usually had very large families with some couples having over a dozen fauntlings. Shire, with its quiet, peaceful ways, and its tendency to keep its nose out of Republic matters at all cost, had always been a good place to raise a family. Yet, Bilbo had only learned after his parents’ deaths that they had had no more children after he was taken from them. Equally, if he was honest with himself – something a Jedi ought always to be – part of him was glad he had been discovered by the Jedi Order for the simple reason that it meant he wouldn’t be expected to start a family. And so he continued to smile at Master Bard, saying nothing, and once again avoiding the subject of becoming an instructor for the crèche.

“Right, I think it’s about time we got ourselves ready for dinner,” the Crèche Master announced. “Let’s say our good byes to Master Gandalf and Knight Baggins.”

Many of the younglings certainly perked up at the mention of food and Bilbo felt Kyra disentangle herself from his leg. The Tholothian girl also roused herself and tottered away to join the line of younglings that was forming in front of the meditation room doors. Kit, however, was more reluctant to join the rest of his clan and pushed his nose into Bilbo’s shoulder with an unhappy growl.

“I promise I’ll come and see you soon,” Bilbo whispered, giving the Wookie a reassuring squeeze.

After a little more coaxing, Kit relented and allowed Bilbo to set him back down onto his feet. He waddled off to join the back of the line, pulling at his tunic sleeves that were still a little too long for him. After a round of respectful bowing – returned by both Gandalf and Bilbo – the younglings followed Bard out of the room, and when Kit disappeared through the doors with a wave, Master and apprentice were left alone in the room.

“Why don’t you have a seat, my boy?” Gandalf raised a hand and used the Force to slide another large, circular cushion across the floor so that it stopped at his side.

Bilbo nodded and settled himself down on the cushion, folding his legs under him in a traditional meditative pose and draping his brown robes over his lap, his hands lost in their sleeves. Gandalf was silent for a moment, his light blue eyes appraising him carefully. The Jedi Master was an Istari from the remote planet of Valinor. His race were very wise and very long-lived. Bilbo wasn’t actually sure how old his Master was and sometimes he wondered if Gandalf had ever been young. It was almost impossible to imagine his Master without his long silvery hair – a few locks gathered into a ponytail at the back of his head – and grey beard that fell over his tunic. Indeed, it was strange even to think about Gandalf once being a youngling who had not yet grown into his robes.

Master Saruman and Master Radagast, members of the Jedi High Council, were also Istari… but Gandalf had always been quite different to the other members of his race, and the Council for that matter. Thorin’s comments out on the training grounds had not been the first time Bilbo had heard Master Gandalf’s strange ideas and bizarre methods as reasoning behind taking on a Hobbit as his padawan learner.

“You have been avoiding me, Bilbo,” Gandalf said slowly, with humour in his deep voice.

Bilbo didn’t care whether or not his master felt it: he still shot up another layer of mental shielding, just to be on the safe side. “Of course not, Master,” he replied. “I’ve just been very busy since my return from Taris.”

Gandalf had a definite twinkle in his eye. “Busy?”

Bilbo found he couldn’t quite meet his Master’s gaze and so he set about rearranging his robes and adjusting his sleeves.

“Something is troubling you.”

It came as no surprise to Bilbo that, despite attempting to strengthen his mental shields, Gandalf had still been able to sense his discomfort and his concern. Slowly lifting his eyes to meet his Master’s, he decided it was probably best to simply tell the truth. “The Force has been behaving very strangely, Master,” he said carefully. “I sense that… that there is something I’m not understanding, but something it wants me to know.”

Gandalf’s brow wrinkled into a slight frown as he considered Bilbo’s words. “Do you believe this is a disturbance?”

“I don’t think so,” Bilbo replied, shaking his head. “It’s not a warning, not born of negative emotion… It’s not like anything I’ve ever experienced before.”  

“The Force works in mysterious ways,” Gandalf said, with a soft, almost reverent smile. “Sometimes it simply likes to give us a nudge in the right direction.”

“A nudge?” Bilbo asked, feeling his stomach tighten a little. That certainly sounded familiar, like the tingling in his fingers tips and the prodding between his ribs.

“A little bit of encouragement,” Gandalf explained, tone as calm as ever. “Perhaps it is trying to direct you towards a certain course of action… or a certain person.”

A certain person. Images of Thorin flashed in Bilbo’s mind and he looked away, telling himself he didn’t feel his heart give a little flutter.

“Have you consulted the healers about these… nudges?” Gandalf prompted, when his apprentice offered up no reply. “Did they detect anything when they examined you after your return from Taris?”

“No, but these tremors didn’t start until…” Bilbo paused, not quite sure he liked the way Gandalf was smiling at him. Rather than complete this particular sentence, he decided to change the subject altogether. “Did you know that the Sith are not, in fact, extinct?”

It was a darker, concerning thought that had so far been playing second fiddle to the Force’s confusing antics, but Bilbo felt it was something he should confront his old Master with. He had no qualms about being blunt with his questioning: he sensed that he already knew the answer, which came a few moments later.

“Yes, the Council is aware of the existence of a Sith Lord,” Gandalf replied, expression unreadable.

Bilbo wasn’t sure why the Jedi Master implied there was only a single Sith Lord when Thorin’s story appeared to contain several, but then such enigmatic statements were not unusual for Gandalf.

“But… But why hasn’t the Order destroyed them? Driven them back into extinction?” Bilbo asked, aware that his tone had become more than a little demanding.

“As far as the Council is concerned, the Sith are currently contained and we do not want any of our Order challenging them when we are too few in number,” Gandalf said patiently. “Furthermore, the Dwarves have never been very forthcoming with information and we cannot act without knowing our enemy.”

Bilbo felt his stomach twist as anger flashed across his expression. “You’re not seriously blaming the Dwarves for the Council’s inaction?” he snapped. “Thorin lost family, his father and grandfather! I cannot believe the Council have elected to do nothing to help!”   

“Be mindful of your emotions, my dear Bilbo,” Gandalf warned, tone low and firm. “Such anger on another’s behalf is admirable, but be wary of where it may lead you.”

Sighing, Bilbo closed his eyes and released his anger at this injustice into the Force. Gandalf was right: such negative emotions were not prudent, nor were they helpful. “I’m sorry, Master,” he said softly.

“That’s quite alright,” Gandalf replied, with a warm smile, his blue eyes twinkling again. “And if it would help you to know, I voted against the Council’s decision not to act, but I was, as ever, out-voted.”

Bilbo had to smile at that: he wasn’t sure the Jedi High Council had ever achieved a unanimous vote with Gandalf sitting amongst them… Sometimes he wondered why they ever elected him to their ranks in the first place, but still he was glad they had.

“You are allowed your secrets, Bilbo,” Gandalf said, smile still in place. “But trust in the Force, trust in its guidance, and it will never steer you wrong.”

Bilbo nodded, feeling a little better, and glad he had decided to seek Gandalf’s counsel after all. “Thank you, Master.”

“Would you like to join me for meditation?”

“Oh,” Bilbo said, shifting on his cushion. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, I think I would prefer solitude to reflect on our conversation.”

“Very well.” Gandalf’s knowing, almost amused expression communicated that he wasn’t offended by his apprentice’s declination. “I will leave you in the Force’s capable hands… but do come back and see me, should there be any more strange occurrences.”

“I will, Master, thank you.” Bilbo rose from his cushion and gave a respectful bow, which Gandalf returned with a nod of his head.

The meditation room doors slid open as Bilbo approached and he stepped back out into the corridor. Turning to his left, he almost jumped out of his skin when he found himself confronted by two very familiar robed figures.

“Fili, Kili?” Bilbo breathed, straightening up to hide his shock. “What are you doing here?”

The brothers seemed to be developing an unnerving habit of sneaking up on him; they could be Hobbits for how light they appeared to be on their feet.

“Looking for you,” Kili grinned, sharing a look of excitement with his brother.

“Right,” Bilbo said slowly, becoming more than a little suspicious. “And what can I do for you?”

“We were just wondering if you wanted a sparring partner for this evening?” Fili asked, rocking from the heel to the toe of his boots.

“You’re wanting to put your somersaulting into practice, are you?”

Fili and Kili exchanged conspiratorial smiles.

“Oh no,” Kili said innocently. “You see, it’s not us who wants to spar with you.”

…

The sun was slipping lower in the western horizon, bowing to the light of Coruscant’s four moons that were beginning to glow in the dark pink sky, as Bilbo followed Fili and Kili into the sparring arena, entering the traditional way this time, through the large doors that opened onto the sandy training grounds. The arena wasn’t busy at this time of day and there were only a few Jedi left sparring in their squares, with others watching from their seats in the rocky stands.

Thorin and Master Dwalin were waiting for them, having already chosen a sparring square in the corner of the arena, and Bilbo couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. He wasn’t sure why Thorin had changed his mind, why he had decided he would like to spar with Bilbo after all. Bilbo couldn’t deny that he was very eager to see Thorin fight, intrigued as to what styles of combat he would use, but then he was reminded of the fact that the Dwarven Jedi Master had defeated a Sith Lord and, therefore, this may be a very short sparring session indeed.

It came as no surprise to Bilbo that he felt a prickling in his fingertips as he drew closer to Thorin, that his chest seemed to tighten in a not unpleasant way, and he told himself to let go of his worry and his concern, to simply embrace these messages that the Force was sending him. Perhaps the Force wanted him to spar with Thorin, to help him confront his fears of weakness, and to let Bilbo prove himself… this did indeed seem to be a nudge in the right direction.

“Knight Baggins,” Thorin said, before correcting himself: “Bilbo.” He greeted him with a small smile that only sent another wave of tremors tickling up Bilbo’s arms. “I hope my apprentice has explained that this is an offer and not an order.”

Bilbo looked back at Fili, remembering the amount of pleading and begging there had been on the walk from the crèche. Fili’s face fell, but Bilbo only replied: “Of course, but I would very much like to spar with you.”

Thorin was positively beaming as he opened his mouth to answer, but then he faltered a little, choosing instead to shift on the spot and look around the arena. “Is… this square sufficient?”

Bilbo couldn’t help but find the awkwardness endearing, it was such a welcome change from the Jedi Master’s previous gruffness. “This square is fine,” he answered, deciding not to point out that it didn’t much differ from any of the other sparring squares in the arena. “I would like to go through a kata or two, just to warm-up, if that’s alright?”

“Oh, of course, please…” Thorin coughed and gestured into the square. “I would, er, also like to carry out some warm-up exercises.”

Bilbo nodded and moved into the square. He shrugged off his brown robes and folded them in the corner of the square. He then unclipped his mat from his belt and spread it out on the sand, lowering himself onto his knees in the centre. Closing his eyes for a moment, he sensed the Force humming around him, plucking at the tiniest hairs on the back of his neck beneath his stubby ponytail, tickling the well-worn soles of his feet. He breathed deeply and began to move his arms, fluidly slipping from one pose to another, wrapping the Force around his muscles and readying his body for the fight.

After a few minutes, Bilbo slowly opened his eyes and found Thorin staring at him, making his stomach execute a few acrobatic manoeuvres. On the opposite side of the square, the Dwarf was being coached in some warm-up stretches by Master Dwalin, who clicked his fingers in front of his face to regain his attention. Bilbo tried not to smile at Thorin turned away like a scolded youngling and allowed Master Dwalin to straighten his arm into a different position.

Rising onto his feet, Bilbo continued his kata, moving through a series of leg bends and stretches, trying not to look over at Thorin again and instead focusing his mind on the sparring session ahead. He hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself too much and that Thorin might even come to appreciate some of the advantages of the Ataru form. He had fought many Jedi Masters during his training, but the way the Force was simmering and bubbling around him suggested that this fight was going to be a little different.

Bilbo straightened up when Master Dwalin approached him. “Are ye ready to give it a go, laddie?”

Bilbo nodded, packing up his mat and moving to the edge of the sparring arena, watching as Thorin did the same. Master Dwalin clapped him on the shoulder with a smile and whispered a few words to him in Khuzdul. Thorin ignited his lightsaber first, holding it out at his side with a fierce double grip, stance wide and poised for attack. Bilbo held his own lightsaber high above his head, the blade pointing forwards, towards Thorin, and he mirrored this pose with his other hand, palm flat and facing downwards, sensing the Force’s giddiness rippling out across the square.

“I’ve got fifty credits on Bilbo,” Kili grinned.

Dwalin promptly cuffed him. “We don’t bet against family, young ‘un.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, and Bilbo hoped this meant he wasn’t too offended. The two of them shifted slightly, refocusing themselves and steadying their positions. Bilbo had a feeling Thorin was expecting him to turn immediately to acrobatics, launching a more aerial assault, but Bilbo had every intention of meeting the Jedi Master head on and playing by his rules first, if only to show him that he was capable of using multiple forms to fight. Feeling his heartbeat drumming in his ears and the Force buzzing around him, Bilbo narrowed his eyes and flexed his fingers around the hilt of his saber.

And then Master Dwalin gave the signal and they both leapt forward.

Bilbo’s first thought as his light blue blade clashed with Thorin’s dark blue one, was of how much strength and power there was behind each of the Jedi Master’s blows. Bilbo even felt his bare feet sliding back across the sand at one point, but then he tapped into his own strength, conjuring a few extra wisps of Force and wrapping them around him. Soon he found he was able to match Thorin’s fierceness and he met every stroke from his saber with the same forcefulness and vigour.

He and Thorin moved across the square, exchanging blow after blow, and Bilbo kept his feet firmly on the ground. What quickly became apparent was how in sync they actually were… It was something Bilbo had never found before with a sparring partner, not even with Master Gandalf. It was almost as if they were able to anticipate or sense the other’s next move, and their synchronicity was creating a fluid, furious fight as they moved swiftly and seamlessly from one clash of their blades to the next.

Bilbo was about to block Thorin’s next strike when the Dwarf suddenly whirled around, landing the blow from a completely different angle, almost catching Bilbo off guard. Their sparring continued, with Thorin choosing to spin around another three or four times, trying to gain the upper hand. Bilbo had to alter his stance repeatedly as the Dwarf twisted himself around with both power and surprising grace, his dark hair flying across his face, but never breaking his focus.

It took a moment for Bilbo to realise Thorin’s forward assault was slowly but surely forcing their fighting into the corner of their square and thus backing him further towards the wall of the sparring arena. As their lightsabers once again crashed together, Bilbo decided it was time for a few of his favourite tricks.

Blocking a sideways swipe from Thorin’s blade, Bilbo suddenly leapt back. He jumped up and pushed one foot against the wall, using it as a springboard to launch himself in a somersault right over Thorin’s head and thus landing back in the middle of the sparring square. He dropped down into a crouch to the sound of Fili and Kili’s whooping, but Thorin span around and was on him again, throwing a few spins into his attack as he attempted to get his own back for Bilbo’s little manoeuvre.

They were fighting at closer quarters now, with little space between them as they once again exchanged smooth and synchronised blows. One particular clash was especially close and Bilbo was shocked when Thorin didn’t immediately swing his saber away, instead inviting Bilbo into a battle of strength as he locked their blades together, causing a distinctive screech to echo around the sparring square. Tightening his grip on his lightsaber’s silver hilt, Bilbo pushed back with all his might, watching Thorin through the light of their crossed blades, feeling the Force crackling with electricity around them.

“I think you might be going a little easy on me,” Bilbo said, giving Thorin a wicked smirk.

“I wasn’t sure if you could handle it,” Thorin replied, mirroring his smirk.

Bilbo scraped their blades together, causing another screech. “Trust me, I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Would you two stop flirtin’ and get on with it!”

Dwalin’s call from the square’s side-lines momentarily startled Thorin and Bilbo swung his lightsaber away, leaping around the Jedi Master so that he only just managed to spin in time to stop Bilbo from going on the offensive. The fight once again built to a crescendo of clashes and counter-attacks, moving away from the arena’s stony walls and towards the stands.

Thorin had almost backed Bilbo into the opposite corner when he saw something flicker in the older Jedi’s expression: instantly he seemed to know exactly what permission was being given. Dropping into a crouch to dodge one of Thorin’s swipes, Bilbo then jumped up and leapt back in a one-handed flip, landing outside of the square and at the bottom step of the stands. Thorin didn’t miss a beat as he stepped out of the square and came to meet him, their sparring still a series of quick-fire blows and blocking.

Bilbo could hear Fili and Kili cheering them on, but he kept his attention on their uncle as the two of them moved further and further up the stone steps, Thorin still spinning into his strikes when he was able and Bilbo deciding to break out a few more of his acrobatics, now that they had truly gone off-piste. Even fighting in the unusual terrain of the arena’s stands, Thorin still appeared to know where Bilbo was going to land whenever he took flight and Bilbo was now able to predict where the blow would be coming from whenever Thorin whirled around. And so, despite the sweat dripping down their foreheads and their hearts punching at their ribs, the impeccable synchronicity continued as they fought their way along the stands.

Sensing Thorin was about to turn into a spin, Bilbo got in there first and launched himself into a backwards somersault, but his perfect landing was foiled by a crack in the stone and a chunk suddenly crumbled away beneath Bilbo’s foot, causing the back of his ankle to scrape against the rocky seat and draw blood. Steadying himself, Bilbo let out a low hiss but immediately released his pain into the Force, lifting his lightsaber back into an attack position… only to discover Thorin had lowered his own saber.

“Thorin?” Bilbo asked, raising his eyebrow and holding his pose.

“You’re injured,” Thorin said, concern radiating from him in waves, his eyes fixed on Bilbo’s bloodied ankle.

“It’s just a scratch,” Bilbo laughed. “Come on, I’ve had much worse, and I’m not going to let you win by default!”

As if to reiterate this statement, he jumped into a tight somersault and landed without issue this time on the lower row of seats, lightsaber raised above his head again in a clear challenge.

“You’re sure?” Thorin murmured, brow still furrowed, although he lifted his blade at his side.

“The lad says he’s fine, so he’s fine!” Dwalin called from the bottom of the stands. “Get yer arse goin’!”

With this fairly blunt encouragement, Thorin adjusted his position and then lunged forward and clashed their blue blades together. Pleased that Thorin had decided not to abandon their fight, Bilbo committed to it with renewed vigour, his ankle completely forgotten as they moved back down the stands and towards the arena. Most of the sparring squares were vacated now, not that Bilbo and Thorin were exactly playing by the rules, but still they got in no one’s way as they battled it out from square to square, their bodies getting closer and closer together as their blows grew in strength and speed.

Bilbo realised what Thorin planned to do a second too late: he barely had time to register the fact that the Dwarf was using one of his own tricks against him when a foot wrapped around his uninjured ankle and pulled. With his feet taken from under him, Bilbo’s hand shot out and grabbed Thorin’s tunic, believing he might be able to use the Force to flip the Dwarf off him, but it seemed Thorin had already anticipated this counter-attack.

Bilbo landed flat on his back in the sand, his lightsaber rolling away from him, its blade powering down, and Thorin had him pinned beneath him, knees either side of his waist and hands at his wrists. Bilbo struggled in the Dwarf’s grip, one hand straining towards his saber, trying to summon it to him. The hilt had just begun to twitch when Thorin summoned it into his own waiting hand. He peered down at Bilbo with a triumphant smile.

“Do you yield, Knight Baggins?” he asked, his voice soft and deep.

Bilbo looked back up at Thorin, feeling utterly winded and gasping a little to try and get his breath back. They were so close that the Jedi Master’s long hair was tickling his nose. He reached up and carefully brushed a few strands away from his face, his fingers stroking through the Dwarf’s hair in what was very close to a caress, the Force thrumming through his fingertips and Thorin tensed above him, lips parting slightly in shock.

“I yield,” Bilbo whispered, lifting his head, drawing his face closer to Thorin’s, heart seeming to still completely inside his chest.

But then the moment was shattered by footsteps splashing through the sand and Thorin hastily rose to his feet, extending out a hand to help Bilbo up. Pushing himself into a sitting position first, Bilbo brushed the sand from his tunic and then took Thorin’s hand with a grateful smile, trying to ignore the heat he felt rushing to his cheeks. The Jedi Master’s fingers were warm and strong, his palm coarse and lightly callused, and Bilbo found himself rather reluctant to let go once Thorin appeared assured that he wasn’t going to fall over again.

Bilbo opened his mouth to offer his congratulations, but then they suddenly found themselves surrounded by the rest of the sparring arena’s visitors. Master Dwalin, Fili, and Kili materialised at Thorin’s side, the two padawans brimming with excitement and speaking over each other at full-speed. Master Dwalin clapped Thorin on the back with a grin. But they were also joined by other Jedi – Jedi that Bilbo hadn’t even noticed in the arena before their sparring session began. They were all staring at him and Thorin with expressions that ranged from curious to impressed to confused.

“Let me take a look at that ankle, Bilbo.” Tauriel, a Jedi Knight from the forest planet of Greenwood, stepped forward with a small, silver medi-kit.

Bilbo nodded and Tauriel dropped down into a crouch at his side, opening her kit and retrieving the appropriate spray to clean the small cut on the back of his ankle that now seemed to have produced an impressive amount of blood.

“Have either of you sparred together before?” Legolas, another Jedi Knight from Greenwood, moved forward, his expression not unkind, but still one of puzzlement.

“No,” Bilbo replied, unsure why he was suddenly feeling a little nervous. “It was our first time sparring today.”

Bilbo didn’t miss the glance Legolas directed at Tauriel. “The way you fought, you were so attuned to one another – I’ve never seen such concordance before, not even amongst Masters and their apprentices.”

There was a moment of silence, in which Bilbo decided to inspect his ankle and flex his fingers to try and shake the prickling electricity from them.

And then Fili turned to his uncle. “What does it mean, Master?”

Bilbo lifted his eyes to meet Thorin’s blue gaze, almost scared of what the answer might be, but then the Dwarf was smiling as he reached out and placed a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder.

“It means I was wrong to doubt Bilbo,” Thorin said, his smile only growing. “He has indeed proven himself to be an excellent sparring partner.”

Chapter Text

“and sow a star to grow
divided in us”

“Keep your focus… Keep control… Good… Now just a little higher… Keep going…”

Bilbo gritted his teeth, letting out a low hiss as the muscles in his upper arms burned in protest to the exertion. He always wore a sleeveless light tunic for work-outs such as this and, lying on a mat with his hands outstretched, he could feel the sweat trickling down under his elbows just as surely as it was sticking dampened curls to his ears and his forehead. Still he pushed onward, narrowing his eyes at the weighted silver ball he was currently holding suspended in the air high above him. The ball resembled a small boulder, almost as big as Bilbo himself, and its weight could be adjusted depending on the exercise and the Jedi performing it.

“Good, Bilbo… Now just hold it steady… Use the Force to relieve some of the pressure on your arms…”

Summoning brighter, stronger strands of living Force to him, Bilbo wrapped them in a protective layer around his arms and felt some of the ache lessening there as he focused all his energy into keeping the heavy ball above him steady. Of course, if he broke his concentration, he knew Yarrik would snatch the ball right out of the air before it crushed him… but the idea of being squashed into a bloodied Hobbit soup and therefore meeting a rather embarrassing end in the Jedi Temple’s gymnasium was still a powerful motivator.

“Good… Now hold it there… I don’t want to see any shudders…”

Jedi Master Yarrik was a Chistori, a cold-blooded reptilian species from a remote planet beyond the Outer Rim, and he had been helping Bilbo train in the Temple’s gym since he was a tween. Being of Chistorian descent, Yarrik was tall and heavily muscled beneath his purple scales, and therefore at first glance, he and Bilbo appeared to have very little in common. Bilbo’s Hobbit physiology meant that his muscles, toned and firm after years of training, were still hidden beneath a layer of fat – especially around his abdomen. It was something that had made him rather self-conscious when he first entered the Temple’s large, subterranean gym as a padawan, but he soon discovered that he was no longer in the company of petulant, prejudiced younglings and he had never received any unkind comments – only a few surprised stares and raised eyebrows which, under Yarrik’s tutelage, he soon learnt to ignore.

The Chistori was the only Force-adept his race had seen for the past three centuries and so, like Bilbo, he was the only member of his species who was also part of the Order. He and Bilbo quickly bonded over their shared strangeness and although Bilbo still preferred to train when the gym was quiet, he kept to the strict, rigorous regime Yarrik had set out for him.

“Just saw a flicker there, Bilbo… Transfer all your focus from yourself to the ball… Concentrate on keeping it at its fixed point…”

Yarrik’s deep, gravelly-accented voice echoed around the gym’s high ceiling, bouncing from metal to mirror, and Bilbo released the discomfort of his sweat-slicked forehead and straining muscles into the Force. Following Yarrik’s coaching, he straightened his arms and crooked his fingers slightly, harnessing more of the Force’s energy and slowly moving it upwards, away from himself and into the silver ball. He was determined to keep it absolutely motionless and get this particular exercise checked off in his post-Trials training record.

“Good… Keep your arms straight… Keep it steady…”

Bilbo found himself gritting his teeth again as another bead of sweat dripped down his neck, but then he felt an extra shiver of Force shooting up from his arms and into his curling fingers, aiding him in keeping the ball suspended and steady. Narrowing his eyes, Bilbo’s concentration shrank to a pinpoint, focused solely on the ball beyond him.

“Hold it… Hold it…”

Bilbo knew Yarrik was using the timing device on his compact datapad and he had no intention of giving up now.

“And… you’re done!”

Letting out a breath of relief, Bilbo nevertheless kept the ball steady. He was unable to stop himself smiling as he slowly began to lower it down from where it had been hovering near a metal beam that ran across the ceiling. The Force trembled, weaving prickling strands around his arms as the ball continued its descent.

“Gently does it… No need to rush now…”

Bilbo decided against telling Yarrik that he was sounding like Gandalf – something which was bound to happen when spending years under the Istari Master’s guardianship – for fear of being told the same was true for himself. Instead he carefully brought the glinting silver ball back down, pulling it towards himself like a collapsing star drawing a planet into its gravity.

When the ball was almost brushing Bilbo’s fingertips, Yarrik lifted it in one hand as if it weighed nothing and placed it on the bench behind him. “Well done, Bilbo. You’ve made a lot of progress today,” he said warmly, small black eyes bright with pride.

Finally allowing himself to exhale properly, Bilbo reached up and ran a hand through his darkened curls, pushing them away from his eyes. He took a moment to reconnect with the Force, using it to slow his racing heartbeat and steady his breathing, and then he let Yarrik pull him to his feet. The Chistori smiled knowingly and handed him a small plush towel, which Bilbo took with a grateful nod.

“I think that might be all I can manage for today,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too weary as he rubbed the towel over his neck and bare arms, closing his eyes as he pressed it against his forehead.

Yarrik’s gaze flickered over Bilbo’s shoulder. “I believe you may be about to receive a better offer, anyway,” he said, rather enigmatically.

And then Bilbo felt another, more insistent tickling under his fingernails.

He turned to find a familiar group of Dwarven Jedi assembled a few feet away from the mat and his stomach executed a fairly complicated backflip. How long had they been in the gym? Had they been watching him training without his notice? Bilbo suddenly remembered the surge of Force he had felt whilst lifting the ball and the shiverings as he lowered it back down once the exercise was finished… Oh.

Thorin stepped forward, approaching Bilbo with a shy smile, and his face was curiously reddened… as if he had been the one lifting the weighted ball.

Bilbo dabbed self-consciously at his sweaty throat, aware that he must look quite a state, but trying not to dwell on it. “Are you… here to train?” he asked, smiling and attempting to appear casual as he slung the towel over his shoulder. He told himself he had not just pictured Thorin, sweaty and breathing shallowly from training, flexing his muscles as he worked through weight exercises.

Thorin glanced back at his kin, who only grinned at him in a way that made Bilbo a little uneasy. “N-no… we are not here to train,” he replied, and Bilbo couldn’t help but notice that the Jedi Master’s blue gaze kept wandering away from his face.

He shifted the towel over his shoulder with a cough. “Right…”

“How is your ankle?” Thorin said suddenly, his eyes dropping to Bilbo’s ankle, which he had injured in their sparring match the previous evening.

“Much the same as this morning,” Bilbo answered, trying very hard to keep the wryness from his expression.

Thorin had asked the same question earlier that day when they had joined each other for a more successful meditation session in the Temple’s gardens… and last night when they had all eaten together in the canteen (under Meggi’s watchful eye), and before that in the medical bay when the Jedi Master had paced fretfully up and down whilst one of the healers finished Tauriel’s work, waving various tools over the cut and repairing the skin until it was no more than a faded, pale pink line.

“I… I am glad,” Thorin said quietly, eyes flicking once again to his family behind him.

What followed was a noticeably awkward silence in which Bilbo sensed Fili and Kili’s frustration tangling in the Force around them. Master Dwalin, skilled Jedi that he was, gave away nothing and his expression remained unreadable.

Bilbo was about to open his mouth to enquire after the weather when Thorin blurted out: “You eat a lot.”

Bilbo stiffened, unable to stop arching an eyebrow as he studied the Jedi Master with a rather dangerous expression. His irritation was quelled, however, when over Thorin’s shoulder he saw Fili raise a hand to his face in exasperation. Kili was muttering something under his breath as he reached into his robes and handed over a twenty credit chip into his Master’s waiting hand. Master Dwalin seemed quite pleased with himself. So much for not betting against family, Bilbo thought, still utterly confused by what had just happened.

“What… what I mean is… according to your entry in the Jedi Archives… Hobbits place a high value on… on food… and your race consume seven meals a day…”

Thorin’s face had grown noticeably more flushed as he stammered his way through his explanation, and Bilbo released his last shred of annoyance into the Force with a small smile. “You’ve been reading my Archive entry?” he asked carefully, pretending not to notice the fuzziness blooming in his chest at Thorin’s guilty expression.

“I… thought it would be prudent,” the Dwarf replied softly. “Given some of our, er, previous misunderstandings.”

Bilbo nodded. “Of course.”

Thorin waited a moment before continuing, and Bilbo suspected he was very probably being subjected to a mental scolding by his apprentice who appeared to be growing quite impatient. “Master Dwalin is taking Fili and Kili out on a survival training exercise this evening,” he said, speaking deliberately, as if choosing his words with great care. “As a result, I will be eating alone tonight… and… and I was wondering if you would like to join me?”

The Force was positively giddy, scurrying up and down Bilbo’s bare arms as he felt a familiar double-thump within his chest. “I… I would like that very much,” he said, ignoring the heat prickling at the tips of his ears. “What time would you like to meet in the canteen?”

Thorin shifted a little on the spot. “I was wondering if you might like to eat at… another establishment? I am, er, unfamiliar with much of the city beyond the Temple, and I thought you may be able to suggest a suitable venue?”

“… Because I eat a lot?” Bilbo prompted, with mock-seriousness. Thorin opened his mouth to protest, but Bilbo shushed him. “That was a joke, Thorin.”

Thorin nodded, seeming relieved. “If you would like to make a reservation, we could meet beforehand and travel there together?”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, practically grinning now despite the continued heat tickling his ears. “I have a few places in mind.”

Thorin beamed at that and then, after another moment of silence, gave a respectful bow and was preparing to turn away when Bilbo stopped him.

“What would you like me to wear?”

Bilbo froze, his chest tightening with utter horror, that was not what he had intended to say at all, and judging by the look of shock on Thorin’s face, he had better clear that up quickly.

“What… what I meant was… are we wearing robes this evening or would you prefer more, er, casual attire?”

Oh Force, now I’m starting to sound like Thorin, Bilbo lamented. Fili and Kili were sniggering and then Kili looked over and said something in Khuzdul which immediately resulted in more snickers. Master Dwalin only had to knit his brows together and the two padawans quickly straightened up.

“I… am not going to translate that,” Thorin said, scowling at his wicked nephews, before turning back to Bilbo and smiling. “Casual attire is acceptable.”

Bilbo nodded. “I’ll see you this evening then?”

Thorin lowered his head in agreement and then, clearly deciding it was best to leave before either of them could make further fools of themselves, he gave another bow and turned away, leading his kin out of the gym.  Bilbo watched the four of them disappear through the sliding glass doors and stood motionless, feeling the Force’s gleeful ripples washing around him, finally deciding that this was a rather pleasant feeling after all.

He was startled from his revelry by a loud metallic thunk as Yarrik rearranged the set of weights on the bench behind them. Bilbo turned, feeling a little guilty that he had completely forgotten the Chistori was there. Yarrik was watching him with an infuriating twinkle in his black eyes.

“What?” Bilbo asked, his tone sharper than he had intended.

“Oh, nothing,” Yarrik answered, lifting another weighted ball onto a higher shelf of the bench. “I just believe that Master Thorin is glad we’ve spent the better part of this year working on your biceps.”

…

It took Bilbo fifteen frustrating minutes of rooting through the clothing rail in his quarters to decide that maybe going to dinner in his Jedi robes would have been a better option. However, after another half an hour of debating, he decided on a simple shirt, waistcoat, and cropped trousers with his favourite burgundy jacket that he so rarely got to wear – these were items usually reserved for missions that required him to blend in with a planet’s gentlefolk, or blend in as much as possible when you were a Hobbit so very far from Shire. An impish thought had occurred to him more than once, that perhaps he should have opted for a sleeveless garment instead, but he had quickly dismissed it as ridiculous.

Thorin had initially suggested that they take one of shuttles that stopped frequently at the Jedi Temple to travel into the city’s Dining District, but Bilbo had insisted that he had a much better idea. Thus, with Coruscant’s sun slipping slowly lower towards the shimmering orange horizon, the two made their way to the Temple’s main hangar where all the members of the Order kept their means of transportation. Thorin was waiting by the hangar’s enormous arched entranceway when Bilbo arrived. He was wearing a beautifully embroidered dark blue tunic and, drawing closer, Bilbo couldn’t help but notice how it perfectly complemented the Jedi Master’s bright eyes.

“Good evening, Bilbo,” Thorin said, by way of greeting, and he seemed much more relaxed than he had been down in the gym. That was, however, until he added: “You look… that is a fine jacket.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo was certain his ears were already pink. “I like the, er, the embroidery on your tunic.”

Thorin’s smile widened. “It was made by my sister’s husband, I will be sure to tell him.”

They shared a moment of quiet and Bilbo tried not to notice the other Jedi casting curious glances their way, but he reminded himself that they were probably only surprised to see two of their Order in civilian clothing. “Shall we?” he said, gesturing into the hangar.

They walked down the row of larger shuttles and freighters until they reached a collection of speeders. Bilbo stopped next to a particularly sleek, silver airspeeder and gave it an affectionate pat.

“How are you doing, Myrtle?” he asked fondly. “I hope those droids didn’t scratch you again when they cleaned you up yesterday?”

“Myrtle?” Thorin said, with a slight smirk as he appraised their transport for the evening.

“She was a gift from Gandalf when I passed my Trials,” Bilbo said, drawing a few wisps of Force to him and jumping up and over into the pilot’s seat. He looked over at Thorin with a roguish grin. “And don’t tell me you’ve never named one of your ships.”

Thorin followed Bilbo’s lead and dropped down into the seat beside him. “Daisy,” he said quietly, and Bilbo nodded.

Satisfied that they were settled at ready to depart, Bilbo tapped his identification key out on the airspeeder’s small screen and then Myrtle’s engines whirred into life, lights and dials flickering and humming as they adjusted themselves.

“Thank you, for offering your transport,” Thorin said, glancing over at Bilbo whilst still fidgeting with his hands in his lap.

“Oh, I was glad of the opportunity to take her out again.” Bilbo jabbed at a button to disengage the parking lock. “I mean, after what happened the last time, it’s been a while since…” He trailed off, wondering whether this was a story he should be telling Thorin if he didn’t want to send the Jedi Master fleeing from the hangar.

“The last time?” Thorin asked, already sounding amused.

“I was, er, carrying out some intelligence work for Master Galadriel and when I came back I found a security droid trying to give me a ticket for illegal parking.”

Thorin let out a low chuckle. “You were fined by a droid?”

Bilbo peered over the side of the airspeeder as he edged it slowly out of the row. “Well, no, actually… we resolved the issue with some rather aggressive negotiations.”

“Aggressive negotiations?” Thorin murmured, puzzled.

Bilbo flashed him a grin and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: “Negotiations with a lightsaber.”

Thorin was still laughing as he and Bilbo flew out of the hangar and joined Coruscant’s bright arteries of traffic that were weaving their way through the heart of a city now alive with brilliant light as the day drew to a close and darkness took over.

…

Although Coruscant was, as ever, positively thrumming with dense streams of air traffic, Bilbo knew enough short-cuts and secret roadways to ensure they reached their destination in plenty of time. Nino’s, once a small, family-owned diner in a quieter part of the planet’s Market District, was now one of the most illustrious eating establishments in the Inner Core. Patrons usually had to make their reservations several solar months in advance, however Bilbo had called in a favour when he contacted them earlier that day.

The restaurant’s glittering, black granite pillars were juxtaposed with the bright yellow neon lettering of its sign that could be seen across the whole of the Market District, although not quite discernible from the Jedi Temple beyond it. Bilbo couldn’t help but smile softly at Thorin’s look of bewilderment as they pulled into the speeder park. They were greeted almost immediately by a valet droid and Bilbo reluctantly handed Myrtle over into their hands.

Thorin was still looking a little awestruck as they approached Nino’s main entrance and as the golden doors slid open to admit them, Bilbo said, with a sheepish smile: “You’re not allowed to murder me.”

Thorin arched an eyebrow in confusion. “Why in the Force’s name would I want to…?”

The Dwarf stopped in his tracks, the colour draining from his face.

“Bilbo!”

A seven-foot Besalisk dressed in a very expensive-looking suit turned away from the ornate welcome desk and strode over to meet them. He immediately pulled Bilbo into a strong, four-armed hug.

“It’s good to see you again, Nino,” Bilbo smiled, feeling a little winded as he drew away to make introductions. “Nino, this is Master Thorin… Thorin, this is Nino T’rell, the establishment’s distinguished owner.”

Thorin had widened his stance slightly and was still looking pale, but he made a respectful bow. “You must be related to Mistress T’rell?”

Nino studied Thorin carefully for a moment, scratching at the long white hairs under his chin, before replying: “Meggi is my niece. We’re very close.”

Thorin nodded, coughing to clear his throat. “She is, er, she is an excellent cook.”

“Hmmm…” was all Nino said as he continued to watch Thorin with shrewd yellow eyes.

“We’re sorry for this being such short notice,” Bilbo said, attempting to change the subject as he smiled up at Nino with what he hoped was a placating expression.

“Not at all, tumble bunny, we’ve got our best table all ready for you,” Nino said warmly, collecting two large, leather-bound menus and ushering them into the main dining area.

Bilbo and Thorin followed Nino as he weaved, surprisingly gracefully, around the other tables and Bilbo dared to risk a glance at Thorin at his side. He was about to mouth his apology when Thorin whispered ‘tumble bunny’ and Bilbo felt his ears go pink again. Nino’s best table turned out to be located on a slightly raised podium away from the other diners, next to the restaurant’s curving windows which offered breath-taking views of the city’s glowing skyline. The area was lit by soft, twinkling bulbs that spread up the walls in beautifully intricate patterns and there were a few anti-gravity candles floating in a centrepiece above the table.

Nino held a chair out for Bilbo and his son, Nikko, appeared to hold Thorin’s out for him and get them seated. Father and son opened the menus and presented them graciously to their guests. Bilbo had hoped they might now be left alone to choose their food, but then Nino moved to stand behind his chair and clawed hands came to rest on his shoulders. From the look on Thorin’s face, Bilbo gathered that the elderly Besalisk was giving him a sufficiently hard stare.

“Nino…” Bilbo began, ears prickling with heat and starting to think he should have taken Thorin to the Gizka Steak Shack opposite the Temple instead.

“I’ve known Bilbo here since he was no bigger than a scurrier,” Nino said, ignoring Bilbo’s protest and continuing to stare down at Thorin. “Could hold him in one hand whilst Meggi and I did the inventory for the Temple kitchens. And I can tell you this family considers him one of our own.”

Nikko stayed hovering by Thorin’s chair, his crest flushing darker in warning, and Bilbo guessed his father was making a similar display, but the Jedi Master didn’t flinch, only sat stoically in his chair, looking up at Nino with a serious, watchful expression.

“If you know him well, you’ll know he’s special – one of the best Jedi the Order’s ever seen, and we expect you to treat him with the respect and the care he deserves… Is that understood?”

Bilbo’s heart may have skipped a beat altogether. Surely Nino knew he and Thorin were just friends? That there was no romantic intention in their dining together? Thorin, however, didn’t appear fazed at all.

“Of course, Sir,” he said, voice deep and sincere. “You have my word.”

Nino squeezed Bilbo’s shoulders. “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the Nautolan delegation have just walked in… Nikko will sort you out with drinks.”

With that, the Besalisk straightened his shirt collar and strode away to meet his latest patrons. Nikko moved around the table with a definite grin. He reached into the front of his pristine apron with two hands and began to lay out an array of glinting cutlery; he used his remaining hands to collect a datapad and stylus from his suit jacket pocket, preparing to take their order.

“I have to say…” The grin was now turned on Thorin. “You have my respect for even daring to threaten my cousin. You’re either very brave or very stupid.”

“I suspect I am probably the latter,” Thorin said quietly, turning his eyes to the menu in front of him, a small smile on his lips.

“You still have my respect,” Nikko chuckled. “Now, to drink… May I suggest a jug of iced Roonan lemon water for the table and a bottle of Alderaanian wine to start?”

“I’m piloting tonight, Nikko,” Bilbo said, furrowing his brow as he studied his menu. “Perhaps something non-alcoholic would be best?”

“You should be alright with the Alderaanian red: there’s not actually much alcohol in it – and with your midi-chlorian count I doubt you’ll even feel it. It’s a great vintage, lovely, fruity bouquet.”

Bilbo remembered being in his tweens and first discovering that being a Force-adept meant that his tolerance for alcohol was actually much higher than his fellow Hobbits. He and a group of senior padawans had crept out of the Temple one night and gone to the nearest bar to put their tolerances to the test with some rather interesting results. Suffice to say he was the only one who made it to their morning classes. He pursed his lips and looked across the table to Thorin. “What do you think?”

“Dwarves are fairly notorious for our high alcohol tolerance, I don’t mind flying us back to the Temple if you don’t feel up to it,” Thorin replied, expression unexpectedly soft.

“A jug of Roonan lemon water and a bottle of Alderaanian red it is then!” Bilbo grinned.

Nikko gave his datapad a few taps with his stylus and then disappeared off to fetch their drinks, finally leaving them alone at the table. Bilbo sank a little further in his chair and let out a low, unhappy groan as he lifted the menu in front of his face.

“Bilbo?” Thorin murmured, leaning to the side to try and gauge his expression.

Bilbo slowly lowered his menu to reveal the guilt clearly etched across his face. “I’m so sorry, Thorin,” he whispered. “I promise I had no idea Nino was going to… well, that he was going to do that. I chose Nino’s because the food is excellent and I knew I’d be able to get us in at short notice… I’m sorry.”

Thorin only smiled, and Bilbo couldn’t help but notice how… well, how beautiful he looked, his face lit by the soft light of the candles floating between them, and he felt a little ripple of Force tickling at his feet under the table.

“There is no need to apologise, Bilbo,” Thorin said gently. “Dwarves are also very fiercely protective of their families… I assure you I have endured much worse.”

“Oh… right,” Bilbo said, feeling his chest tighten only a fraction. Did that mean Thorin had suffered threats from the family of a partner…? Someone the Order were unaware of or… a Jedi he had been bonded to?

Bilbo’s unsettling thoughts were stopped in their tracks when Nikko returned to the table with their drinks and an elaborately plaited loaf of warmed choya bread. The Besalisk hummed to himself as he poured their Roonan lemon water into delicate crystal glasses and Bilbo caught him smirk as he suddenly pulled a knife from his apron to slice the choya loaf. To his credit, Thorin barely flinched. Nikko then delivered a sufficiently monotone monologue about the origins of the Alderaanian red, which he then poured with a flourish for them to taste.

The Besalisk became more animated when he talked them through the House Specials and the different sections of their menu. After Thorin admitted quietly to not much being a fan of ‘green food’, they decided to order skillet-cooked, spiced bantha to start and then Thorin opted for the rack of Traladon ribs for his main with Bilbo deciding on the braised nerf steak. Nikko tapped their order into his datapad with suggestions for sides and sauces, and then Thorin and Bilbo were once again left alone at their table.

Bilbo swilled his glass of wine for a second before taking a sip. “So… where is Master Dwalin taking Fili and Kili for their survival training exercise?”

He had thought it was a fairly safe question, but Thorin’s eyes suddenly widened, as if in panic. “Oh… I…”

Mahal damn it, Dwalin, why didn’t we decide on this detail?

Bilbo froze. He had just heard Thorin’s voice, very clearly, in his own mind… Did the Jedi Master know he was projecting? And how in the Force’s name had he let this thought get past his mental shields?

“I, er, I believe he’s taking them to… to a scrapyard in the Industrial District,” Thorin said carefully, not quite managing to cover the stammer in his words.

Bilbo tried to be discreet in raising up another layer of his own mental shielding. Could it be that Master Dwalin’s ‘survival training’ was simply a ruse to give Thorin a reason to invite Bilbo out to dinner without them…? Bilbo’s stomach gave a wriggle and he had a sneaking suspicion the fuzziness wasn’t coming from the warmed choya bread.

“He’ll give them limited resources… set traps for them in the scrapyard…” Thorin continued, sounding a little more certain this time. “To be honest, it wouldn’t surprise me if he just left them there for the night and went out drinking.”

Bilbo chuckled at that and pretended not to notice Thorin down the rest of his wine. He simply pushed the bottle towards him with a smile.

Nikko returned with a tray of brightly-coloured chunks of raw scalefish for them to sample and then their spiced bantha arrived on sizzling, rectangular skillet paddles. Thorin didn’t comment when Bilbo polished off the three enormous hunks of meat first, but he seemed to be quite impressed.

“When you said you’d had ‘much worse’ when you injured your ankle in the sparring arena,” Thorin said, leaning over to pour more water into Bilbo’s glass. “…What did you mean?”

Bilbo was sitting back in his chair, nursing his bantha-filled belly and gearing himself up for his nerf steak. “First of all, my ankle is fine, but you can come with me to the medical bay for my check-up tomorrow so you can hear that from Master Arwen.” Thorin smiled a little bashfully at that. “And well… I suppose there was that time I caught the chills on Cardooine and ended up spending two delirious ten-days in bed,” he said, grinning. “Master Gandalf never left my side… even when I was convinced he was an overgrown grey loth-cat and I kept trying to tickle his belly.”

Thorin gave a deep, musical laugh and Bilbo elected to ignore the ripple of Force that came with it. He leaned forward in his chair and waggled the fingers of his left hand at him.

“And, of course, losing two of my fingers on Malastare could definitely be considered worse than a grazed ankle.”

Thorin knitted his brows together as his blue eyes moved to Bilbo’s hand. An undeniable wave of concern came radiating from the Jedi Master and Bilbo almost regretted mentioning it.

“They didn’t grow back, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said, trying to keep his tone light as he flexed his fingers again. “The healers used Kaminoan cloning technology so the skin and the nerves are mine, but there’s a lot of metal in there too.”

Bilbo held his hand out, almost tentatively, across the table so Thorin could inspect the work. “If you look closely, you can see that the skin tone on my fourth and little finger doesn’t quite match up to the rest of my hand.”

Bilbo’s breath got caught in his throat when Thorin reached out and cradled his hand in both his own, his touch so gentle, as if he feared he would cause further damage.

“Can… can you still feel everything as you used to?” Thorin asked softly, tracing Bilbo’s knuckles with his thumb.

“Yes,” Bilbo replied, swallowing to try and budge the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “It took a little getting used to… but I barely notice the difference now.”

Thorin ran his fingers lightly over the pads of Bilbo’s fingertips and he couldn’t help but shudder.

“What happened?” the older Jedi asked, sounding almost pained.

“Planning on avenging my fingers, are we?” Bilbo said, smirking in the hope of stopping Thorin from looking so sad.

“Maybe,” Thorin murmured, finally smiling.

“Gandalf and I were trying to put a stop to some slave trafficking on Malastare and we were ambushed by one of the crime syndicates,” Bilbo explained, pretending not to notice that Thorin was yet to let go of his hand. “I lost my fingers to a blaster shot… but then they lost their head to my lightsaber.”

Thorin’s gaze was lingering on Bilbo’s hand and he could feel the warmth of his touch tingling up his cloned nerves. Thorin lifted his eyes and they stared at each other for a moment. Thorin opened his mouth to speak but then Nikko suddenly appeared at their table, as if from nowhere – which was very difficult to do when you were a seven-foot Besalisk. Thorin jumped and pulled his hands into his lap as if scolded.

“Don’t mind me,” the young Besalisk grinned. “Traladon ribs and braised nerf steak, medium-rare… Mounder potato rice and buttered sea cabbage… and a jug of creamed pepper sauce.”

Nikko set their food down quickly and efficiently, using his free hands to rearrange everything on their table and collect their empty skillet paddles. Bilbo was fairly relieved that the Besalisk didn’t comment on the hand holding and decided giving Thorin a single, pointed look as he cleared away the remains of his starter would suffice.

Bilbo knew Thorin was watching him pour cream pepper sauce on his steak and help himself to potato rice from the silver tureen. He suspected his gaze was lingering on the fingers of his left hand.

“It was oddly symbolic, I suppose,” he said, cutting into his steak, and Thorin instantly straightened up, realising he had been caught. “Given that Hobbits wear a wedding band on their fourth finger when they get married… and being a member of the Order, it’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever have that honour.”

He wasn’t sure what made him bring up marriage, but Bilbo decided to blame the empty bottle of Alderaanian red sitting between them.

“Dwarves use braids to signify marriage,” Thorin said quietly.

Bilbo’s gaze instantly jumped to the two, identical braids plaited either side of the Jedi Master’s ears, but then quickly looked away.

“I am not married.” Thorin looked almost amused as he spoke. “Nor have I ever been.”

“Oh,” was all Bilbo said. He suddenly wasn’t feeling very eloquent… perhaps the wine was stronger that Nikko had been letting on.

“My braids show that I have passed my Trials and that I am a Master with a padawan learner,” Thorin explained, helping himself to more potato rice.

“Oh,” Bilbo said again, and then, deciding to try a little harder, he added: “But Master Dwalin doesn’t have any braids and he has surely passed his Trials? And he’s training Kili?”

Thorin nodded, beginning to break apart his rack of Traladon ribs. “Dwalin has never cared for braids: he believes the practice to be ‘fussy and pointless’ and so he chose to use tattoos to mark each of his achievements.”

“I see…” Bilbo felt his ears prickling with heat again when he thought of the inked patterns he had seen spreading over Thorin’s shoulder and he couldn’t help it, curiosity simply got the better of him. “And you have also used tattoos to mark your achievements?”

Thorin’s fork stilled over his ribs and he regarded Bilbo with a strange look. “You have… seen my tattoos?”

Bilbo tried not to choke on his buttered sea cabbage and he quickly took a sip of water, convincing himself that it would help the growing blush in his cheeks. “Some… some of the patterns were visible when you were, er, wearing your sleep tunic…” He trailed off, having very little to say for himself.

Thorin seemed almost relieved and Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder what other tattoos he thought he’d seen. “I received the tattoo over my shoulder for acts of courage in the Battle of Azanulbizar,” he explained, lowering his voice.

Bilbo knew Thorin had suffered much as a result of the battle and so perhaps it was not a suitable topic of conversation for dinner. He thought instead of Thorin’s happier memories and decided to change the subject.

“Your sister and her husband are soul-bonded,” he said, popping a chunk of steak into his mouth. “I know it’s been centuries since the Council voted to recognise soul-bonds, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually met a bonded pair before.”

“Then you are lucky,” Thorin smiled. “They are insufferable.”

Bilbo nodded, soaking some of his potato rice in the remaining creamed pepper sauce on his plate. “How did they know?” he asked seriously. “How did they know that a soul-bond had formed?”

Thorin suddenly knocked his fork onto the floor and it landed on the glittering parquet tiles with a tinkling clang. A few diners looked up for a second, but then quickly returned for their meals. A Besalisk waiter appeared almost instantly to retrieve the fork from the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin said, avoiding Bilbo’s eye altogether.

“Not at all, sir,” the waiter smiled. “I’ll go and get you a new one.”

The waiter disappeared off to the kitchens, leaving Thorin to inspect what was left of his rack of ribs and Bilbo with a slightly uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.

“Dis, my sister, said she noticed that a sort of mind-link had formed first,” Thorin said, daring to meet Bilbo’s eye, although he still seemed troubled. “That one morning she could hear Vili going on and on about his plans for our shared vegetable patch. When she came out of the house to tell him they didn’t need a running commentary he was very confused because he hadn’t been speaking at all.”

Bilbo was about to speak when Nikko made quite a melodramatic show of approaching their table and presenting Thorin with a clean fork. Thorin bore the Besalisk’s teasing admirably and then both he and Bilbo decided, now that they were once again in the possession of the appropriate cutlery, to finish off their main courses.

“You wouldn’t want to spar with them,” Thorin said, setting his knife and fork down next to the pile of Traladon bones on his plate. “Even with your skills.”

Bilbo’s lips twitched into a smile at the compliment. “Oh?”

“Both are fierce fighters, but together they are nigh on unbeatable,” Thorin said, and there was pride in his voice, along with something else… something Bilbo couldn’t place. “The bond means they can co-ordinate their movements, plan their attack in seconds, and they act completely…”

Thorin trailed off, but Bilbo finished his sentence for him: “… In sync?”

There was yet another giddy, squirming feeling in Bilbo’s stomach as his eyes met Thorin’s across the table. They regarded each other for a long moment before Thorin spoke: “Bilbo…”

“Ah, would you look at those empty plates! You polished that lot off pretty quickly, didn’t you?”

Nino waved his son away and insisted on clearing the table himself. Bilbo watched Thorin as he stared out of the window, mind seeming lost to something beyond the city’s skyline.

“Now, can I persuade you to take a look at our dessert menu?” Nino asked, looking from Bilbo to Thorin. “I particularly recommend the white-chocolate bread pudding – we use only the finest cocoa pods, imported from Trammis III this morning.”

“That does sound good,” Bilbo smiled, giving his stomach a few pats. “But I’m not sure I could manage it all.”

“We could share?” Thorin suggested, eyes moving away from the window and he smiled across at Bilbo, the troubled look gone from his blue gaze.

“We could share,” Bilbo agreed, feeling a few tricklings of Force wrapping around his ankles.

“One white-chocolate bread pudding, two spoons,” Nino nodded, before whisking their plates away to the kitchens.

Thorin busied himself with refilling their glasses with Roonan lemon water. Bilbo shifted on his chair, part of him wishing they had ordered another bottle of wine to help him find the courage for what he was about to say. Gandalf had told him to trust in the Force, in its little nudges, and every time he had meditated since the incident the ripplings and tremors seemed to have urged him towards honesty. After their first disastrous meeting… and their sufficiently disastrous second meeting, he and Thorin were becoming such good friends, and he knew it was wrong for Jedi to lie to one another. He also thought it best to speak now before Nino returned with their white-chocolate bread pudding and gave him an excuse to back out.

“Thorin…”

Thorin smiled, although a flicker of nervousness still passed over his eyes. “Yes?”

Bilbo took a sip of his water. “That night when… when you were suffering nightmares and I came to your quarters… I wasn’t really walking the Temple in my sleep clothes.”

Thorin had become very still. He said nothing, only waited for Bilbo to continue.

“I woke up in my own quarters and straight away I sensed that… you were in pain,” Bilbo said, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t explain how I knew, but I… I could feel that you were suffering and I just wanted to help… so I… I followed your pain until I came to your quarters and found you crying out in your sleep.”

Bilbo could hear his heart thumping against his ribs, and wished now, more than ever, that Thorin would project again… just so he knew what he was thinking, how he had taken this admission.

“I’m so sorry I lied to you,” Bilbo said softly. “I didn’t mean to deceive you, only I wasn’t sure what to say… when I couldn’t explain how it all happened.”

“Perhaps it was simply the will of the Force,” Thorin said, and Bilbo was relieved to see a small smile on his lips. “You were meant to come to my aid that night… and I am very glad that you did.”

Bilbo nodded, exhaling slowly. “I’m very glad I did too.”

They both looked away, out the windows for a few moments, occasionally catching each other’s eye, but still turning back to take in the forest of twinkling lights spread across Coruscant’s Market District.

“Have the nightmares returned… since that night?” Bilbo asked carefully. He hadn’t woken up suddenly again, but his dreams had still been a little darker and stranger, his sleep not as restful.

Thorin turned slowly away from the window. “I have had some… not so pleasant dreams, felt some disturbances in the Force whilst I sleep,” he admitted. “But they will pass, I am sure.”

Bilbo didn’t have time to reply as Nino stepped up onto the podium carrying an enormous, steaming bowl of white-chocolate bread pudding and two spoons. Their conversation turned to lighter, pleasanter things as they both tucked into their very rich and indulgent dessert. Thorin spoke about the Dwarves’ more communal approach to training padawans and how Master Dwalin had first taught Fili to dual-wield while he had taught Kili how to tap into the living Force that was abundant in the rocky landscapes of Ered Luin. Bilbo shared more stories about his missions with Gandalf and how his lightsaber had gained the affectionate nickname of ‘Sting’ after they had fought their way out of a spider nest on Greenwood.

Their conversation continued as the remains of the white-chocolate bread pudding were cleared away and they shared a pot of cinnamon-spiced vine-coffee. Soon they were the only patrons left in the dining area and they declined Nino’s kind offer of a private booth in the upstairs bar. They then argued for a full ten minutes on how best to split the bill before Nino returned to their table and insisted that the meal was on the house.

After saying their farewells to father and son – with Nino giving Thorin an unexpectedly fond pat on the back – the two of them exited into the cool night air and walked around to the speeder park to collect Myrtle. Bilbo thought he saw a large, cloaked figure watching them from a darkened alleyway across the street, but it disappeared as soon as he blinked. This didn’t exactly help him convince Thorin that he was more than fit to fly them back to the Temple, but the older Jedi relented in the end and they made it back safely – and without having to enter into any aggressive negotiations with droids.

Bilbo had expected them to part ways outside of the transportation hangar, but Thorin lingered by the entranceway, toeing at the metal flooring with his boot.

“I… would like to walk you back to your quarters,” he said quietly.

Bilbo smiled, feeling his stomach gearing up for a back-flip. “You’re worried I won’t be able to make it back there on my own?”

Thorin began to stumble over a response but Bilbo shushed him, his cheeks growing a little hot. “I would like that, Thorin.”

They arrived at his quarters on the Temple’s fourth level far too soon for Bilbo’s liking and both of them ended up lingering in front of the doors, shifting their feet almost nervously on the marble floor.

“Thank you for inviting me to dinner,” Bilbo said, smiling up at the Jedi Master. “I… I had a really wonderful time.”

Thorin moved almost imperceptibly closer. “I’m glad… It was a very enjoyable evening.”

Bilbo was about to begin saying his good night when Thorin spoke again: “I would like to show you how Dwarves say farewell… if… if that is alright?”

“Oh,” Bilbo whispered, feeling his heart give a definite double-thump. “Er, yes, of course.”

He waited, watching Thorin with wide eyes, his chest shuddering, and he was sure he stopped breathing completely when the Jedi Master leaned forward and gently pressed their foreheads together. The hand that had been on Bilbo’s shoulder slowly moved up to cup his cheek and the Force was suddenly prickling with electricity around them. Thorin had closed his eyes when he drew Bilbo to him and so Bilbo felt he ought to do the same, and in the blackness the giddy, tickling feelings only seemed to intensify.

The moment seemed to stretch on and on, but then it became all too short when Bilbo felt Thorin slowly pull away. A warm hand remained pressed against his face however, and Bilbo let out a soft breath as Thorin stroked his thumb over his cheekbone.

“Good night, Bilbo,” he whispered, his smile unmistakably soft as the hand finally fell from Bilbo’s face.

Bilbo exhaled carefully. “Good night, Thorin.”

With that, the Jedi Master turned and walked away, back towards his own quarters. Bilbo watched him leave, his cheek tingling and warm, and he stayed out in the corridor for a very long time that night.

Chapter Text

“pulling us together
as it seeks itself.”

Bilbo slowly cracked open his eyes and the low, insistent beeping from his dreams continued. Lifting his head from the pillow with a wince, he saw that the message alert light on his comm pad was flashing and must therefore be the source of the continuing beeps. He rolled over onto his back with a groan, his legs tangling in his bed sheets, and lifted his fingers to his temples so that he could draw out the ache and release it into the Force. Massaging circles into his skin, he found it curiously cold and clammy… and shreds of last night’s uncomfortable dreams returned to him.

It had taken a very long time for sleep to arrive after Thorin had left Bilbo in the corridor outside his quarters. Meditating hadn’t been much help as he had found himself constantly distracted by the warmth lingering in his cheek, his face still tingling from Thorin’s touch, and he had been unable to stop himself from replaying their conversations over and over again in his mind. It appeared even the mere thought of Thorin could provoke the Force’s strange trembles in his fingertips and so it had taken Bilbo a substantial amount of discipline to empty his mind and allow sleep to claim him.

The dreams that came had not been those expected after a very pleasant evening: Bilbo had felt the Darkness taunting him, wrapping itself around his ankles, but then dissipating like smoke just before it dragged him down. Red light had flashed in the periphery of his vision and then he had seen a looming figure, cloaked in black, hiding in the shadows… the same figure he thought he had seen the night before outside Nino’s and he felt a cold creeping into the pit of his stomach.

Bilbo closed his eyes with a sigh and ran a hand through his curls. Perhaps Nikko hadn’t been entirely truthful about the alcohol content of the Alderaanian red wine. He was going to be having words with the young Besalisk the next time he saw him. Sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Bilbo jumped when the comm pad, having thus far been left unattended, started emitting a series of shrill, shrieking dings to make known its displeasure at being ignored.

“Yes, yes, alright,” Bilbo groused, getting to his feet and stumbling over to the silver pad next to the doorway.

Tapping in his four-digit code to access the transmission, he realised he was half-hoping this was a message left by Thorin when his Master’s voice – sounding suspiciously cheerful - filled the room.

“A very good morning to you, my dear Bilbo! I sincerely hope you enjoyed yourself last night with Master Thorin and allowed yourself a little indulgence or indeed a little excess, and that this is the reason for your being unable to answer this message directly…”

Bilbo’s eyes widened. He had no idea how Gandalf had found out about his dining with Thorin… but maybe he was naïve to think Jedi were immune to gossip. He also wasn’t quite sure what his Master was implying with talk of ‘indulgence’ and ‘excess’, but he found the possibilities slightly mortifying and so decided to immediately dismiss them.

“Now, I have found myself in a bit of a predicament which I am hoping you will be able to help me resolve. The Council has called an emergency meeting with the Rodian delegation and so I will be unable to make my morning supervision duty in the crèche. I have let Master Bard know that you will be attending in my place. Should this cause any problems, please do let Master Bard know and I am sure he will be able to arrange something. The Force be with you, Bilbo, and make sure you come and see your old Master again soon!”

The transmission clicked off and Bilbo leaned forward, resting his forehead against the wall next to the comm pad. Almost every Jedi was on the rota for supervision duties at the crèche and it was expected that members of the Order would be called upon to watch the younglings at least once whilst in residence at the Temple. Those who taught classes in the crèche, such as Master Bard and Gandalf, appeared more frequently on the rota, but Bilbo had managed to avoid a duty since his return from Taris. He knew that, as his last apprentice, he was the natural choice to replace Gandalf in his supervision duty… but he couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion that his Master had done this on purpose to try and improve his confidence in working with the youngest members of their Order. It also gave Master Bard another chance to wear him down over teaching classes.

Plucking the threads of his irritation and his fatigue from his mind, Bilbo dispersed them into the Force and straightened up. The glowing red numbers on the comm pad told him that he had only fifteen minutes to dress and make his way across the Temple to the crèche in time for the start of the morning supervision duties. Breakfast and second breakfast would have to wait. Muttering under his breath about oversleeping and Besalisks and Alderaanian wine and Dwarven Jedi Masters and their strange farewell customs, Bilbo pulled on his robes and tried to make himself look presentable.

The Temple was filled with golden sunlight, pouring in through large windows and between tall pillars, as Bilbo finished the last of his nutritional supplement bar and made his way over to the east side of the building. He had just turned the corner onto a wide, marble-floored walkway when he found himself almost colliding with a group of brown-robed figures.

Taking a step back with hurried apologies, Bilbo stopped, discovering it was possible to both frown and smile at the same time. Fili and Kili were beaming at him, standing beside Master Dwalin, whose expression was as stoic as ever, although the glint in his eyes suggested some amusement… and Thorin, whom Bilbo had almost knocked over, was standing in front of him with a strange expression that he was finding difficult to read. Perhaps it was relief, or worry, or… something else. Suffice to say Bilbo was sensing a lot of emotions at that moment and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of them.

“Have you two planted a tracking device on me or something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the Dwarven padawans who were developing quite the habit of turning up unannounced.

Fili looked scandalised. “Of course not, Knight Boggins! We would never do such a thing!”

Master Dwalin gave a noticeably loud scoff.

“Well, we did once put a tracker on a horax,” Kili explained, looking slightly sheepish. “But only to prove that it was stealing from our food supplies.”

“Right,” Bilbo replied, with a small smirk. “Well, I promise I’m not stealing any of your food.”

“We missed you at breakfast.”

Bilbo’s eyes jumped from Kili to Thorin, finding the Jedi Master watching him with a careful expression. He couldn’t quite figure out whether this was a simple statement or an accusation. A shiver went tickling over his bare feet.

“Oh…” he whispered, his stomach wriggling when he realised Thorin had obviously been hoping to have breakfast with him. “I, er, I’m sorry… I overslept, I didn’t think I’d have time to make it to the canteen.”

Thorin lowered his head in understanding, but then Fili was turning to his uncle with a look of triumph. “See, Master! I told you there would be a really boring reason.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile at the annoyance – or was it embarrassment? – that flashed in Thorin’s blue eyes. Had he really been worried about his missing breakfast?

“Yes, thank you, Fili,” Thorin said, voice a little tight.

“Uncle’s been sulking all morning!” Kili added helpfully.

“Will you young ‘uns pipe down?” Master Dwalin growled, coming to Thorin’s rescue. “Laddie, we’re all headin’ to the meditation gardens, if yeh’d like to join us?”

“Thank you for the kind offer, Master Dwalin,” Bilbo answered, smiling despite the sinking feelings at having to refuse. “But I’m afraid I have a supervision duty in the Temple’s crèche this morning.”

He tried not to notice the way Thorin’s face fell, turning from relief to grimace in a matter of seconds.

“We could come with you!” Kili suggested, almost bouncing up and down on the spot.

“Yes!” Fili chimed in. “We haven’t seen the crèche yet and there are so few Dwarflings left on Ered Luin… We’d love to help out!”

“We’re great with younglings,” Kili added, with a vigorous nod.

“Aye, I think there may be a reason for that,” Master Dwalin said dryly.

Bilbo now found four pairs of eyes on him, waiting for his response. He wasn’t sure what Master Bard would say when he turned up with a group of Dwarves in tow, but he couldn’t deny that the prospect of supervising with help… supervising with Thorin, was making a morning at the crèche appear a lot less daunting.

“We would not want to impose,” Thorin said quietly, although he sounded hopeful.

“No, no, you wouldn’t be imposing,” Bilbo smiled. “And I would be very glad of the company.”

Fili and Kili gave a cheer and Bilbo felt their enthusiasm thrumming in the Force around them.

“Lead on then, Knight Baggins,” Master Dwalin said, gesturing down the walkway.

Bilbo nodded and set off towards the crèche, Thorin falling into step at his side with Master Dwalin, Fili and Kili following behind. They were quiet as they made their way down the corridor, eyes mostly looking forward, although they occasionally caught each other’s sideways glances and chose to either quickly look away or smile.

“You are not happy about this supervision duty,” Thorin said gently, breaking their silence.

Bilbo wasn’t sure what had given him away, but perhaps the Jedi Master had been able to read everything in his facial expressions and body language.

“This is a favour for Master Gandalf,” he explained. “I suppose I don’t exactly feel in my element when it comes to younglings.”

Bilbo was surprised to see that Thorin appeared confused. “The Archives stated that Hobbits usually live in large family units with many children…”

“Well then maybe it’s a good thing the Order found me when they did,” he returned curtly.

Thorin flinched, obviously stung by Bilbo’s retort, and his expression immediately became remorseful. “Bilbo… I… I must apologise… I meant no offence.”

Bilbo smiled and reached out to touch Thorin’s arm in a show of forgiveness. “I know, Thorin… I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

His fingertips lingered on the sleeve of Thorin’s robe, probably longer than was necessary, and when the Dwarven Jedi’s blue gaze dropped to look at them, he quickly pulled his hand away.

“I’m just being grumpy this morning,” he sighed. “I… I didn’t sleep very well last night, that’s all.”

He had expected Thorin’s look of concern, but not the fear lurking behind his eyes. It was then that Bilbo noticed how Thorin too didn’t particularly look well-rested. There were grey shadows beneath his eyes and his shoulders were slightly slumping. Could it be that the Jedi Master had been having nightmares again…?

Bilbo didn’t have time to enquire before they reached the crèche’s welcome desk. The Sullustan Jedi Master hid her surprise well and directed them to the lower level where they would be looking after two clans that were playing in the cordoned off section of the meditation gardens. Supervision duties were less about teaching and more about keeping an eye on the younglings during their free time, ensuring they didn’t get up to any mischief. Young children were troublesome enough things to care for and so supervising those with Force-sensitive abilities was an even greater challenge.

They arrived in the crèche’s garden to find Master Bard waiting for them and the younglings already scattered about the greenery, immersing themselves in their play. The Esgarothian looked absolutely thrilled at getting five Jedi for the price of one and he greeted them with a wide smile.

“Knight Baggins,” he said warmly. “I didn’t realise you would be bringing reinforcements.”

“My friends from Ered Luin said they would like to visit the crèche and they’ve agreed to help out this morning,” Bilbo replied. “This is Master Thorin and his padawan, Fili, and Master Dwalin and his padawan, Kili.”

The Dwarven Jedi gave respectful bows, which Master Bard heartily returned.

“We’re glad to have you with us,” he said, with a definite twinkle in his dark eyes. “These two particular clans have a way of keeping you on your toes, so I’m sure you’ll appreciate the extra pairs of hands.”

Master Bard then gave a sigh, obviously aware that behind him a group of five younglings had gathered together and were trying to use the Force to lift Kyra, the Twi’lek girl Bilbo had first met the other day, over the energy fence that separated the crèche play area from the rest of the gardens.

Kyra had almost reached the height of the barrier when the Crèche Master called out: “I’m going to turn around in three seconds, and when I do, I want Kyra’s feet to be on the ground!”

There were resounding groans of disappointment, but still Kyra was lowered, a little shakily, back onto the grass just in time for her to grin across the garden at Master Bard.

“A couple of our young ones were admitted to the Medical Bay last night and I must go and speak with the healers, but I will return as soon as I can.”

“Of course,” Bilbo said, trying not to notice the youngling who had rolled up his trousers and was dipping his foot into the stream that ran through the garden. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

The Crèche Master returned a rather knowing smile and then made his way towards the glass doors, leaving Bilbo scanning the group of children, many of whom had stopped their various activities to stare at their unexpected guardians for the morning. He could sense the curiosity and the excitement pulsing in the Force around them and he offered what he hoped was a welcoming smile.

Fili and Kili were the first to be drawn away as two younglings rushed forward and grabbed their hands.

“Come and look at this rock we found!” one cried, tugging on Kili’s hand.

“We think it might be Force-sensitive!” the other said, pulling Fili away.

“Ah, looks like we might need to go and investigate, Kee,” Fili said seriously, and then he and his brother allowed themselves to be led over to the stream, presumably to inspect aforementioned rock.

“Do these hurt?”

Bilbo turned to see a tiny Togruta girl examining the tattoos on Master Dwalin’s knuckles. Despite the Jedi Master’s rather fierce appearance, the group of younglings beginning to gather around him didn’t appear intimidated and they were all studying his various tattoos with clear intrigue.

Equally, Master Dwalin seemed unfazed by the interest and simply flexed his fingers so the young Togruta could see the black-inked patterns stretching across his hand. “They’re tattoos, wee one… and no, they dinnae hurt one bit.”

“Dwarven Jedi use tattoos to signify rites of passage and accomplishments in battle… That’s right, isn’t it, Master?”

Master Dwalin raised his bushy eyebrows at the Cerean youngling who was looking up at him with a serious expression, a datapad clutched in her left hand. Cereans were known for their high-level thinking and problem-solving abilities made possible by their binary brains housed in enlarged skulls, and it came as no surprise to Bilbo that this youngling would already have knowledge of even the galaxy’s most secretive species.

“Well aren’t you a clever one?” Master Dwalin said, clearly surprised. “Aye, got these ones on my fingers for some particularly nasty scraps.”

“Do you have any written in Cirth?” the Cerean girl asked thoughtfully, referring to the runes that the Dwarves used to transcribe their Khuzdul.

Master Dwalin was just rolling up his sleeves to show off further tattoos when Bilbo felt something tugging on the back of his robes. He turned to find Kit peering up at him with a look of excitement.

“Hello, Kit!” he grinned. “I didn’t realise you were out in the garden today.”

The Wookie youngling stretched his hands up towards him with a cheerful series of yowls and grunts and Bilbo lifted him up into his arms, balancing him on one hip. Kit wrapped a furred hand around the collar of Bilbo’s tunic: it was a habit first developed when travelling with the Jedi from Kashyyyk to Coruscant, he would usually fidget with Bilbo’s padawan braid and so it seemed he was making do with his collar as a source of comfort. He rested his head on Bilbo’s chest and his black eyes moved to Thorin, standing next to them.

“Hello, little one,” Thorin said, his voice unbelievably gentle.

Kit gave a quiet grumble and pushed his nose into Bilbo’s neck, hiding his face from view. Thorin looked crestfallen, but Bilbo chuckled, shifting Kit on his hip.

“He’s just being shy,” he said, trying to reassure the frowning Jedi Master. “He’ll come around, won’t you, Kit?”

Kit gave a non-committal snuffle, but still peeked out at Thorin over his arm.

“Shall we go and sit down over there?” Bilbo asked, tilting his head to indicate a shady spot beneath a tall, silver-leaved galek tree in the corner of the garden.

Thorin nodded his agreement and they moved over to the tree, both taking a seat between its sturdy roots, Bilbo helping Kit get settled in his lap. The Wookie took a little while to decide on a comfortable position before finally crossing his legs and snuggling back into Bilbo’s chest, occasionally casting wary glances over in Thorin’s direction.

“Kit seems very taken with you,” Thorin said, his eyes moving between the two of them with a smile that made Bilbo’s heart give a now-familiar double-thump.

He knew Thorin was probably confused by his previous pronouncement regarding his unease about working with children and so he felt he better explain.

“I was the one who first sensed his presence,” he said, giving Kit a squeeze. “Gandalf and I were on Kashyyyk negotiating some environmental policies and I just knew we were about to find someone special.”

Kit gave an embarrassed growl and hid his face in Bilbo’s tunic again, but Bilbo only laughed.

“Kit and I made quite the team for the remainder of the visit and then we kept each other company on the return journey to Coruscant.”

Kit was watching Thorin again, his clawed fingers tightening around Bilbo’s collar.

“The Force is strong with him,” Thorin said, ducking his head to meet Kit’s gaze and offering the Wookie a kind smile.

Silence fell as they looked out across the garden at the younglings currently in their charge. The Cerean girl had settled beneath another galec tree to their right and was immersed in her datapad, a frown of concentration on her dark brow. Having exhausted his extensive catalogue of tattoos, Master Dwalin was now doing press-ups with no less than six younglings on his back as the small crowd gathered around him counted in their respective languages.

Thorin was watching the older Jedi with a look of amusement, but then something flickered in his expression and his gaze moved from Master Dwalin to his apprentice. Fili and Kili were still by the garden’s stream but instead of investigating a potentially Force-sensitive rock, they were kneeling down and using the Force to slowly turn younglings over in aerial somersaults between them. A group had even formed a queue and were waiting their turn to have a go at these exciting acrobatics.

Fili suddenly broke his focus, catching a Tholothian child in his arms before he fell to the ground. He turned to his uncle with a guilty smile and Bilbo gathered a conversation was being conducted through their training bond. It was a few long moments before Master and apprentice seemed to be satisfied with the outcome and then Thorin turned to Bilbo.

“I have told Fili to be careful,” he explained. “He knows I will not protect him from Master Bard should any of the young ones be injured.”

Bilbo chuckled. “I’m sure no one will be, the younglings are all made of sturdy stuff.”

Thorin’s eyes lingered on his apprentice, and although some doubt clouded his expression, Bilbo also detected a touch of pride as he watched Fili easily harness the Force and turn a Mon Calamari over in a graceful somersault.

They oversaw the younglings – and their Dwarven Jedi supervisors – at play for a good while, with Bilbo murmuring the occasional question to Kit and the Wookie replying in taciturn growls that became more descriptive and confident as the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky, and the whole time Bilbo was ever aware of Thorin’s presence at his side. The Jedi Master would offer Kit a kind smile whenever he realised he was being observed; Bilbo also received an equally warm smile when accidental eye contact was made or Thorin caught him staring. He made sure to quickly look away, wiggling his bare toes into the grass as the Force scurried up his ankles and he felt his forearms pimpling despite the warm morning.

“The Order’s practice of taking Force-adept children away from their parents before they are yet old enough to speak was always thought barbaric by my kin,” Thorin said suddenly, breaking the silence. “But now that I can see how the young ones are raised here in the Temple, feel how attuned they are to the living Force, I can understand why it is done.”

Bilbo nodded thoughtfully. “I was never unhappy here in the Temple… The Crèche Masters were always attentive and well, I suppose, despite a few of my fellow younglings being unkind to me sometimes… I had a happy childhood here.”

“I am glad,” Thorin said quietly, his expression becoming pensive as his gaze moved over the chattering children who were all completely absorbed in their play.

“Thorin?” Bilbo prompted, unsure what was on the Dwarf’s mind and once again finding himself wishing he would accidentally project a few of his thoughts so he could understand.

“I was just thinking about my last visit to Coruscant,” Thorin replied. “Fili and I were called upon to collect an orphaned Force-sensitive Dwarfling the Order had discovered on Jakku… This would have been about ten solar years ago now… I suppose I was wondering if you would have been in the Temple at the time, if our paths might have crossed without our knowing it.”

Bilbo felt his stomach give a shudder at this strangely exhilarating thought. “I would have been many years into my apprenticeship with Gandalf at that point. We were sent off on a lot of diplomatic missions during that period ten years ago – a lot of trouble brewing in the Expansion Region… But I suppose we did have to return to the Temple frequently to update the Council, so there is every chance that our paths may well have crossed.”

“It is a pleasant thought,” Thorin said softly. 

Bilbo’s mouth felt dry as he swallowed, unsure of his own reply as he struggled to formulate the words, but he was spared from answering when Kit suddenly decided to slide from his lap and take a few tentative steps towards Thorin. Thorin went very still as Kit approached with his head tilted to the side and his dark eyes bright with wonder. The young Wookie then glanced back at Bilbo, as if seeking reassurance.

“It’s alright, Kit,” Bilbo said gently. “You can say hello.”

Kit came to a stop at Thorin’s side, looking up at him with intrigue, and for a long moment neither Jedi Master nor youngling moved… and then Kit slowly rose onto his toes, lifting a fuzzy paw to Thorin’s face and stroking his bearded cheek. The Wookie made a sound of delight, followed by an excited stream of Shyriiwook as he continued to investigate Thorin’s facial hair and Bilbo couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle.

“I’m afraid I do not understand you, little one,” Thorin said carefully, looking to Bilbo for help.

“I, er, didn’t quite catch all of it,” Bilbo said, unable to hide his amusement. “But I gather Kit is very pleased that you have fur on your face, just like he does.”

Thorin was beaming down at Kit now, seeming completely unperturbed at being petted like a gaupa in an Endorian farm attraction. “We do have furry faces in common,” he said, with a musical laugh that made Bilbo’s skin tremble.

Kit was obviously very pleased by Thorin’s reaction and he continued to speak in fast-paced staccato growls.

“I… I’m not sure I got all of that,” Bilbo said, with a frown, knowing Thorin would want him to translate. “I thought he said something about your boots…”

Knowing he needed to make himself understood in another way, Kit reached out and took Thorin’s hand in both his paws, pressing it against his cheek.

“Yes, this is my beard,” Thorin said patiently.

Kit then pulled Thorin’s hand from his face and, without much warning, dragged it down and placed it over the woolly hair of Bilbo’s left foot. Bilbo froze, feeling Thorin’s palm, warm against his skin as Kit held it there, determined to be understood.

“O-oh…” Bilbo said, feeling his ears turn pink. “He, er, he wasn’t talking about your boots… He meant my feet… ‘Boots’ and ‘feet’ come from the same root word, you see… and… well, I think I got my pronouns mixed up… Shyriiwook has about seven or eight… so…”

Bilbo was well aware that he was rambling and making very little sense, but he was experiencing quite acute pins and needles in his foot and it was incredibly distracting. However, not more distracting than the way Thorin was smiling as Kit continued to babble further explanations about the ‘fur’ on their respective faces and feet.

“Knight Baggins does indeed have some very fine fur on his feet,” Thorin said, when Kit finally allowed him to pull his hand away. “Although it is lighter and curlier than my own hair, perhaps I should consider growing my beard out… What do you think, Kit?”

The Wookie youngling appeared to have given up any pretences of shyness and was now happily climbing into Thorin’s lap, offering his growled opinions with hand gestures to help the Dwarf understand. Bilbo wiggled his toes into the grass again, hoping the colour in his ears hadn’t spread to his face.

“Knight Baggins, Master Thorin?”

Bilbo looked up to see the Cerean youngling was standing in front of them, her datapad clasped tightly between her hands. He had noticed her edging slowly closer to them whilst Kit became acquainted with Thorin’s beard and guessed she might also want to say hello.

“I’m Asha-Si-Mundi, Fifth Year Clan,” she said, giving a polite bow, which both Bilbo and Thorin returned by dipping their chins.

“I’m studying the cultural customs of species in the Outer Rim in my one-to-one classes with Master Elrond,” Asha explained, beginning to tap at her datapad. “And I was wondering if you could help me answer a few questions for my next assessment?”

Thorin and Bilbo exchanged wry smiles: Asha was clearly a very bright and conscientious student, no doubt top of her class if she was being fast-tracked to padawan-level tutorials.

“Of course,” Thorin answered, knowing that if she was interested in the customs of those who hailed from the Outer Rim, her questions were more likely to be for him to answer.

“So…” she said, a crease of concentration appearing between her high brows. “How long have the two of you been soul-bonded?”

Bilbo felt as if he had just been dropped into the icy waters of Toloran and he choked on a breath as he struggled to maintain a neutral expression. He dared to risk a glance at Thorin and saw that the Jedi Master’s eyes were wide, his mouth agape in shock… or perhaps it was panic, Bilbo was sure he could sense panic rolling off Thorin in waves. His stomach twisted as he fought to make sense of Thorin’s reaction to her mistake. Was the thought of being bonded to him so very mortifying…? But Bilbo knew he had no right to be offended. He also made a mental note to stop staring at Thorin in front of very observant and curious younglings.

“M-Master Thorin isn’t, er, my bondmate,” Bilbo explained, his throat feeling tight. “He’s my… he’s my friend, we’re friends.”

Bilbo saw that Fili and Kili had stopped turning their crowd of charges over in somersaults and were both looking over at their uncle with concern. Master Dwalin, too, had ceased his press-ups. With the younglings returned to the ground at his side, he was now staring over at them, expression unreadable.

“Oh…” Asha narrowed her eyes as she looked from Thorin to Bilbo, then back down at her datapad. “My apologies Knight Baggins, Master Thorin… I didn’t mean to overstep.”

Bilbo was frowning, one eyebrow arched, as he tried to make sense of Asha’s response, but he was saved from further confusion by a panicked shout of ‘KNIGHT BAGGINS!’ that came from a group of younglings who were huddled together by the stream.

Bilbo was on his feet in an instant, sensing Thorin and Kit following close behind him as he hurried over to the crowd that had formed by one of the rocky pools. “What’s happened? Is someone hurt?”

The younglings parted and Bilbo certainly didn’t expect them to reveal a very morose-looking Bothan who was holding a Klatooine paddy frog in his open palms.  The frog was letting out intermittent, wheezing croaks, one of its spindly back legs twitching into an unnatural shape. Bilbo could immediately feel the dismay radiating out from the group of young Jedi as they all peered up at him, hoping for answers.

“Can we take it to the Medical Bay, Knight Baggins?” the Bothan boy asked anxiously, stroking a finger over the frog’s back as it let out a weak ribbit.

“Of course not, they’re not going to treat a paddy frog!” one youngling piped up.

“We should ease its passing,” another said, their expression resolute. “Let it transform into the Force.”

“If we cut off its leg… would it grow a new one?” Kyra said, turning to Bilbo as she crouched down in the grass beside the injured frog.

Bilbo heard Kit’s mournful whine behind him and then made his decision, feeling his heart give a few quick thuds against his ribs.

“Hush, all of you,” he said firmly, silencing the group that appeared to be gearing up for some proper bickering.

Stepping forward and dropping down onto his knees, Bilbo gave the Bothan youngling a reassuring smile. “I promise I won’t hurt him,” he murmured. “What’s your name?”

“Jarek,” the Bothan replied, holding the rasping frog a little closer to his chest.

“Alright, Jarek, I need you to hold the frog completely still for me whilst I heal his leg… Do you think you can do that?”

Jarek nodded ardently. “Yes, Knight Baggins.”

Bilbo looked about the tight circle of onlookers that had formed around them. “Now, I need you all to promise me that you are not going to attempt this kind of healing until you are much older, until you are apprenticed to Masters who will be able to guide you… Is that clear?”

There was a sincere chorus of “Yes, Knight Baggins” and Bilbo pursed his lips, his gaze returning to the frog that had just let out a spluttered croak.

“Keep holding him steady, Jarek,” Bilbo instructed, shuffling a little closer so that he could gently close both his hands around the paddy’s frog’s twitching leg.

Although Master Gandalf had decided to dedicate most of his time to the Temple’s crèche as opposed to its Medical Bay, the old Istari was still an expert healer. Bilbo had learnt much from him during his time as Gandalf’s apprentice and so he knew how to harness his own living Force and transfer it to other beings in order to, amongst other things, encourage the regeneration of cells and knit wounds back together. It was a trying business, given that he would be giving up some of his own energy as opposed to drawing strength from the Force around him, but Bilbo was certain that a Klatooine paddy frog’s injured leg would prove little bother.

His eyes fluttering closed, Bilbo drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs, and exhaled carefully. He then began to call upon his living Force, feeling it gathering inside his chest like a bright orb, and then he directed it down his arms and into the tips of his fingers. He felt the healing energy surging through his veins, hooking onto his every nerve and sparking with electricity as he fed it slowly but surely into the frog’s cold skin beneath his hands. He waited for a few long moments, keeping his breathing steady as he felt the last of the conjured Force ebb away… and then he heard a distinctly healthier-sounding ribbit.

Bilbo opened his eyes and let his hands fall away. The paddy frog was wriggling in Jarek’s grasp, its healed leg bending as expected as it gave another jubilant croak. The crowd of younglings let out whoops and cheers, and Bilbo felt their elation and their reverence vibrating in the Force around him.

“Thank you, Knight Baggins,” Jarek whispered, with a grin. He tickled the paddy frog’s pale green belly and it let out an appreciative hum like a tamed tooka.

“You are most welcome,” Bilbo replied, feeling warmth swelling inside his chest. “Now why don’t you set him down in the shallows? Give him some time to regain his strength.”

Bilbo watched as Jarek shuffled over to the little rush-lined pool and carefully lowered the frog down into the water. It splashed about, gauging its surroundings, but didn’t return to the main flow of the stream, clearly wanting to take a moment to rest.

Satisfied that he had done all that was needed, Bilbo got to his feet… but immediately stumbled as his head swam and the gardens wobbled around him. And then he felt strong hands grasping his shoulders to steady him, stopping him from falling. Feeling slightly dazed, Bilbo turned to see Thorin frowning at him.

“Bilbo?” he murmured, voice tight with concern. “Are you alright?”

“S-sorry,” Bilbo replied, exhaling slowly as the dizziness passed. “Transferring energy like that… It can sometimes make you feel a little light-headed, but not to worry… I’m feeling quite alright now.”

The nausea may have passed, but Bilbo was still acutely aware of the fact that Thorin was yet to let go of his shoulders and the whole of his upper body was feeling strangely warm, his skin prickling beneath his tunic. He found he didn’t quite want the moment to end, didn’t want Thorin to break this unexpected contact… but then he saw Asha staring at them over the top of her datapad and choked on a breath. Thorin’s hands jumped away from his shoulders, but he was continuing to regard him with a look of apprehension, as if he expected him to drop dead at any moment.

“You are sure you would not like to go to the Medical Bay?” he asked, voice low and impossibly deep.

“Honestly, Thorin, I’m fine – I promise,” Bilbo insisted, trying to ignore the fuzziness growing in his chest. “So you can stop your fussing.”

“I… I was not fussing,” Thorin replied, and if Bilbo didn’t know any better, he would have said the Jedi Master was sulking.

“So you’re telling me you’re not about to ask me if I’m sure I don’t want to go to the Medical Bay?” Bilbo pressed, raising an eyebrow.

Thorin opened his mouth and then promptly shut it again. “If I refrain from asking you to go to the Medical Bay, will you at least agree to come and sit down beneath the trees again?”

Bilbo glanced over at the dark green shade of the silver galec trees: it certainly did look quite inviting. Kit had decided to slip away during their exchange and was now joining the queue for a Force-fuelled somersault curtesy of Fili and Kili. The thought of being left alone with Thorin beneath the trees was more than enticing, and so Bilbo’s gave in.

“Alright then,” he sighed.

He and Thorin spent the rest of the morning sharing easy conversation, pausing every so often to survey the younglings and ensure they weren’t getting up to any mischief. When the sun was at its highest point in the sky, Master Bard returned and the two clans were called inside for their lunch. The Crèche Master thanked Bilbo and his Dwarven helpers profusely and asked if they would be willing to be signed-up to the rota for the rest of their stay – Thorin and Master Dwalin, spurred on by their eager padawans, agreed.

Their group was just turning to leave the crèche when the large glass doors slid open to reveal Meggi standing behind them. Bilbo opened his mouth to greet her, but stopped immediately when he clocked the fact that her mouth was formed into a thin line and her dark yellow eyes were narrowed. She stomped forward and thrust a brown paper bag into his chest.

“The Force is testing me,” she stated, before swinging herself around and marching back through the doors.

It took Bilbo a moment to register what had happened, but then he dared to open the bag in his grasp and inside found no less than six bacon and topatos stuffed sandwiches. Ah, Bilbo thought, perhaps he should make sure he made it to the canteen for afternoon tea, lest Meggi add boiled, braised or sautéed Hobbit to her ‘Specials Board’.

…

The evening brought with it one of the most beautiful sunsets Bilbo had ever seen during his many years on Coruscant. After finishing their meal in the canteen – with Meggi looming over Bilbo until she was sure he had finished his third helping of fried Cojayav wings – Master Dwalin had hauled Fili and Kili away to complete a ‘debriefing’ on their survival training exercise from the previous evening. The magnificent sunset could be seen from the canteen’s floor-to-ceiling windows, but Thorin had suggested he and Bilbo take a walk out on the Temple’s main terrace so that they might better appreciate the city’s evening skyline.

The wide stone terrace was fairly quiet, only a few Jedi scattered up and down, engaged in murmured discussion or meditation. Whirring droids rolled from one group to the next, offering refreshments from their trays with soft beeps, before disappearing back to the canteen to replenish their goods. Bilbo and Thorin made a leisurely-paced circuit of the area, speaking of much and nothing at all, laughing often, and enjoying the cool breeze that rustled their robes as they walked.

A few heads turned as they passed, but Bilbo knew it was not every day that a Dwarven Jedi was seen on Coruscant… or that a Hobbit Jedi was seen at all. One such head that turned was that of an old, white-bearded Jedi Master, who dipped his chin in greeting as they passed, giving Bilbo a soft smile. He was one of the Order’s greatest negotiators, but Bilbo had also had the pleasure of sparring with him some years ago: it gave him hope that even if the Council wanted to pigeon-hole him as one for political missions, he might still be respected for his skills in combat.

Having completed two circuits of the terrace, Thorin gestured to the ornately-carved balustrade so that they might take a moment to admire the view. They came to a stop, standing side by side and looking out across the city, both lifting their hands and resting their palms flat against the balustrade’s grey top rail. Bilbo shifted his fingers over the stone, feeling the tiny, crumbled particles of dust rolling beneath his fingertips. He exhaled slowly as his eyes scanned the fiery horizon before him, Coruscant’s single waning sun glittering like a beaten shard of amber glass. There were a few shreds of cloud dyed red by the sky that was itself a melting pot of colour: its edges were blue, darkening to inky purple, and as it stretched closer to the city’s skyline it became shot through with stripes of brilliant orange and soft pink. Bilbo felt the Force vibrating up from the balustrade beneath his palms, swelling inside his chest, beating along with his own thundering heart.

“You say you foiled an assassination attempt whilst on Taris,” Thorin said, breaking their silence, his voice hushed. “I can imagine it was an impressive feat.”

They had been discussing the various missions they had undertaken for the Order over the years whilst they conducted their circuit of the terrace, and Bilbo had been unable to stop himself mentioning the highlight of what had been an otherwise lengthy and frustrating assignment.

“Yes…” he swallowed, his throat feeling a little dry. “Would… would you like to see…?”

He and Thorin had not shared memories since their second meeting in the Temple meditation gardens, and Bilbo wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to do so again. The impish and unbecoming part of his mind had already clocked the fact that his capture of the would-be assassin also took place whilst he was wearing traditional Tarisian robes… sleeveless Tarisian robes.

Hoping Thorin hadn’t noticed the pink spreading down his ears, Bilbo slowly lowered his outer mental shields and carefully laid out the memory for him to examine. He had expected the Jedi Master to once again be tentative, reticent, but no sooner had he set the recollection out beyond his shields than he felt Thorin’s mind brushing against his as he entered the night someone had made an attempt on the life of Taris’s representative in the Galactic Senate. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered shut as he too watched the memory unfold.

He had spotted the shadow, armed to the teeth, loitering on a rooftop above their merry gathering, preparing to take aim at the senator. In an instant, Bilbo had used the Force to dislodge several dark red roof tiles and slam them into the assassin’s crossbow, knocking the weapon from his grasp. He had turned and fled, but Bilbo had given chase. Shimmying up the building’s wall with ease, he had set off sprinting across the rooves of the ancient buildings, flipping over smoke-belching chimneys and launching himself across the widening gaps between the crooked houses, trusting the Force to carry him safely over to the other side.

His arms were pumping in time with his lengthening strides, his biceps glistening with sweat from both the exertion and the heated smoke, and his darkening curls were sticking to his brow as he closed in on his target. Bilbo dared to peek open one eye and sneak a glance at Thorin beside him. The Dwarven Jedi’s closed lids were flickering as he watched, his cheeks slightly flushed and his lips parted as he breathed rather shallowly.

The assailant, clearly tiring of jumping from roof to roof, made the mistake of dropping down into an alleyway between houses, only to discover that it was a dead end and a Jedi Knight, who had landed in the alley behind him, was now blocking his only exit. The assassin was almost three times the size of Bilbo, but he made the mistake of lunging at him head-on, only to meet air as Bilbo somersaulted over his head. He didn’t even have time to register his confusion before he was being slammed down onto his stomach and his hands wrestled into magnetic cuffs behind his back.

The memory dissolved into the sunset and Bilbo couldn’t help but watch Thorin out of the corner of his eye, anxious for his response.

It seemed to take the Dwarf a few moments to collect himself and he spent a long time studying his hands, but then he spoke, looking to Bilbo with a smile: “It appears you are skilled even without the use of your lightsaber, Knight Baggins.”

Bilbo’s ears felt hot again as he returned Thorin’s smile. “I believe most Jedi are.”

“Now you are just being modest,” Thorin chided, warmth in his expression. “I would be curious to see how you might fare against Dwalin in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Oh…” Bilbo was certain he would probably end up in the Medical Bay with several broken bones if he so much as tried it. “I take it Master Dwalin is quite the expert at unarmed combat?”

Thorin shifted slightly beside him. “I… could show you, if you want…?”

It took Bilbo a moment to realise Thorin intended to share a memory with him and wasn’t actually suggesting they seek out Master Dwalin and head to the sparring arena.

“Yes… I would like to see,” he said, a little unnerved by Thorin’s expression which seemed, surprisingly, to be caught somewhere between bashfulness, trepidation and guilt.

The Jedi Master nevertheless lowered his shields and presented a memory for Bilbo to view. Bilbo’s mind reached out, feeling a shivering spark of static as he connected with Thorin and opened the memory with him. It took all of two seconds for Bilbo to understand the Dwarf’s previously unfathomable expression. He found himself standing in a mountainous training ground, no doubt on the Dwarven homeworld of Ered Luin, and he was on the side-lines of a sparring square, watching as Thorin and Dwalin locked hands in a fierce match of hand-to-hand combat… and they were both naked to the waist.

Bilbo desperately tried not to let out a sound, to keep his facial expressions completely neutral, but it appeared Thorin might be retaliating for his sweaty biceps. He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. The image of Thorin and Dwalin wrestling was completely and utterly mesmerising and he found his eyes wandering over Thorin’s back that was covered in beautifully-inked tattoos, the geometric patterns spreading down from his neck, following the line of his spine. Beads of sweat glistened across the planes of his back, pooling between his shoulder blades, and as the match continued, Dwalin backing Thorin into a corner of the square, Bilbo caught sight of his muscled chest that was covered in a healthy amount of dark hair.

By the Force, this is absolute torture, Bilbo thought, trying to focus his mind on the actual sparring, watching as Dwalin blocked every single one of Thorin’s strikes with his thick, tattooed forearms, but still Thorin fought on with growls and gritted teeth. Bilbo simultaneously wanted the memory to end and wanted to live in the moment forever, but fade away it did as Thorin slowly raised his outer shields again. Bilbo found that he couldn’t even bear to look at him for a few moments, his face very much as fiery as the sunset before them.

It was a long time before Bilbo dared to speak, and even then he was certain his words must sound slightly strangled. “I… I don’t think I would be much of a match for, er, for Master Dwalin… He’d probably crush me in the first ten seconds.”

Bilbo flexed his fingers on the stone balustrade, feeling electricity continue to prickle in them as he tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing.

“I wish you would not doubt yourself so,” Thorin said quietly, his voice soft, gentle. It made Bilbo turn to him. “You… You are remarkable, Bilbo. It is my hope that you will one day see yourself as… as I see you.”

Bilbo opened his mouth to reply, but found he had no response to such high praise from someone he had truly come to care for and respect. They shared a moment of silence, both looking out at the sunset as twinkling stars began to appear in the encroaching gloom.

“Do you know when you will be given your next assignment?” Thorin asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“It could be any day now,” Bilbo replied, feeling an odd tugging inside his chest. “In all honesty, it’s quite strange that Gandalf hasn’t already briefed me on my next mission.”

Thorin nodded, his lips pursed, his expression almost frowning. “We are waiting on approval from the Council for the assignment we have brought to them… It is a shame that our days together appear to be numbered.”

Bilbo sensed the sadness Thorin was holding within him, an air of finality in his words, and he couldn’t help but want to give the Dwarf some reassurance. “Perhaps we might see each other again… when our next missions are completed? I could request a visit to Ered Luin… or maybe we could travel to Shire together?”

Something Bilbo couldn’t place flickered behind Thorin’s gaze, but still he replied: “I would like that very much, Bilbo.”

Bilbo managed a small smile before returning his eyes to the sunset. As hopeful as he was trying to be, he still felt a weight in his stomach when he thought of him and Thorin going their separate ways, like a horrible, sickly pulling coming from inside him. He fanned his fingers out on the stone slabs beneath his hands, closing his eyes and attempting to release his pain into the Force… and that was when he heard it: Thorin’s low voice rumbling inside his head.

Mahal, he’s just so beautiful…

Bilbo went completely still, his heart stopping inside his chest which was now completely clogged with tickling static. Beautiful…? Thorin really thought him beautiful? The Force was now sending shivers down his arms and he could feel his skin pimpling beneath his sleeves as the prickling hairs rose.

He was sure he hadn’t let out a breath for quite some time as he slowly, oh so slowly, edged his hand across the stone. Keeping his eyes on the horizon, Bilbo carefully brushed his little finger against Thorin’s. He sensed rather than saw the Jedi Master straightening up and was about to withdraw when Thorin gently nudged back, then carefully, ever so carefully, stroked his finger over Bilbo’s.

Bilbo turned to him then, the corners of his eyes stinging, and found Thorin was already looking at him, his mouth open slightly and his expression soft. They leaned their bodies together and Bilbo couldn’t quite look away from Thorin’s lips hovering not so very far from him. He knew unbonded attachment was forbidden by the Order, but still he found himself so desperate to kiss Thorin, just once before they parted. Bilbo had never kissed anyone before… and if he could kiss just one person, just once, in the whole of his lifetime, it would be Thorin. He wondered what it would feel like, if you could taste anything of a person as you kissed, if it would be warm or scorching hot… what Thorin’s beard would feel like brushing against his lips and his chin.

His heart was manically thumping against his ribs when Thorin lifted a hand and hooked a finger under his chin, almost cradling his face, drawing him closer to him… and then a sudden series of loud beeps sounded right behind them and they jumped apart as if scolded by hot coals. Bilbo’s breaths were ragged in his chest, his stomach tight with disappointment as he looked down at the serving droid who was holding out a tray of squat metal beakers, offering them drinks.

“Th-thank you,” Bilbo said weakly, deciding he could do with a fairly stiff drink and taking one of the beakers from the droid’s tray.

Thorin did the same with almost mechanical movements and Bilbo tried not to notice that the Jedi Master had taken a step away from him by the balustrade. Had he just imagined what was about to happen…? Was Thorin only attempting to show him another Dwarven custom? His chin was still tingling from the contact and he blinked to clear the stinging from his eyes.

“Perhaps we should make a toast?” Thorin murmured, raising his cup between them.

“Oh, er, yes,” Bilbo mumbled, hoping a smile had found a way onto his face. “What… what shall we toast to?”

“To seeing each other again?” Thorin asked, his own smile endearingly sincere.

Bilbo nodded, unable to budge the lump in his throat. “To seeing each other again.”

And with the sunset slowly burning itself out behind them, they clinked their cups together and toasted their hopes for the future.

…

Bilbo shifted his shoulders against the stone pillar, his stomach tightening in yet another knot. He had been feeling out of sorts that morning after another night of uneasy dreams. A shadow had been lurking in the periphery of his vision since he first clambered out of bed and he still couldn’t shake it. Having sat in the canteen for an hour, brooding over his scrambled Qu’orsav eggs, with no sign of Thorin or his kin, Bilbo had dragged himself to the Western Atrium with his datapad, deciding to settle on one of the wide window ledges to read… and continue his brooding.

He was just clicking onto the Archives’ expectedly sparse entry on Azanulbizar when Fili came skidding into the atrium and his face was completely white. Bilbo leapt to his feet and came to meet him, his heart a fist inside his chest.

“Fili…? What is it? What’s wrong…?” he breathed.

Fili’s voice was shaking as he answered: “Thorin is missing… I felt pain… and panic… and anger, but then he severed our training bond. Bilbo… we-we can’t find him anywhere. He’s gone.”

Chapter Text

“What solar
systems strengthen in us now?”

Bilbo came to a stop by the windows of his quarters, breaking himself out of the cycle of frantic pacing that had already left imprints in the soft, pale carpet beneath his bare feet. Letting out a shuddering breath, he placed his palms flat against the smooth metal of the window sill and made another attempt at calming his mind. There was a row of squat, potted succulents lined up on the sill, each one from a different system Bilbo had visited, and as he closed his eyes, he tried to harness their comforting, natural energy to help him quiet his thoughts.  

“Thorin is missing… I felt pain… and panic… and anger, but then he severed our training bond. Bilbo… we-we can’t find him anywhere. He’s gone.”

He had sent Fili straight to the Jedi High Council, telling him to inform them of Thorin’s disappearance whilst Master Dwalin and Kili made one last desperate search of the Temple. The young padawan had been reluctant to leave the Western Atrium, Dwarven distrust clearly making him unwilling to get others involved, but then Bilbo had pulled rank and ordered him away. He had never intended to speak to Fili so harshly, but the disturbances clouding the Force around him had been motivation enough. And now there were unsettling feelings coiling in his stomach and twisting inside his chest. He sensed that Thorin was in danger, that there was something else at work here, and so he had sent Fili for help, not allowing him to ask any questions when he declared that he would continue the search.

Fanning his fingers out on the sill and wrapping shimmering threads of Force around him, Bilbo took another controlled breath and slowly let go of the anxiety that was impairing his ability to focus. He had to believe that, if he concentrated hard enough, he would be able to sense Thorin’s presence, that the Force would lead him to wherever it was that he had gone. It had happened before, the night Thorin had been dragged down by the Darkness in his dreams, and so surely it could happen again… It had to be the will of the Force that Bilbo find Thorin and bring him back to the Light.

There was a sudden flicker in Bilbo’s mind and his heart gave a familiar double-thump.

The vision hovered, stubbornly, in the periphery of his consciousness, but Bilbo wasn’t going to give up so easily. Narrowing his focus to a pinpoint, he pulled the image back to him, reaching out and using all the mental strength he possessed to make the vision materialise into something comprehensible and clear. It came then in shreds of blackness slashed through with colour and Bilbo felt a tingling sensation beating beneath his fingernails, expanding out until it was scurrying up his arms and fluttering inside his chest. Bilbo frowned as the image shivered and changed behind his closed lids, but still he felt it was somehow familiar. There were gigantic, blackened chimneys, their swirling plumes of grey and purple smoke bruising the skyline, and flashes of dull silver, of mangled metal piled into lopsided towers… Bilbo knew then that he was looking at the scrapyards of the Industrial District. He couldn’t explain it, but just like the moment he had woken in a cold sweat, convinced that Thorin was in pain, he was sure this was where he would find the Jedi Master and he needed to leave now.

Crossing the room in a few strides, he slid open three of his equipment drawers and grabbed what he thought he might need, although he was careful to travel light, ensuring everything he selected would either attach to his utility belt or fit inside one of his tunic’s multiple hidden pockets. Satisfied he was as prepared as he could possibly be, Bilbo headed out of his quarters and towards the main hangar.

…

Coruscant’s single sun was at its highest point in the sky and its light twinkled and flashed off the bright panels of the silver speeder that was zigzagging through the city’s network of backroads, making its way towards the Industrial District. Instinct had told Bilbo not to travel in the ecumenopolis’s main traffic streams and so he had dropped his speeder to ground level as he navigated the quieter, narrower streets that clustered around the outskirts of Coruscant’s centre of industry.

The air was becoming thicker as Bilbo approached the maze of factories and junkyards. The sky above him slowly began to darken with curling fumes as he drew closer and closer to the towering chimneys, the stinging smell of oil and burning fuel making his nose twitch. The horizon was nothing but black, angular shapes, broken occasionally by a violent burst of orange from scrapyard fires.

The Industrial District was not a welcoming place and most of the planet’s inhabitants avoided it at all costs. It was a known nest of corruption, full of criminals and illegal trading and traps for unsuspecting off-worlders. The Jedi did what they could to keep the peace between the district’s merchants and factory owners and their clients, but tended to only intervene when lives were genuinely at stake. He and Gandalf had led a raid on one of the Durasteel plants because they were knowingly using slave labour. They had freed the workers and helped them return to their homeworlds whilst the Senate dealt with the plant’s owners.

But Bilbo’s knowledge of the Industrial District brought him no closer to understanding why Thorin had severed his training bond with his apprentice and thought to come here, to this desolate landscape of smoke and scrap metal. The feelings of uneasiness and foreboding had grown the closer Bilbo came to the district’s collection of junkyards and as he slowed Myrtle to a quiet, creeping pace, he sensed Thorin’s pain and his panic come prickling through the Force around him. The Jedi Master was here somewhere, amongst the looming stacks of speeder skeletons and mutilated freighter parts.

Bilbo parked Myrtle out of sight behind an abandoned toll booth, hoping the speeder would blend in with the grey surroundings and not attract any unwanted attention. However, he suspected that having Myrtle end up on a dealer’s scrap pile was the least of his worries and it was a risk he was willing to take if it meant he could find Thorin safe and unharmed.

The scrapyard was eerily deserted as Bilbo made his way down one dusty aisle, soot and ash and tiny flecks of rust clinging to the soles of his feet. He was glad of his Hobbitish heritage that meant he was able to sneak silently down the walkway, making no sound to garner notice, no footsteps to echo around the high walls of contorted metal. He had lifted the brown hood of his robes over his head, ensuring it obscured most of his face in shadow: although he knew his height and feet would give away his identity as a Hobbit, he wasn’t going to give anyone he may encounter any more than that… and there was always something quite unnerving about not being able to see a person’s face.

Feeling his heart thumping against his ribs, Bilbo followed the twisting walkway through the yard, pausing each time it branched off into another path, but still finding no sign of Thorin. The Force was thick with trembling disturbances and Bilbo could sense the Darkness lying over the place like a poisonous mist… Something was very wrong, but he daren’t call out to Thorin in case he alerted some unseen assailants and sent them leaping out at him from the precariously balanced stacks of metal.

“I, er, I believe he’s taking them to… to a scrapyard in the Industrial District…”

Bilbo stopped in his tracks as the memory returned to him and Thorin’s voice rang out in his mind. Thorin had mentioned the Industrial District before, but Bilbo had been sure this was a lie, that he had been forced to make up a cover story to answer his questions… and he had chosen this very place. Had Thorin been here before? Was there a reason his mind had automatically turned to the city’s scrapyards?

A sharp clang sounded to Bilbo’s right and he immediately dropped into a low crouch behind a broken freighter engine, his fingers wrapping around the hilt of his lightsaber. Lifting himself just enough to peer over the top of the engine, he saw that the sound had come from a small shack that stood at a crossroads between the yard’s walkways. From the crudely painted sign above the door, he gathered that this was where he would find the scrapyard’s owner. Still no closer to finding Thorin, Bilbo decided it was probably time to gather some intelligence.

Keeping his hood hanging low over his face and his cloak wrapped tightly around himself, Bilbo made his way over to the shack. The thin door was made of flattened metal and it gave a whining creak as he slipped inside. The interior was dimly lit by a single flickering bulb that hung from the ceiling and there was no furniture apart from a misshapen counter and the stack of lopsided shelves behind it. The owner was a Crolute, a stocky, irritable species from the Mid Rim planet of Crul. At the sight of Bilbo, however, his surprise melted into a charming smile as he leaned over the counter to greet him.

“Well, a very good morning to you, my little friend,” he said, using one flabby, pale hand to wipe his greasy hair across his forehead. “You’re quite a way from Tatooine.”

Bilbo bristled at the Crolute’s mistake, but kept his voice low and calm as he replied: “I’m not a Jawa.”

The owner looked panicked for a second, but then he smiled again. “My apologies, I trust you understand I meant no offence, just the little fellas are fond of their brown cloaks.”

Bilbo stayed very still and didn’t respond, watching as the Crolute peered more closely at him, trying and failing to see his face. The owner’s species were known to be immune to the Jedi mind trick of Influence, and so he would have to go about getting information a different way.

“So, what are you looking for today, Mister…?”

“You don’t need to know my name,” Bilbo said quietly, his tone laced with threat.

The owner appeared put out at first, but still seemed determined to make a sale. “Of course, of course, I have many clients who would prefer to remain anonymous – your secrets are safe with me, all part of the service, although you can call me Laz… Let me get you my business card.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Laz stopped rooting under the counter and straightened up, a raised eyebrow indicating his growing discomfort. “Is it spare parts you’re after? You seem like someone of great taste, so tell you what, I’ll let you be the first to take a look at the Devaronian hyperdrives I’ve just got in, they’re –”

“I’m not looking for parts,” Bilbo cut across him, his voice cold. “I’m looking for someone.”

“Right,” Laz replied, his salesman’s façade slipping as the annoyance crept into his expression. “And is this someone, by any chance, wanting to purchase a Devaronian hyperdrive?”

“No,” Bilbo said simply.

Laz put both his hands on the counter and leaned down with a sneer. “Listen, you little puka, I’m running a business here, not the Senate’s Bureau of Missing Persons, so either buy something or stop wasting my time!”

Bilbo remained unmoved by the Crolute’s threat. “I know he’s here in your scrapyard and I suspect you’ve already seen him: a Dwarven Jedi Master, patterned robes, dark beard… I want you to tell me what you know.”

Recognition flashed in Laz’s black eyes and Bilbo’s stomach knotted itself.

“I haven’t seen anyone like that, you’re my first customer of the day,” Laz growled, although his mouth gave an unhappy twitch.

“I know you’re lying,” Bilbo whispered, keeping his voice low as he edged closer to the counter.

“So what if I am?” Laz snapped. “Whatever your quarrel is with this Jedi, I want no part in it… You’re obviously not the brightest star in the nebula if you think taking on a Jedi is a good idea.”

Bilbo stayed silent, weighing up his options, but then realisation dawned on Laz’s face and all of a sudden he was letting out a deep, booming laugh. “You… You’ve got to be joking! You! Well, the Order must be desperate these days if they’re giving pint-sized species cloaks and light sticks and telling them to protect the galaxy!”

“You’re going to tell me where he is,” Bilbo said, undeterred by Laz’s mocking, his hand closing around his lightsaber beneath his cloak.

Laz let out another wheezing laugh. “That information is going to cost you, Jedi Master Ewok.”

Bilbo didn’t hesitate. His hand shot out from beneath his cloak and he slammed Laz back into the shelves, using the Force to keep him pinned there, unable to move as various dusty knick-knacks clattered to the floor. In the same moment, he drew his lightsaber, holding the glowing blue blade out at his side as it hummed menacingly in the silence.

“I want to know where he is,” Bilbo said dangerously. “And you’re going to tell me.”

Laz’s wide eyes were focused on Bilbo’s lightsaber and he didn’t even struggle against the Force’s grip as he gasped out: “He… He’s in Yard Three, where I keep all the freighter parts… Just take the left pathway…”

“And is he alone?” Bilbo pressed, his lightsaber’s blade hovering a little closer to the counter.

“Y-yes…” Laz choked out. “He said he was… was waiting for someone…”

Bilbo’s heart gave a painful throb at this unexpected piece of information, but still he continued, jaw tight: “Was he injured?”

“No… Not injured… Please, just let me go… I’m s-sorry for the ‘Jedi Master Ewok’ comment… I… I’ll throw in one of the Devaronian hyperdrives, free of charge, and… and how about an inertial damper…?”

Not wanting to waste any more time, Bilbo released Laz and the Crolute slumped over the counter with a sputtering cough.

“Thank you for the information,” Bilbo said curtly. “You can keep the hyperdrive and the inertial damper.”

Before Laz could comment, he slipped back out of the shack and turned straight onto the left pathway that led to Yard Three. Powering down his lightsaber, he clipped it back onto his belt and once again wrapped his cloak around him as he crept down the winding narrow aisle towards the freighter graveyard. He could sense Thorin’s presence so very clearly now, feel the Force tickling at his heels and his fingertips, but there was also a much darker, threatening presence weaving its way amongst the metal wreckage which made Bilbo quicken his steps.

The path opened out into a circular clearing and he felt a spike of pain between his ribs. Thorin was standing there, back to him, still as stone with his hood pulled over his head. Bilbo felt his pain come rippling out through the Force, but there was also an unexpected sense of hope, or anticipation.

“Thorin?” he called out, stepping into the clearing and lowering his hood.

Thorin whirled around, hand diving into his robes for his lightsaber, but he stopped when he saw Bilbo, a clash of conflicting emotions tightening his facial expression.

“Bilbo…?” he breathed, and his voice didn’t sound right. “What in the Force’s name are you doing here…?”

Bilbo approached him slowly, noting his skin’s greyish hue and the shadows under his eyes. Thorin didn’t look well, and Bilbo strengthened his mental shields to ensure he definitely wasn’t projecting his panic, lest Thorin sense it and try to disappear again.

“Looking for you,” Bilbo said gently. “Thorin… are you alright?”

Thorin’s gaze moved away for a moment. “How did you find me?”

“I think it might have been the will of the Force again,” Bilbo whispered, attempting a smile.

He didn’t expect Thorin’s grimace as the Jedi Master began to fidget with his robes, his eyes having an unnerving, wild look about them that put Bilbo on edge.

“You severed your training bond with Fili,” Bilbo said, keeping his tone as soft and unthreatening as possible. “He’s really worried about you… We all are.”

“I... I am sorry,” Thorin murmured, sounding a little more like himself again. “I did not mean to worry you.”

“I know,” Bilbo said, edging a little closer, desperate to just reach out and touch Thorin’s arm, unsure why he was feeling such a gnawing, overwhelming need for a physical connection. “Can… can you tell me what you’re doing out here? The Industrial District isn’t exactly a renowned tourist attraction.”

Thorin didn’t smile, only frowned as he looked away again. Bilbo sensed he was weighing his words carefully and a breath got lodged in his throat.

“I… I received word from someone who said they had information about my father,” Thorin explained, his voice a moment from breaking. “They told me to meet them here.”

Bilbo felt a chill run down his spine. “Do you know this person? Did you track their communication signal?”

Thorin shook his head. “They were using a voice modifier for the transmission and their comm signal was untraceable.”

Another icy shiver came trembling through the Force and Bilbo’s eyes darted around the clearing as the crushed metal creaked in the wind, some of the stacks tipping ominously towards them.

“Thorin, I have a very bad feeling about this, we need to leave…”

Bilbo was just reaching for Thorin’s hand when they heard heavy footsteps approaching from the pathway directly in front of them. Bilbo stepped to Thorin’s side and they ignited their lightsabers in perfect synchronisation, both moving into attack positions as they narrowed their eyes at the opposing aisle where something could be seen moving towards them through the mist.

It was a black, cloaked figure, looming larger and larger as it drew closer to the clearing. The same figure Bilbo had seen in the alleyway in front of Nino’s restaurant, the same figure that had been haunting his dreams.

“Father…?” Thorin called out, shifting his position slightly.

“No,” Bilbo whispered, as the cold waves of Darkness washed over him. “Thorin, this isn’t your father…”

He motioned for them both to fall back as the figure entered the clearing, which Thorin did despite his obvious confusion. He mirrored Bilbo’s movements, following him back towards the pathway that led to Laz’s shack.

“Who are you?” Thorin demanded in a growl. “Show yourself!”

Bilbo’s heart was pummelling itself against his ribs and his fingers flexed around the hilt of his lightsaber as the figure lifted an enormous white hand from beneath its cloak and pulled down its black hood.

Bilbo’s vision blurred as he was almost knocked to the ground by Thorin’s pain and disbelief, rocketing out from him like the aftershocks of an earthquake.

“No,” Thorin gasped out. “No, it cannot be…”

But there was no denying it. Darth Azog, the Sith Lord who had cut down Thorin’s grandfather on Azanulbizar was standing before them, his pale, scarred face full of malice, his lipless mouth twisted into a smile of triumph.

“Where is my father, you piece of filth?!” Thorin roared, eyes wild again as he took a step forward.

Azog only let out a cold, rattling laugh before he narrowed his eyes at Thorin and spat out his response in Black Speech. Bilbo knew then that there was no news of Thorin’s master and this had all been a trap to lure him here, to lure him to his death. Ice crept into Bilbo’s bones, but he forced the Darkness back, clinging to the Light as he reached out to Thorin’s mind, sending wave after wave of comfort and warmth, to try and keep the Jedi Master grounded, to try and stop him from losing himself to his pain and his anger.

They both moved into defensive positions as Azog took another step forward. The Orc ripped off his black cloak and ignited his lightsaber: the scarlet blade that Bilbo had seen in Thorin’s dreams. But this wasn’t the Sith Lord’s only weapon. Although he was missing his left hand and forearm, a metal attachment just beneath his elbow now held a terrifying black flail, its heavy chain supporting a ball studded with glowing red spikes.

“Bilbo, you need to leave,” Thorin said, through gritted teeth, his gaze still fixed on Azog.

“No,” Bilbo replied, heartbeat in his ears. “No, I won’t leave you.”

“Please, Bilbo…” Thorin’s eyes were shining as he turned to him, fear and pain clouding the blue. “I… I will not let him harm you… I could not bear it…”

“I won’t leave you, Thorin,” Bilbo repeated, expression resolute.

Thorin opened his mouth to protest, but the fire in Bilbo’s gaze stopped him. Their eyes were drawn from each other by Azog’s rasping laugh. The Orc’s black gaze moved to Bilbo as he spoke in the same harsh, flinted language and then spat into the dust.

Thorin lunged forward first, but Bilbo was right behind him. They coordinated their attack without a single word passing between them. Thorin matched his strength against Azog’s, throwing all his weight into his saber strike and their blades clashed together with a chilling screech. Bilbo focused all his efforts on Azog’s flail, dropping into a crouch as the spiked ball first went flying over his head, then rolling out of the way as it was slammed down into the dust at his side, leaving black scorch-marks in the sand.

Azog pushed them further into the clearing with his furious assault, but Thorin and Bilbo moved with him, careful not to get in each other’s way, able to land fierce blows against each of the Sith Lord’s weapons as they were brought crashing down against their own. Azog snarled as he raised the flail behind him then sent the ball swinging low, heading right into Thorin and Bilbo’s path.

Jump! cried the voice inside Bilbo’s head and, without even looking at each other, both Jedi leapt into the air at the same moment, the flail’s ball passing under them in a blur of red. Bilbo’s bare feet slammed back into the dust and he had to immediately dive into another roll as one of the glowing spikes grazed past his ear. He knew he needed to move around Azog, get into one of his blind spots so that he could strike him from behind, the best attack probably being a slice from his lightsaber across his ankles, but then the Orc was forcing them out of the clearing and down one of the narrow pathways.

Thorin and Bilbo fought against Azog’s blows, trying to push him back into the clearing, but even with their combined, coordinated strength, the Orc wouldn’t be deterred. With Azog’s huge, hulking frame filling most of the scrap-lined aisle, Bilbo knew any of his aerial manoeuvres were going to be very difficult to execute. He instead focused his attention on the flail, more specifically on its thick, metal chain: if he could sever the chain, he could neutralise the weapon and join Thorin’s efforts against Azog’s saber.

With this tactic in mind, Bilbo started aiming for the glinting, dark links just above the spiked ball. Many of his stokes missed as the flail was pulled away from him, Bilbo having to arch right over as the ball went sailing over his chest or flattening himself against the towers of speeder metal as it just missed splitting open his stomach. But then one blow landed right on the chain, cutting into the metal with a shattering, scraping sound as golden sparks erupted beneath the blue. It wasn’t enough to sever the ball from the chain completely, but it was a start.

Keep going…!

Thorin’s voice sounded loud and clear inside his mind and Bilbo’s stomach flipped as his eyes moved to the Jedi Master, who had just landed a strike dangerously close to Azog’s white wrist. Thorin’s face was reddened and dripping with sweat, but his expression was determined. Bilbo could feel his fury pulsing through the Force between them, but the Light was surrounding them both, united as they were in this fight against an agent of the Darkness.

Feeling a raw ache burning in his muscles, Bilbo leapt forward again, going for the chain, but this time Azog swung the flail back into the wall of scrap metal, sending the ball crashing into the speeder wreckage. A hunk of engine was brought flying towards Bilbo, but he ducked just in time as it smashed into the wall behind him. Clearly cottoning onto a new approach, the flail was slammed once again into the metal towers and debris rained down on both Thorin and Bilbo, who dropped to the floor, rolling out of its path.

Well, thought Bilbo, jumping to his feet and switching to a one-handed grip on his lightsaber, two can play at this game. Stretching out his free hand, Bilbo gathered the Force to him, dislodged an enormous crushed square of metal and propelled it towards the Sith Lord. Azog let out a snarl and sliced the square in two with one stroke from his glowing red saber. They were being forced back into another circular clearing, the pathway widening out as they drew closer, but Bilbo stepped back in time with Thorin and then launched another, smaller and sharper triangular shard of metal into Azog’s path. The Orc’s blade cut through the bottom of the shard, but it continued its high arc, slicing into Azog’s shoulder and leaving behind a trail of black blood as he let out a ground-shaking roar of pain.

Bilbo reacted instantaneously, slamming his lightsaber down through the broken chain and cutting the ball completely away. He and Thorin staggered back into the second clearing, their breathing ragged, but a sense of triumph thrumming through the Force around them. They jumped back into mirrored attack positions as Azog came for them again, clearly enraged by his injury and his black eyes full of fire. Thorin spun around into his first strike, the Orc only just blocking it in time and Bilbo’s eyes darted around the clearing, looking for the best way to mount an aerial attack.

BILBO!

He didn’t react in time.

The chain of the flail came flying towards him and the jagged metal of the severed link smashed into his jaw, sending two teeth tumbling into the dust and Bilbo let out a strangled cry as his mouth filled with blood. The pain blocked out his vision as he collapsed down into the sand, rough grains scraping into his palms as he tried to steady himself. The world had taken on black, fraying edges as Bilbo managed to lift his head, feeling something warm dripping over his chin.

Thorin was standing a few feet from him, his face white, and then he was raising a hand.

No, no, Thorin…! Don’t…!

A single, soft word echoed inside Bilbo’s mind.

Safe…

Before Bilbo could protest further, could fight against it, Thorin harnessed the Force and sent him skidding away across the sand, to the other side of the clearing and then down the narrow pathway opposite them, putting him far out of Azog’s reach, but also far away from Thorin.

“Th-Tho… rin…!” Bilbo called out weakly, spitting blood into the grey dirt beneath him.

The entire right side of his jaw felt as if it was on fire and pain was hooking onto every nerve, sending bolts of feverish electricity pulsing down his neck and into his temples. He convulsed, curling in on himself, certain he was going to empty the contents of his stomach, but then he forced himself to sit up, to focus. He had absolutely no intentions of leaving Thorin to fight Azog alone, so he had to be ready to rejoin him, wounded or not.

Spitting into the sand again, Bilbo wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, ignoring the eruption of pain in his jaw. Looking to his belt, he flicked open one of the slim metal containers and pulled out a small tube of medical gel. Opening his mouth and suppressing a whimper, he squeezed the entire contents of the tube onto the right side of his gums. The freezing gel tasted foul, but it worked almost instantly to stop the bleeding. Bilbo’s mouth felt very strange, almost as if it had been beaten out of shape, but at least now he was able to fight. He quickly flipped open another metal case and retrieved a pain-relieving capsule, swallowing the golden tablet down whole.

He could still taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, but the pain was already dispersing as Bilbo collected his lightsaber, powering up the blade as he clambered to his feet. Thorin and Azog were still in the clearing, their blades clashing together in a relentless series of frenzied, vicious blows.

Bilbo set off at a sprint, his bare feet thudding against the dust, and he was halfway down the path when Azog stabbed his lightsaber straight through Thorin’s stomach.

NO!

The entire world stopped.

The moment was frozen as Bilbo skidded to a halt in the grey sand and Thorin collapsed into the dust at the Sith Lord’s feet.

The moment went on for ever and ever, until it seemed time itself would never start again, but then it did. And it was agony.

“THORIN!” Bilbo screamed, and it was as if his insides were being ripped apart, as if he himself was being torn in half…

“How long have the two of you been soul-bonded…?”

“The bond means they can co-ordinate their movements, plan their attack in seconds…”

“Dis, my sister, said she noticed that a sort of mind-link had formed first…”

“The way you fought, you were so attuned to one another – I’ve never seen such concordance before, not even amongst Masters and their apprentices…”

The voices were a hive, buzzing loud and angry, shouting over each other, tangling together, and going on and on and on, but finally… finally, Bilbo had a moment of absolute clarity. The revelation was the invisible wound, bleeding inside his chest, and he was the Force’s fool for realising it so very late.

Hot, angry tears clouding his vision, he set off running, propelled forward by grief and pain and rage. He leapt into the air and used the Force to carry him further in high, bounding arcs. Azog seemed to be ignoring him completely, believing he was no great threat. Turning away from Bilbo’s approach, the Orc raised his lightsaber, preparing to deliver a death blow… but then the red smashed into blue.

Bilbo swung Azog’s blade away from Thorin with a growl, his teeth bared, forcing the Orc to back away into the middle of the clearing. Azog only laughed, a sinister, mocking laugh, and sent the chain of his severed flail swinging at Bilbo’s head. But Bilbo dropped into a roll, jumping up in time to crash his lightsaber against Azog’s, scraping the blue blade against the red. Fury continued to burn, molten and full of fire, through every one of his veins, giving him the strength to launch an offensive attack on the Sith Lord.

Azog continued to sneer down at him, goading him in Black Speech, but Bilbo wouldn’t be deterred. He aimed blow after blow against the Orc’s blade, somersaulting back when he needed to rethink his strategy and dodging every time the flail’s chain came flying at him like a whip. Sweat was running down his face and his chin was stiff with dried blood, but Bilbo kept his eyes narrowed at Azog, making sure the Orc was looking at him every time their lightsabers slammed together.

He noticed that Azog was aiming his blows low, leaving his upper body and head unprotected. Bilbo didn’t have time to flip over him and avoid a strike from the red saber, but he knew there was still a way for him to meet Azog head on. Blocking another fierce stoke, Bilbo dove into a backwards somersault, landing in a crouch and giving himself just enough physical distance and time to shoot out a hand and drag the mangled wreck of a speeder down from the top of the wall and smack it into the ground between them.

With the Orc momentarily distracted, Bilbo leapt up onto the speeder, jumped into the air, and in one smooth, clean arc, he sliced Azog’s head from his shoulders.

The speeder crashed down into the sand and Azog’s body crumpled behind it, his white head rolling in a pool of black. Bilbo dropped down on top of the speeder, his chest heaving with each of his ragged pants, adrenaline coursing through his body… but then the rage began to fade, and he was brought back to himself and the agony.

Powering down his saber, he scrambled from the speeder wreckage and rushed to Thorin, falling to his knees at his side.

“Thorin…” Bilbo whispered, his voice breaking as he carefully rolled the injured Jedi onto his back.

Thorin’s tunic was burned and blackened where Azog’s lightsaber had struck. Slowly pulling the material away to inspect the wound, Bilbo let out a cry, burning tears once again clouding his vision. His hand shooting into his tunic pocket, he pulled out a communicator and flipped it open… but there was too much interference from the district’s pollution and machinery to get a clear signal.

No, no, no, no, no, we need help! Bilbo’s panic became an icy weight inside his stomach as his eyes darted around the clearing. They were now far away from Laz’s shack and there was no one in sight. Forcing himself to concentrate, Bilbo gathered together all his shreds of useless thought and focused on one word: help! He sent it rippling out through the Force around them, hoping desperately that there was a Jedi close enough to sense his distress signal. Terrified that this wasn’t going to be enough, Bilbo turned his attentions to the severed, fraying edges of his training bond with Gandalf. Maybe, just maybe, he could reach his old Master.

GANDALF! GANDALF…! GANDALF…!

The word was one, long wail inside Bilbo’s mind, but still he projected it from that fraying edge, sending it coursing out through the trembling energy around him, pleading with the Force to let it reach the Jedi Master.

Thorin stirred then, his blue eyes fluttering open as he let out a wheezing breath.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, in no more than a whimper, and he gently pulled Thorin’s head into his lap, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, one hand coming to settle against his chest, just above the blackened wound.

“Bilbo…” Thorin’s voice was weak, but still he found the strength to lift a hand to Bilbo’s bloodied jaw, his thumb brushing over his chin. “Y-you are hurt…”

Bilbo couldn’t believe Thorin was actually commenting on his injury… but then he thought of the Dwarf’s almost overbearing concern over his ankle, and realised, yes, yes he could definitely believe this, and he let out a choked, teary laugh.

“I’m alright, I promise,” he replied, despite the agonising pain rioting across his body, wrapping itself around his heart. “W-we’re both going to be alright.”

Thorin closed his eyes with a wince. “Azog…?”

“He’s dead,” Bilbo murmured, rubbing a soothing hand over Thorin’s chest, if only to feel his heartbeat fluttering beneath his palm. “He’s dead and we’re both safe.”

Thorin opened his eyes again, although the movement was much more sluggish this time. “F-full of… surprises…” he said, his lips straining into a smile.

“Yes, I suppose I didn’t expect to be decapitating a Sith Lord when I woke up this morning.”

Thorin tried to laugh, but it quickly turned into a wet cough, sending shudders through his body.

“Thorin,” Bilbo said softly, his lips white. “Thorin, I need you to hang on… You need to hang on, just a little while longer, help is coming…”

Panic made Bilbo’s voice come out cracked and high, the pain moving into his throat, but Thorin’s expression had become disturbingly relaxed despite the sweat speckling his brow.

“Bilbo… I wish to apologise for how I… spoke to you when we… first met,” he said, the words raw as they struggled from his lips. “I am sorry I said… such unkind things…”

“Thorin, you’ve already apologised,” Bilbo reminded him quietly. “And I’ve forgiven you.”

“I… I apologised for the sparring arena… but not for the Meditation gardens… or the t-time after… with Fili and Kili…”

“Well, I…” Bilbo stopped as his voice broke, but then forced himself to continue: “I forgive you for those times as well.”

Thorin nodded, his face twitching with pain at the movement, and then his blue eyes moved to Bilbo’s. “Promise me you will train Fili… that you will be the one… who helps him complete his training… helps him pass his Trials…”

Bilbo closed his eyes, feeling the tears stinging behind his lids. “I won’t need to, you’re going to do that.”

Thorin’s smile was pained, but there was still somehow fondness in his eyes. “I… I think we both know… that is not true… Please, p-promise me…?”

“Of course,” Bilbo whispered, rubbing his hand over Thorin’s chest again. “I promise I’ll train Fili.”

“I am glad you found me,” Thorin said, the words barely above a whisper, and his eyes became half-lidded, gaze growing distant.

“Thorin, you have to hang on! You can’t do this to me!” Bilbo begged, his arm tightening around Thorin’s shoulders, pulling the Dwarf to him, pressing him to the wound behind his ribcage. “You’re not going anywhere… because you… you can’t do this to your bondmate.”

Bilbo felt Thorin stiffen in his arms and then the Dwarf was peering up at him, blue eyes clouded with pain, but still full of disbelief. “Y-you know… about our soul-bond?”

“It’s taken me far too long to figure it out,” Bilbo said. “But yes, I do now… Why in the Force’s name didn’t you just tell me?”

Thorin let out another shuddering cough. “I was afraid it… was not what you wanted… That you did not… feel the same way.”

Bilbo screwed up his eyes, squeezing the tears from them. The Force’s fool indeed: it seemed the Force had made fools of both of them.

“Of course I do, of course I feel the same way,” he gasped out, the agonising ache only growing more violent and furious, like a star collapsing inside his chest. “Thorin… I love you.”

Thorin stared up at him, seeming completely stunned for a moment, and then a soft smile appeared as the realisation reached his eyes. “You… love me?”

Bilbo choked down his sob. “Yes, you stupid Dwarf! Yes, I love you… Which is why –”

Thorin’s chest was still. Bilbo froze, feeling a stuttering heartbeat beneath his hand as Thorin’s eyes slid closed.

“Thorin! No, no, no, no, no, don’t you dare! Thorin!”

The heart beneath Bilbo’s hand was silent and the agony was unbearable.

And that was when he knew what he had to do. Raising every possible mental barrier to lock out the pain, Bilbo slowly lowered Thorin back onto the sand, laying his head down with care. Placing both his hands flat over the charred, black-edged wound, he closed his eyes and began to draw out his own energy from within him.

Bilbo knew this might not work, he knew there was also a chance he might not survive it, but he had to try. If the Force had seen fit to bring him and Thorin together, had seen fit to join the two of them out of all the trillions of souls in the universe, then maybe, just maybe, it would see fit to let him save the love of his life.

Feeling the energy expanding and building inside his chest, spreading out to the rest of his body, pulsing through his veins and shooting in bursts of furious electricity down his arms, Bilbo harnessed all of its power and sent it crashing out through his fingertips. Feeling dizzy and almost weightless as the pain faded away, Bilbo leaned down and pressed his lips against Thorin’s, and then he willingly gave himself over to the blinding light.

Chapter Text

“At dusk I tempt the sun,
set a glass of water on the ledge
to lure it into clarity and cold.
At dawn I wake to find
a twist of albumen suspended ,
sun snared in the act of setting,
unable to raise itself.
Now we have it, what do we do?

  I dip a finger, paint your skin with light,
then we both drink the rest
and sow a star to grow
divided in us, pulling us together
as it seeks itself. What solar
systems strengthen in us now?”

The light was much brighter here. Everything was glowing and full of sun. Even the blades of grass were crisp and silver-edged, like they were frosted with morning dew, but when Bilbo twisted them around his fingers they felt warm and dry. The sky was pale and shimmering, dotted with twinkling bulbs like stars visible in daylight.

Bilbo stretched himself out in the grass, imagining himself to be a star in a silver-green sky with a wide, glittering ocean of light below him.

He knew he was on Shire.

The gently sloping hills and trickling streams and clusters of little houses crouching together in the sunlight were unmistakable. It must be summer, Bilbo thought idly, that might explain the white glow that had fallen over the rural scene before him. It would also explain why he felt so warm and soft-edged, like he wasn’t quite fully-formed, like he was almost part of the landscape around him… but then again, maybe that’s what it felt like to return home after all these years.

Somewhere, a woman was singing.

Bilbo sat up slowly, feeling the world shudder around him. He recognised the tune. It flickered in a far-off corner of his mind, willing itself into being, like waking up and remembering only a few shreds of a dream, but still knowing that, for however many moments, it had been real.

Getting to his feet was more difficult than Bilbo anticipated: he found he was able to feel both very heavy and absolutely weightless at the same time, which resulted in a bit of scrambling as he steadied himself. But then, sensing that his feet already knew the way, he began his journey across the hillside, heading towards the line of trees that were dusted white and sparkling… maybe snow fell in summer on Shire, but his mind felt too sluggish to recall whether or not this was true.

The singing stopped when Bilbo rounded the last slope and the world trembled again. There was a young, female Hobbit sitting on a bench carved from the trunk of a fallen tree. Her hair fell in dark ringlets over her shoulders, framing a bright and familiar face that made Bilbo’s heart stutter. She smoothed pale, almost translucent hands along her dress, which appeared blurred at its folded edges, and then reached out to pat the space next to her in invitation.

Bilbo approached a little cautiously, but she continued to smile calmly at him, emanating warmth and reassurance, and a trembling gravity: he couldn’t deny that he was drawn to her. He lowered himself down onto the bench, resisting the urge to fidget like a guilty fauntling.

It was a while before he could slowly lift his eyes to her and whisper: “… Mother?”

Belladonna Took’s smile widened and she nodded. “Yes, sweetheart.”

Bilbo’s throat tightened as he choked down his cry and his eyes began to sting, but Bella took his hand in both her own and he felt the calm wash over him again.

“Look at you,” she said softly, green eyes shining. “Look at the Jedi you’ve become, so wise and so brave… I’m so very proud of you, my darling boy.”

Bilbo felt his chest tighten as he blinked away further tears. “I… I’m sorry I never got to meet you.”

Bella squeezed his hand. “I always knew you were there, I sensed you were with me, and not a day went by when your father and I didn’t think of you.”

“Father…?” Bilbo murmured. “Is… is he here too?”

Bella’s eyes moved over her shoulder with a fond smile. “He is, in a way. And we both want you to know that we love you very deeply, that we always will.”

Bilbo’s eyes moved around the glistening hillside, to the cottages with their gently smoking chimneys, and the fish flashing like scraps of metal in the stream. “Can I stay here… with you?”

For the first time, Bella’s eyes looked round and sad, and she moved closer to him on the bench. “No, love,” she said quietly.

“But –” Bilbo began, then Bella shushed him, lifting her hands and cradling his face.

“You have to leave us now,” she whispered, one sparkling tear dripping down her cheek. “Someone is waiting for you.”

Someone…? Bilbo’s heart quivered inside his chest and there was something unfurling inside his mind, carefully stretching out like a creature waking from a long sleep.

Bella leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, her hands not leaving his face. Her green eyes were lit by her smile. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

“Mother…” Bilbo breathed. “Mother, what’s happening…?”

The world was shivering around him, growing brighter and brighter, the white consuming the trees and the grass like they were passing through a lightning storm. Bilbo’s hands felt heavier, sinking into his lap, but he also appeared to be rising from the bench. The light was almost blinding now and he desperately tried to lift his arm up to shield his eyes, but he could barely move, and so he shut his eyes against the white as he continued to float up towards the endless, glittering sky…

Bilbo carefully cracked open his eyes again.

The white returned, but it wasn’t nearly so harsh this time, and much closer to him, spreading out above his head in a pattern of geometric tiles. There were no stars, no shimmering lights, but still the whiteness hurt a little and Bilbo’s eyelids felt so very heavy as they slid shut. In the blackness, he slowly became more aware of his body… and immediately wished this wasn’t the case. Every single bone and every single muscle ached, the pain dull and raw, almost paralysing. Bilbo’s fingers fluttered against something softer than grass beneath his hands, but even this small movement was taxing and painful. He didn’t think he had ever felt so weak, so completely drained, and he let out a soft groan of protest.

“Bilbo…” A warm, deep voice sounded from somewhere to his left and made his ears hurt. “I know you can hear me… Just open your eyes for me. Come on, my dear boy, I know you can do it…”

His eyelids were being quite uncooperative and it took a distressing amount of effort, but still, after a few moments, Bilbo managed to force his eyes open. Gandalf was sitting at his side and this was the first time for quite a while that Bilbo had seen his usually unflappable Master looking genuinely relieved.

“Welcome back, Bilbo,” he said, one worn, wrinkled hand wrapping around Bilbo’s on the bed.

For he was definitely in a bed, although this wasn’t the one in his quarters. Gaze moving around the room, recognition slowly sparked and Bilbo realised he must be in a private room in the Temple’s Medical Bay. Frowning hurt, but it was still the most appropriate response to discovering all the tubes and wires that appeared to be attached to his body, snaking under the light, silvery fabric of the surgical sleep tunic. Turning, he felt a slight pull at his temples, and realised there were wires attached with sticky pads to either side of his head. There also seemed to be an unnecessary large collection of monitors clustered around the bed. Bilbo squinted at them, but whatever they were measuring was beyond him.

He could feel the Force buzzing around them, but when he reached out to its comforting presence, he found he was giving chase and the vibrating strands were like soft silk: he could feel them slipping through his fingers, but couldn’t quite grasp them. Being unable to harness the Force’s energy was more than disconcerting and Bilbo was left nursing the crushing ache in his head and in his broken body.

“I feel like… I’ve been sat on… by a shaak,” he grumbled, talking proving to be an immensely strenuous activity, his words coming out a little slurred.

Gandalf gave a soft chuckle, but then his expression grew more serious. “You almost passed into the Force, Bilbo… Our healers had to fight to get you to stay with us. I’m afraid it’s going to take you a little while to recover.”

Bilbo knitted his brows in confusion, a gnawing ache grating at his temples as he tried to understand, tried to remember. He had almost died…? But why…? What –?

Red light. A cold, rattling laugh. Blood in the sand. “Thorin! No, no, no, no, no, don’t you dare! Thorin!”

Bilbo suddenly felt frozen to the bone and his ribs seemed to be pressing down on his heart as he choked out: “Thorin! W-where is he…? You have to… to tell me, Gandalf…”

The old Jedi Master shushed him and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “He is doing well. He spent a few days in the bacta tank and is now recovering, doing better than you I might add…”

Gandalf eyed him reproachfully, but Bilbo ignored the jab as relief coursed through his weak, aching body. “He’s alive,” he murmured, mostly to himself, letting out a long breath.

“Oh yes, very much so,” Gandalf said, seeming amused by something. “And a little too lively for Master Elrond’s liking. He has been very worried about you, keeping him in his bed has proven rather difficult.”

Bilbo sensed Thorin’s presence then. The Force may be evading him, but still he could feel their fledgling bond twisting, bright and new, in one corner of his mind. He didn’t have the strength to call out to the Jedi Master, to his bondmate, but he could still soak up the warmth that came shivering from the bond, feel it beating like a heart, like Thorin’s heart that had gone so still beneath his palm…

“I… I need to see him,” Bilbo gasped out, trying to rise from the bed, but barely managing to lift his head before he collapsed back down with a rather pitiful moan.

“You need to rest,” Gandalf said, with an element of scolding. He reached out and pulled the soft, blue blankets up and over Bilbo’s shoulders as if he were a youngling again.

“I’ve… rested enough,” Bilbo mumbled, his eyelids drooping again as he fought against the pull of sleep. “W-wait… How, er, how long… have I been out…?”

Gandalf shifted on his chair. “You’ve been asleep for almost two tendays, my boy, which is evidence enough that your body is not quite done healing yet.”

Almost two tendays…? Bilbo let out another unimpressed groan. “How did… you find us…?”

“I heard my young apprentice calling out for me,” Gandalf replied fondly, “the way he once did when he was worried about nexus hiding under his bed.”

Bilbo nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “I… hoped it… would work…”

“Alas, with our training bond severed, I was unable to sense your exact location, but I always knew Myrtle’s tracking device would come in handy.”

Bilbo’s eyes snapped open. “You… you put a…a tracking device… in my speeder?” It was difficult to sound incredulous when so exhausted, but he hoped his Master understood the sentiment.

“I did not put a tracking device in your speeder,” Gandalf said, sounding affronted. “Myrtle came with an inbuilt tracking system, it’s hardly my fault if you failed to notice it.”

Too tired to argue, Bilbo attempted a glare before closing his eyes again. He had no intention of sleeping, but if he could pretend for long enough until Gandalf left, then maybe he’d find a chance to sneak out of his room and find Thorin.

“Bilbo,” came Gandalf’s voice next to him, and it was definitely a warning.

“What?” Bilbo asked, with a purposeful yawn.

“You are missing much of your body’s natural energy and therefore your grasp of the Force is sufficiently weakened… as are your mental shields.”

Bilbo let out a huff, his mind feeling clouded and full of fog as he finally registered that he was missing all the usual mental barriers that protected his thoughts from others. “I’m… projecting…?”

“Yes, and I assure you I will not be leaving your side for a good while.”

“I need to… to see him, Gandalf,” Bilbo whispered, starting to feel very groggy again, the world shuddering around him and growing a little dimmer.  

Gandalf moved his hand to his forehead, thumb brushing a curl away, and his voice was melodic as he murmured: “Very soon, but first you need to rest.”

Bilbo closed his eyes with a sigh and then, with a final thought that there may have been a Force suggestion in his old Master’s words, he returned to the welcoming depths of sleep.

…

The next time Bilbo awoke, it was to the smell of freshly-brewed palomella tea. The warm, fragrant fumes made his nose twitch as he slowly peeked open one eye. There was a large, clawed hand gently stroking through his hair and the fingers of another wrapped around his hand on the bed. Meggi was sitting at his bedside and Bilbo couldn’t help but smile as his heart gave a few joyful thumps.

“Meggi…” he croaked out, turning his face into her hand, finding her presence instantly soothing.

“It’s good to see you awake, tumble bunny,” Meggi said softly, and Bilbo heard the tremor in her voice, saw the tears crowding in the corners of her dark yellow eyes. “You… you gave us all quite a scare.”

Bilbo sensed that the Besalisk was holding back and he knew he owed her an awfully big apology. “Meggi, I –”

Meggi tightened her grip on Bilbo’s hand, tears beginning to drip down her pink wattle as she moved two more hands to his shoulders. “Bilbo Baggins, I swear if you ever, ever pull a stunt like that again, you will not live to tell the tale!”

Bilbo nodded, feeling Meggi’s pain and her worry throbbing in the Force around them.

“Running off like that without telling anyone where you were going!” she gasped out, her wattle wobbling, shaking a few tears onto Bilbo’s chest. “Fighting a Sith Lord without sending for help! And then… and then performing a healing energy transfusion that not even Master Elrond would dare attempt…! To… to think I almost lost you…”

“I’m sorry, Meggi,” Bilbo said, his voice hoarse, but hoping Meggi could still hear the sincerity in it.

“I know, I know,” Meggi murmured. “I’m just so glad you’re safe now.”

Bilbo sensed his need for comfort was probably being projected with his mental shields still very shaky, but he also guessed Meggi might need the proximity just as much. Her movements were very careful, as if she feared Bilbo might break at any moment, but still she managed to wrap one strong, muscular arm around his shoulders, the other around his waist, and gently pull him across the bed to her. He had woken with fewer wires and tubes than before, so most didn’t get in the way, but Meggi still used her free hands to untangle them and wrap the blankets back around him.

Bilbo nudged his face into the crook of Meggi’s arm and snuggled into her stomach, one hand resting on her apron. He was reminded of all the times Meggi had cuddled him in the Temple canteen’s kitchen because the other younglings had teased him and he had been so scared that everything they said was true. He found himself quite glad that he was sick and was therefore allowed to indulge in this closeness again.

“I felt it, you know,” Meggi murmured, tightening her arms around him. “The moment you gave up your energy… I was in the kitchen and I fell down, thought my old hearts were giving up. I dropped pots and pans everywhere, scared everyone in the canteen half to death.”

“I’m sorry I ruined lunch,” Bilbo mumbled, attempting a light-hearted tone, but peering up he saw Meggi’s yellow eyes were shining.

“I know we’ve never shared a bond, Bilbo, but I want you to know just what you mean to me,” Meggi whispered, lifting Bilbo’s hand further up her apron and pressing it over the point where her hearts were thumping. “I may not have been made for children, but the Force still gifted me with you… and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

Bilbo didn’t have the strength to fight against the almost overwhelming sense of love building inside him as his vision began to blur. “I know, Meggi,” he said, with a tearful smile. “I’ll always be grateful too.”

Meggi gave him a gentle squeeze, then used a free hand to wipe her eyes. “Nothing like a near death experience to bring everyone together,” she grinned, sounding much more like herself.

“Are… you alright now, though?” Bilbo asked, peering up at the Besalisk with what he hoped was a clear look of scrutiny. “You didn’t hurt yourself when you fell?”

Meggi gave a throaty laugh, making her wattle wobble. “Oh, I’m fine – made of strong stuff, of course. Nino and Nikko have been in to help out in the kitchen so I’ve been able to visit you here and… well, help out with your Dwarven in-laws.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, the thought of Thorin sending a tingling up through their bond. “… Help out?”

Meggi sighed softly. “The young ones, Fili and Kili, have taken all of this very hard… Whilst Thorin was still in the bacta tank they were pretty much beside themselves, especially Fili… Master Dwalin was doing all he could, but they were missing their parents, and both worried sick about you of course.”

Bilbo nodded, feeling a little guilty. He seemed to have caused an inordinate amount of trouble and then slept through most of it. “I’m glad Fili and Kili have you looking out for them.”

They were quiet for a few moments, Bilbo closing his eyes and cuddling back into Meggi’s stomach, but it still wasn’t enough to dull the ache inside his chest which had been slowly growing from the moment he first woke up in the Medical Bay.

“Meggi…” he said quietly, peering up at the Besalisk with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “You can get me out of here… You could hide me in a basket from the kitchen, pretend you’ve brought me food, and –”

“That’s not going to happen, tumble bunny,” Meggi said gently, stroking a hand through his curls in the hope of placating him.

“I have to see him, Meggi,” Bilbo said, throat tightening. “I can’t go another day without seeing him… It… it’s actually starting to hurt… Please…”

Meggi wrapped another arm around his shoulders, her expression pained. “I know, Bilbo, and I promise no one would be keeping you from each other if they didn’t have to.”

“I don’t understand,” Bilbo whispered, his heart beginning a heavy thud inside his chest.

“Your soul-bond is still in its infancy and the healers say it’s not quite stabilised yet,” Meggi explained, rubbing a clawed finger over his cheek. “With both of you injured, there’s a danger that either one of you might start transferring energy to the other… The instinct to heal your bondmate might overcome your shields, you might even transfer energy without realising… Equally, we weren’t quite sure how you’d cope with sensing each other’s pain at such close proximity, that the distress might slow down your healing. Master Elrond is being very careful, especially when we almost lost both of you.”

Bilbo thought back to everything he had felt when Thorin had been dying in his arms, the urge to heal had certainly felt like more than a conscious desire, like an engrained instinct screaming at him in fact. He also remembered Thorin’s behaviour over his ankle, and his healing of the Klatooine paddy frog… even his energy boost in the gym. Yes, it all made sense, but it didn’t mean he liked it.

“Have you spoken to Thorin?” Bilbo asked, even Thorin’s name making their bond give a pleasing shiver.

“I’ve had to wrestle him back into bed a few times,” Meggi smiled. “I’m not sure if that counts?”

Bilbo tried not to imagine how disgruntled Thorin must have been after being forced back into bed by Meggi. But then he also remembered Fili first telling him how much his uncle hated healers… and now he had been trapped in the Temple’s Medical Bay for two tendays. His chest began to ache again. He could sense Thorin’s presence through their bond, could feel that he was alive and that he was healing, but so far, apart from a few flashes of memory and emotion, a few nonsensical words, he hadn’t been able to communicate with him properly.

“Would you like some palomella tea?” Meggi asked, as if sensing the painful direction of Bilbo’s thoughts. “Freshly-brewed at your bedside, ready to be served.”

Bilbo nodded, managing a smile. “That sounds lovely.”

He had only been able to drink water since first waking, so he was looking forward to something with actual flavour. He then suspected that Meggi had only been cuddling him so she could complain to the healers about how thin he was.

“It wasn’t the only reason,” Meggi said, trying not to sound too offended as she carefully settled him back into bed and rearranged his various wires and tubes.

Bilbo let out a groan. “I hate not having mental shields.”

“Yes, you’re very lucky you have such a high opinion of me,” Meggi smirked, turning to the table behind her and checking on the large glass teapot. “But I’m certainly not happy that you’ve been fed by a tube for so long.”

“I… don’t really have much of an appetite at the moment,” Bilbo grumbled.

Meggi tried not to look too scandalised, but still Bilbo sensed her worry at this obviously apocalyptic statement. “I’ve been speaking with Master Elrond and he believes you should be well enough to try some plain, solid food this evening. I’ve already drawn up a meal plan for you.”

“I look forward to it,” Bilbo smiled, getting himself settled against his pillows as Meggi tapped at the controls to slowly raise his bed up, ready for tea-drinking.

The palomella smelled even stronger and more intoxicating as it was poured into a small glass mug. With a little extra effort, Bilbo managed to lift his hands but Meggi narrowed her eyes at him.

“Master Elrond will have my wattle if this ends up in your lap… Better to be on the safe-side, tumble bunny.”

Bilbo nodded. He knew he shouldn’t feel embarrassed: he had almost died quite recently. Meggi held the cup to his lips and he took his first gulp, sighing as the sweet tea ran down his dry throat and instantly warmed his stomach.

“That tastes amazing,” he murmured, inhaling the heady fumes curling from the cup, before taking another couple of sips.

Meggi was watching him with a fond smile. “Just wait until I get some Quor’sav eggs into you, and Nino tells me you’re quite partial to braised nerf steak… You’ve got a lot of missed meals to make up for, Bilbo.”

Bilbo took another gulp of tea, grinning over at Meggi. Maybe his appetite was returning after all.

…

Bilbo fell asleep before Meggi left, belly full of fragrant tea and also warmed by the thought of actual food arriving that evening. When he woke again, his head felt a little clearer, the ache in his limbs blunted, although the pain in his chest continued to rage. The chair at his bedside was empty and the only sound was the soft, constant beep of his monitors. The doors to his room were closed, but there was a large glass viewing window that looked out onto the Medical Bay corridor – which was also deserted. Now was his chance.

Gingerly pulling himself into a sitting position, Bilbo’s head started swimming, but he breathed through it until he felt steady again. The wires once attached to his temples were gone and it appeared someone had removed the last of his collection of tubes whilst he slept. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Bilbo rolled his shoulders, limbering up for his escape. He could just about draw the Force to him now: he couldn’t harness its energy for any length of time, but he hoped it would be enough. His lightsaber was being held by Gandalf, but Bilbo sincerely hoped there was going to be no reason he might have needed to use it in the next few minutes.

Slowly lowering his bare feet onto the floor, Bilbo straightened up, trying to get his balance, feeling the wires pulling at his skin. The silver surgical tunic fell to his knees and wasn’t very becoming, but he knew he didn’t have time to dress if he wanted to get to Thorin’s room without being caught. Reaching up, he carefully peeled away one sticky pad that attached a wire beneath his right collar bone, wincing at the sharp pull on his skin. He then turned to the one on his left side, removing it quickly this time. One of the monitors suddenly started flashing red and Bilbo’s stomach tightened to a cold fist inside him as he ripped off the third and final wire that was attached to his wrist. This set off a shrill beeping from another monitor, sending Bilbo rushing forward… only to find a surgical droid blocking his path as it rolled through the doors to his room.

Drawing in a deep breath, Bilbo’s hands shot out and he used the Force to send the droid spinning across the room and into the wall. His way clear, Bilbo dove through the doors just before they hissed closed. The corridor was still empty, meaning there was no one to witness Bilbo almost doubling over and stumbling into the wall. Channelling the Force like that had been unbelievably draining, but he was determined to keep going. He had to see Thorin.

Dragging himself upright, Bilbo looked up and down the white walkway. He had no idea where Thorin’s room was, but he figured he could use a little trick that had never failed him before. Quietening his mind and focusing on the newly-formed bond, Bilbo sought out Thorin’s presence, calling out to him, desperate for an answer… and it came within moments, the Force drawing him away down the corridor.

Bilbo staggered after the Force’s beckoning tremors, following them down the hallway, his heart giving double-thump after double-thump as he drew closer.

Thorin! his mind was calling out, his heart only echoing the word, Thorin!

He knew the room without even looking through the viewing window and smacked his hand down on the silver call panel. The doors slid open and Bilbo all but fell inside, managing only two or three stumbled steps before his legs gave way and he collapsed onto his knees on the cool tiles, his hands shooting out to stop him smacking his face into the floor.

[Link to Art]

“Bilbo! What in the Force’s name are you doing out of bed?”

Bilbo managed to look up just as Fili rushed to his side, his young face full of concern and worry. The Dwarf wrapped his arms around him and carefully helped him back onto his feet, guiding him over to a chair next to Thorin’s bed. Bilbo had been feeling light-headed and sick, like he was about to black-out, but at the sight of Thorin, he decided he was willing to cling onto consciousness for a little longer.

“I… I had to see him, Fili,” Bilbo choked out, reaching for Thorin’s hand on the bed.

The Jedi Master was also wearing a surgical tunic, although this one was blue and suited him much better than Bilbo’s silver. He was sleeping soundly in a nest of blankets and pillows, with only one, solitary wire attached to his right wrist. The Force thrumming almost joyfully around them, Bilbo carefully reached out and placed his hand on Thorin’s chest, needing to feel the healthy heartbeat that was now thudding beneath his palm.

Closing his eyes, Bilbo felt the tears burning behind his lids as he focused his mind on that steady, rhythmic thump… Thorin’s chest had been silent, so, so silent, and he couldn’t quite believe he was actually feeling his heartbeat again, that Thorin was alive, that he had actually been able to save him.

After a few moments, Bilbo opened his eyes and slowly lifted the V of Thorin’s tunic so he could peek at the fresh white bandages that were wrapped tightly around his abdomen. Satisfied, his hand moved back to Thorin’s and he threaded their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles.

“Knight Baggins!”

Bilbo froze like a guilty Akk pup when the doors slid open behind him. He slowly turned to find Master Elrond glaring at him, the Elf’s usually stoic face twisted into an expression of both frustration and concern. Bilbo’s thoughts wandered onto possible ways of repelling the Jedi Master: overturning his chair perhaps, or toppling over the medical cabinet into a sort of barricade, but Master Elrond was much too quick and was instantly leaning over him, his fingers at his wrist.

“You have expended a lot of energy getting yourself here,” Master Elrond said quietly, voice full of disapproval.

“I feel fine,” Bilbo countered, trying to shake the dizziness from his mind.

“You are a few minutes away from losing consciousness,” the Elven Master replied, dark brows drawn together as his eyes moved over Bilbo’s face.

Bilbo only tightened his grip on Thorin’s hand. “I won’t leave him.”

Master Elrond looked about ready to argue, but instead he let out a sigh. “I will allow you to remain with Master Thorin if you consent to wearing a portable monitoring device and let me transfer some extra energy to you so you can spend the rest of your visit awake.”

Bilbo thought for a moment, but sensing that his options were rather limited, gave a short nod. He knew he was lucky that he wasn’t being carried back to his room and sedated, so it was probably best not to irritate the Jedi Master further.

Master Elrond pulled a small, circular object from the pocket of his robes and brought it to life with a few soft beeps. Bilbo flinched a little when he lifted it to his neck, but then, catching the Elf’s placating look, tilted his head so that he could attach the monitoring device to his pulse point.

“The energy transfer will only work if you let go of Master Thorin’s hand,” Master Elrond explained, his tone gentle, understanding.

Bilbo was reluctant to let go of Thorin, now that they had finally been reunited, but after a few moments and a reassuring squeeze of Thorin’s fingers, he pulled his hand away so Master Elrond could lay both of his palms flat against his own.

“Just breathe deeply,” the healer murmured. “And soon you will feel much better.”

Bilbo’s eyes fluttered shut as he felt the Force begin to tingle in his fingertips and soon he felt healing waves of energy coursing up his arms and soothing his aching limbs, clearing the nauseous fog that had been beginning to cloud his mind. After another long minute, Master Elrond straightened up, his eyes moving to the monitor on Bilbo’s neck.

“I will check back shortly,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, and he sensed that the Jedi Master had forgiven him for his jailbreak.

Once the doors had slid closed, Bilbo’s eyes moved across the bed to Fili, who had been sitting silently for the entirety of his exchange with the healer. It was only then that he realised just how tired the Dwarf looked… he looked a lot older too, with more lines on his face and a different light in his blue eyes.

“I know, you can say it,” Fili said, with a smirk. “I look rough – Kili tells me every other sentence.”

Bilbo managed a smile, his hand automatically going for Thorin’s again. “Meggi told me you and Kili have… have found all of this quite difficult. But there’s no shame in that: I sobbed like a youngling when Gandalf fell and knocked himself out whilst we were scaling Mount Avos on Troiken… and I can tell you, I looked pretty rough after I’d dragged him back down the mountain to get help.”

Fili chuckled at that, but then fell silent again as watchful eyes returned to his Master. Bilbo knew the two situations couldn’t really compare: Thorin had very nearly died and it had been a tenday before he had regained consciousness. It was a lot for a young apprentice to handle.

“Have the healers managed to reconnect your training bond?” Bilbo asked softly, sensing an unexpected protectiveness and affection stirring within him for Fili.

Fili paled a little at the question, giving a self-conscious cough. “We… we, er, tried it when my Master first woke up… but he wasn’t able to control his shields so I was getting a lot of his pain, his fear, his worry over you through the bond… I wasn’t strong enough to filter it… but we’re going to try to reconnect again soon.”

Bilbo dipped his chin in understanding. He knew the ache of losing a training bond all too well, knew how lonely Fili must have been feeling, but at least it was only a temporary state. The young padawan would feel like himself once the bond had been re-established and he and his uncle were strong enough to control it again.

He was about to reassure Fili as much when the Force suddenly sent out a few prickling ripples and Bilbo turned to see Thorin stirring in the bed, a frown appearing on his brow as he was pulled from sleep. Fingers twitched beneath Bilbo’s hand and then Thorin’s blue eyes slowly opened. It took them a moment to focus, but then they were locked on Bilbo and he felt waves of confusion, of relief, and of love come crashing through their bond.

“Bilbo…?” Thorin whispered, eyes widening as his fingers tightened around Bilbo’s.

Bilbo leaned forward, his free hand going to smooth a few hairs away from Thorin’s face. The gesture felt so intimate, but it seemed to be what both of them needed, what they both deserved. “I’m here,” he replied, voice breaking as the tears came. “I’m here, Thorin…”

Thorin lifted a hand to cup Bilbo’s cheek and he turned into it, pressing a kiss to his palm. “They wouldn’t let me see you,” he said, sounding choked as his own tears arrived. “I tried… I tried, but –”

Thorin screwed up his eyes, unable to continue as emotion overcame them both. Bilbo moved the hand stroking the Dwarf’s hair to rest over the hand cradling his face and held it there, closing his eyes and soaking in everything about Thorin’s living, breathing presence.

“I know, I know,” Bilbo soothed, rubbing his thumb over Thorin’s as he shushed him. “But it doesn’t matter, I’m here with you now.”

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Thorin gasped out, and Bilbo felt his anguish twisting and sparking in the Force between them. “Master Elrond and Master Gandalf… no one could get you to wake up and I knew… I knew if y-you passed into the Force, it would be my fault… for leading you into such peril…”

“Shhh, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, trying to calm him through their bond, slowly leaning down and pressing his forehead against his in a way that suddenly felt so natural. “I didn’t pass into the Force, and I’m glad to have shared in your perils… and I’d do so again, you know that now…”

Bilbo pushed his forehead into Thorin’s again, turning so their noses nudged together… and then Fili gave a distinctly uncomfortable cough. Bilbo quickly drew away, both he and Thorin turning to the young padawan who was looking quite flushed.

“S-sorry, just… think I ought to leave you both to it,” he said, rising from his chair. “I know it’s not your fault, with neither of you having great mental shields at the moment, but well… you’re both, er, projecting… a lot… So…”

Before he or Thorin could comment, Fili was scurrying from the room, the doors hissing closed behind him. Thorin laughed first, a deep, musical laugh, and Bilbo joined him, curling his fingers around the hand Thorin still had pressed against his cheek.

They stared at each other for a moment and then Bilbo leaned down. Their noses brushed past each other and their lips met. Thorin’s mouth was warm and soft, his beard tickling Bilbo’s chin, as he had thought it might, that night out on the terrace… What he hadn’t expected was the tingling surge of energy that seemed to magnetise their mouths together as Bilbo deepened the kiss, chasing after such an electrifying feeling. He dared to tentatively touch his tongue against Thorin’s and he was certain he saw sparks bursting behind his eyes.

It was with great reluctance that he finally pulled away first, but Thorin clearly wasn’t satisfied as he let out a huff of air and drew Bilbo to him again. One hand moved to cradle the back of Bilbo’s neck, Thorin’s fingers making the short curls of hair there stand on end with more tickling jolts of energy.

Bilbo could now understand why a lot of fuss seemed to be made about kissing. He felt like he was resurfacing from a stint beneath water when Thorin eventually stayed his attentions to his bottom lip and he breathed in a lungful of air, eyes wide with wonder as one hand moved up to Thorin’s chest, fingers playing with the collar of his tunic.

“Well, I believe kissing may in fact be the best treatment for both of us,” he grinned, his lips still tingling from Thorin’s touch.

“It was not unpleasant,” Thorin deadpanned, before Bilbo’s raised eyebrow made him break into a smile. “I was only teasing you, Master Baggins.”

“I believe you may be teasing me again,” Bilbo said, swatting Thorin’s chest. “What’s with this ‘Master Baggins’ nonsense?”

Thorin went very still, peering up at Bilbo with concern. He does not know…?

“Know what?” Bilbo snapped, only belatedly registering that he had heard Thorin through their bond.

Thorin winced when he realised he had given himself away. “I thought Master Gandalf had already told you…”

“Told me what, Thorin?” Bilbo demanded, about to get very cross indeed if his bondmate didn’t start talking.

“You… you are to be made a Jedi Master, for your slaying of Darth Azog,” Thorin explained, still looking a little sheepish.

“Me?” Bilbo breathed. “A Master…? But I’ve only just passed my Trials!”

“I think you have earned the title,” Thorin replied gently. “You saved the life of another Jedi Master and killed a Sith Lord, you have more than earned the title.”

Bilbo nodded, feeling a little numb as the news sank in. “I, er, I think it’s just going to take some getting used to,” he admitted, aware that he was definitely blushing. “Master Baggins… Jedi Master Baggins…”

“It sounds very fine,” Thorin said, stroking Bilbo’s neck again with a look of rather soppy affection.

It was then that an image flashed in Bilbo’s mind. A blue and grey vision flickered and flickered until it materialised in full. It was the solitary peak of the mountain on Erebor.

“You’re thinking about home,” Bilbo murmured, rubbing a hand in soothing motions over Thorin’s chest. “About Erebor.”

Thorin nodded, appearing almost anxious and Bilbo shifted on his chair. “Will you tell me…?”

Thorin’s gaze became distant for a moment and Bilbo could feel his heart picking up its pace beneath his palm. His blue eyes slowly moved back to Bilbo, the emotions coming through their bond full of hope, but also worry, of fear of rejection.

“The Council have finally approved the mission I brought to them,” Thorin said quietly. “They are allowing me to lead a group of Jedi to Erebor, to try and take the mountain back from the Sith.”

Bilbo’s heart stuttered and a breath got lodged in his throat.

“I know that we are bonded, but I would not expect you to join me on –”

“Thorin,” Bilbo cut across him, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “If you think for one second I’m going to let you face another Sith Lord on your own after what’s just happened…”

Bilbo trailed off at the bright-eyed look now plastered over Thorin’s face. It was ridiculous and he really shouldn’t find it so endearing, especially when he had every right to be angry at Thorin for wandering off in the first place. But no, here he was, with the love of his life looking so unbelievably excited at the prospect of them going off on another Sith killing-spree.

“I… I was not sure what your answer would be,” Thorin said, expression growing serious again. “Are you certain this is what you want?”

Bilbo moved his hand to Thorin’s face again, stroking his thumb over his beard. “I love you, Thorin, and wherever you go, I go.”

Thorin slipped a hand around Bilbo’s waist. “I love you too… I, er, I am sorry I was unable to say that the first time.”

“Yes, I find dying is always such an inconvenience,” Bilbo snorted.

And then, before he could make another smart comment, Thorin hooked a finger under his chin and pulled him down for another enthusiastic kiss. Their lips tingling once again from the contact, Bilbo closed his eyes and let himself revel in the sparkling, bright shivers of the triumphant Force.