Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Bilbo?" Balin's voice echoed through the library... what was left of it, anyway. Ori's reflexive scowl made Bilbo wince, but the hobbit scurried over before the diminutive scribe could try and hush Thorin's oldest advisor. Shelves lined the walls and filled the open bowl of the great circular chamber, and the domed ceiling above was dark and still, its filthy mirror hung askew from where the armature had failed from time and neglect. Instead of the sunlight it should be reflecting into the space, it showed only a dim image of the wreckage below. Occasional spatters of guano and filth marked the floor and the tops of the scrollcases and shelves, but there didn't seem to be any bats there now. Even after the death of the dragon, Erebor was oddly empty of life; even vermin had been unable to thrive in the dark aura of the dragon, it seemed. Books and scrolls were piled everywhere, testament to Ori's determination to get everything sorted properly, by himself if necessary, though Bilbo was certainly pitching in with helping to sort the volumes composed in Westron and (occasionally) Sindarin.

"Yes, hello, Balin! What brings you to the library?" the hobbit muttered as he circled a bookcase. He made a cautionary gesture at the old dwarf which provoked raised eyebrows in response. "Um, you might want to not make so much noise... Ori is..." he trailed off, mouth making a rueful line. Balin grinned broadly but nodded, giving a small wave to the scowling figure of Ori advancing rapidly and mouthing 'sorry'. The disdainful way the younger dwarf scowled and turned was a masterpiece of scorn, and Bilbo ducked his head and grinned. The narrowed eyes, the curled lip, the sidelong look... That, the hobbit thought in amusement, had been a sneer worthy of the fiercest Shire matron. Ori really didn't like noise in the library. They hadn't interacted much on the journey, but since working with him in the library Bilbo liked the young dwarf more with each day.

"Bilbo..." the old dwarf ran a hand through his bushy white hair and smoothed his beard. These gestures made Bilbo's stomach sink, because he had traveled with Balin long enough to know the old dwarf's tells, and these spoke of deep social discomfort. This couldn't be good. Sure enough, the next words from the advisor's mouth made him want to go hide in the shelves again. "This is a bit awkward, but I suppose it falls to me. Thorin told me that you had, erm, had a chat. Which is good! And that you had finally discussed your, well, your... ahem, his intentions. Towards you... I mean, that is to say, about your, how to put this..." Balin pulled at his collar and Bilbo rolled his eyes. Dwarves! One minute fighting, pulling hair and biting off ears and the next stumbling over their own tongues because someone mentioned an emotion that wasn't rage or jealousy! Thorin hadn't even been this capable; if it were up to him, Bilbo strongly suspected, they might still be sitting and talking in circles. Thankfully the clarifying powers of a deep and truly memorable kiss had trimmed what were likely to be hours off the painfully awkward conversation. Smiling at the memory and taking pity on Balin (he really was making hard going of this!) Bilbo interrupted.

"It is our intention to court, yes, thank you Balin. Is there a reason you're taking such a personal interest in this?" Honestly, Bilbo was a bit shocked at himself. He and Thorin had been making eyes at each other for the latter half of their trip, but Bilbo was never inclined to put himself forward and Thorin was... well, Thorin was Thorin. For all that Bilbo loved him, he was dreadful at dealing with his own emotions. Several times he had been ready to throw up his hands and return to the Shire, but... Bilbo realized that Balin was still twitching and glancing away. "Balin, what? For the love of the Green Lady, spit it out, man!"

The old advisor harrumphed as though he were offended, but Bilbo was sure he wasn't imagining the grateful glance. "Very well, if you're determined to be so open, I suppose I will speak plainly. Did Thorin mention during your conversation how the courting process must be performed?" Bilbo frowned and thought back; had he? All he remembered was that kiss. Thorin might have done, but if so the hobbit was properly distracted at the time, so he shook his head. "Typical." Balin snorted and shook his head, clearly pleased to be back on familiar ground. "In that case, I will endeavor to explain the procedure to you so that you know what must be done. Please be aware, you are the first non-dwarf to be told these things, at least as far as I know, so keep them to yourself, if you please." The old dwarf gave the hobbit a meaningful glance and Bilbo managed to resist an urge to sigh. Why, he wondered bleakly, must everything be such a massive secret and why must I always be expected to fall over in joy at the chance to learn something every tiny pebble hears at their mother's knee? Still, he made an effort to smile and look suitably honored.

"Thank you, Balin," he said, gambling that was an appropriate response. It usually was in the Shire, at any rate. "I will not speak of it to non-dwarves." Balin nodded solemnly.

"Very good," he said, drawing Bilbo over to a nearby study table and hooking a chair out for the hobbit with one foot before sitting down himself, moving the stack of herbals in the chair he had chosen to the scarred surface of the rickety table. Bilbo fought the urge to take offense; hooking a chair for someone else with one's foot like that was quite an insult in the Shire, but, as he reminded himself daily, different people had different customs. Balin peered at Bilbo from beneath his brows. "Dwarves have very definite procedures for courting, you will find, Bilbo, so there's no need to ever wonder about where you stand!" He chortled merrily, and Bilbo looked away for a moment to resist the urge to laugh for a different reason. Yes, he might have said, dwarves have very definite procedures for everything, Balin, why would courting be any different? Disguising a sigh as a cough, he looked back up in time for Balin to begin speaking again. "Despite the circumstances, you are technically of a lower social class than Thorin, so you will have to petition him for his regard. The method for that..." The old advisor stopped and glanced over at Bilbo, who had just made a displeased sound. "Is there a problem?"

"Of a lower social class? I beg your pardon! And here, what do you mean 'technically'?" Bilbo said ferociously, before considering that Baggins he may be, but perhaps not royalty. Sighing, he held up a hand to Balin's obvious relief. "Fine, fine, nevermind. That's clearly a discussion for another time. But still... 'petition him for his regard'? Are you quite serious? Clearly I have his regard already, as our little chat made clear the other night! I'm not going to go with my hat in hand, begging for..." he stopped, momentarily struck speechless with indignation at the notion. Balin was smiling and making calming motions with his hands.

"No, no, just a turn of phrase, nothing to worry about, Bilbo. It sounds quite different in Khuzdul, I assure you." That was likely correct, Bilbo thought sourly. He knew that the language of the dwarves was perhaps their most closely guarded secret of all, and he was all too aware from his own Sindarin studies that translations were rarely as exact as one might wish. With a heavy sigh, he tried to set his irritation aside and motioned for Balin to continue. The old dwarf smiled kindly, eyes twinkling, and went on. "The rules are strict on this, because if the king were to make his petition to you, well, you might feel obligated to accept. Even though, in this circumstance, well..." Balin broke off with a look of chagrin before shaking himself. Before Bilbo could ask, he was continuing. "It's always the one of lower status who has to ask, you see? Even if the actual status here is... yes, well. But at any rate, as I was saying... you will petition for his favor, and when he grants it (because of course he will) you will give him two beads. He will braid one bead into your hair to show that he has taken you as his... hm, Westron doesn't have a good word for it. His courting partner? The Khuzdul term means 'the one who walks to the left', but that doesn't mean anything like it sounds... at any rate. When the bead is placed in your hair, he will take the other and place it in his own, and this will show everyone that you are pledged."

"I see," Bilbo said, who wondered if he did at all, "So, what form does this petition take? Is there a format, or is it a freeform speech, or what? And where do I get these beads? In the market? Is there a vendor for them, or..." Balin tried unsuccessfully to cover up his look of sheer horror and Bilbo sighed; clearly he had stepped in it again.

"No!" the old dwarf said, a bit too loudly, "That is, no, if you were a metalworker, you would make them yourself. Or a carver. Or a jeweler. At any rate, most dwarves tend to make their own beads, but if you don't have the necessary skills, you can ask a trusted family member or companion to do it. It's a tremendous honor to be asked to do such a thing for someone," Balin said fondly, with the universal expression of old people about to get lost in their memories, "I recall..." Bilbo tried to head this off, having extensive experience of gaffers in the Shire with that exact same look. If he didn't take action quickly and decisively, he could be here for hours.

"Is there a form for the petition?" he repeated. Balin shook himself a bit, then smiled and shook his head. The hobbit was a bit shocked, but he supposed even dwarves had to leave some things unplanned. The advisor's next words put paid to that.

"Oh no, no set form, you just describe each encounter you have had with them that was meaningful with a few words about why, and end up with the petition... it's all terribly romantic," Balin sighed, smiling fondly. Bilbo fought the urge to bang his head on the table.

"Each encounter?! Balin! I traveled with you all for months! Should I include when he told me I looked like a grocer on my own doormat? When he called me useless and a burden? How about when he almost tossed me from the..." he stopped in spite of himself. Some things might have been forgiven, but they would never be forgotten. Balin's horrified expression made him feel bad for dragging all that unpleasantness back up, but honestly, Bilbo thought, there were a lot of 'encounters' with Thorin that were better left unrecalled. Still, he acknowledged that he had been rude, and bowed his head a bit. "Terribly sorry, Balin, quite uncalled for on my part. My deepest apologies, I must be more tired than I had realized. That's all water under the bridge at this point. Alright, let's assume I can put together a tasteful selection of poignant moments, shall we? Then I just, what, ask him if I might court him?"

"Yes, exactly," Balin smiled uncertainly, worry evident in each crease of his face. "In a bit more flowery language than that, of course, but yes, essentially that's it." Bilbo nodded grimly; he was used to pretty speechifying, though it was never something he enjoyed. Surely he could put something together. "After that, the courting proceeds the same as courting everywhere, you spend time together, eat meals together, that sort of thing. After an appropriate time has passed, you will give Thorin a betrothal gift and he will give you a gift in return. Usually dwarves just sign the contracts and celebrate, but of course since there's royalty involved there will be a marriage celebration as well, and since Thorin is marrying you... well..." Bilbo sighed. Of course; the king marrying the hobbit. He wondered how Balin had resisted mentioning it until now. The old advisor finally gave a true smile, beaming happily. "After that you will be wed, mashahnen in truth. Thorin is a lucky dwarf." Bilbo smiled awkwardly; he never knew quite what to do with praise, and he suspected Balin was overegging the pudding here quite a bit, though he felt the old advisor was kind to do so.

"Thank you Balin, you're far too kind." He smiled fondly in spite of himself at the thought of his husband-to-be. "Thorin is a blessing to me as well, though all this formality and fuss is certainly a lot more complicated that anything in the Shire! Still... where should this petition be made?" The hobbit asked, already thinking of what he should (and shouldn't) say.

"Oh, in open court of course," Balin smiled encouragingly. Bilbo fought the urge to throttle the old dwarf but sighed hopelessly. A cloud of dust rose off the pile of books from his breath and he glared at the faded herbals on the table as though they were responsible for the whole conversation.

"Of course," the hobbit said through clenched teeth. He loved Thorin, the Lady knew he did, but these dwarves were going to be the death of him.

=

Bilbo had a rather fraught relationship with many of the dwarves who had returned to Erebor. He adored the company he had traveled with, and they thought even more of him. Ballads of his role had been written and were sung throughout the dwarven kingdoms of the west of the world: the hobbit who riddled with a dragon, who stole prisoners from the elves, who pledged his honor for a folk not his own, who fought the white orc for the life of the king. Those deeds were well known in stories told from the Blue Mountains to the Iron Hills, and Bilbo was equally well-known as the Khuzdbaha or dwarf-friend of Erebor - not a dwarf alive would dispute his right to the title or honor, given his deeds. There were... songs being made, however. The Hobbit Who Loved The King, in particular, was a cringeworthy ballad that made Bilbo wince every time he heard it. Despite the opinion of its putative subject, the song was staggeringly popular, even to the point of being sung in human towns like Dale. As if that weren't enough the hobbit suspected there were additional bawdy lyrics, gauging by the look on the faces of his friends when the song was mentioned, but he hadn't yet been subjected to those. The Iron Hills soldiers who were staying in Erebor were polite to Bilbo, but he had noticed some of them leering at him when they thought he wasn't watching in a very inappropriate way, a way he didn't appreciate at all.

The dwarves were quick to return to the mountain. Only a few weeks after the great battle, even before Thorin had fully recovered from his wounds, nobles had started drifting into Erebor from the Iron Hills with their retinues, which was when the trouble truly began. Bilbo started to dread being introduced to Minelord this and Stonelord that, Ironlord so-and-so and General such-and-such. Many of them were polite, even complimentary to the point of sounding awed, but some of them were just barely on the right side of rude, speaking sweetly enough but looking him up and down dismissively and making sneering comments in Khuzdul to their friends and hangers-on. The unpleasant laughs that accompanied such comments made Bilbo suspicious that he knew the gist of what was being said in any language. Those behaviors came to a swift and unexpected end when Dwalin happened to be present for one such incident. Ironlord Bur had just made some jape to a round of scandalized snickering from his attendants when Dwalin challenged the offending dwarf to a duel on the spot. They had barely assumed their positions before the guard captain hit him so hard on the first strike that the Ironlord flew four feet and landed on his back, out cold; he was unconscious for hours, and Bur's friends feared him dead. Thorin was furious with Dwalin until he had heard the full story, after which he had the offender shipped back to the Iron Hills in disgrace. The king even rose from his sickbed on crutches to oversee the expulsion personally.

After that particular incident, word got around seemingly overnight and the occasional disrespect became much less common, and more subtle when it did occur. Still there, though, Bilbo thought sourly. Anyone born and raised in the Shire could see it, too, as plain as day. The half-raised eyebrows, the twist of lips not quite concealed, the thousand relentless small petty moments over the course of the day that were each perfectly innocent individually, but collectively... Worse yet, he didn't know how to fight back, at least not here. In the Shire among his own people he knew the culture, knew the rules, and he had friends... in Erebor among the dwarves, he had friends, but every day revealed a dozen ways in which he didn't know the graduated steps of offense as he did back home, what to say and how to say it to show two different things with the same words. He suspected that the dwarves resented him for catching the eye of the king; he knew he wasn't worthy of the regard of someone so... well, so impressive as Thorin. Still, he resolved to make the best of it.

Within six weeks of the battle, Bilbo had been at his wits end. He felt... very strongly... about Thorin, had for ages, and he had stuck around hoping against hope that some sort of positive resolution to their hinted-at mutual attraction was possible, but after a few weeks of being the subject of every wagging tongue in Erebor, he had cornered Ori during one of their sessions of working through the library. The young scribe had been a source of information more than once, and Bilbo decided that sensible hobbits weren't bound to fight fairly in such encounters. Accordingly, he had spent the morning baking, and when he had turned up in the library with fresh scones made with dried berries, butter, a large pot of tea, some ginger biscuits, and his finest social smile Ori hadn't stood a chance. The young dwarf had flushed as soon as Bilbo brought up the gossip but had tried valiantly to resist giving a definitive answer. He had made a good effort, the hobbit had to admit, but Ori wasn't up to Shire standards of stonewalling and soon enough Bilbo had swept in for the kill.

"Ori..." Bilbo had said calmly after the third round of some polite variation of 'whatever gossip do you mean', "you know exactly what I mean. For goodness' sake, you dwarves are supposed to be quiet and taciturn, but here in Erebor it's like everyone spends all day gossiping! Lady of Trees and Leaves, it's worse than the Shire in the high summertime. I would have thought after all our travels together that you would give me a straight answer." His reproachful look had been met by one of discomfort, almost anguish, before Ori had sighed and slumped down in his chair. Sipping his tea and taking a meditative bite of scone, he had finally nodded in glum acceptance.

"This is close to things I shouldn't tell you, just so you know," Ori had muttered quietly, glancing around as though there might have been dwarves lurking in the shelves ready to denounce him as an oathbreaker. "You are khuzdbaha, though, and Thorin... erm... anyway," he had broken off as he and Bilbo both blushed, "so I suppose it's alright." He had fixed Bilbo with a serious look, then taken a deep breath and let it out. "The thing you must understand is that we are very different among ourselves in our halls than we are when we are outside. Dwarves are quite taciturn with, well, I suppose the Westron equivalent to the term would be 'outsiders', though properly it means anyone who isn't a dwarf. Non-dwarves are not to be trusted. We are taught this from the earliest age." The young dwarf grinned, looking quite young. "When we are among our own kin, though... there are no secrets beneath the mountain, Bilbo. Secrets are dangerous, you see; not knowing things can get a dwarf killed. Everyone talks about everything, for the most part; who found what in what part of the mountain, where the walls are unstable, what gas pockets appeared, what got done, what didn't get done, on and on. Useful information gets mixed with gossip, of course, and the doings of the powerful are another favorite topic... the mood of the king can bring a feast or a war, depending, so all are watching. And like it or not you are one of the powerful now, O Burglar of Erebor." Bilbo's sigh and expression of disbelief had made Ori snicker loudly.

"I thought it was just Fili and Kili that acted like that! You're telling me that contrary to everything I've been told, the whole of dwarven society is..." he broke off because Ori was laughing silently behind his hand, but the young scribe's whole body was shaking and his face was turning bright red.

"Mahal, those two! Bilbo, did you not notice how nobody spoke much to you for the first part of the trip except them? And how everyone was constantly getting between them and you? Our journey was the first time they were allowed to leave the Blue Mountains, and you were probably the first outsider they ever spoke to directly, certainly the first time either of them ever had a lengthy conversation with one. Because they weren't used to dealing with outsiders, you got treated like a dwarf almost from the start. A close dwarf, at that; practically family. It was the subject of a lot of discussion, I promise you. Thorin was horrified and Balin was despairing of them on a daily basis. It's why Dwalin spent the whole first half of the trip glaring at them." Ori was still giggling. "I can't believe you didn't know that."

"How would I have known? Nobody else was speaking to me," Bilbo had responded sourly, but he couldn't be but so angry because Ori was clearly having so much fun. In retrospect he supposed this answered a lot of questions about his travel experiences. "I just thought they were being friendly."

"Oh they were," Ori said earnestly, though his eyes were still bright from laughing. "Far too friendly, really. But they are proud now because of how things turned out, with you and Thorin, er... well." The young scribe looked away, face burning. "Anyway, they've turned the tables on everyone who complained, saying 'see, we knew all along he was going to be a good friend to the dwarves' which, while we know it's a load of mahumb, is still a good response." The scribe grinned and Bilbo had to smile too. How like those young rascals! Still, he was wandering away from his original question.

"That aside, though... what you're telling me is that I'm going to be the subject of these speculations and there's nothing I can do?" Bilbo asked plaintively. "I... frankly, I'm just not that interesting!" Ori snorted in disbelief, sounding in that moment more like Thorin or Dwalin than himself.

"Not that interesting? Bilbo... you're a hobbit who is a dwarf-friend. Already, we are in unknown territory; there's never been such a thing. More than that, you're the hobbit who saved the entire Company multiple times, you snuck the king out of an elven fortress, you riddled with a fire drake, you called the great eagles to save Thorin's life... how do..." Bilbo interrupted, feeling deeply uncomfortable.

"I didn't call the eagles, I can't do that! It was Gandalf if it was anyone!" Ori shook his head firmly.

"No, Master Baggins," Ori waggled his eyebrows, "the story is that it was you and so as far as the dwarves of Erebor are concerned, it was you. You are more than just interesting; a new seam of silver or gold is interesting. You, my friend, are utterly fascinating. And that's not to mention the fact that the king seems quite, ahem, taken with you, if you will pardon my boldness for saying so." Bilbo could feel himself reddening again, as he did every time anyone mentioned his situation with Thorin. Blast and confound these dwarves, he thought grimly, so I'm just stuck with it. Wonderful.

Every time Bilbo heard his own name featured in some gossip, he remembered that conversation, and doubly so once Thorin had finally gotten around to bringing up the subject directly. Regardless, after his chat with Balin about the particulars of courting he was on a mission, gossip or no. He trotted along through the halls of Erebor. The Royal Quarters had been cleaned fairly well already so that the halls were not covered in the filth and grime of a lot of the mountain, but even so there were plenty of signs of neglect that still needed attention. Here a place where water had begun to trickle from some unknown source, painting a thick line of calcium down the polished green wall; there a tattered tapestry that had been partially devoured by moths in the days before Smaug drove off all other life... the hobbit found that it didn't do to look too closely at one's surroundings. The air of luxe decadence was fragile even where it had survived, and any lingering examination revealed the decay. When he arrived at the suite of rooms set aside for Thorin's nephews, he knocked and entered.

The room was warm from a roaring fire though like most of the mountain it still smelled a bit fusty and damp, and the mismatched furniture they had scrounged from empty suites was strewn around the room. Even so, it already bore the mark of the two; a fletching stand was in one corner, an armorer's rack and sharpening stand in the other. Kili and Fili were waiting for him dressed in their scruffy travel clothes and Bilbo could have kissed both of them. Finally, he thought, something that looks familiar and unchanged. Their warm smiles of welcome were unfeigned, their words of welcome sincere, and Bilbo relaxed a bit. He passed over the plate of biscuits he had made, smiling at the thrilled expression on Kili's face and the almost-hidden look of greed on Fili's. Fili snatched a biscuit immediately, but turned to the hobbit with a half-smile that made him look more like Thorin than Bilbo could believe. "It must be serious," the blond dwarf said in an aside to his brother, "if he brings biscuits." Fili munched happily and stared at Bilbo, eyes dancing.

"Mmf," Kili responded, nodding enthusiastically with his mouth full. His flowing dark hair was gathered up today in a jeweled silver pin, something Bilbo had never seen on the road, but otherwise they could have stepped out of his memories of the road. The younger prince turned to stare at Bilbo with his lower face covered in crumbs, still chewing. Fili was eating with a bit more decorum, but even so Bilbo felt a burst of warmth seeing the two enjoying their food. The hobbit chuckled in spite of himself.

"You two are incorrigible," he said fondly. "Who's to say I can't just bring something to my favorite two rapscallions?" Twin expressions of disbelief looked at each other, then the hobbit again, and he burst out laughing. "But yes, now that you mention it, there is something I would appreciate your help with." Humming in amusement, they hunched closer. "I have been told recently that in order to court properly I will need two beads and..." Two deafening whoops (and one spray of crumbs) interrupted before he could proceed any further.

"Finally!" Kili shouted, punching the air. For once, Fili was just as excited and his grin was blinding as he put his brother in a half-headlock while turning to Bilbo.

"So are we to assume that my uncle has finally managed to stammer out an admission of just how hopelessly in love with you he happens to be?" It was Bilbo's turn to be taken aback. He ignored Kili's grumbling as he dragged himself out of his brother's grasp and muttered something about 'not deserving', though it stung a bit. He didn't think that Kili meant it. Bilbo focused on keeping his voice even.

"I... well, that seems a bit... good heavens, Fili. I don't know about hopelessly in love, but we spoke and yes, he wishes to begin courting." He glanced down, trying to control his reaction to hearing such a thing, but when he looked up it was into two almost identical smirks.

"Hopelessly," Kili sighed, shaking his head with one hand pressed to his forehead dramatically.

"In love," Fili said with finality. "You shouldn't doubt us, you know." Kili nodded.

"We're his family. We know Uncle better than anyone except Amad and..." Kili trailed off and his eyes got huge. "Wait, what do you mean about beads? You can't mean to ask us..." Bilbo smiled uncertainly.

"Well, I know that you cut and set stones very nicely, and Fili is a goldsmith, so you were the first ones I thought of. If you'd prefer not to, of course, I..." this time he was interrupted by Kili's arms being thrown around him, followed closely by Fili. My goodness, Bilbo thought in surprise, Balin didn't seem to have done justice to just how special it was to ask someone to make beads, if this is a usual response! With a shock he realized that he could feel dampness seeping through his coat. "Fili? Kili? Stop that... my goodness, I never meant to upset you, I just thought..." He used one hand to gently pet the blond braids on one head and his other to stroke the tangled dark locks on the other.

"We're not upset," Fili whimpered, "we're just..." His complicated braids were looking a bit ragged by now as he kept pressing his face into Bilbo's coat.

"We never thought you would ask us to make your beads," Kili sniffled. "We thought of you as family already but we didn't know that you... that you..." Yes, Bilbo thought dazedly, Balin definitely understated his point. He hugged them both more firmly, laughing mentally at the image they must make. Other hobbits would have been appalled, but Bilbo's travels had gotten him quite accustomed to how physically affectionate dwarves were among themselves. Another difference between dwarves outside and dwarves inside the mountain, he supposed. This just demonstrated Kili's point that he was considered family, though his lingering Shire sensibilities found it odd. He focused again on the matter at hand.

"Well of course you're family," Bilbo said firmly. "And it wouldn't occur to me to think of you as otherwise, even if I weren't about to court your uncle." As he had hoped, that thought brought the two out of his coat and back to smiling again. "I would be proud to have you make my beads, if you would do so. If not, then..." Two hands landed over his mouth, one pale and one dusky.

"Of course we will!" Two voices chorused as Bilbo glared at the two over the hands across his mouth. He leaned back with a huff of exasperation, but he knew before he even started that he wouldn't be able to maintain his irritation in the face of not one but two sets of puppy eyes. He finally made spitting noises which got the hands removed. Glancing down, he saw a trail of crumbs on his coat where Kili's face had been and he sighed heavily, brushing at them before looking back up at the princes.

"Good," Bilbo huffed, settling his coat more squarely across his shoulders. "I appreciate your help. How are such beads usually designed, anyway? Is there a standard pattern, or is each one unique?" Kili snatched the last biscuit proudly, but soon got dragged into the discussion as the princes realized that the time had come to be serious.

"They are unique, though there are certainly standard motifs. What did you have in mind?" With that, the three of them began to plan out designs. There was one moment of hilarity on the part of the princes when Bilbo started talking about paying for gold and stones and they had to remind him that he still had claim to a share of likely the largest hoard of gold and gems in the west of the world outside of Khazad-Dûm. Fili and Kili laughingly assured him that everything they could conceivably need was available for the taking, "unless of course," Fili said with false solemnity, drawing his face into an exaggerated frown, "you would like to include a Silmaril. For that we would need a bit to find one." Even Bilbo had to laugh at that, and by dinner time, the two princes thought they had enough to make some models for Bilbo to see.

The next few weeks seemed to drag by, despite the planning Bilbo was doing for what he privately referred to as 'this preposterous ritual'. His only comfort was the time he could spend with his friends from the company, though he had been brusquely informed by Balin that he was not to be alone with Thorin if they were even thinking of courting. Finally, the day of the open court arrived. He waited among the crowd of other petitioners, though they all gave him a bit more space than they seemed to give each other. There was a definite ring around him, though he was dressed at least as nicely as anyone else in the antechamber. Thorin had put the royal tailors at his disposal; the coat that he wore to court was made of a lovely silvery gray cloth worked with elaborate knotwork. He had an emerald green cravat over a snowy white linen shirt, and his trousers were a black linen that would have stunned the Hobbiton tailors at Burrows and Bragg. The Durin-blue waistcoat that he wore would have bordered on lèse-majesté if he had not had the king's explicit permission to wear the color; even so, several of the dwarves glared at him for appearing in it. Happily, far from making him appear washed out as he had initially feared, the clothing complimented his coloring perfectly. When the guards swung open the double doors and allowed the crowd of petitioners (and one rather nervous hobbit) to enter the royal receiving hall, Bilbo moved forward with as much confidence as he could manage.

One of the first decisions Thorin had made upon his accession was to move his throne room to one of the former great feasting halls and close the strange hall his grandfather had commissioned with its spiderweb of walkways over a great pit. The new hall had enormous carved columns stretching up to a distant ceiling and walls which held the remnants of tapestries and weapons. Although clean, the repairs had not proceeded enough in the mountain for decoration to become a priority. As a result, the bare chamber echoed with the sounds of the court bouncing off the hard stone and making a constant roaring susurrus of noise in which individual words could not be made out but the sensitive ears of the hobbit ached a bit from the din. Balin nodded at Bilbo with an encouraging look from where he stood by the throne in his place as Minister, and even Dori unbent enough from his role as Chamberlain to give a brief half-smile to the hobbit. Dori thumped his staff of office to call for silence, but a rumble went through the room when Bilbo was called first.

He stepped forward and adjusted his cravat before bowing to the king where he sat smiling down from the high throne. "King Thorin, in the time we have known each other, there are many moments which are bright in my memory." Balin smiled kindly at first, but his smile got a bit more wooden as the hobbit mentioned saving Thorin's life in their disastrous first encounter with Azog, the embrace at the Carrock, the liberation from Thranduil's dungeons... Bilbo began to be a bit worried as Thorin's expression was unreadable, though his eyes looked almost pained. He ignored the muttering from behind him, but when he had finished his prepared remarks, he smiled hopefully at the king. "Most of all," he said, "I value the times in which we have visited and spoken together with no great events, no war nor sorrow to hand, just two dear friends speaking of the day. I would have there be many more such moments." At last Thorin smiled, and Balin looked relieved. "It is that closeness, and the calling of my heart that brings me here today. I ask you, great king, for your favor and permission to court you according to dwarven custom." Thorin stood and motioned him forward.

"I receive your suit with happiness, Bilbo Baggins, khuzdbaha," Thorin said in a voice that carried through the hall, provoking a second wave of murmurs, "and offer you this mark of our courtship." The king held out his hand discreetly and Bilbo put the golden beads the princes had made in Thorin's palm. The king looked down and then stopped, holding up the beads and examining them closely. Fili and Kili had done a magnificent job. One of the beads was very dwarven in nature, the sigil of Durin surrounded by sapphires; the other had both marriage flowers of the Shire on it, a delicate arbutus flower set in diamonds with light topaz honeysuckles twining around it. Bilbo wasn't sure which one Thorin would want, but when the king motioned him forward again Thorin began braiding his hair and set the sapphire bead in it. "I give you the bead of my family, azyungel," he whispered to Bilbo as he worked, "so that you always have the protection of myself and my house nearby. I will wear the flowers of the Shire, so that you are always with me." The hobbit couldn't have stopped the smile that appeared on his face if he'd wanted to. Thorin's eyes were warm and the hobbit suspected that his own heart was shining on his face, even as he felt himself blushing at the sensation of the king's sturdy fingers in his hair.

"Thorin, that's the most romantic thing I've ever heard," he whispered back softly before Balin cleared his throat with an aggressive sound. There was polite applause when the bead was set and again when Thorin clasped the remaining bead on a braid of his own. The dwarves of their company who were present cheered and stomped, but most of the dwarves present looked askance. As he stepped back, Bilbo overheard one dwarf muttering to his neighbor that Bilbo's speech had called out all the reasons Thorin would feel obligated to accept, essentially forcing the king to agree. His companion agreed, mumbling something about how disgraceful it was given the disparity in reputation, and seemed unfair. Bilbo wanted to be insulted, but he snorted in spite of himself. As if, he thought in disgust, it were possible to force Thorin Oakenshield to do anything at all, even something in his own best interests! Disdain aside, the whispering ruined the brief moment of romance inherent in the bead choice, leaving Bilbo feeling sordid and slightly soiled. He stepped back among the crowd of petitioners with a sigh, lingering there until a beaming Bofur drew him off to a celebration.

The next night, Bilbo knocked impatiently at the massive wooden door of the king's chambers. After a moment, he pushed against it. "Thorin?" He called softly.

"Who comes?" A voice called from the... oh my, the hobbit thought. The bedroom? Thorin came around the corner with a curious expression on his face and stopped in shock. The king was only wearing thin trousers and a plain white shirt, none of the heavy layers he usually wrapped himself in. Bilbo's eyes slid in surprise down the dwarf's impressively muscled form, more on display than he had seen in months, to... oh Lady of the Fruiting Boughs, to bare feet. Thorin's feet were absurdly delicate by hobbit standards, only a few sparse black hairs on top of them and the hobbit's eyes lurched immediately back up to Thorin's shining blue eyes. He could feel himself flushing, and Bilbo thought it seemed rather warm in the room. Thorin's eyebrows went up even as he reddened. "Bilbo? Why are you bursting into my chambers? Is everything alright?" His eyes abruptly narrowed and the hobbit could recognize by the expression that Thorin was about to grab a weapon. He hastened to reassure him.

"No! No, nothing is wrong. I beg your pardon," the hobbit stammered, blushing fiercely. "I just... wished to see if you wanted to go to dinner together, and I didn't... hadn't thought that... oh dear." He turned to go, but Thorin's voice stopped him.

"Don't leave," the king said hastily. "Just... give me a moment, if you please." He motioned back over his shoulder, eyes still fixed on the hobbit. "I should... just let me... um." At Bilbo's pained nod, he retreated and emerged a few minutes later wearing an overtunic and boots, though his face was still rather red. "I hadn't expected you to... well, anyone really... that is to say..." The royal scowl came down on Thorin's face with almost an audible clang as the king realized how he sounded and Bilbo sighed. He loved to see Thorin unguarded like that, but it made him want to do quite inappropriate things. The surly, seemingly-bored king was a more familiar companion to be sure. "You are too kind to think of me," Thorin finally said in a courtly voice. "Dinner would be welcome. ghivashel."

"I should apologize," Bilbo replied stiffly, staring down at his toes. "I did knock but you didn't seem to hear me. Nevertheless, I am sorry, it was completely inappropriate of me to just come in." Thorin's stoic mask cracked, and a tiny smile appeared on his face.

"It would have scandalized Balin, to see you in my rooms with me half-dressed and us only just having begun courting," Thorin said with an impish cast to his face that made him look startlingly like Kili for a moment. "Nevertheless, no apology is needed. I assure you I am not offended in the slightest." He gave Bilbo a look that left the hobbit feeling almost as warm as the sight of his naked feet had earlier.

"I shall have to try harder then, I suppose," Bilbo said with a twinkling smile. Thorin's booming laugh was loud in the stone passage. "Shall we?" Together the new couple walked down the corridor towards the dining hall, ignoring the smirking guard standing in the hall. From behind them, the tune of 'The Hobbit Who Loved the King' was whistled, but Bilbo gritted his teeth and ignored it.

Bilbo was forced to reflect after a week that ignoring the guard standing nearby had been a tactical error. It took only a few days for rumors to sweep the mountain that the king's hobbit had burst into his chambers when he wasn't expected there. In the stories, Thorin varied from almost fully clad to half-dressed but Bilbo suspected that there were even more salacious versions of the story floating around the mountain. Tongues wagged even more after Thorin unexpectedly showed up at the guard training sessions for some 'refresher training' to beat the loose-lipped guard, one Breki son of Bôrgi, to a bloody pulp. Even worse, Balin had heard the rumor - some version of it, at any rate. The hobbit glumly reflected that having an escort present every time he saw Thorin even in passing (chaperone, he griped to himself) was a burden that he was unlikely to avoid any time soon. Worse yet, only a few days after these mandated 'escorts' began the Feast of Mahal as the Mountain, the midwinter celebration that corresponded to Yule in the Shire, arrived.

"Dismissin' him was bad enough, but that was totally inappropriate, Thorin, is all I'm saying," Dwalin grumbled. Thorin's scowl was strong enough that Bilbo was glad he wasn't the focus.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the king replied in a flat, just-so voice that the hobbit already knew was his last refuge in an argument. Dwalin huffed in irritated disbelief.

"Mahal's balls, you broke his bloody arm, Thorin! It's not right for the king he's supposed to guard to do that!" Dwalin rolled his eyes. He continued in a quieter voice "If ye'd just told me, I'd have done it, and saved you the scandal." Thorin snorted but his scowl suddenly lightened quite a bit.

"I know you would. I well remember how you treated Ironlord Bur. I just thought I'd deal with my own problems for a change." Thorin said quietly, glancing around to make sure they weren't being eavesdropped upon. "Besides, I wasn't lying. I did need to spar." Dwalin's shout of laughter preceded them into the dining hall where his brother was staring in disapproval.

Bilbo glanced around, impressed by the changes. Holiday greens had been put up, along with new banners to finally replace the torn old relics left over from the days before the dragon had come. Even better, the place was truly spotlessly clean, not something many places in reclaimed Erebor could boast. At the sight of the assembled crowd Thorin immediately dropped into his royal persona, sweeping regally along the line of chairs at the high table to the largest one in the middle and cast a quick glance along the dwarves waiting there. "Good people, let us eat. Let the feast begin!" At his gesture, the waiting crowd sank into chairs or onto benches and the feast officially started with servers bringing ale and wine. Bilbo had been told by the king that he would be eating at his left hand, but when he looked the seat was marked for Kili. He read the placards along the table, finally locating his seat next to Balin. Before he could sit, Thorin glanced around with a furious scowl.

The king motioned at the chair to his left. "Master Baggins, with me. Kili, if you wouldn't mind," he said, eyeing the younger of the two princes and motioning down the table. Balin looked irritated and Bilbo wondered for a moment what had happened, but he walked along the table and took the chair beside Thorin. Kili was grinning from ear to ear but shifted the next person out of their seat, and so on down until finally Dori stood and took the seat next to Balin, filling the table. Thorin leaned over as soon as Bilbo was in his seat and growled "Balin thinks he's clever, but I told him you were to sit with me and I meant it."

"Have I offended him?" Bilbo asked, concerned.

"No, not at all," Thorin replied, eyeing the roast boar paraded before him before nodding and waving to indicate it might be served. "He's been nattering on about gossip and these rumors. He's worse than a miner about such things. Pay it no mind." The king leaned over and personally served some potatoes onto Bilbo's plate. "Besides," he said in a soft voice that tickled along the hobbit's nerves, "I want to watch you eat."

"Thorin!" Bilbo said, feeling the flush rising on his face. "I never would have told you about Shire customs if I'd thought they were going to be used against me like this." The king's dark chuckle made Fili look over from where he was sitting on the right side of the king, then duck his head with a smile.

"Used against you? Whatever do you mean?" Thorin asked with a truly pathetic attempt at an innocent expression. Bilbo's sigh of disgust made Kili laugh as well. Despite the progression of conversation, the hobbit noticed that the king's eyes were never far from his plate, watching Bilbo cut and eat each mouthful, sampling the various foods and seeing what he enjoyed most. There was too much food to eat a full helping of anything; even a hobbit would burst from such extravagance.

The meal progressed with course after course being served. The hall got louder and more rowdy as the dwarves present got more alcohol into themselves. Thorin broke a brief silence in the conversation. "Do you always eat like that?" He motioned at Bilbo's plate, ignoring the hobbit's rapidly recurring blush. "Mixing all your foods together, one combination at a time?"

"Yes, thank you," the hobbit replied primly. "Just as you always seem to eat as though you were late to be somewhere else." He snickered as Thorin's face fell a bit, then ventured a somewhat apologetic smile. "Though in your defense, it's likely to almost always be true." Thorin hummed in a dissatisfied fashion.

"That's hardly kind of you, Master Baggins," the king replied, arching his eyebrows meaningfully. "Nevertheless, I see what you are doing. It confused me at first, but now I understand. You are savoring the mixtures of tastes, finding the best combinations among them. I also see how you save a piece of your favorite foods for last, to make sure that you end with the best the plate had to offer, ensuring that the final taste is the best. I had no idea hobbits were such dedicated hedonists. Tell me," he asked, voice falling to a low grumble, "do you treat all pleasures in this way?"

Bilbo felt his heart thudding in his chest. He felt positively naked from having his eating habits seen with a positively hobbitlike understanding he had not expected from the dwarf he loved. This, he felt, was deeply unfair. To say such scandalous things in private would have only one possible outcome; to say them in the middle of a public feast, sitting at a table with every notable eye in the kingdom upon them was... dangerous to his sanity and his trousers, not necessarily in that order. Fine, the hobbit thought. Two can play at this. "I can't imagine why you would ask such a thing, Thorin," he said sweetly, taking a last mouthful and cleaning it off his fork with an uncharacteristically visible swipe of his tongue and then chewing it deliberately. He looked up into blue eyes that were rapidly turning into midnight pools, blue vanished in dilated pupils. "Unless of course the goal is to have me slip under the table here in front of everyone. Is that what you had in mind?" He took a tiny sip of wine and reveled in the sudden choking fit that set the king coughing. At that precise moment, though, Bilbo remembered a bit of information that he should not have forgotten; he was sitting next to his nephew-to-be, who had excellent hearing. Kili's whoop of shocked amusement was likely audible in Mirkwood and brought the whole room to a startled silence. In the ensuing stillness, Balin's tut of disapproval was shockingly loud. Everyone stared in surprise and confusion at the high table, and it was left to the hobbit to hope that Balin's reaction was to Kili's outburst and not to his own comment.

The rest of the feast was a mixed blessing. It turned out that Balin had not heard Bilbo being disgraceful and shameless as he had feared, nor did Kili confess what had brought on his quite unprincely outburst. Nevertheless, Bilbo could tell that the old advisor suspected that it had been something to do with him as Balin sought him out over and over during the following weeks to remind him of the need for discretion and protocol and not giving gossiping tongues anything to use against Thorin until the hobbit was ready to scream from the sheer frustration of it. The rumor mill was happy to grind overtime on stories of what might have been said at the feast, what could have happened, and each new scrap of gossip was gleefully reported to Bilbo by Nori or Bofur or the princes, though he still suspected that he was being shielded from the most prurient of them. He was positive based on the looks he received that there was something they weren't telling him. He resolved to simply ignore it, but after two months had gone by and the gossip was (if anything) worse, Bilbo surrendered. It was time to seek out the king.

"I can't take much more of this, Thorin," he said as they were sitting in the king's office. Like most of the other reclaimed rooms in the Royal Quarter (including his own), the room was full of scavenged furniture but unusually enough, looked well arranged and nicely put together. The roaring fire helped heat the room, though it did make one side of the hobbit rather warmer than the other where he sat beside Thorin's working table. Bilbo had tea and Thorin had a glass of some sort of emerald green cordial which the hobbit didn't recognize but strongly suspected was alcoholic. The door was open so that Dwalin could 'chaperone' without having to be actually present, though he looked through the door as though he might fall asleep at any moment. The king's eyebrows fell as he cast a glance of concern over at the hobbit. Bilbo was atypically slumped in his chair, far from the usual picture of decorum that he tried to maintain in public.

"What is the problem, ghivashel? You can't take much more of what?" Thorin's eyes narrowed, and Bilbo could see the gears whirring in the king's head, trying in typical Thorin fashion to find something to blame himself for. He hurried to reassure the dwarf.

"The constant and unceasing gossip," the hobbit said sourly. "Honestly, Erebor is worse than the Shire, and that's a preposterous thing to have to say! It was bad enough when we were just rumored to be interested in each other, now that we're actually courting, it's a thousand times worse. I swear the more dwarves show up, the more tongues there are to flap about what we are supposedly getting up to in every dusty corner of your kingdom." He sipped at his tea and gave a tiny smile. "Honestly, if we did half of what rumor has it that we do on a daily basis, I'd be unable to walk, and poor Dwalin there would have to wheel me about in a cart." Thorin spit out a mouthful of his green beverage, then coughed and glared.

"That was uncalled for," he said, though he was unable to keep a grin off his face. "And quite an image." He dabbed at his beard, finally chuckling. "You do say the most scandalous things, Bilbo Baggins. Are all hobbits so forward, then?" Bilbo snorted, thinking about some of the things he'd heard in the Green Dragon back in the Shire. Thorin didn't know what forward was.

"Believe me, I'm about to start saying things like that to Balin if he doesn't stop chasing me about and clucking at me like a demented hen. He's becoming intolerable. Honestly, he's more of a busybody than Marigold Bolger, and I never thought I'd say that sentence in my life." The hobbit sighed deeply. "I'm not sure when we're supposed to have time to do all these horribly inappropriate things, anyway. It's not as though we aren't surrounded by dwarves who stare at either of us individually or together for every waking moment of the day. At night I go to my chamber, you go to yours, we both have guards, yet mysteriously our escapades continue independent of our actual bodies. It's enough to make me tear out my hair."

"Please don't," Thorin said, smiling softly. "I love your hair, azyungel." This was in turn an amazingly forward comment for a dwarf, and Bilbo gave it the response it deserved, smiling softly across the table and holding out his hand for Thorin's. He stroked his thumb over the knuckles of the square, solid hand in his, admiring its strength and sinewy toughness as he always did.

"I love your hair too... as you well know, you shocking thing. I just wish we weren't quite so chaperoned," Bilbo said softly, looking into Thorin's eyes. "How long do we have to wait to exchange these gifts that Balin tells me are next?" Thorin had been leaning forward but jerked back suddenly, pulling his hand away, and Bilbo felt a moment of sadness for ruining the moment. "Is that the final ceremony, then, the exchanging of gifts?" Thorin sighed and looked... miserable wasn't too strong a word, Bilbo thought with some puzzlement. "Whatever is that look for?"

Thorin's grin was weak. "The look is for how complicated this is, I'm afraid. Still... yes and no, to answer your question. If I were an ordinary dwarf, yes, the exchange of gifts in front of our families gathered together would mean we were married. Since I'm a king, though, and king of a kingdom that has just been retaken, I'm quite sure Balin will want to plan some monstrous ceremony that will drag on for hours and 'celebrate the noble line of Durin' or some such, with fighting and feasting. You know how I feel about all that, let alone wandering around in full regalia all day." Bilbo supposed he should interrupt before Thorin started down the path of recounting everything that needed doing in the retaken Erebor; he'd heard that quite enough lately.

"Well, if we're married by law I suppose the elaborate wedding feast doesn't mean that we have to wait for... everything," he said carefully, the pause making Thorin's blush reappear. "We can call it a celebration of our marriage, or something. Balin must understand that, to say nothing of the other dwarves that are so desperately concerned with our," he cleared his throat delicately, "relations." This time instead of blushing, Thorin grimaced.

"Well, you must understand how the other dwarves see us, ghivashel. It's not like I deser..." he paused, looking down, then cleared his throat. "I suppose they are sure I'm trying to stake my claim. I have to say, though, I see your point. Well... the traditional period between beads and gifts is at least a year," Thorin said uncomfortably and Bilbo fought the urge to roll his eyes; he had no intention of waiting a bloody year, thank you very much. "But I suppose if we exchanged our gifts by midsummer it wouldn't be too much of a scandal to survive. I'm the king, I can do as I please, and of course you're the Burglar of Erebor, quite beyond reproach." Thorin smiled over at the hobbit hopefully as Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, imagining another four months of ceaselessly wagging tongues. "If they don't like it, they can fight me for the throne."

"There will be no fighting, Thorin, but even the summer is a long time to wait for..." Bilbo trailed off and gave the dwarf one of his best seductive looks. He sort of wished he was still in the Shire, where there was none of this forced abstinence foolishness. If two hobbits liked each other, they tried it on. If they eventually married it was for love and general compatibility, not just to find out how the other was in bed. Dwarves were much more restrained, he had discovered. Most dwarves rarely thought about sex unless and until they met someone they recognized as their 'One'... or, as Bilbo was prone to think in private moments, someone who was close enough in appearance to their personal sexual fantasy that even a work-obsessed automaton like the average dwarf would have to stop and remember what their pants were covering. The only argument he could see against this theory was, ironically enough, his own situation. While he had thought Thorin was shockingly attractive from their first meeting (shocking because Thorin was, to put it mildly, quite different from the average hobbit in appearance), he had never expected the surly and contentious king of one of the Seven Kingdoms of the dwarves to find him equally attractive, despite the apparent disapproval of many of the other dwarves. He thought the idea of Ones was rather far-fetched but... under the circumstances, he supposed an open mind was best. Looking over at the dwarf in question, he felt his heart leap in his chest as it always did. "So what are these gifts supposed to be?" he asked in a resigned tone. "Are there fixed forms or..." He realized that Thorin had frozen and looked up to see a look of shock that he had very rarely seen on the king's face.

"No!" Thorin said, stammering a bit. "That is... it's... uh... it's very personal and private what you give. Even though it's given in front of family. The families. Um." Thorin was staring at the tabletop and Bilbo realized that this was perhaps a touchier subject than he had realized. "You don't ever... ask... I mean... the person who..." Sweet Lady of Flowers, Bilbo realized, I really put my foot in it this time. He's actually appalled that I mentioned it!

"I'm sorry, I see I've made a rather significant faux pas. My deepest apologies. So... is this something I should discuss with Balin, then? Or... someone who isn't my intended?" The hobbit took a shot in the dark. The king's frantic nods were all he needed. "Right, sorry then. Not a dwarf, remember? I won't ask again, or even mention it." He took Thorin's hand again, noticing its tension unhappily. "I'm sorry, Thorin."

"It's quite all right," the king replied, making an obvious effort to control himself. "You don't know these things." Bilbo nodded and changed the subject, and the rest of the afternoon passed quietly. Once Thorin had to go meet with one of the Minelords, Bilbo sent a note asking Balin when he would next be available and went to the library. The next morning, he cornered the old advisor after breakfast.

"Balin," he asked quietly, "you told me that the next step in courtship was to exchange betrothal gifts. Can you tell me a bit more about what that entails?" Balin eyed Bilbo suspiciously, but smiled, unable to resist providing information on dwarven customs.

"I can but... surely you aren't thinking of doing so already, you've barely been properly courting for three months! The scandal would be tremendous. We all realize that you and Thorin have known each other for a bit now, but given the circumstances..." Bilbo waved his hands in a quelling motion, smiling at the old dwarf.

"No need to worry, we're not thinking of that for quite some time," conveniently omitting when they had decided that time might be, Bilbo smiled to himself, "but I just wanted to know what to prepare for in the future. You understand."

"Oh of course, of course," the elderly dwarf grinned, leaning back in his chair and stroking his beard with one hand, "I beg your pardon for even doubting you. I just worry with... well, the rumors, you know, and all this... At any rate, yes. So the gifts are always crafted by the suitors themselves. Not that you should ever mention it to him, mind! That would never do." Bilbo often hoped his face didn't show what he was feeling, but at that particular moment he really hoped that was the case. "Thorin will make one for you, and you will make one for him. If you want an example, just look at the beads the princes made you both! They did an excellent job, especially considering their youth. Why, beads like those would be a credit to dwarves twice their age!" Balin said stoutly. "Never hurts to show that you have the support of others of the line of Durin either. Still, your own hands have to make the betrothal gift. Nothing else would do for any dwarf, and much less for a king." Balin smiled in a comforting manner. Blast, Bilbo thought. Still, he had to ask.

"Ah," he began in a hesitant manner. "Only, what if perhaps I was able to provide some heirloom or..." Balin was already shaking his head.

"No, no, I'm afraid not," the old adviser said firmly. "Certainly for anniversary or even wedding gifts, that sort of thing would be acceptable, but for the betrothal? It's the symbolism, you see. You're beginning a new thing, a new life together, and so the items gifted must be new as well." He gestured as though to say 'of course', though Bilbo hardly thought this explanation was in any way self-apparent. Dwarves!

"Very well, thank you Balin," Bilbo said, forcing a smile that he feared looked more like a grimace. "I appreciate your guidance in these matters. Really, I'd be lost without you." Balin's face showed no trace of concern. Bilbo wished he felt as sanguine about his chances of producing something acceptable. It was bad enough that the Iron Hills dwarves - well, all the dwarves, by this point - were looking at him as though he and Thorin were mismatched. Now he would be judged on a gift in a culture he didn't understand and couldn't get a straight answer about. Lovely, he thought. Just lovely.

=

Since he wasn't going to be able to forge or craft a gift, Bilbo resolved to prepare Thorin a Shire-style genealogy. Surely that would be good enough! As a result, he was spending long hours in the library, getting Ori's help with translations from the Khuzdul documents. Thankfully Ori didn't make a fuss about Bilbo learning from the histories in Khuzdul, just quietly translated what he needed to know with barely a wince. Bilbo had learned over his time with the company not to make any big fuss over the help. Even so, the scribe was finding a steady flow of baked goods waiting for him in the morning.

The translations were eye-opening in one way. Bilbo was shocked by just how boring dwarves were when they wrote. Just a bare accounting of facts for things like births, marriages and deaths, though the descriptions of items made could rhapsodize for pages! The hobbit feared he wouldn't understand them if he lived here for a thousand years. His task was made immeasurably more complicated by the dwarven habit of reusing names; there was something more there, but Ori just shook his head and looked away when Bilbo raised the issue in a way that practically shouted 'don't ask about this'. Nevertheless the progression of Nains and Grors and Frains, the first, the second, the third, and often without a number at all... really, it made his head swim. After a truly hard bit of figuring out that Thrain, the previous king-in-exile of Erebor and Thorin Oakenshield's father wasn't the same Thrain that left Erebor to found a city in the Grey Mountains (and that Thrain also had a son named Thorin! Dwarves!) Bilbo had finally traced the meandering path of succession back to the fall of Khazad-Dûm. Durin VI died beneath the blade(?) of Durin's Bane. This eponymous name was all that was preserved and to even ask about the creature was the worst sort of luck so after one attempt to ask Ori, the hobbit learned his lesson. He didn't think he had ever seen the young scribe run so fast. Durin VI's son Nain, first of that name, was killed less than a year later, and the dwarves fled under the rule of Nain's son Thrain I. That Thrain had a son Thorin as well and the whole thing made Bilbo's temples pound like his head was on the giant anvils in the Great Forge below. Even Ori was confused by some of it, having to go and seek several sources to determine if there was an Oin in between Gloin (and why must they continually reuse the same names?!) and his son, yet another Nain. Bloody hell.

"Ori," he called softly, making the scribe look up from the scroll he was reading, "Could you read me the line of kings before Durin VI? Beyond the obvious, I mean... obviously there are the Durins, but clearly there are others as well. I wanted to add them to the chart." He waved at the large sheet of foolscap he had roughed out the family tree on. Instead of standing and going to the shelves, the young dwarf just sighed heavily.

"We don't... know." Pained brown eyes looked up under the fringe of chestnut colored hair. "When Durin's folk fled Khazad-Dûm, it was... well, frankly it was a rout. Between Durin's Bane and opportunistic tribes of orcs pouring in from Gundabad, things were very dire and there wasn't a lot of time to pack and depart. A lot got left behind... including all the records and books." From the look on Ori's face, he considered that equivalent to leaving behind the children and wounded. Bilbo grimaced and patted the dwarf on the hand in sympathy; he was probably one of the few hobbits from the Shire that would understand, but understand he did. A people with no history were crippled and adrift; he was amazed the dwarves had withstood the struggles as well as they had, if that was how things had been.

"Well," Bilbo said, gazing around at the library, "you didn't lose this library forever. That's something." Ori nodded and smiled softly, pleased to find someone who understood. They moved on to talk of other things, but the young scribe's face still bore traces of melancholy when Bilbo left for dinner.

That short conversation haunted the hobbit for the rest of the night and for days thereafter. How awful it was, that the dwarves had lost so much so quickly. From all reports, they had been in Khazad-Dûm since, well, forever, at least since Durin awoke in the First Age. Erebor was the dwarves' third home, and having done his research he knew that little was preserved of the dwarves' failed city in the Grey Mountains to the northwest as well. They never even properly named the place, for the Green Lady's sake! First it was called the New Delving, then Second Home, some called it Khazad-Dûm Reborn... the documents were a mess, and most of what survived did so because Erebor was a colony of that city and so some documentation was preserved from those days. By the time Thror fled the city with the survivors of the cold drake attack, the refugees were in even worse straits than the flight from Moria. Some died of starvation on the long, brutal trek back to Erebor, so that alone spoke of how little they were able to bring with them. For a people as tradition-minded as the dwarves, that must have been catastrophic, the hobbit realized. Deprived of so much of their historical records and objects, driven out... he shivered to think of it!

As he walked through the halls a few evenings later, Bilbo was almost back to his room when the thought struck him: perhaps Elrond could help. The more he thought of it, the more he realized that there was a significant overlap of time between the foundation of Rivendell (Imladris, he reminded himself) and the fall of Khazad-Dûm... thousands of years. Surely there had to have been some contact. Hadn't the dwarves of Khazad-Dûm participated in the war between Numenor and Sauron along with the elves? He was sure they had! The hobbit whipped about and headed off back the way he had come at speed towards the rookery only to run almost head-first into Nori who seemed to have been following him down the hall. "Oh, Nori," he stammered, "pardon me, I was just..." He stopped, eyeing the star-haired dwarf suspiciously. "Were you following me?"

"Oh no," came the quick reply, "whyever would you think such a thing?" Ridiculously innocent brown eyes blinked exaggeratedly. Bilbo's eyes rolled as if under their own power.

"Yes, yes, very good, I suppose that was a stupid question. Why are you following me?" There were a number of answers the hobbit could imagine Nori giving, and he liked very few of them.

Nori's sharp grin was immediate. He swung around, laying one arm across the hobbit's shoulders. "Well, you see, there's been some talk among the nobles about you. Suspicious talk, one might say, if one were inclined to gossip. Which one never would be..." Elaborately braided eyebrows rose and fell, making Bilbo snicker in spite of himself. Nori was always laughing, though sometimes his sense of humor... "I just wanted to visit with my favorite hobbit and make sure all was well."

"Your favorite hobbit? How many other hobbits do you know?" Bilbo stepped out from under the arm, snorting. "I'm sure they are annoyed; I can't blame them. I know I'm not really worthy of Thorin, but..." he sighed, ignoring the strange look that crossed Nori's face. Bilbo supposed he was expected to pretend that he didn't know that. "... but I love him, Nori. He loves me too, Green Lady alone knows why. Isn't that enough?"

For the first time in Bilbo's memory, Nori looked properly speechless. Finally he nodded once, and said softly "Yes, yes it is. Quite enough." A soft smile appeared, not an expression Bilbo ever imagined on someone so hard-edged, but then Nori's usual knife-blade smile reappeared. "But where are you going now? That was quite an impressive reversal you made."

"I was just..." Bilbo stammered before his eyes sharpened. "I was just minding my own business," he responded primly, though his twinkling eyes gave away that he wasn't quite as serious as he might sound. "I'm told it's not common under the mountain, but I still hope it might catch on." Nori's snort of amusement was immediate. Bilbo didn't want to go to the rookery with a nosey dwarven companion; though he had warmed to Ori's brother quite a bit in his time in the mountain, the other dwarf was an incorrigible gossip. Now that he thought of it, though, it was late, and the birdkeeper had most likely headed for dinner. At the thought of dinner, his own stomach gave a loud growl that indicated its own feelings of neglect. "If you must know, I was just headed to dinner," he said finally. "Would you like to accompany me?" And off they went. Bilbo resolved to write a letter to Elrond that night and send it the next day.

That first letter received a pleased and helpful response, and as the weeks went by, Bilbo's correspondence with Rivendell became regular. He discovered that Elrond was an excellent correspondent, and that Rivendell's librarian Erestor was a source of a surprising amount of information about the long-fallen dwarven kingdom to their east. Over the next few months, their correspondence became regular, and then voluminous; Erestor had no idea that the records of Khazad-Dûm had been abandoned in the flight, and he seemed to share Ori's opinion of what a tragedy that was. His correspondence was full of information both historical and personal, since there were elves at Rivendell who had lived in Eregion and had met some of Durin's folk for themselves. Accounts were solicited on Bilbo's behalf from others, some as far away as Lorien, and his information grew and grew. Finally, the account was complete. Specific knowledge of the kings of First Age after Durin was still fairly sketchy, given that most of the elves now in Rivendell were still in Beleriand, but the names of the kings were clearly marked along with the dates of their reigns taken from documents Elrond had gathered from gods alone knew where. His one volume of history had become three, and after he had written them out in a fine hand and bound them as well as he might, he hoped that they would be good enough. Drat these dwarves, he thought yet again. Why is this all so complicated?

When Midsummer's Day approached, Bilbo visited Thorin in his room, this time escorted by Ori. The scribe sat quietly in the entrance to the sitting room with a collection of notes to study while Thorin and Bilbo sat in front of the fire, speaking quietly. "I know there are things we are not supposed to mention," Bilbo said softly, "but are our plans for Midsummer still on?" Thorin's smile lit up the whole room as far as Bilbo was concerned.

"Yes," he murmured just as softly, "and... well..." the dwarf looked down at his hands where his fingers were laced together on his lap. "I can't wait to present it, azyungel. I think about you... quite a lot, as shocking as that may... mf!" Bilbo slid over and kissed him gently, startling the dwarf to silence. He leaned back as Ori's startled (but shockingly loud) throat clearing filled the room.

"Thorin, I think about you constantly. And in all sorts of contexts, just so you know." There was the blush, rising like an inexorable red tide beneath the dark beard. Bilbo felt amazingly scandalous and practically shameless, since in the mountain any reference to such topics was only permissible in the most vague terms (unless, of course, you were gossiping, the hobbit reflected sourly). "The gossip isn't wrong about that, just about the opportunity," he said in a whisper with a significant glance at Ori who was peering disapprovingly at the pair. Thorin looked like he could barely speak for embarrassment, but his eyes were like black pools, pupils blown wide and breath coming a bit heavy at... whatever thoughts Bilbo had inspired, the hobbit thought smugly. Under Ori's watchful eye, however, the rest of the conversation wasn't nearly as risqué.

=

By the time Midsummer's Day had come around, Bilbo was ready to give way completely to his nerves. He had started uncountable numbers of speeches in his head, all variations of the same thing, but he felt all of them made him sound like a fool. He knew Thorin would be pleased no matter what he said, but the others... Dis had arrived the month before and despite being quite friendly, her reaction to the news of him and Thorin courting was... odd. She didn't seem disapproving, really, just... well, he didn't know how to take it. Fili and Kili were overwhelmed with joy at getting a new uncle of course. Dain's opinion was yet to be seen. Balin was the same old fusspot he'd been all along, Dwalin just grunted when Bilbo finally asked his opinion... it was enough to give him nervous prostration, really it was.

Finally, the day itself arrived. Once again, Bilbo found himself dressing in formal court clothes, this time in the modified hobbit-appropriate version of the Consort-to-be's costume. He felt frankly ridiculous but Balin had insisted that anything else wouldn't do at all. The elderly dwarf had been appalled to find out that they planned to exchange their gifts so "quickly" - Bilbo would have given quite a lot of gold to see Balin's reaction to a standard Shire courting, canoodling and all - but had immediately leapt into action to ensure that any remaining trace of enjoyment or possibility of pleasure was leached from the day as a result. The dwarves weren't a farming people, so Midsummer's to them was essentially a pro-forma celebration of the light and warmth of the sun as something that kept away the orcs rather than any nature-focused reasons - it was just an excuse to have a party, Bilbo had quickly determined, something every dwarf was delighted to take. After a quick and rote ritual in the morning, Thorin and Bilbo faced each other once again in the court chambers. Ori carried in a beautifully carved stone chest that Bilbo would never have been able to lift unaided and set it at the hobbit's side, then stepped back.

"King Thorin, in this room, you were kind enough to accept my suit." Bilbo said into the silence (at least into what passed for silence among dwarves). An immediate rumbling sounded in the room. "As my courting gift to you, I would present you with this, the work of my hands. A family history of your line, as much information as can be found, collated and combined into one place for ease of reference for yourself and for future generations." He reached into the chest and withdrew three books. Each of them was bound in Durin-blue leather and tooled with the stars, hammer and anvil of Durin himself. He bowed as he placed them in Thorin's outstretched hands. "I pray you find them worthy."

Thorin took the books and smiled. "I am sure that any work of your hands would..." he flipped open the first book and trailed off. As he read the genealogy charts in the first volume the king stayed silent and the murmuring in the room began to crest behind a hobbit who was now sweating in nervousness. "Bilbo," Thorin said, "this book has... this book lists the names of the kings of Khazad-Dûm all the way back to Durin Firstborn... how...?" He flipped a few more pages. "Where did you find this?"

"I..." Bilbo was truly sweating now. "I consulted the scholars of Imladris as well as the resources of your own library, with the guidance of Ori the Scribe," Ori bowed in turn, glaring at the whispering nobles behind himself. "Certain records had survived in other places which retained the names and dates of their reigns, though of course there is not the..." A roar went up from the crowd as a heavily armored figure forced its way through the assembly. Bilbo risked a sideways glance, but he didn't recognize the dwarf in question. Thorin's soft expression of wonder was gone, replaced by a scowl worthy of one of the giant statues at the gates.

"This cannot be borne!" The unknown dwarf shouted, throwing an axe down on the dais in front of Thorin with a clang. This action produced a wave of sound in the room that was frankly painful to Bilbo; everyone present seemed to be shouting at once. The hobbit cringed and shrank into himself; he must have committed some sort of terrible transgression without knowing, he supposed. When the guards had restored some form of order the dwarf continued. "I challenge Thorin, King of Erebor, on the fitness of his proposed union."

"I accept," Thorin ground out, snatching up the axe. "State your claim clearly, so that your loss will prove its falseness." Bilbo held out his hands, feeling his stomach sink into his toes. He knew that the dwarves didn't think him a good match, but this was worse than anything he had ever imagined might happen.

"Nonono," the hobbit said, waving his hands and trying to interrupt whatever was going on. "Thorin, no, stop this, I'm not worth fighting over, surely we can..." Balin sighed and shook his head, trying to pull Bilbo back with an arm around his shoulders.

"There's nothing to be done," the old dwarf whispered in his ear. "He has taken the axe."

"But... I know I'm not worthy of a king, but..." Balin's look of astonishment was shocking, but anything he would have said was interrupted by the challenger who had turned to face the crowd.

"This hobbit, this Bilbo Baggins, seeks to wed our king!" A roar went up, some dwarves cheering, others shouting. "Is this right? Is this fair? I say no!"

"Now see here, if I might just..." a horrified Bilbo said loudly, but was ignored.

"This hobbit has proven himself over and over again!" What, Bilbo thought dumbly as his jaw slammed shut. But that doesn't make any sense! "He is the one who saved the King himself from the wretched weed-eaters in the forest! He is the one who saved the king from Azog! He is the one who riddled with the dragon! He is the one who summoned the great eagles of the mountains themselves to save the kingdom!" Excuse me but I really don't understand what's going on, Bilbo tried to say, but the crowd's roar had become deafening. The stentorian voice of the dwarf on the dais rang out over the crowd, "Now that same hobbit has returned our history to us, a history lost for centuries! It is too much! This cannot be borne! I say Thorin son of Thrain may be a king but he is not worthy of such a spouse! So say I, Vuki daughter of Von!" Balin's disappointed sigh and head-shaking was a counterpoint to Thorin's furious roar. The hobbit couldn't make heads or tails of what he had just heard; it was literally the exact opposite of what he would have expected. Nori appeared as if by magic, dragging Bilbo away by force towards a passage in the back. Balin was left behind in the scrum.

"Come along, yes, that's right, no time to waste, get a good seat for you in the arena... yes, move along there," a sharp elbow swung and a wincing guard was forced aside as a sputtering and completely confused Bilbo was swept into a corridor and out of the tumult in the throne room, star-haired escort guiding him along by one arm. A hurrying figure on the other side of him was revealed to be a scowling Ori.

"What... what is going on?" Bilbo wondered aloud. "Why...? Nori? Ori? What on earth is this about?" Nori snickered but his slight-built brother the scholar just sighed and shook his head.

"Vuki has been disgusted about the two of you courting since she arrived. I'm not surprised it was her, to be honest. Thorin will almost certainly win, of course, unless she gets lucky - though I've heard that she hits like a runaway minecart with that hammer of hers, so..." Bilbo's head was spinning.

"No," he said, interrupting what he worried might turn into another discussion entirely. "Why was she saying... Ori, she was saying Thorin didn't deserve me. That's the most preposterous thing I've heard since I left my smial! He's a king, and I'm just a hobbit! I'm not even a dwarf! I..." Nori's almost silent laughter sounded right in his ear and Bilbo broke off scowling.

"No, Master Baggins... Bilbo," the young scribe said at the hobbit's exasperated glare, "that's the basis of the claim, and frankly it's an opinion that a large portion of the mountain shares. Thorin has been a good enough king, and his reputation from his early deeds still holds, but success of the venture aside he hasn't exactly covered himself in glory with this expedition. Getting captured and locked up by elves, abandoning his nephews in Laketown, the gold sickness... yes, he reclaimed the throne and conquered the gold lust in the end, but even those achievements are considered to have been possible only through your actions." The young scribe gave him an apologetic look. When Bilbo turned in disbelief to Nori, the other dwarf shrugged and nodded as if to say 'well, yes'. "He hasn't done enough to have even a tiny portion of your great deeds, and such things are important to dwarves, you see. He is seen as far below you, king or not. A trial by combat gives Mahal a chance to weigh in, as it were." They had been practically running through the halls and came out into an area Bilbo had only seen once or twice, a giant arena that was still mostly in ruins. The central well was open, though, and its sandy floor was cleared of rubble. The stone benches that had survived were filling rapidly as dwarves poured in; word had spread with its usual speed, it seemed.

"This way," Nori said, guiding the hobbit towards a small raised set of seats in a box at the very front. Pushing him into one and leaning in, he whispered pointedly "If you do wish to wed Thorin in truth, a public show of that wouldn't go amiss." By this point Bilbo was too confused to do anything other than nod. When Ori and Nori both settled behind him, he wished they had been able to sit next to him; he was feeling very alone and confused. His hands were trembling, he was disgusted to notice. When Thorin emerged a short time later clad for battle, Bilbo stood, trying to keep his nerves from showing too obviously. No sooner had the king approached him than Bilbo whispered harshly "What on earth is this foolishness? As if I wasn't desperate to marry you!" Thorin's look was both apologetic and somewhat miserable.

"I fear I have wronged you, Bilbo, and for that I apologize. I knew I was doing so," the dwarf whispered back, provoking a splutter of denial from the hobbit. "I am not worthy of you, but still I dreamed. I hope Mahal will take pity on me, for though I am not and never will be your equal, ghivashel, I do love you." This level of ridiculousness could not be tolerated, Bilbo thought. In front of the whole arena he seized the king by both ears and kissed him thoroughly, running his hands through the thick black hair and provoking hoots and shrieks of scandalized outrage from the assembled crowd. There, he thought, as he pulled back from a thoroughly dazed Thorin. Balin, who had just slid into the seat two down from Bilbo, gave a startled exclamation of shock and cleared his throat but the hobbit could have cared less in that moment.

"Perhaps that is enough of a testimonial for now as to how I feel," Bilbo said mock-sternly. "But you and I are going to discuss this, Thorin Oakenshield. As soon as you resolve this Vuki situation." Shaking himself, Thorin finally nodded. Giving his intended a half-smile that made the hobbit's stomach clench, the king placed a half-helm over his head and drew Orcrist. "I expect victory, Thorin," were Bilbo's final words. Thorin's gentle smile morphed into a fierce grin and he was off into the center of the ring where a scarred elderly dwarf was shouting in Khuzdul, apparently overseeing the challenge. Dwarves! He thought viciously. I will never understand them, it seems. He will be fine, Bilbo repeated to himself. Thorin has fought his whole life, he will be fine. Ori said he will be fine. He hated this with a passion, and hated even more that he had been the proximate cause of it.

"Well that was a public show and a half," Nori chuckled quietly from behind him. "That should light some beards on fire." Bilbo barely heard him as he was completely focused on the figures before him on the sands. A giant drum struck, again and again, until the beat suddenly stopped.

The two combatants nodded to each other and the fight began. Thorin barely had a chance to step forward before Vuki was on him. Her first hit missed as Thorin dodged, but she reversed as though the hammer she swung weighed nothing at all and her second got him squarely on the shield. Thorin staggered back and the long haft of her weapon tripped him as he moved, sending him to one knee. Bilbo felt ice pour through him. If Thorin was hurt... He didn't even finish the thought before the king rolled to the side just as the massive hammer fell. Too quickly to be seen, the sound of Orcrist's strike rang like a bell against her helm. She jumped back, but even Bilbo could see that her helm was slightly askew, and the king wasn't giving her a chance to put it back in line. Thorin rolled to his feet in one sinuous motion, stepping back from a new swing.

Now that the king was back on his feet things seemed different. He launched a blistering series of attacks and all his opponent could do was block. In the back and forth she managed to hit him once or twice in the ribs with the haft of the hammer but there was no room for the great swings she had made before. Nori's chuckle sounded in the hobbit's ear. "He's playing with her," the spymaster said. "All here can see it." It was news to Bilbo, who couldn't see anything but a vicious, seemingly pointless fight, but he had to take Nori's word for it. Shouts came from the arena as Thorin landed another solid hit against her helm, this one staggering her back. With a graceful series of cuts, he drove her back and then spun around and kicked her in the center of the breastplate, flinging her down on her back in a great crash of armor. He stepped forward but she was either unconscious or worse; there was no movement to be seen, even as the announcer made a rumbling call in Khuzdul to the shouts of the crowd. Her limp body was carried away and Bilbo wasn't sure if she was alive or not. At that precise moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

Flinging himself out of the box, he raced across the sands to Thorin, examining him for any injury. Shrugging away Bilbo's hands, the king said loudly "Mahal has spoken," while glaring around himself. "Does anyone else question the fitness of this union?" Suddenly the dwarf flinched as Bilbo's hands touched his side where the haft of the hammer had struck him; the hobbit had no idea if those ribs were bruised or broken but wanted Oin to take a look immediately if not sooner.

"They will fight us both if they do," Bilbo said furiously before he remembered where he was. By the way the crowd drew back and murmured, that was apparently one of the correct responses; it was also obvious that not only had he been heard, but that his fighting prowess had grown far beyond reality in the telling. Thorin's eyes blazed with fire when he looked down at the hobbit. Before Bilbo could react, Thorin had seized him and pressed a kiss (less passionate than the one that preceded the match, but still quite shocking by dwarven standards) onto his lips to the thunderous roaring of the crowd.

"Come," Thorin said when they broke apart, Bilbo gasping a bit for breath. "We have wasted enough time on this nonsense. I still have to present my gift to you." He smiled and took Bilbo's hand, leading him back to the throne room. It was funny, the hobbit thought as he trotted along beside his swiftly moving husband-to-be. Thorin never looked quite right in all his royal regalia. This is the dwarf he always visualized when he imagined being married - just Thorin, wearing his elegant but serviceable armor, armed to the teeth and yet smiling. A wash of deja vu swept over him and made him shiver as they returned to the throne room and Thorin settled himself again on the carved stone seat. Smiling again at the hobbit as though they were alone in the room and not the focus of every eye, the king spoke. "You honor me and Erebor with your work, and I accept it gladly. I have made you this to signify my acceptance. I hope you find it worthy in turn." At his gesture, the two court attendants Kahul and Mazik brought forward a bundle of cloth that was unwrapped to reveal an astonishing chest almost the size of the hobbit himself. Made of some black metal Bilbo didn't recognize, it was covered in small panels the size of his hand. Each panel contained a scene and there were all sorts, each cunningly inset with gold, silver and various gems. As it drew closer he stared at it, rapt, and recognized here and there a scene from the journey to Erebor. One panel had what was unmistakably the door of Bag End; another held three trolls. Fighting his tendency to consider the battle he had just witnessed, he was equally distracted by the magnificent craftsmanship of the chest before him. After a minute or two, Thorin cleared his throat softly and Bilbo flushed.

"Yes, of course I accept, this is amazing!" He gushed in mortification. Thorin's smile showed that he seemed to have been uncertain after all, and Bilbo regretted making him wait but... what an astonishing work of art! As he ran his fingers over the scenes, one of them clicked beneath his fingers, the tiny decorative panel sinking a bit into the chest before springing back into place. Thorin smiled again.

"Wait to open it," the king said in a low voice that wouldn't carry to the chattering courtiers. "If you don't mind." The hobbit nodded, thinking faintly to himself that he wouldn't mind doing anything Thorin asked in that tone of voice... anything at all. Forcibly dragging his no-doubt flushed gaze back to the chest and its scenes, his mind began racing. What on earth was inside? "A gift has been offered and accepted, and another gift has been offered in turn. I give you my consort-to-be, Bilbo Baggins, the Burglar of Erebor!" Cheering rose on all sides and Bilbo once again felt himself flushing. He bowed to the assembled dwarves, who continued cheering, though there were calls of "the luck of the Durins" and the like to be heard as well. Holding out his hand, Thorin turned to Bilbo, who took it and together they departed the dais with the two attendants bearing the chest behind them. Bilbo was determined to speak to Thorin about the battle, but it seemed they had at least one more errand to run first.

Instead of proceeding to Bilbo's rooms, however, or even Thorin's chambers, the small group simply withdrew into the small meeting room behind the throne. As the door closed, Thorin smiled and said "You may open the chest now, if you want the rest of your present."

"The rest?" Bilbo asked suspiciously. "Thorin, really, this chest is amazing, I don't know how much more..." The king cut him off.

"Very well, then I ask you - please open it," the asperity of his tone was at odds with the fondness of his face. "Hobbits! Impossible to give gifts to, I see." Bilbo opened his mouth to respond but then remembered the panel sinking at his touch. He touched the Bag End panel, which obligingly clicked inwards a tiny amount... and stayed depressed. Looking at each of the tiny panels, there were many scenes he didn't recognize - wars and working dwarves, landscapes he had never seen and cities he had never visited, a battle with orcs. Some of the panels, though, traced the journey they had made together; from Bag End to three trolls, to a mountain pass, to goblins, then eagles, then a giant bear (improbably wearing pants, the best representation of Beorn Bilbo could have imagined), each gave in turn beneath nimble hobbit fingers. Bilbo laughed at the scene of two dwarves sneaking past a drunken elf. As the scene of Erebor in the center of the lid was depressed, all of the panels clicked outwards at once and the lid sprang open. Peering into the chest, Bilbo saw a single polished iron key, resting on a velvet pillow.

"A key?" He looked at Thorin, raising an eyebrow. "You gave me a chest with no key to unlock it, and give me the key afterwards? That seems a bit..." The king was laughing silently, shoulders shaking.

"Come," he finally said once he had mastered his laughter. "Your wit is only one of the reasons I love you, azyungel, but it is a mighty reason indeed." Thorin led him through the halls to a door not far from the King's Rooms, still within the royal wing of Erebor. Dwalin accompanied them as a chaperone, though his eyes were more on the surrounding halls than the two of them. "Here," Thorin said. "For you."

"More rooms?" Bilbo smiled, though he sighed internally; how could he tell the king that he was already quite happy with his rooms? Not that he wouldn't mind living with... well. Still, until that day came, he was really quite comfortable where he was and didn't want the terrible bother of packing and... The key slid into the lock and turned noiselessly, door swinging open at the touch and leaving Bilbo mentally speechless. All thoughts of discussing the battle fled as he saw something almost beyond belief. Inside the nondescript door was... a smial. If he hadn't known he was inside (and deep inside, mind you!) a giant mountain, he would have thought he was in the Shire. Rounded wood beams traced the open rooms; wood planks of uncommon width made up the floor, polished to a smoothness equal to that of Bag End. Furniture that would have graced any home in Hobbiton was set around, down to the fresh flowers set out in a pitcher of water on the table. The windows were shining as though there were sunlight outside them, though they were cloudy and nothing could be seen through them; there was only glowing light visible through the milky panes, exactly as sunlight might look. Off to one side, a kitchen flagged with shale like his kitchen in Bag End was half-visible through an archway, the tiled counter arching around out of sight. Stepping into the entrance hall and turning around and around, Bilbo felt as though he were in a dream. He ran his fingers along the smooth wooden surface of an end table, wishing he had one of his mother's doilies to put under the ceramic bowl already on it. "Thorin..." he said softly. "How...?"

A heavy hand appeared at his back, steadying him. "Ori had your entire home preserved in sketches, it seems," Thorin's voice was warm and close. "Our workmen were able to produce something which, while not identical, I hope is up to your standards." Bilbo whirled around and stared into the king's eyes for a moment, too stunned to speak, and then grabbed him by both shoulders and kissed him. Making a sound of surprise, Thorin stood frozen for a moment before his arms wrapped around the hobbit and the kiss deepened. A horrified throat clearing announced Ori's arrival.

"Shame, that," came Dwalin's laconic rumble. "I was wonderin' if they'd strip and bed each other in t'hall. You've ruined it." Ori sputtered in horror, but Thorin just stepped back and glared at an impassive Dwalin. The king's mouth opened but Bilbo jumped in to head off the catastrophe he could see coming.

"Ori, this is amazing, thank you so much," he gushed, going out and grabbing the young scribe by the arm and pulling him bodily into the smial. "I had no idea you had taken such notice of my home, this is astonishing!" Thorin's whispered recriminations were just a buzz in the background as the two passed through the recently unlocked door, though Dwalin's filthy chuckles were quite audible nevertheless.

"Oh, well, I just, um," Ori stumbled along through an explanation of how he had taken an interest in how Bag End was built during their brief stay as Bilbo toured the suite of rooms. Upon closer examination, it was considerably smaller than Bag End (of course, the hobbit thought, there was no need for all those rooms in just a private set of rooms!) but the craftsmanship of each room was exceptional. The joinery of each fitted piece of wood was flawless, set just so with its neighbors, and the curving lines that were apparent nowhere in dwarven tastes flowed harmoniously from one room to the next, almost as though a hobbit had designed it. Truly, he thought, this was a marvel. There was a foyer, a kitchen, a study, a receiving room... the only thing that was missing was a bedroom.

"So I take it you accept the rest of your courting gift as well, then?" Thorin said, smiling and holding up his hands against Bilbo's fake glare.

"Thorin, this is the most magnificent thing I've been given in possibly my life," Bilbo said with some asperity. "If you think for one moment..." He broke off, looking at Ori and Dwalin both grinning at him, and sighed deeply. "Yes, I accept. Obviously," he muttered sotto voce.

"Based on what was goin' on when Ori showed..." Dwalin began to say when Thorin cut him off.

"And that's enough of that. Ori, thank you for your efforts on this as well." The young scribe blushed and suddenly shot bolt upright.

"Oh!" he called. "I almost forgot why I came! Balin wanted me to tell you that the marriage contracts are prepared, and that even though he would have preferred that you... well, at any rate, the ceremony of signing may be done as soon as tomorrow. Or, that is, whenever you two desire. Ahem." Suddenly the personal nature of what was being said seemed to overwhelm the young dwarf, who blushed scarlet and looked at his boots.

"Ah," Thorin said, smiling broadly. "Now that is delightful news indeed! I have one last thing to show you, azyungel," the king said, eyeing Ori and Dwalin. "Which will not require a chaperone as we will not be going far." Taking the hobbit by the hand, he led him into the foyer and then to the kitchen, out of sight of the two other dwarves. "Here," he murmured, taking Bilbo's hand and pressing it to a particular spot on the chair rail, nestled in the vertical ribbing of the oaken wainscoting. A portion of the wall swung open, revealing a darkened passage which went several feet to a closed door.

"Ah," Bilbo said, making an effort to smile. "More rooms I suppose." Thorin smiled, but this smile was a bit more wolfish somehow. Leaning in to embrace the hobbit, he whispered into one pointed ear.

"Not just any rooms, Master Baggins," the dwarf rumbled, "as forward as it may seem, this passage leads to the royal bedroom. I had these rooms made out of the old Queen's Chambers, and they connect to the King's Chambers. I just had the door built into the wall and covered." Grinning like a faunt, Bilbo turned sparkling eyes to his husband-to-be.

"Why, Thorin Oakenshield, how terribly forward indeed! I think..." he paused, smile fading as he remembered the events of the day. Taking the king's much larger hand in his own, the hobbit walked over to the breakfast table set into a nook and urged the dwarf to sit. Thorin looked confused at the change in tone in the room, but Bilbo sat down next to him still holding his hand. "I think first we need to talk."

"That's... rarely a good thing to hear," Thorin said in a quiet voice, trying to smile. "Have you had second thoughts about..." Bilbo held his hand up just as the sound of Ori shushing someone from the hall reminded them they weren't as alone as they might be. Thorin roared something truly foul sounding in Khuzdul before stomping out into the hall and slamming the door of the chambers in the face of a startled Ori and Dwalin. He came back and sat down, visibly composing himself. "Go on."

Bilbo couldn't help snickering. "Is it going to be like this every time we try to have a moment together?" he asked, and finally Thorin's grim face relaxed a bit.

"Probably."

"Well, I suppose we'll muddle through," Bilbo sighed. "No... Thorin, why did that dwarf want to fight you? I didn't even know her! And those things she said..." he lifted a hand and waved it around, unable to put words to his confusion. Thorin grunted and slumped a bit in his chair, staring down at the table.

"As I told you, azyungel..." he finally murmured, "it was all true. I was glad it was so easy to defeat her; I... I wasn't sure." Bilbo wanted to shake his head and rub his ears. Never in his entire history of knowing the dwarf in front of him had he ever imagined Thorin Oakenshield feeling uncertainty about... anything, really. To feel it and then admit it... Bilbo wondered if he was perhaps dreaming, though he wasn't certain if the dream was a good one.

"Thorin..." Bilbo drew his chair closer to the dwarf and took his hand. "Never doubt that you are my choice. I..." He was interrupted as Balin burst through the door from the hall, smiling determinedly but fooling no-one. Bloody dwarves, Bilbo thought furiously. Before Thorin could even open his mouth, Bilbo looked up and said quite fiercely "Go away, Balin. This is a private conversation, and I'll thank you to remove yourself while we have it." Balin stopped, utterly nonplussed, looking from the usually friendly hobbit standing with brows drawn down to Thorin's face which was a study in 'you will regret this if you stay'.

"I... well... yes, of... of course," the old advisor stammered, uncharacteristically taken aback. He bowed and left with a sharp backwards glance, but met only Bilbo's piercing gaze and closed the door behind himself. Thorin snorted with sudden laughter.

"I haven't seen him faced down like that in a century," he finally snickered, running a fond hand over Bilbo's curls (a move the hobbit knew to be much more risque to a dwarf than one might think). "If you weren't a god to Fili and Kili before, you will be when this day's work is known." He sighed and leaned forward, pressing his nose into Bilbo's neck. "You are the best Consort the kingdom could have."

Thorin..." the hobbit sighed, cradling the king's head and stroking his hair before remembering how forward that was to a dwarf. "We do need to talk, though. I think everyone has somehow forgotten that I'm not a dwarf." Thorin drew back sharply at this, dislodging Bilbo's hand, and stared at him. "I have spent the past year convinced that people didn't like me because I was a hobbit. I mean, clearly, I am a hobbit, but..." he stopped and exhaled sharply. "What I mean to say is, I have very much been under the impression that I wasn't considered good enough for you. Today, a dwarf fought you because I was too good for you? Thorin, I don't know what is going on. And I very much need to."

Thorin grimaced and pulled back, at first just a bit and then fully to sit back in his chair. "I thought it was clear enough," he mumbled, only to look up from beneath his lashes into the full force of a Baggins glare. He winced and slumped a bit. "The people of the mountain love to gossip, as you know." A snort of almost-laughter was his reward for this foray, but Bilbo gestured sharply for him to continue before the subject could change and Thorin sighed. "There is a general sentiment that... well... that I am not worthy of you."

"Yes, I understand that now, but... well, understand is overstating the case, but I know that now, I suppose I should say. But Thorin... why? Why do they feel that way? You're a war hero, you killed Azog, you took back the mountain, you saved your people... you've done so much, and I'm just... me." Thorin's laughter was loud, though a bit sour.

"Just you? Let us take a look at your tally of deeds, shall we? You, Bilbo Baggins, left your home and safety to come with a group of dwarves you had never met purely for the goodness of your heart. Oh, some said at first it was clearly for the money, but believe me your behavior since being in the mountain has shown even the greediest of dwarves how little regard you have for material wealth beyond comfort! You endured hardship after hardship, many of which were... if not my fault, in no way made easier by me," and here shame suffused his face. "You saved all of us in general and me in particular over and over, defending me from Azog, killing spiders, sneaking us from Thranduil's dungeons under the very noses of the guards... you bargained with a dragon, you defended my life yet again on the battlefield... and yet you call me a hero. I am nothing compared to you, azyungel. My deeds are grains of sand compared to the mountain of your own. And even that isn't enough. You sought among the elves, in places we would have no access to, and returned our history... my history... to us. We have the names of our kings and their deeds again, knowledge thought lost forever. There is nothing I could do, no gift I could give, that could... could compare..." his voice was breaking and Bilbo's arms went around him again before the hobbit had even thought about it. He pulled the dwarf close and stroked his hair again, leaving Thorin to compose himself.

"Well," the hobbit finally said in a just-so voice, "that all sounds quite unlike the way I remember it. I don't consider myself in any way like this person you've described, but as long as I still have permission to marry you, I suppose it doesn't matter. Because I very much still want to marry you, Thorin. I love you, silly old dwarf, and that's not likely to change."

"Glad I am to hear it," Thorin rumbled, pressing a kiss below the hobbit's ear. "Now I suppose we should go find Balin before he dies of apoplexy."

"I suppose," Bilbo said softly. "Do you think there's any way we could sign those contracts tonight?" Thorin's laughter preceded them into the hall.