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The ring was not pleasant to wear, not at all, but amidst the whispering ghosts and cold dread there were some aspects to its magic that were very interesting. Of course turning invisible had its uses, but once invisible, Bilbo had discovered other abilities the ring conveyed upon its wearer. Firstly it had translated the horrible hissing language of the Mirkwood spiders, and later Bilbo found wearing it meant he could understand the Black Speech of Mordor, not that he was particularly interested in anything Orcs might have to say. But it did not only translate speech, he found.
He tried it first upon the Ravens, where he discovered that the ring’s powers did not extend to translating Khuzdul. Instead, with a little concentration, it seemed to allow Bilbo to read the animals’ inner thoughts, which were startlingly disrespectful.
“The wind is good today - I’m hungry - more letters to the Blue Mountains - it’s too far - silly hairy caterpillars with their letters - a shame they can’t fly...”
It took a few days for Bilbo to realise that the hairy caterpillars were the Dwarves. There was some consideration of politics and higher matters to be sure, but mostly the Raven’s thoughts mocked the Dwarves’ earth-bound restrictions and fussiness of diet. However, their attitudes paled in comparison to that of the Battle Goats. The Goats were simpler creatures with simpler thoughts, but they viewed the Dwarves as absurdly delicate and in need of protection, and if anything, believed themselves to be the masters of their riders. Bilbo found it highly amusing.
There was not always a great deal for him to do about Erebor, and though he did his best to help out in the Library, he often felt at rather a loose end. The Company all had jobs and families to take up their time. It was only Bilbo who had no-one. King Thorin was quite recovered now and busily rebuilding a kingdom, spending long hours in court overseeing disputes and negotiations as Erebor began to return to life. It wasn’t as if he could be expected to have time for Bilbo.
All the same, there had been days not long since when they had lived in each other’s company. After the battle, as Thorin healed from his wounds, it had seemed perfectly natural for Bilbo to stay always at his side. Thorin was not a bad sort, after all, and Bilbo had felt that they were at least friends by now. He missed him. And so, just sometimes, Bilbo would reach for the little gold ring in his pocket and instead of wading through pale shadows to eavesdrop on the thoughts of beasts, he would wander instead down to the Throne Room, just to watch the great King Thorin II from a distance.
It did no harm. Indeed, sometimes the pull was great enough that it felt quite as if the ring wanted to be worn, though that was clearly nonsense.
Much of the business of Erebor’s court was conducted in Khuzdul, so Bilbo had not the least idea what was going on. Emboldened by his efforts with the ravens, Bilbo attempted to look into the thoughts of the Dwarf currently petitioning the throne in a rather droning, monotone voice.
“...approximately 10,000 tons by every year’s end, rising to as much as 20,000 tons - is that right - I'm sure it was 20 - well it's been said now - within a decade - probably less but a decade is prudent - which would represent an increase of 35 parts in a hundred with current...”
The Dwarf’s mind was filled with numbers, surpluses and allowances that Bilbo managed to divine were something to do with grain deliveries, and very tedious it seemed, too. He glanced up towards the dais where Kili looked quite as bored as Bilbo felt, and something impish in him prodded him to just steal a glance into Kili’s thoughts.
Pushing very gently he found the young prince’s mind was a dizzyingly rapid whirlpool centering entirely around a certain red-haired elf maiden. It was sweet, almost cloyingly so, although when Kili’s speculations moved on to how their heights might match up in various naked combinations Bilbo pulled his attention swiftly away and really, Thorin sitting in the throne was simply the next person present. Perhaps there wasn’t really any excuse for such things, but all the same, wouldn’t it be nice to actually know what was going on behind that terribly fierce brow?
“...would know how to make this fool shut up - he could talk his way around Smaug - and a hobbit, he must know more about grain than this old arsewipe in any case - he should be here - at my left hand beside my throne - I would make him a crown with my own hands - he looks well in blue, I have always thought it - a crown - with oak leaves perhaps - perhaps not - but there was an oak tree over his smial, was there not? - in red gold - like his hair - with sapphires - or diamonds - I would set it on his head so gently and kiss his curls - take him in my arms - my Bilbo - he is not my Bilbo - would he care about grain I wonder? - I ought to care about this more - I should be listening - this crown is heavy - I would make his lighter - think about Bilbo later - grain surpluses - would he smile? - his smile is a lovely thing - grain surpluses Thorin, concentrate - grandmother’s garden - the terrace - would he like the garden? - the rooms are beside my own - he would be only next door - I would see more of him - I will offer him the garden...”
With a gasp Bilbo pulled himself from Thorin’s thoughts, his own head spinning, and stumbled from the room. He barely noticed the swirling nightmare world about him as he fairly ran back to the library, and did not take off his ring until he was safely seated back at his desk, where he proceeded to twiddle a dry quill in his fingers and stare at a blank sheet of parchment for several hours.
He was still doing so when Thorin swept into the Library, all dark fur and glittering ornaments, his court adjourned for the day.
“Bilbo?” asked Thorin, striding directly towards him.
“Um, yes, Thorin?” said Bilbo, doing his best to look perfectly casual and innocent and not at all like someone who had been secretly eavesdropping on Thorin’s private thoughts earlier. He rested his chin casually on one hand, then decided that felt a bit peculiar, so ran it through his hair, and then settled on folding his arms, feeling more than a little ridiculous.
Thorin blinked at him. “I wished to show you something,” he said, as gruff and awkward as he had ever been. Astonishing, really, that someone so brusque in person could make such inspiring speeches to a crowd. Endearing, one might almost say.
“At your service,” said Bilbo, recovering himself, and they walked together.
Bilbo recognised their route as the way to the King’s chambers, and presumably by extension to the chambers beside it, and scowled at himself for having spoiled Thorin’s surprise. He must do his best to pretend, at least, and never, ever be so wicked as to spy on Thorin’s thoughts again, he determined. The guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders as he walked.
They reached the corridor that led to the royal quarters, and Thorin turned left, stopping at the door just before his own, which Bilbo had never seen opened before. His own rooms were lower down the mountain, near to the front gate. He had chosen them himself, for the windows and fresh air.
The fresh air in these chambers, however, put his to shame.
“Oh, good heavens!” exclaimed Bilbo, stepping into the room past Thorin without a second thought. The room faced South-West, and through a partly-glazed door Bilbo could see a sheltered terrace. He pushed the door open and felt the warm, blissful afternoon sunshine on his face. The terrace was sandy and mostly paved, but large and flat and at once his mind was crowded with ideas as to what might be persuaded to grow there.
“We have no gardeners amongst us,” said Thorin, following behind him. “I thought these rooms might suit you, while you stay here.”
“Thank you, Thorin,” said Bilbo gladly. “Yes, please!”
Thorin looked quietly pleased, and Bilbo’s fingers itched for the ring in his pocket, to know what he was truly thinking. The King cleared his throat, and pulled a key from his robe, guiding Bilbo back indoors.
“These chambers were my grandmother’s, and there is an adjoining door to my rooms behind the curtain you see here. This is the key. I will keep it locked, of course, but should you require me, I would not have you hesitate to come to me. At any time.”
“I say, Thorin,” said Bilbo, now thoroughly stumped. An adjoining door, and the key in Bilbo’s hand? It didn’t bear thinking about.
“I must go,” said Thorin, as Balin cleared his throat behind them both. “Duty calls.”
“Of course!” said Bilbo, staring at the key in his hands. “I’ll, um. I’ll see you later.”
--
It was really remarkable how many trinkets and trifles Bilbo had managed to accumulate since arriving in the mountain, so that moving his possessions took all of the remaining day. He missed Thorin at dinner, and returned to his new rooms rather disappointed. His books required re-shelving, however, and that was sufficiently distracting to keep him busy until he glanced up at those grand, wide windows and realised the stars were out and it was long past his bedtime.
Bilbo readied himself for bed, discovering to his delight that he now had his own private bathing room, with fluffy towels at the ready and hot running water. Even the acoustics of the stone were marvellous as he sang to himself in the bath.
Clean, warm, his feet scrubbed and nightshirt donned, Bilbo carried his clothes back through to the bedroom and folded them for morning. On top lay the little gold ring.
It was a bothersome thing, really. There was nothing about its magic that was quite good manners. He was absolutely resolved never to use it to spy on anyone’s thoughts ever again. Although Bilbo had been considering since the morning about what Thorin’s might really have meant, and perhaps it wouldn’t be so very terrible to check again, only to settle his mind. It couldn’t really be the case that Thorin had imagined Bilbo crowned beside him… imagined kissing him… could it?
Slipping the ring onto his finger, with exquisite care Bilbo stepped behind the brocaded curtain and silently turned his key in the lock. There was a curtain on Thorin’s side as well, so his movement was concealed, and he held his breath and listened carefully to find exactly where Thorin might be and what he was doing.
From the timbre of his thoughts it seemed the King lay in bed already, musing on the discomfort of such a multitude of fluffy pillows when he was accustomed to none, and wondering how to make it politely but properly clear to the staff that he did not want so many. Bilbo smiled to himself and stole forward across the darkened room. He stopped at the side of the bed, where the low embers of the fire bathed Thorin’s unfairly handsome features in gold.
The twin braids at his temples were still intact although the beads lay in a crystal bowl on the table beside his bed. The long fall of his hair was woven into a loose braid for bed, black and silver strands crossing the creamy silk of his sheets like beautiful ink flourishes. His eyes were closed, the lashes dark on his cheeks, and his mouth was a little softened with sleepiness, though he was not dreaming yet. It was truly unforgivable for Bilbo to be spying on him in this way, and yet the closer he drew, the louder Thorin’s thoughts became. On Bilbo’s hand, the ring was growing warm, though he barely noticed.
“...liked the garden - will he stay - I remember him in Rivendell and at Beorn’s - the sunlight in his hair and on his skin - how he smiled - I would see him happy - will a garden make him happy? - the traders of Laketown may know where to find some good plants - I must ask Balin in the morning - would he plant that acorn here? - no, that was for his home - this is not his home - I would make it his home - sit with him in that garden - touch his hair where the light turned it to gold - set a braid at his temple - kiss his smile - the soft dimple in his bare chin - his small clever hands - how might he touch me - I should not desire him - he is better than I deserve - I should have told him on our quest that I loved him - it would have been simpler then - how could he love me - after what I have done - he sleeps just through that doorway - does he sleep now? - is his bed warm, as his skin is warm? - he has a garden here now - a library - but I cannot keep him here with gifts - he will not stay...”
Against the pillows Thorin’s head turned, the smallest crease of a frown still between his eyebrows, and Bilbo longed to kiss it away. Faintly he noticed that the metal of the ring felt hotter against his skin now.
“If I’d known!” he thought to himself, “I never even suspected - how could you imagine I wouldn’t want to stay - wouldn’t want you - you great noble, handsome clothead - bugger the garden - all I’d want in it is you there beside me - I’ll plant that acorn tomorrow - well not tomorrow, it’s a bit early in the season - I’ll plant it with you - as soon as I can - and alpine strawberries - I know you like strawberries - I’ll give all of them to you - and kiss you silly if you let me - you wonderful idiot... ”
The ring was burning him, searing his skin, and the pain registered suddenly through Bilbo’s distraction. He pulled it off with a yelp, casting it with a dull clang to the stone floor behind him.
The sound roused Thorin at once. He sat up in bed, grasping Bilbo’s arm, a look of furious thunder on his face and of course, of course he would sleep topless, thought Bilbo.
“Bilbo!” he exclaimed, breathless, and didn’t that sound nice. “Are you.. is something wrong?”
Bilbo had riddled with dragons. He had sat at Thorin’s sick-bed for days on end, willing the King to live. He had stabbed Wargs in the face - accidentally, but nevertheless he had done it. He summoned every ounce of courage in him.
“Yes,” he said decisively. “I’m in the wrong bed. I want to be in here with you.”
The look on Thorin’s face was like a flower opening, thought Bilbo giddily, and too beautiful to bear looking at, so instead he closed his eyes, took Thorin’s bristled jaw in both his hands, and kissed him.
There was an alarmingly long moment before the kiss was returned but once it was, Thorin kissed him with such tenderness and fierce desire that Bilbo truly could not fathom how on earth it had taken them so long to get there. They were a pair of fools, he supposed, though it hardly mattered now, as he clambered up onto the bed into Thorin’s lap for more kisses, laughing with happiness.
Abandoned on the floor, the One Ring of Power emitted a tiny, savage shriek of frustrated rage, vibrating unheeded against the stone flags until it simply sizzled out of existence, leaving nothing but a scorch-mark and a wisp of black smoke.
Neither Thorin nor Bilbo even noticed.
--
Between kisses, and conversation, and more kisses, and admittedly a few more intimate touches here and there, not much sleep was had that night. It was a bleary-eyed and irritable Hobbit and Dwarf who were woken by thunderous pounding on the door of the King’s chambers, and they had barely time to sit up before the lock burst open in a fizz of sparks and the unexpected figure of Gandalf ducked into the room.
“Bilbo Baggins!” he roared, straightening up, the very air around him seeming to thicken and darken with power. “What have you done this time?”
“What? Well really, I should say that’s none of your business, Gandalf!” spluttered Bilbo, rather muffled as Thorin wrapped both powerful arms firmly around him and growled like a bear. The sight seemed to give the wizard pause, and he gestured with his staff to shut the door behind him in the face of a startled Dwarf guard. Turning back, Gandalf’s eye was caught by the mark upon the floor.
“What is that?” pondered Gandalf aloud, poking at it. Bilbo leaned over to look. Around a small empty circle, long sooty tendrils spread across the stone in patterns that rather hurt the eyes.
“Oh,” he said, and felt a faint pang of sadness. “My ring.”
“Your ring?” asked Gandalf, peering up at Bilbo with a gaze of alarming intensity. It seemed rather unfair to be subject to such scrutiny given Bilbo’s current state of undress, but there was no reasoning with wizards.
“Yes, a little gold ring of mine,” explained Bilbo, unpeeling himself regretfully from Thorin’s embrace in order to properly explain. He adjusted the sheets about his bare middle, his nightshirt having lost itself at some point in the night, and resisted the urge to pull them up to his neck. “I picked it up in the Misty Mountains, and it turned out to be magic. Made me invisible, and I could understand Black Speech, and... some other things. Very useful in a tight spot, it was.”
“Was it, indeed,” said Gandalf, looking as lost for words as Bilbo had ever seen him. “The Black Speech, you say? And it just disappeared? What were you doing when...”
“Gandalf,” said Thorin firmly, and the question was left to hang, for which Bilbo was most grateful. As uncomfortable as it was to have Gandalf imagining such things, it was vastly preferable to having to describe them out loud, though he squirmed rather at the thought. Thorin leaned protectively close again, his unravelled hair tickling against Bilbo’s back and provoking a shiver of pleasure Bilbo could not quite conceal.
“Well, well,” laughed Gandalf, suddenly quite his old cheerful self once more. “The only power on Middle Earth stronger than that of the Dark Lord, of course. I should have known. What good ideas I do have, even better than I know myself sometimes! I must inform the Council at once. Carry on, don’t mind me!”
The door closed behind him and Bilbo stared at Thorin in confusion. “Dark Lord?” asked Thorin cautiously.
“No idea,” said Bilbo.
Thorin frowned, then looked down to where his large hand lay still entwined with Bilbo’s. “He did say we should carry on. It is unwise to neglect the advice of wizards, I have found.”
Bilbo grinned.