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As much as the Company enjoyed calling themselves a family, they met up a lot less often than any of them would have liked.
The blame cannot really fall upon anyone’s shoulders, of course. Thorin was busy being king, and most of the other dwarves had taken up esteemed roles in their own industries within Erebor. But it was far easier to muster a group as long as they were in the same place. One particular burglar, however, wasn’t.
Bilbo Baggins returned to Bag End not long after Thorin’s coronation, with one of their best ravens for the sake of exchanging messages. The raven did his job faithfully, though not without its own grudges, so for the most part it almost felt like the hobbit had never left Erebor even when he was tucked away in the Shire. But still, some friends were worth travelling for, and over the years one or two of them at a time would drop by for tea on their way to the Blue Mountain. But it was never as a full group, at least not until the seventh year since Erebor’s reclamation.
Fili and Kili were travelling to the Blue Mountains to aid their mother with Durin’s Day celebrations, and Bifur and Ori had offered to come along, until, one by one, all of them somehow shifted their schedules such that they would be able to take a few months off to travel. So, much like old times, the company of Thorin made their way to the homely Shire, through its grassy meadows and cobbled roads, and up the Hill into Bag End.
Thorin had arranged to arrive about a week in advance, but the rest of them went together. It was early morning when they reached the entrance of Bag End, the sun had barely risen and Hobbiton was still caught in the quiet hold of morning.
“Should we come back later, lest Master Baggins is still asleep?” Bofur had asked. Dwalin, being older and much desiring a nice chair and a warm breakfast, insisted that they went in. “We’ll serve ourselves then, if he is not awake. But look, through the window! There’s a fire in the kitchen, and I smell good meat coming from within. Breakfast is served, it seems.”
So they all went in, making sure to wipe their boots on the doormat and to leave their cloaks hanging from the hook. Following the smell of food, they made their way to the kitchen, where they were surprised to see Thorin frying a good pan of bacon.
“Thorin!” Balin exclaimed. “You’re awake already! Where’s Bilbo?”
“He’s asleep,” Thorin said easily, turning around to face the dwarves. His hair, which usually fell down his shoulders in its ragged thickness, was now brushed out and bound back in a soft, flat braid, and his beard looked nicely groomed as well. Instead of the kingly clothes they were all so used to seeing him in, he was in a simple blue tunic and wore an apron that suspiciously fit his larger stature, despite being distinctly of hobbit-make. “I had a feeling you would let yourselves in, and at this hour, no less. There’s fresh-baked bread cooling in the dining room and seed cake from yesterday, if you would like to have something to eat.”
At the mention of food the dwarves cast their questions aside and gathered around the table, like they had once done so many years ago when they first entered Bag End. It was a little disorienting at first, having their mighty king serve them bacon and eggs as if he were a lowly tavern-keep. But fatigue and hunger got the better of them, and so they ate, all the while chatting in mirthful, low tones.
Eventually a pair of lighter footsteps was heard coming towards the dining room, and when they looked up they all exclaimed at the sight of Bilbo, who was rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes as he came. The first wave of shouts was from the joy of reunion, and then surprise, because they seldom saw Bilbo as underdressed as he was -- loosely wrapped in furs, with no shirt nor trousers in sight, and his hair tousled in an almost comical manner.
“Hello, everyone!” Bilbo smiled, looking a little tired but otherwise very glad to see them. “I’m sorry, sorry, I’m being a terrible host to you all, I haven’t even dressed myself yet, let alone cook you breakfast. There is some leftover seed cake from yesterday, though not much, I’m afraid. And I’m sorry for being so terribly underdressed, it’s disgraceful, really, very indecent of me, but my best clothes are on the other side of the smial and I figured there really wasn’t any point trying to sneak past you lot --”
“By Durin’s beard!” Gloin cried, leaning out of his seat to take a closer look at the hobbit. “Is that Thorin’s fur you’re wearing?”
“Oh, this?” Bilbo stretched his arm out, letting the fabric hang out for them to see. “Yes, I just had it lying around in my room. It’s a bit warmer than my own robe, and it’s getting quite cold, you see, and it’s so early in the morning…”
“I don’t think you understand, Master Burglar,” Dori said in a hushed tone, his eyes all wide and amazed. “That’s Thorin’s favourite fur. He would never let anyone else wear it. Or touch it, for that matter.”
“I slept on it once, by accident,” Kili piped up. “Rolled over onto the wrong side of the bedroll. He didn’t talk to me for two days straight. And I’m his nephew ,” he added with an air of seriousness.
“Say, how is it that Thorin left his clothes in your room in the first place?” Nori said. “Unless…”
“Are you saying that he slept in your room, Bilbo?” Bifur cried, spitting mouthfuls of bread at the unfortunate dwarf who sat opposite him.
Bilbo tilted his head, confused by their questions. “Well… I suppose, yes, of course he did. Where else would he sleep?” Then he gave a little chuckle, as if it was the most normal thing he had ever said in his life.
“Mahal!” Gloin cried, slamming his fist on the table. “Then it’s true!”
“Sorry, then what --”
“I knew it. I knew it.” Dwalin began to stroke his beard as he glowered at the rest of the room, lost in his own thoughts. “He always plans an extra month when he travels to the Blue Mountains. Never tells us why. We assumed it was to spend more time with Dís, but…”
“But what?” Bilbo squeaked, but a fervent chatter had broken out the dwarves, and his protests fell to deaf ears.
“We thought he didn’t have a -- we always thought that Thorin was the miner type, too engrossed in his work to even… think about -- and he never had plans to have children, he was all too happy to have Fili take the throne…”
“Well, now we know he’s been thinking about it plenty!” Fili exclaimed, his voice rising above the rest. “Haven’t you noticed that he always glows when he comes back from his… travels? And he’s a dwarf, for Mahal’s sake. He should have been less happy when he’s above ground.”
“Hold on one moment. What is going on, please?” Bilbo said loudly, looking very flustered and cross. At once all the dwarves stopped talking and turned to look at him, some with a newfound epiphany in their eyes, and some too embarrassed to look him in the eye. Huffing a puff, Bilbo reached for a mug of tea on the table.
“You have all been talking and talking, and I would very much appreciate it if someone would tell me what’s going on!” He continued to say. “I haven’t seen you all, together at least, in years, and it’s terribly rude to talk without letting the host in on the joke. I would have hoped I taught you better.”
“I’m sorry, lad --” Balin had begun to say, but Ori cut him off.
“Is it true, then? You’re sleeping with Thorin Oakenshield?”
At the question Bilbo almost choked on his tea, and when he recovered himself he looked positively offended. “ What are you --”
“Oh, Ori, stop it! Laddie, listen,” Balin said quickly, waving his arms in a desperate attempt to calm everyone down. “All we mean to ask is… are you in some sort of… romantic relationship with him? Thorin, I mean.” His voice grew quiet.
Bilbo shrugged then, tugging the furs closer to his chest. “Well… I… well, yes, I suppose,” he said. “Yes. Yes, I am. In a relationship. With Thorin. But why would you ask me that? Don’t you already --” And then it was as if the clouds of confusion had parted from his face, leaving only the dawn of realisation. His face lit up, and as quickly as it did it fell. “Oh my goodness. He never told you, did he?”
And as his eyes surveyed that of his guests, he caught a shrug of disaffirmance from Fili, and a fervent head shake from Oin, who had begun to catch up on what was going on, and Dwalin heaved a sigh, burying his face in his hand. The rest of them shook their heads, some mouthing “no” as they did.
The surge of indignant anger resurfaced on Bilbo’s face, and he placed his hands on his hips as he yelled in the direction of the kitchen. “Thorin! Thorin Oakenshield, you come out here right this instant!”
Almost immediately Thorin came, carrying a steaming tray of fresh apple tarts that he had been busy baking while the others were engrossed in conversation. (And Mahal knows where he learnt how to do that , being an ever-busy king with little time to himself at all.) “Yes, amrâ-- Bilbo?”
“See! See here!” Oin cried triumphantly, waving his ear trumpet. “Did you hear? He was about to call him amrâlimê, I swear he was!” The others mumbled in agreement, peering at Thorin with a newfound interest. Thorin, in turn, grew about as red as the apples he had been making tarts out of. “What is the meaning of this? Explain yourselves!”
“Darling,” Bilbo said gently, taking the tray from Thorin before he was to drop it or throw it at someone. Then when he had set down the tray he laid both hands on Thorin’s arm, giving it a little squeeze. “Did you never tell the rest of them about… us?”
At that Thorin’s face fell, and though he placed his hand over Bilbo’s he wouldn’t meet his eye, or the eyes of the seated dwarves, who had now grown quiet as they stared at their king. He dug his toe in the ground for a long while before finally, begrudgingly, mumbling a reply. “No, I haven’t.”
Another clamour began to rise amongst the dwarves, who looked at each other, and then Thorin and Bilbo, and back again.
“So you’ve been sneaking away to Bag End without a single word to the rest of us,” Dwalin said with a growl. “For all these years, we have covered for you, and still you refused to let us know what was truly happening.”
“Don’t you trust us anymore, Thorin?” Bifur said. “Why wouldn’t you tell us about this?”
“Even if you didn’t want to tell Mother and the others,” Kíli added, looking crestfallen. “We know you and we know Mister Bilbo! We’re practically friends of the family! Why keep it a secret, then?”
“And you! Bilbo!” Glóin cried, pointing a finger at him. “How come you’ve never told us this? We’ve been exchanging letters for years! I tell you about my wife and my wee lad; I’d have hoped you would have said something if anything of such good fortunes ever came your way.”
“That is enough, all of you!” Thorin roared, stamping his foot on the ground. Even in hobbit-wear he hadn’t lost the air of kingliness about him, and when he commanded silence, silence took the room. All that could be heard then was a faint whimper from Bilbo, who looked quite concerned for his floor.
“I know what you are all thinking,” he said. “You think it is a weakness for the king to love. You think that he is a weakness, to me and to the kingdom.” He drew Bilbo closer to him. “But you are all wrong! Above everything Bilbo is my heart, and I would not be who I am -- I would not be standing here today if not for him. Look inside your breast-pockets and coats! Do you not have portraits of those you love tucked within, urging you to fight on in troublesome times? Such is the memory of Bilbo to me.”
“You cannot take him away from me, not with the power of a thousand dragons! I would take him over any amount of gold in our mountain. I would take him over the King’s Jewel itself! So if any of you thought that this was some… frivolous engagement… know that it is not so. My intentions towards Bilbo are sincere, as is my love, and I have no plans of giving any of that up.”
“Oh, darling…” Bilbo said, looking a little sheepish. He clung onto Thorin as a blush rose to his own face. “I’m sure they don’t think poorly of you.”
“Bilbo’s right, lad,” Balin said with a smile. “Thorin, laddie, you’re our king, yes, but the fact of the matter that takes precedence is that you are also our friend. We want to see you find your happiness in life, and I do believe I speak for all of us when I say that we are glad that you found a companion in our burglar.” The others nodded in agreement.
“Couldn’t have had someone better.”
“It was always him, wasn’t it? I knew it.”
“Hush, brother,” Balin chided. “Thorin, I do not know if you are trying to convince us or yourself that you deserve the love that you share with Bilbo. I know that, as king, you place a lot more on your shoulders than you would care to admit. You take on all the responsibility, and you are adamant that your work should come before all else. Even yourself.” His voice was gentle as he regarded Thorin.
“Lad, let us help you. We’d all willingly take up more work so that you can spend more time in the Shire. It’d be good practise for Fíli, and I’m sure it’s nothing all of us cannot handle altogether. We did slay a dragon, after all,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Besides, you’re not getting any younger. A good trip now and then wouldn’t hurt.”
“I cannot ask this of you,” Thorin said, his eyes wide.
“Then consider it a gift, sir!” Glóin cried. “Spend more time in the Shire, if that is your wish. If that would bring joy in your heart and a renewed strength to lead our kingdom, then we would see it done.”
“And now that the secret’s out, surely Bilbo can also come to Erebor once in a while for a change, eh?” Óin added enthusiastically.
Bilbo’s eyes lit up at the mention of Erebor. “Oh, I would love to,” he beamed, looking up at Thorin. “If that’s alright with you, of course. I know you didn’t really want --”
“No,” Thorin cut him off. “You’re right. They’re all right. I should have told you sooner. I wish I had, because this was the biggest secret I have ever had to keep, and I have made you keep it too, Bilbo. I’m sorry.”
He turned to his company. “Thank you, all of you,” he said, his voice almost wavering. “This will not change anything, of course. I will rule the Lonely Mountain, as long as you will have me. But certainly, it would be nice…” His gaze drifted to Bilbo again, who smiled back and pressed a kiss against his cheek.
“Oh, look at the two of you. Such a merry picture of love,” Dori sighed.
“Indeed!”
“Who would have thought? Our very own Thorin Oakenshield --”
“Should we tell Mother or should we let her find out for herself, Kíli?”
“I say the latter; I’d love to see her face when she does.”
“But she would skin us if she realises we’ve been keeping it secret from her!”
“Now you enjoy your breakfast,” Bilbo said with a little cough. “I’ll just head over to the other side of the house and get changed. Goodness gracious, I’ve been standing here in nothing but a fur. It’s bad manners, even if it’s among friends. Excuse me.”
His outfits were stored in a room tucked away from view, and the candles from the night before had burnt out, leaving only the faint illumination of the morning. Bilbo had begun to reach for a stack of shirts from the top shelf of the wardrobe when he was caught by a figure embracing him from behind.
“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Thorin,” he chided, but not with anger as the dwarf dug his face into the furs on his shoulder, inhaling deeply as he did. “You followed me all the way here, didn’t you,” he said, tilting his neck as Thorin moved to nuzzle his collarbone.
“Yes.”
“Thorin, I need to get changed,” Bilbo sighed, but it was awfully hard to act like he was cross with him, not when he was warm and smelled like a brilliant mixture of bread and musk.
“I’m here to help,” Thorin replied, his fingers curling into the fur.
“You know, you didn’t tell me that this was your favourite fur; I had a fright when the dwarves started to question me about it. If I’d known it was so special to you…”
“I like seeing you in it.” Thorin released Bilbo from his embrace and moved to stand in front of him. Gingerly he began to peel it off from Bilbo, letting it slide down his shoulder and topple to the floor, leaving him fully undressed. His breath hitched in his throat, and they shared a long, heated gaze before Bilbo finally swatted at him. “Stop staring, Thorin. It’s indecent, you know.”
“You wore my fur.”
“You took it off,” Bilbo retorted. “Now, if you’re not here to help me reach the top shelf, then go away, thank you very much! I won’t do it now, not when we have guests here. It’s not polite.”
“And since when did you care about being polite?” Thorin said, reaching for the shirt, but holding it just out of Bilbo’s reach.
“Thorin, you are not serious… Thorin! Give me that.”
-
“Say, what’s taking them so long?” Ori said, his mouth half-full with apple tart. “Do you think they’re alright?”
“I should think so. Bilbo wouldn’t get lost in his own house, would he?”
Just then, a loud crash came from down the hall, accompanied with a faint shout. Many of the dwarves shot up in their chairs, but Dwalin merely chuckled to himself.
“Oh, they’re alright,” he said, a catlike grin peeking from under his beard. “Eat your breakfast, lads. I imagine they’ll be a while.”