Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Bilbo’s breath steamed in the air, escaping his lips in a cloud of white as he watched the morning light spill across the land. The hard balustrade of the garden’s edge pressed against his elbows, the stone cold through the layers of his clothes. The cloak around his shoulders kept the threat of winter at bay, the wolf’s pelt tickling his chin as he stared out over the kingdom.

His kingdom.

The mad flutter of his heart stirred anew, and he rested a hand over his belly, trying to still the thrashing of his nerves. Durin’s Day had dawned, and once again, his life was about to change. A year ago today, he and the Company had found the hidden door into the Lonely Mountain. He had helped Thorin reclaim his home, and by the time the sun set, he would be ruling at his side, married and crowned.

Bilbo swallowed, smiling ruefully at his own anxieties. In reality, the ceremony would make little difference. He had shared Thorin’s life and the royal bed for months. News of their betrothal met with rapturous celebration, not just from their friends but from all who made the mountain their home. Bilbo was their consort whether he wore a crown or not, and they honoured him as such, respecting his opinion and obeying his rare commands without question.

Yet despite all that, today would change his life. His and Thorin’s wedding would go down in the history books. It seemed everyone, within the Lonely Mountain and beyond, saw this moment as the start of a new era. They had received letters from places Bilbo had never heard of throughout their betrothal, offering heartfelt and enthusiastic congratulations. Every dwarf lord from west to east, north to south, had made their approval clear with extravagant gifts and powerful alliances.

For Thorin, though, what mattered most were the kind, quiet words of pride from those who had known his father and grandfather – who had seen Erebor in its heyday and witnessed its ruin. Their faith in Thorin spoke volumes, and Bilbo saw their effect first hand. He remained passionate and dedicated, but the ragged edges of desperation that had fuelled their trek across Middle Earth had worn smooth, polished away with each passing day. He flourished, as if he were a missing piece that had found its rightful place, and Bilbo was glad to see it.

In his mind at least, Thorin deserved all the good things the world could offer, and he intended to spend the rest of his life making sure he got them.

With a sigh, he pulled the cloak tight around his shoulders, closing his eyes as the weak rays of the sun touched his face. Winter’s promise lay thick on the air, gifting hints of ice to his every breath. Once, Bilbo would have grumbled about harsh frosts and the health of his garden back at Bag End, but now he relished the fresh flavour of the chill on his tongue and the fingers of the breeze ruffling his hair.

Looking up, he admired the clear blue sky, so pale it looked like it might break. A good omen: at least according to Oin. Ravens wheeled overhead, flying from their roost. Some delivered messages; others stretched their wings, enjoying their freedom before duty called.

Their shadows ghosted across the land beneath, dancing over scrubby grass, sturdy heathers and, where the terrain allowed, farmers’ fields, ploughed and planted. It was hard to picture the war-torn battleground of less than a year ago. It hovered in his memory like a far-off nightmare, half-remembered, at least when he was awake.

Even in his dreams, the memories lost their detail, fading into impressions of colour and sound, all underscored by a desperate, aching dread. No, so much had changed since the five armies amassed in front of Erebor that, more often than not, it felt like a story – one that had already become legendary.

It was not the only tale to his name – not any more. His efforts to prevent the siege was renowned. Glory soon gilded the grains of truth from the gossip mill, and Bilbo had long ago given up correcting people. To others, his capture and subsequent escape seemed heroic. Frankly, he would rather they clung to that illusion than they realised the facts: luck, more than skill, had swung the events of that night in his favour.

His lips curled in distaste as Carth’s vitriol hissed anew in the vault of his mind. He could almost feel the presence of the dwarf at his back, and Bilbo clenched his hands over the balustrade, the wind-worn granite biting into his palms. Phantom pain throbbed in his ribs, long-healed now, and a sickly sweat prickled Bilbo’s hairline.

‘Stop it,’ he whispered, talking more to himself than the ghost of a dwarf who had died months ago. ‘He’s gone. They all are. Even Frár.’ Bilbo had not seen the disgraced king’s execution on midsummer’s day. After everything, he couldn’t forget that Frár was more than just an enemy; to some, he was kin. The moment of their grief was not something he wished to witness.

Shaking his head, Bilbo scrubbed his hand over his eyes. Normally, he would already be in Thorin’s arms, soothed by the power of his embrace and the murmured words of understanding in his ear. He never dismissed Bilbo’s distress – he understood better than most how the past could cast a long shadow – but he knew how to guide Bilbo free from the mire of his own guilt, making his concerns manageable once more.

Yet Thorin was not here. He had departed their chambers before the dawn, as was tradition on a dwarven wedding day. The betrothed couple greeted the sun in solitude, taking their last, unmarried awakening to contemplate the life that lay behind them and the future ahead.

Sucking in a deep breath, Bilbo reached for his composure, wiping his damp palms on his cloak before lifting his chin. The recent past may haunt him still, but if that was the cost of standing at Thorin’s side, then so be it. He was more than willing to pay the price, not because of a crown or a throne, but because of the dwarf he loved. Never, in all his years back in the Shire, had he dreamed that this could be part of his life. He had barely pictured himself going beyond Bree, let alone halfway across Middle Earth.

He had not cared much for the treasure that awaited them at the end of their journey – gold and jewels did not tempt him, even now. He had found something far more valuable.

Love and companionship for the rest of his days.

A touch on his shoulder made him turn, blinking in surprise to see Dis standing behind him. Her smile rounded her downy cheeks as she pulled him into a hug, laughter bubbling in her throat. ‘Today’s the day!’ She stepped back, taking his hands in hers and looking him in the eye, raising one elegant brow. ‘I hope you’re not getting cold feet?’

Bilbo grinned, the last shreds of his melancholy vanishing like mist beneath the force of her friendship. Over the past few months, they had gone from tentative strangers to close confidantes. He had always imagined Dis to be a stern dwarf, hardened by the tragedy in her life. He could not have been more wrong. She was one of the most cheerful people he had ever met, and her endless happiness demanded reciprocity.

‘I’ll have you know, a hobbit’s feet never get cold,’ he replied, his voice prim for a moment before he shook his head. ‘I’m fine. Nervous, but more because I’m worried that I’ll fall flat on my face in front of everyone, or drop something important…’ A vast array of possible embarrassing mistakes welled up in his mind, and he bit his lip, pushing a curl of hair back from his brow. ‘It would help if I knew what to expect. Can’t you tell me anything?’

Balin dashed his faint hopes, his dark eyes sparkling as he sauntered out to meet them with Dori in tow. ‘You’ll find out soon enough, Master Baggins. We’d best start getting you ready.’

Bilbo sighed as Dis chuckled. They had come upon a stumbling block with the dwarvish custom of marriage. Bilbo wasn’t a dwarf by any stretch of the imagination, and outsiders were not supposed to know the specifics of the preparations. A difficult prospect, considering that he was a central figure to the whole thing.

Once he was married to Thorin, Bilbo would be considered a dwarf in all legalities and traditions, and would therefore be privy to the information he required. The problem was that, before that moment, even Thorin was reluctant to discuss what he should expect. For all he knew he was going to have to battle someone to the death for Thorin’s hand.

Knowing dwarves, it wouldn’t surprise him.

Dori bustled forward, no doubt reading Bilbo’s uncertainty as he ushered him back into the royal chambers and directed him towards the bathroom. ‘Fear not, Master Baggins. It is probably not so very different from a Shire wedding. Go and get clean. I’ve left some undergarments in there for you.’

‘Towels,’ Dis said, passing him a bundle with a sly wink that made Bilbo frown in confusion. ‘Don’t linger too long in there, though. You wouldn’t want to be late.’

With a sigh, Bilbo did as he was asked, slipping into the humid chamber as Dis, Dori and Balin bustled around, intent on their mysterious preparations. Somehow, he doubted today would be as straightforward as a Shire wedding. Back in Bag End, he would be dressing in his best clothes and finding flowers for his beloved. They’d make their promises before the whole of Hobbiton, and then celebrate well into the night. Now, he didn’t even know what he should wear! He would just have to trust in Dis and the others not to lead him astray.

Slipping off his cloak and the garments beneath, he stepped into the water, letting the heat lift away some of his concerns. He would drive himself mad if he kept fretting. Better to focus on this moment of drifting steam and peaceful solitude.

Reaching for the soaps set in the floor, he realised the bottles had been replaced. Oin’s familiar handwriting marked the labels, and as he lifted them from their niche, a slip of paper fluttered to the damp tiles. Bilbo rescued it before the ink could smudge and read over the few sparse sentences.

“From me and the Elf lass, to calm nerves and put you at your ease. Add three drops of the green and blue to the bathwater. Use the gold to wash. – Oin”

Bilbo smiled, touched by the gesture. He wondered if Thorin was bathing in a similar concoction, wherever he was.

Following the instructions, he swirled the oils through the water and inhaled, drawing the delicious scent down into his lungs: spring flowers and soothing sunshine. His head filled with a pleasant buzz, and the last few knots in his neck melted away as he lay back and let the mysterious elixirs work their magic.

Languid, he reached for the remaining bottle, tipping some into his hand. It sparkled in the lamplight, and Bilbo peered closer, realising that the aureate colour was no coincidence. The soap was thicker than usual, and when he rubbed it on his skin it left a fine gloss of sparkling dust wherever it touched.

With a laugh, Bilbo shook his head, knowing that no matter how hard he rinsed, the saffron glow would mark his flesh for days. He didn’t know if this was some dwarven tradition or a ridiculous luxury from Oin, but he soon realised he had little choice; there was no other soap he could use. Lathering it through his hair, he ducked beneath the water, opening his eyes to watch the gold swirl around him: a cloud of stars.

Reluctantly, he breached the surface, Dis’ reminder not to dally forefront in his mind. Scooping up the towel on top of the pile, he blinked as another piece of paper wafted to the floor. The neat angles of the letters belonged to Ori, this time, and Bilbo picked it up, his smile spreading as he read.

“Bilbo, it’s customary for family to attend the couple before a wedding. As you have no kin in Erebor, those of us who consider you our friend drew lots. The Lady Dis, Balin and Dori won the honour of helping you. In the eyes of dwarven custom, they are considered your kin from the moment the sun rises. The laws are old and clumsy, with plenty of loopholes if you know where to look. As only a dwarf can be kin to a dwarf, it is easy to argue that you became one of us at dawn this morning, when Dis, Balin and Dori took on their roles.

I thought you might find this useful. – Ori”

Bilbo laughed, the sound echoing like the peal of a bell as he admired Ori’s intelligence. He should have known that the young scribe wouldn’t rest until he found a way to bend the rules in Bilbo’s favour. With this in mind, he could ask the others about the wedding again, and see if Ori’s logic made them change their tune.

A flicker of guilt stirred in his belly as he considered circumventing old traditions. He didn’t mean to disrespect Thorin’s culture, but he did not think his beloved would take offense. If anything, Thorin had seemed frustrated over these past few weeks, unable to share in the significance of an event that had such deep meaning to the dwarven world.

Bilbo wanted to understand what it all meant. He wanted to comprehend as well as Thorin the symbolism of the ceremony that would join them for life, and he was unwilling to let fussy technicalities stand in his way.

Folding Ori’s note and hiding it back in the pile of towels, he dried himself off, wiping steam from a polished mirror and blinking at his reflection. He had half feared he would come out of the bath as bright and brazen as Erebor’s hoard, but the glittering specks kissed his skin like dew. He did not shine; he merely glowed, as if he had spent the first week of summer lounging in sunbeams.

Water darkened his hair, but by the time he had opened the hot air vent in the wall and stood in its breeze for a few minutes, he could see the occasional sparkle of precious metal where it caught in his short curls. Perhaps he should feel ridiculous, but instead Bilbo felt decadent as he admired his naked reflection.

Not that he could show up at the wedding dressed in nothing but a few flakes of gold. Thorin might not mind, but he suspected that it would cause a bit of a stir among their guests!

Reaching for the smalls Dori had provided, Bilbo covered his dignity before pulling a light tunic over his head and letting it fall to his hips. Plain it may be, but even here, Dori’s skill was in evidence. The cloth was neither too tight nor too loose, and it felt soft against his damp skin. There were no trousers to slip on, which left him feeling a tad embarrassed, but he doubted any of his dwarven “kin” would bat an eye.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door, blinking in surprise at the change to the room. The mattress was a dais of smooth sheets and fluffed pillows, with clothes laying neatly across it. He craned his neck, trying to sneak a better look at the garments, but Dori intercepted him before he could get closer, handing him some trousers.

‘Put those on,’ he ordered, ‘then eat. I know your manners are impeccable, but don’t fret if you spill anything. What you’re wearing is easy to replace. Those are another matter.’ He jerked his thumb towards the bed, waiting for Bilbo to finish dressing before guiding him to the fireside, where a sumptuous feast sat ready.

Normally, Bilbo would have fallen upon it, enjoying sweet fruits and glazed pastries, but despite his relaxing bath, nerves still threatened to tie his stomach in knots and rob him of his appetite. Rather than taking a plate, he reached for the teapot and poured himself a cup before filling three more.

‘For my kin,’ he explained, catching Dis’ eye and gifting her a wink of his own as she took a sip to hide her smile. ‘That’s what you are, isn’t it? For today, I mean?’

Balin raised an eyebrow. ‘Aye, lad, that’s right. Mahal willing, we’ll be so forever after, by marriage at least.’

Bilbo smiled at the thought. Most of the Company were related to Thorin, tied by distant blood. It felt good to know he would be a part of that connection, an additional thread to bind them all together. ‘Well, surely it’s only logical that, if you’re my kin, then I am a dwarf, like you?’

He took a sip of his drink, focussing on the woody flavour as silence fell. Dis had turned away, facing the fire to hide the laughter in her eyes. Bilbo would bet a fortune she knew about Ori’s note. Perhaps she had even encouraged his research.

Balin watched Bilbo, exasperated and more than a little fond. ‘Do I sense the talents of young master Ori in your thinking?’ he asked, chuckling as Dori squawked in outrage at his brother’s actions.

‘I couldn’t say,’ Bilbo replied. ‘I’m right though, aren’t I? Surely that’s an argument people can accept?’ He shrugged, setting his cup down and leaning forward. ‘Balin, I need to know what will happen today. If I don’t understand the significance of the ceremony, then it loses all meaning. It might as well be nothing to me.’

Balin rubbed a hand over his brow, glancing towards Dori. Bilbo knew he made a compelling argument, even before surrender shadowed the faces of the two older dwarves. ‘All right. If I am honest, I am surprised no one has broken their promises and told you more before this.’

Dis pulled a face, looking so much like Kili that Bilbo laughed out loud. ‘I would have explained it all to him as soon as I saw the betrothal beads,’ she replied, before shrugging in apology. ‘Only politics stopped me. I didn’t want anyone to accuse Bilbo of disrespecting our customs or give them cause to disapprove.’

‘So,’ Bilbo swallowed, his anxiety creeping up his throat in a wave of shivering cold. The moment of truth was upon him. In his ignorance, he had been able to look at his upcoming marriage with little but distant curiosity. Now, only hours away, it was suddenly, alarmingly real. ‘Tell me what happens.’

It was Dori who spoke, his voice soft and respectful. ‘There is nothing about today that passes without meaning. From your solitary contemplation to your bath this morning, the food that breaks your fast to the objects that adorn you.’

‘Marriage is special to all races, but dwarves hold it in particularly high regard,’ Balin added. ‘We believe that when Mahal makes us, he leaves a hole for us to fill with love as we see fit. Some do so with passion for their craft or fervour in their duty and are no less complete for it.’

‘While my brother is honourable and determined, he has never found anything to fill that void,’ Dis finished. ‘Not until he met you. That is why marriage is so special to us. We know it completes those who would otherwise return to Mahal’s halls without knowing what it is to be whole.’

Bilbo realised he was holding his breath, and he let it out in a steady stream. Few hobbits would take a union so seriously. Back in the Shire, it was about care and companionship, but he knew well enough that devotion rarely came into it. His own parents had been one of the few exceptions, and it was something Bilbo had always wanted for himself.

Thorin granted him that wish.

‘We’ll explain everything as we go,’ Dis promised, checking the plate she had prepared. ‘We serve your food this morning, composing dishes that we believe symbolise the important things in life together. Every marriage breakfast is different for this reason. You need only eat a small bite of each, if you’re too anxious for more.’

‘Though I suggest you manage what you can. It’s going to be a busy day,’ Dori added, offering him the meal he had prepared with a flourish. Bacon and sausage glistened on a bed of caramelised fruit. ‘Pork for strength, and apple for health. May you be blessed with both, for all your years to come.’

He knelt on one knee, the plate cupped in his hands and offered up to Bilbo. The first bite exploded with flavour on his tongue, the sweetness complimenting the herbed meat to perfection. With the initial, ceremonial taste out of the way, Dori bowed his head, placing the meal on the table for Bilbo to enjoy at his leisure before allowing Balin to take his place.

The berries in the bowl glistened like rubies and opals, treasures of the earth. A swirl of cream fanned outwards from the centre, buttery and mouth-watering. ‘May happiness and good fortune find and keep you,’ Balin said, his lined face creased with kindness. ‘And may all your labours bear the very best fruit.’

Bilbo nodded, touched by the blessing of his two close friends. Their words rang like vows, as if daring the universe to prove them wrong in their hopes.

Dis came last, a crisp pastry placed in solitary splendour in the centre of her plate. It smelled divine, rich and warm, and it took all Bilbo’s control to listen to what she said, rather than lunging for the morsel. ‘Honey for sweetness, and spice for excitement.’ She waggled her eyebrows, chuckling as Bilbo blushed. ‘Key components to any marriage.’

‘Thank you.’ Bilbo cleared his throat, trying to remove the rasp from his words. It felt like a bubble of joy had caught in his chest, teetering somewhere between laughter and tears. ‘All of you. Thank you.’ He gestured to the other plates that seemed to fill every available surface of the room. ‘Please eat, if it’s permitted.’

‘I’d like to see you try and stop me,’ Dis joked, standing up and smoothing out the deep purple skirts she wore. Her mirth eased away some of the seriousness of the moment, and the four of them fell into easy conversation, speaking of everything from the guests that currently filled the kingdom to the chaos of Bombur’s kitchen.

‘He’s as happy as can be,’ Balin explained, catching Bilbo’s faint expression of concern. ‘It’s an honour for him to create the meal for such an event!’

‘I think we’re the ones who should be honoured,’ Dis answered, speaking with her mouth full. ‘He is a master chef. There’s not been a single dish I’ve had since I got here that didn’t satisfy.’ She licked her fingers, the beads in her beard chiming as she glanced towards the clock on the mantel.

‘We have plenty of time, don’t we?’ Bilbo asked. ‘The ceremony is not until midday.’

‘True,’ Dori answered, ‘but we cannot rush getting you ready. It’s –’ He gestured with his fingers, his eyes narrowed as he tried to explain. ‘It’s a chance to acknowledge that things will never quite be the same for you.’ He drew a breath, full of confidence as he clapped his hands together. ‘They will be better.’

‘The best years of your life,’ Dis added, rising to her feet and turning her back as she busied herself with a bottle from the ice bucket. Bilbo had not missed the touch of wistfulness to her words, and he ached for her. All of this must remind her of the husband she had loved and lost, and though the grief may have softened with time, he knew it could not have faded entirely. It made him appreciate her presence with him today all the more, and he ducked his head in thanks as she turned, sharing out glasses of silver, sparkling wine.

‘The last blessing,’ Dori explained, checking to make sure everyone had finished eating before he, Balin and Dis raised their drinks in unison. ‘May the words flow, sweet and honest, from your lips; may arguments be brief, and may you live merry and well.’

They all drank deeply, relishing the verdant taste. Bubbles danced on Bilbo’s tongue, tickling his mouth as a pleasant buzz began to swim in his veins. The conversation flowed with ease, full of mirth and happiness as it slid from the duties of their friends to the gossip of the guests.

‘Sani arrived this morning,’ Dis said, watching Bilbo over the lip of her second glass of wine. ‘I know you invited her, but I wasn’t sure if it was more out of politeness than a real wish to have her at your wedding.’

Bilbo shook his head, forcing back the memory of Frár that his daughter’s name brought with it. ‘I’m glad she came. I was worried she would be too busy with Rholnost to attend.’

‘She’s doing a fine job. There’s few who could make such progress with an impoverished kingdom as she has done.’ Balin twirled the stem of his glass between his fingers, watching the liquid dance within. ‘She’s a good lass, calm and strong, with plenty of gratitude to you and Thorin. She knows that, if not for you, she would have no home to call her own. The crimes of her father were hard on her, but she’s pulled through.’

‘Better than Thorin or I hoped.’ It was impossible not to take an interest in Sani and her kingdom, and day-by-day, the bitter associations of Frár began to fade. ‘Please make sure she feels welcome here.’

‘That’s already taken care of,’ Dori promised. ‘The people of Erebor won’t hold a grudge.’ He ignored Bilbo’s snort of disbelief at that statement. ‘Frár’s execution was recompense enough for his crimes. Sani will not suffer from her father’s memory.’ He glanced at the clock, raising his eyebrows at the passage of time before struggling to his feet. ‘And now, Master Baggins, we need to get you ready.’

The glass chimed as he set it down on the table, smoothing his palms over his knees before looking towards the bed, where the clothes Dori had for him lay waiting. ‘I’m afraid I’m not going to be much use to you,’ he explained. ‘Hobbits are a simpler folk when it comes to weddings.’

Dis reached out to pat the back of his hand, her gaze sympathetic. ‘Are you sorry that you won’t be having the kind of wedding you know?’

Bilbo gave it some thought. ‘Not really,’ he admitted at last. ‘Besides, I understand why we must do it the dwarven way. We can’t give anyone an excuse to say our marriage isn’t valid.’ He sighed. ‘It’s just – as beautiful as I’m sure it will be, what happens today isn’t just for me and Thorin. It’s for all of Erebor. It seems a bit less personal, somehow.’

‘You might be surprised,’ Balin murmured, getting to his feet. ‘The day is still for the two of you more than anyone else. Are you ready to prepare?’

Drawing a deep breath, Bilbo rose, spreading his hands in invitation. ‘Where do you need me?’

Dori beckoned him towards the bed, letting him see the clothes for the first time. He wasn’t sure what he expected – robes and regalia, perhaps – but his outfit was surprisingly plain. The creamy, lustrous fabric caught the light, and when Dori picked up the shirt, Bilbo saw a thousand cobweb-fine threads of gold glisten like a sunburst through the weave.

‘Oh!’ he breathed, reaching out to brush his fingers across the cloth, almost afraid it would catch on his hands. Dozens of tiny buttons ran up the front, and Dori undid them with swift grace, holding it up for Bilbo to slip on over his thin tunic. It fit like a dream, perfectly sized to his shoulders and tailored to his waist.

Lifting his chin, he let Dori fasten the garment, turning his arm this way and that to admire the dance of the light as he moved. It took him a moment to realise that there were no cuffs. The sleeves ended in a hem halfway down his forearms. The soft cloth tickled his skin, and he rubbed a finger along its edge.

‘Here.’ Dis’ capable fingers folded back the sleeve three times, until it rested just above Bilbo’s elbow. She held it in place as Balin approached, something sparkling in his hands.

‘I hope I adjusted these right,’ he said as he placed it over the fold and clipped the band shut. The metal was light and delicate, fitting snug over Bilbo’s arm as emeralds shone luminous green in their mounts. The gold twisted in runic symbols, and a triangle of gilding pointed down to rest in the hollow of his elbow.

‘It is where the skill of the hands meets the passion of the heart,’ Dis explained, brushing over the veins that lay close to the surface of his skin. ‘Is it comfortable? Can you bend your arm?’

Bilbo did so, surprised to find that the jewellery did not poke or pinch. It flexed with him, and did not slide down as he half feared. ‘It’s lovely,’ he murmured, running his fingers over the design before Balin placed a matching piece on his other side. ‘The forearms are left bare?’

‘You’ll see why in a minute,’ Dis promised, checking the sleeves were level before clasping his hands tight. ‘Thorin doesn’t stand a chance. You take his breath away already. When he sees you today –’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t wait to see his face!’

Butterflies danced in Bilbo’s stomach, joining the bubbly wine in a chaotic dance. He wondered where Thorin was right now. Was he putting on clothes similar to Bilbo’s, half-sick with excitement, or had some last minute duty to the kingdom cropped up and dragged him away?

‘Change into these.’ Dori held out a pair of trousers that matched his tunic, and Bilbo smiled to see that he had hemmed them to the perfect length for a hobbit. It was a small concession to his tastes, but one for which he was grateful. It would not be right any other way.

‘Thank you,’ he said, meaning it with all his heart. It took only a moment to remove his plain trousers and slip the new pair up over his hips. Like the shirt, they were a perfect fit, tailored just so thanks to Dori’s sharp eye. The fabric whispered against his skin, smooth and seductive. It wasn’t going to be very warm, but Bilbo suspected that was for the best. He could only imagine how hot a crowded throne room might be.

Dori stepped back to examine his work, brushing his fingers over the shoulder seams before nodding in satisfaction. Looking down at himself, Bilbo watched the subtle glimmer of the metallic thread. It added sparks of heat to the buttery cream of the cloth, gifting wealth to the uncomplicated cut of his clothes.

‘It’s wonderful,’ he said, admiring himself in the looking glass set into the far wall. ‘I don’t think any tailor in all of Middle Earth could have made anything near as good.’

Dori beamed with pride, his round face flushing in pleasure. ‘Thank you, Master Baggins.’

‘We’re not finished yet,’ Dis said, stepping forward with an earthenware bowl. Inside was what looked like liquid metal, and Bilbo tilted his head in question. ‘Sit down,’ she urged, gesturing to a chair. ‘I need you to be still for this part, and it’ll make it easier for Balin to put in your braids.’

‘One of the few times anyone but Thorin will attend your hair for you,’ Balin said, placing a bundle of velvet on the table. Unfurling it, he revealed the glittering array of Bilbo’s beads, from the plain wood of the one that marked him as part of the Company to the exquisite delicacy of his courtship and betrothal beads.

Yet it was the new addition that caught his eye. No bigger than any of the rest, the diamond shone like starlight, so bright it would be noticed across a crowded room. He had only seen one set of stones that dazzled so, and he had returned them to Thranduil soon after the battle in a show of good faith.

‘A Jewel of Lasgalen?’ He shook his head in disbelief as Balin nodded, picking up a comb and smoothing it through Bilbo’s curls as he explained.

‘King Thranduil presented us with two matching gems when he arrived. He recalled a complaint from Thorin’s mother, long ago, that so many of the wedding beads had been lost over the ages, and those that did survive were in a sorry state.’

‘Were they?’ Bilbo watched Dis as she carried over a small table and covered its surface with a towel before guiding Bilbo to place his hands upon it.

‘Aye. I knew it myself, and had ordered repair work to be done, but the settings we found were so old they were little more than dust.’ Balin sighed. ‘Thranduil spared us combing through the treasury in a panic. Besides, I would not dare refuse such a gesture. Not for all the coin in Erebor.’

Bilbo nodded. He knew how much the Jewels of Lasgalen meant to the elves, and how the conflict over them had boiled for too many decades. By volunteering such treasures, Thranduil had shown his support not only of their marriage but also of their rule. He strengthened the ties between Erebor and Greenwood in a way that, a year ago, Bilbo would have believed impossible.

‘Dori, would you mind going to him and thanking him from me personally? I’m sure Balin’s already expressed gratitude, but –’ He shrugged. ‘It deserves more than that.’

‘Of course.’ Dori bowed low before hurrying out, intent on his task. Bilbo caught a glimpse of the guards out in the corridor before the door swung shut, leaving him in Dis and Balin’s gentle care.

‘He’ll get Thorin’s thanks as well.’ Dis reached into her pocket and pulled out a delicate paintbrush, dipping it in the bowl of flowing metal before gripping Bilbo’s right hand and trailing it over his skin. It was not hot, as Bilbo feared, and he watched, fascinated, as golden designs unfurled across his flesh. ‘To give such a gift – it speaks volumes of Thranduil’s hopes for the future. I doubt he would have offered such a prize if Thorin were wedding anyone else.’

She paused, smiling at Bilbo before bending over her work anew. ‘Thranduil thinks very highly of you.’

‘And with good reason.’ Balin divided off a piece of Bilbo’s hair, beginning to braid with fingers that remained dextrous, despite his age. ‘There’s little that has happened between Erebor and Greenwood for which Bilbo cannot take credit. He views the elves with an open mind, where all dwarves would turn their backs. Thranduil knows the value of that.’

Bilbo smiled, grateful that people had started to call Thranduil’s realm by its proper name. It had been one of his rare commands to the kingdom. After all, “Mirkwood” no longer applied to the lush forest that had taken the place of the dark and twisted trees.

‘Politics comes first, I’m sure,’ he agreed. ‘but I think elves just like having someone to talk to – someone new and different, who they’ve not shared the centuries with. They seem a bit lonely.’

Dis nodded, her tongue skating over her lip as she concentrated, painting rings around Bilbo’s fingers and joining them with delicate dots to a latticework that trailed over the back of his hand. ‘I think you could be right. I always believed them to be distant, careless creatures, but when Tauriel is with Kili…’ She smiled, peaceful and serene. ‘I see how deeply they love, and understand them a little better. Closer relations between Greenwood and Erebor will be good for everyone, and it’s no hard trial to wear so fine a trinket in your hair.’

‘A constant reminder that there is more to this realm than just our mountain.’ Balin picked up a loop to help him slide the beads onto Bilbo’s newest braid. ‘Something Thror was quick to forget.’

‘And something Thorin shall always remember.’ Bilbo’s heart, already too full for his chest, swelled further. He had every confidence in the dwarf who was soon to be his husband. Such trust had not been easily won, but now it formed an unbreakable bridge and they were all the stronger for it. ‘He will be a good king.’

‘He’ll be all the better for having you at his side,’ Dis replied, meeting Bilbo’s gaze. ‘The two of you together? I don’t think there’s been a power like that on a dwarven throne in centuries.’

From anyone else, such praise would seem lavish. As it was, Bilbo couldn’t hide the flush that warmed his skin, but he had grown to know Dis well these past months. She did not say such things without meaning them, and it was an honour that Thorin’s sister, the last of his closest kin, thought so highly of him.

‘I’m not on the throne yet,’ he pointed out, his protest weak even to his own ears. They all knew that, though he and Thorin had not been crowned, they still ruled the kingdom. ‘And if I mess up the ceremony, I never will be. You said you’d explain what I have to do?’

Balin paused in his braiding, dropping a hand to squeeze Bilbo’s shoulder. ‘Aye, so we did. Gandalf is the one who will wed and crown you both. Normally, it would be the king who did such things, and princes would be married long before they assumed rule. However, this time, we must look to the wizard. He returned from his travels this morning.’

‘You need do very little but listen,’ Dis added. ‘The marriage comes first. You and Thorin must not touch until the right moment.’

Bilbo bit his lip. ‘How will I know when that is?’

‘Gandalf will ask if you take Thorin as yours. At that point, you reply, and the two of you join hands.’ Balin breathed deep, his chest swelling in the corner of Bilbo’s eye before he let out a happy sigh. ‘That is when your union will be complete.’

Looking down at his fingers, Bilbo realised that Dis had carried the design up his forearm. The glimmering trails stopped when she reached the band that marked the border between his skin and his sleeve. The pattern was intricate, but Bilbo noticed how, here and there, some lines came to an abrupt end: incomplete. He opened his mouth to ask her more, but Balin continued before he got the chance.

‘The crowning is a simple matter of Gandalf making it so. You need only kneel to accept it.’

It sounded so small a thing: an almost inconsequential moment that would transform him. Never again would he be merely Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.

He would be a king.

Closing his eyes, he swallowed, allowing the enormity of it to wash over him. It seemed unreal, as if all this was happening to someone else. He felt if he looked at his feelings too hard – his excitement, hope and love – they would overcome him, leaving him lost.

Dis moved onto his other hand, giving his palm a quick squeeze. ‘All will be well,’ she whispered, smiling as she went back to her work. He found himself focussing on the glide of her brush, drinking in the sensation of the cool ink and the way Balin’s fingers danced through his hair, sliding the last of the beads into place before drifting away.

‘There,’ Balin murmured, nodding in satisfaction. ‘It’s done.’ He held up a mirror so Bilbo could see. He had never worn this braid before, and it wove through his curls, thick and bold. The courting bead was near the top – Thorin’s handiwork showed off to its best advantage. His betrothal bead, which had been a solid weight at the ends of his hair, now rested halfway along, while the gift from Thranduil shone at the braid’s tip, capturing the woven tresses in its embrace. ‘Every time you and Thorin remake this braid, you are promising your love all over again,’ he explained. ‘Or so we dwarves believe.’

‘I like it.’ Bilbo resisted the temptation to run his fingers over the twisted pattern. With the weight of the beads, it reached to his jaw. On the other side of his head, the Company braid lay behind his ear, revealing the cuff that still adorned his flesh. The wooden bead dangled below, a shadowy reminder that Bilbo was no stranger to Erebor’s troubles. ‘A wedding is more than just one day.’

‘Indeed it is.’ Balin set the mirror down, looking over Dis’ efforts with blatant approval. ‘That’s fine work,’ he said when she sat back on her heels, setting aside her brush and checking the symmetry. ‘You’ve a steady hand.’

‘I’ve been practising,’ Dis confessed with a smile, examining Bilbo’s arms. The patterns mirrored each other, and she pursed her lips, thickening one or two lines before nodding. ‘That’ll do nicely.’

A knock on the door made them turn, and Dori eased his way back in. ‘Are we ready?’

‘A few more minutes,’ Dis answered, blowing gently over Bilbo’s hands. ‘I just want to make sure this is dry.’

‘It can’t be time for the ceremony already?’ Bilbo asked, anxiety tightening his throat. It seemed only moments ago that the whole morning lay ahead of him.

‘It is indeed, or will be, once we get to the throne room.’

Dis tutted, shaking her head. ‘It can’t start without you, Bilbo. Nor does it have to until you’re ready. Do you have any other questions? Is there anything else you’d like to know?’

Emotion washed through Bilbo’s mind, crashing against him like breakers on a sea wall. A maelstrom of doubts swirled in his chest, bringing with it a thousand worries. Was he doing the right thing? Was marrying Thorin the best way forward, or would the kingdom suffer from such an unusual union? Would he do more harm than good at Thorin’s side? Would they find happiness, or would the world seek to tear them apart?

Yet Dis could give him no answers. No one knew what the future might bring. No one could offer him any guarantees, and when it came down to it, he would rather take the chance – would rather set out on his next big adventure with Thorin at his side – than go back to the way his life had been.

Steadily, the tempest of his fears faded, their dark veils slipping away to reveal the clear skies of certainty. In the end, all that mattered was that he and Thorin made each other happier than they had ever been alone. The hand fate had yet to deal them remained to be seen, but they were better off facing it together.

‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,’ he said, letting out a shuddering breath before managing a smile.

‘It’s normal to be nervous,’ Dis promised, getting to her feet and dusting off her gown before checking her reflection in the mirror. Like Dori and Balin, her hair and beard were beautifully groomed. Tiny gems sparkled in the depths of her curled tresses, and delicate colour rouged her lips and lined her eyes. ‘I don’t envy Fili and Kili the job of managing Thorin. He’s like a beast with a sore head when he’s worried.’

‘That’s why Dwalin’s helping them. If nothing else he can bear the brunt of Thorin’s temper while Fili and Kili get him ready.’ Balin smiled, gesturing for Bilbo to rise with the sweep of his arm. ‘Shall we proceed?’

Bilbo nodded, resisting the urge to wipe his sweaty hands on his trousers. The last thing he wanted to do was smear Dis’ handiwork or ruin Dori’s tailoring.

‘Here.’ Dis offered him a square of soft, absorbent fabric. ‘Don’t worry, the ink’s dry and won’t be going anywhere in a hurry. It’ll wash off in a month or two.’ She patted his palms to prove her point. True to her word, the lines stayed fixed in place, clear and crisp. ‘Are you ready?’

Bilbo swallowed, too nervous to speak as he nodded his head.

‘Then let’s go.’

Dori opened the door to the royal rooms, revealing the long stretch of the hallway and the guards who flanked the walls. The lamplight shone off their armour, but it was not the functional, battered plate that Bilbo so often saw cladding the soldiers. Intricate etching coiled down the shoulders and along the arms, inlaid with gold. Not a dent marred a single piece, and Bilbo drew a breath as he noticed the motif of the decoration.

Acorns and oak leaves.

Ronin stepped forward from his place, his salute precision perfect. Yet even he could not stifle his grin, his delight for the occasion letting itself show. His eyes sparkled as he gave the order for his men to fall in, forming two lines on either side of Bilbo and his entourage. The pair in the lead raised their horns, the notes ringing through the mountain as they began their steady procession.

The ceremonial pace was achingly slow, prolonging the agony of anticipation. Any doors that blocked their way parted as they approached, held open by dwarves dressed in their finest clothes. Each one bowed low as Bilbo passed, and those who knew him better offered a smile that he returned in kind.

It felt like walking through a dream. The rugs were soft under his feet before the cool kiss of stone touched his soles, and the smoke of burning herbs fragranced the air. Garlands of leaves festooned the pillars and stairs, plucked from the ground of the nearby forests and dried into a riot of ruby red and brilliant amber. The heady perfume of the woods clung to them, and Bilbo breathed it in, knowing it would forever be tied to his memories of this day.

Over the sound of marching feet, he could hear the steady hum of voices. They droned like bees, buzzing with excitement at the prospect of the ceremony ahead. Distant music played, keeping their guests entertained with the distinctive, rhythmic melodies of the dwarves, and Bilbo found his heart jumping in time with the triumphant beat, joining in its march.

Dori beckoned them away from the main entrance to the throne room and slipping down a corridor. ‘You’ll enter from one side and Thorin from the other. Before Thror’s day, the rulers of Erebor used these passages to get into position without walking through the crowds of their petitioners.’

‘Thror redesigned it, elevating his seat of power onto the walkways with which you’re familiar,’ Balin explained. ‘Though there, too, there’s been some changes.’ He smiled as Bilbo looked over his shoulder, raising a questioning eyebrow. He had not been in either the throne room or the treasury for months. They had used the council chamber for all the necessities of the kingdom, and Bilbo had been too busy to help Ori and the others deal with the hoard.

‘Not much farther,’ Dis said with a smile, gesturing to a doorway of polished bronze up ahead. ‘Are you all right? Do you need anything?’

Mute, Bilbo shook his head, not trusting himself to speak. His stomach was a mass of thrashing butterflies, dancing in clouds beneath his bellybutton and up into his chest. Every breath felt like more than his lungs could possibly contain as his heart raced, his pulse skittering in his throat.

‘Then let’s begin,’ Balin murmured, giving Bilbo’s shoulder a quick squeeze as the guards parted, lining the hallway and flanking the door. Dori and Balin processed between them, reaching out to open the beaten metal panels as Dis placed herself in front of Bilbo, leading the way with measured strides.

Bilbo followed her, clenching his hands at his sides as he tried to keep his breathing steady. Step-by-step, the noise from the room beyond grew louder, the hum of voices gaining definition. Bilbo could not hear their words, but the air of eager celebration was palpable. The atmosphere seemed to vibrate with anticipation, a contagious shiver of exhilaration that took up residence in Bilbo’s flesh and hurried through his veins.

The blast of horns cut through it like a knife, their exuberant call bringing silence in their wake. Brassy notes echoed as Dori and Balin parted the doors, standing back so that Dis could lead Bilbo out onto the dais.

A rush of whispers rose from the crowd. It seemed to go on forever, and Bilbo glanced towards the audience out of the corner of his eye, almost stumbling when he saw how many people filled the room.

The old, dark walkways were gone, replaced by a sweeping semi-circle of white marble that arced out from the throne. At least, he assumed it was all white. He could only see a narrow strip of it. Beyond that was a sea of eager faces. They packed in everywhere, strong bannisters at the edges of the platform preventing any nasty falls. Even more figures filled the galleries above, craning their necks for just one glimpse, and Bilbo looked away, overwhelmed.

He hadn’t seen so many in one place outside of a battlefield. Now they were all here to witness this: his marriage to Thorin and the crowning of their king.

Pursing his lips, Bilbo drew in a deep breath, forcing himself to stare at Dis’ back. Her dress whispered around her feet, the luxurious cloth sweeping across the polished marble as they approached the centre of the platform, where Gandalf stood waiting.

Bilbo almost didn’t recognise him without his battered hat, and giddily he wondered who had peeled off the wizard’s tattered old robes and replaced them with fabric of dark slate and subtle silver. Even his hair had been combed and tied back, making him look more austere and powerful than Bilbo had ever seen. Only the warmth in those blue eyes hadn’t changed, and Bilbo smiled as Gandalf ducked his head in greeting.

Dis came to a halt, facing whoever stood opposite her. Thanks to her height, she blocked most of Bilbo’s view, and he didn’t know who it was until she bowed, revealing Dwalin in full armour. He caught Bilbo’s eye and winked before mimicking Dis, bending at the waist to reveal who waited behind him.

Thorin.

Bilbo’s heart slammed beneath his ribs as he drank in the sight of him. In many ways, they matched, but now Bilbo could see that Dori and Dis had made him the sun to Thorin’s moon. Whereas his clothes danced with subtle golden thread, Thorin’s flashed striking silver. Pale lines glinted in the designs that charted their path across his bare forearms, and his dark hair fell loose except for two braids: one for the Company, and the other dotted with the three beads that marked his and Bilbo’s marriage.

Thorin’s determination and pride made it hard for most people to call him beautiful, but in that moment, it was all Bilbo could think. He looked like something spun from the power of the Valar, otherworldly and untouchable.

He was not the only one staring. Thorin looked as if someone had stolen the last of his air – motionless and bewitched as their gazes locked. It was as if they were alone, rather than standing before a crowd of thousands, relishing the sight of each other. Anyone would think it had been months since they had been in each other’s company, instead of mere hours. Yet, to Bilbo at least, he could be seeing Thorin for the first time: not just his lover and friend, but the dwarf who would soon be his husband.

He was so intent on Thorin that he barely noticed Dis and Dwalin step aside, leaving them separated by a narrow stretch of stone.

They moved at the same time, closing the intervening distance in two equal strides. Bilbo’s nerves were gone, replaced by a dizzy euphoria. Nothing he could do would dim his smile, and he only just remembered not to reach out and take Thorin’s hands. His fingers twitched at his side, and he clenched them into quick fists, grinning as he saw Thorin do the same.

He looked as eager as Bilbo felt, shining with his own excitement. It smoothed the years from his face. That, along with the clean lines of his clothing, made him look like the prince he must have once been, as yet unburdened by the trials of rule and tragedy. Instead, in this moment, there was only hope, and it lit both of them with its beacon.

Silence filled the room. Everyone appeared transfixed, caught up in the same spell and breathless with anticipation. Yet Bilbo could not bring himself to look out at the crowd. There was just him and Thorin: the only ones who mattered.

‘And so it begins,’ Gandalf said, his old voice carrying a timbre that Bilbo didn’t know he possessed. His words drifted through the air, soft but audible to all those who listened.

‘There are many great stories that adorn the lives of those who dwell in Middle Earth: tales of courage and strength, forgiveness and fealty. Yet few of us have the good fortune to witness one unfold before our very eyes. After a journey of many miles, Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins stand together, hobbit and dwarf, to join their lives as one.’

Bilbo swallowed, letting Gandalf’s words wash over him. It was no quiet promise, nor some great, Khuzdul oath. Instead, a wizard he considered an old friend spoke of hope for the future and joy for their present.

‘It is love that fills our lives with wealth, and gives us strength when we would falter. Devotion enriches us, and companionship shields us from the chill of a world that is often shadowed and cold.’ Gandalf stepped forward, resting one hand on Thorin’s shoulder and the other on Bilbo’s, urging them both to look at him with the gentlest touch.

‘This is what Bilbo Baggins offers to you, Thorin. Do you accept?’

Thorin nodded his head, clearing his throat before holding out his hands, palm up, in the space between them. ‘I do.’

‘And you, Bilbo? Do you accept Thorin Oakenshield in this promise?’

Bilbo’s heart felt like it might overwhelm him, and the pinch of tears stung his eyes as he lifted his chin, his voice clear and sure. ‘I do.’

He placed his palms atop Thorin’s, relishing the touch of his warm skin and the calluses that he knew so well. Gripping one another’s palms, Bilbo smiled, swallowing a bubble of happiness as he noticed the same glimmer of joyful tears in Thorin’s eyes.

Gandalf’s big hands cupped theirs, his voice dignified with the wisdom of the ages as he bestowed his blessing.

‘So be it.’

Sparks blazed as Gandalf stepped away, and Bilbo twitched in surprise. The ink on his arms, so painstakingly charted by Dis’ careful brush, glowed with life, the rich gold shimmering as it began change. There was no heat to burn his skin, only a rapid unfurling of light. It carried on going, right up to where the paint ended and the gleaming cuffs held back his sleeves.

When it faded, Bilbo could not help the breadth of his grin. He didn’t know if it was Gandalf’s magic or some ingenuity of the dwarves, and nor did he care. All that mattered was that some of the lines on his skin had become silver, their mellow aureate turning to moonlight. The same change had happened to Thorin, gifting him with Bilbo’s colours and making each of them a blend of the other, the patterns twisting in perfect harmony.

Best of all, when Thorin shifted his hand, weaving their fingers together, he saw that the delicate trails matched up, forming a continuous design with both of them as its canvas.

‘Your union is complete,’ Gandalf said, breaking into a smile as the throne room erupted into cheers and applause. Horns blew out joyful notes as dwarves stamped their feet, adding to the thunderous celebration.

Thorin tugged Bilbo close, pressing their brows together and holding his hands tight. ‘Husband,’ he murmured, as if he could barely believe it. Now, Bilbo could feel the gentle tremors running through Thorin’s frame. Not that he was much better. His body did not know what to do with all these feelings: full to overflowing. He felt like laughing and crying all at once, so instead he pushed himself up on tiptoes, untangling one hand to tug Thorin down for a warm, happy kiss.

‘I love you,’ he whispered when they broke apart, meaning it with all of his heart.

Thorin grinned, wrapping his arms around Bilbo’s waist and lifting him off his feet for another kiss, which had their friends whooping and whistling. ‘I love you too,’ he promised. ‘Now, and for all the rest of my days.’

At last, Gandalf raised his hands, silencing the crowd without a word. His lined face grew solemn as he gestured off to the side, beckoning Fili and Kili forward from where they stood.

A dark blue cushion sat in Fili’s grip, its fabric sumptuous beneath the lamplight. However, it was the object that rested on its surface that drew every eye in the room, reminding them that more than one promise was being made that day.

A solitary crown shone, its metal tempered to display a myriad of warm hues, from darkest bronze to fiery copper. Yet it was not the one that Thorin had placed upon his brow in his madness, only to cast off later. This was not a piece of Erebor’s history, pulled from the hoard to lend its pedigree to the new king. It was too bright and crisp to be anything but newly forged.

The traditional, angular design of the dwarves gave way to something softer, sharp corners rounded for a less brutal appearance. Shallow points of different metals lay over one another like intricate plate-work, all embellished with the same fine traceries of oak leaves and acorns that adorned the soldier’s armour.

Smiling, Kili stepped forward, cupping the higher portion of the crown. With a faint click, it came free, revealing the exquisite trickery and craftsmanship. A whispered gasp went up from the crowd as Kili placed the second piece next to the first, and Bilbo reached out, clutching Thorin’s left hand in his right. He had never spoken of a crown for himself – had assumed that Thorin would wear it for them both – but it seemed the people of Erebor had other ideas.

The two circlets caught the light, shimmering in a cascade of colour. When placed together, they locked into a ceremonial crown that would grace any treasury with ease. Yet separated, they did not diminish. Rather, they became something greater than the sum of their parts, combining dwarvish design and Shire simplicity.

Squeezing Thorin’s hand, he sucked in a deep breath, following his husband’s lead as they both knelt before Gandalf. The stone was hard against his knees, unforgiving. Perhaps he was fanciful, but it felt like the mountain was making its presence known, the land itself reminding them of its place in their lives.

He didn’t release Thorin from his grasp, nor did Thorin try and break free. They clung to each other, connected by so much more than just skin as Gandalf lifted the bigger crown from its cushion. He held it aloft, letting the light caress the metal as more than a thousand dwarves bore witness.

A soft song ghosted from Gandalf’s lips, his voice carrying an evocative tune Bilbo had never heard before. He spoke in a language unfamiliar to his ear, neither Khuzdul, nor Westeron, nor any of the tongues of the elves. Yet despite that, its sentiment rang clear: a promise and a plea to powers beyond their knowing to mark this occasion.

Bilbo looked up, unable to stop himself. After all that they had been through – all the perils they faced and the battles they fought – he wanted to see Thorin in this moment. He had struggled so long, through bloodshed and madness, to regain this kingdom. While this day was mostly about new beginnings, there were also endings, and for Thorin, he knew this was the true last hour of his exile. It was the culmination of all his struggles, and nothing in the world could have made Bilbo look away.

The band of metal settled on Thorin’s head, snug against his temples. Perhaps it was not as big as Thror’s, nor as jewel-encrusted as others that Bilbo had seen in the treasury, but it looked right – as if the Valar themselves had a hand in the symbol of Thorin’s destiny. Graceful and elegant, it allowed the strength of Thorin’s personality to shine through. He was not a king because he wore the crown. With or without it, he still ruled this land, of that there could be no doubt.

Thorin’s fingers tightened around Bilbo’s, urging him to face forwards once more. Now, it was his turn, and he bowed his head to accept the treasure that Gandalf bestowed. He expected it to be heavy, the crown as much a burden as the office it represented, but the metal rested easy on his brow, the padded rim offering extra comfort as it nestled atop his curls.

‘I give you the Kings of Erebor!’ Gandalf’s voice rose to a boom, echoing throughout the mountain as Thorin and Bilbo got to their feet. The horns called out their song, heralding the start of a new reign, but this time cheers did not accompany them. Instead, the crowd moved, rippling as if a pebble had been thrown into a pool of calm water.

The front row was the first, bending at the waist in low, sweeping bows. Others followed as dwarves, elves and men alike showed their unfaltering respect.

The lump in Bilbo’s throat pulsed, and he swallowed hard, blinking back the threat of tears. All his life he had thought he had respect in Hobbiton, but never before had he felt as if his presence was cause for celebration. Good Shire manners were no replacement for the genuine enthusiasm the people of Erebor had shown him.

Thorin’s hand on his cheek caught his attention and he turned, too overwhelmed to stop himself melting into the bowl of Thorin’s palm. ‘Are you all right?’

Bilbo smiled, glancing up at Thorin’s crown. ‘It suits you,’ he whispered, clearing his throat. ‘It suits you very well indeed.’

‘As does yours,’ Thorin murmured. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ Bilbo asked, grinning as Thorin shook his head. He nudged the tip of his nose down the side of Bilbo’s before pressing a kiss, sweet and clinging, to Bilbo’s lips.

‘For everything.’

Far above, the great bell of Erebor rang, its sonorous notes filling the air. It bounced around the pillars and curled in the vaulted ceilings, crying out for all to hear. Voices rose, happy conversation competing with the chimes as the applause began anew, rising to a rumbling roar. People shouted their praises, exuberant beyond all measure.

‘Are you ready?’ Thorin asked, gesturing as the crowd parted and soldiers took their places. They lined a clear path through to the great hall, where feasting and revelry awaited them all.

‘Absolutely.’

Hand-in-hand, they stepped forward, sharing measured paces and soft words as they strode into their future.

The kingdom would prosper, the lands finding peace after too many years beneath the dragon’s careless tyranny. Gold would flow anew, but it would be the least of the Lonely Mountain’s wealth. Its greatest riches would lie in the bonds formed between its people. Forged in strife, uneasy alliances grew into unfaltering friendships as they all poured their souls into restoring the realm.

The crown of Erebor may be riven, split in half and shared between two kings, but in Thorin and Bilbo’s capable hands, it was far from broken.