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~~~~~<>~~~~~
"It seems like you've used the wrong ingredients." Bombur murmured, waving the noxious steam away from his face.
"He likes mushrooms, right?" Thorin insisted, coughing a bit.
"Yes, well, it depends on if you're planning to court him, or poison him, Your Majesty." Bofur snarked from his perch on a counter on the other side of the kitchen.
"Let's just start with something simple, then." Bombur said gently, scraping the contents of the frying pan into the bin.
...
"Ugh ..." Thorin groaned as he looked down at his tunic which was now covered in flour and eggs and who knew what else. "You said bread was easy," Thorin grumbled as he turned to glare at Bombur, who was trying valiantly not to laugh at his king.
"It should be," Bombur grumbled back. He had already done the measuring for Thorin. All the fool had to do was mix it, not ... whatever in Mahal's name he had managed to do, including covering the two of them.
"Are you sure you want to cook for him?" Bofur asked, not even trying to hide his laughter.
"He is a hobbit. It is part of hobbit courting," Thorin said with a glare at the other dwarf.
"Well, yeah. But you're shite at it, no offence your Highness."
"Offence taken, Bofur. Now if you will not help, leave."
"I think we should all leave it for today, Thorin," Bombur said kindly as he patted the king's arm gently. "I will try to find something even simpler for you to make. I can always make more of it if that's easier?" he suggested, before taking a step back at the vicious glare Thorin sent his way.
"If you make it, then it is not a courting gift from me, is it? How could I hold my head high if I wasn't the one who provided the courting gift for my future Consort?" he asked, annoyed with everything now, Bombur, and Bofur, and the ingredients, and the entire kitchen, and even Bilbo because why was cooking so Mahal damned difficult? He could craft the most beautiful of things with gems and metals, could protect Bilbo from any danger that faced him, and yet he couldn't even mix the ... whatever that gloop was ... properly to bake bread for his beloved.
"This is a disaster," he said, running his hands through his hair, ignoring Bofur's sniggers when he realised he now not only had the gloop on his tunic, but also in his hair.
…
The next day, Bombur practically skipped into the kitchens at their predetermined time, which unfortunately had to be quite late at night due to the king’s busy schedule. That gave them the added benefit of minimal kitchen staff to witness the carnage, at least. Bombur barely had time to tuck his pebbles into bed before he had to head back to the kitchens. It was worth it in the name of love, especially for his dear companions who so deserved it.
“I think I've got it!” He declared triumphantly, brandishing a few sheets of paper in his hand.
“A new recipe?” Thorin asked hopefully.
“Of a sorts. More like a new format!” Bombur laid out the sheets he'd spent the afternoon drafting. They were written in the style of a forging plan, with ratios and heating instructions in the style that one familiar with the forge could easily interpret.
“Ah, I see!” Thorin said excitedly. “Yes, this makes sense, finally! Bombur, I could kiss you.”
The portly chef blushed beet red at the king’s praise.
…
With the new instructions Thorin finally baked a normal loaf of bread, though not without its flaws. Bombur sighed in relief as the loaf looked reasonably edible this time.
"Now that I’ve learned the basics, teach me something more complicated," Thorin said quickly.
"...Pardon?" Bombur turned to the king, his face a picture of shock.
"Well, it’s a courting gift. I can’t very well give him just plain bread, now can I?" Thorin replied with a soft smile, his excitement evident. Bombur’s face paled, realizing this ordeal wasn't over.
"I believe a sort of fruit cake would be good, don’t you think?" Thorin asks, his enthusiasm unwavering. Bombur, however, grows even paler, knowing full well that Bilbo’s favorite fruits are spring fruits—and it’s the middle of summer.
By the door, Dwalin, standing guard, shoots Bombur an apologetic smile and signalled him to follow as Thorin headed up to bed.
…
It was a rare sight to see Dwalin away from Thorin's side during the day, let alone using his free time to scour through Erebor's library. Bombur watched as he scanned through the shelves, dust still covering the stony alcoves, particles more visible in the faint moonlight from one of the few windows within the entire kingdom.
Thankfully, the architects of the library had been smart enough to add a light source that wouldn't set the entire place alight. Inadvertently, residing in the upper-regions of the mountain left the library more-or-less ignored by its...previous resident.
"Am I looking too, then?" He asked, resigned.
"Aye, have to help the poor lad somehow," Dwalin responded gruffly, stopping in front of the "BERR" section and squatting down. Bombur's portly figure approached, sitting straight on the ground rather than squatting.
"Utterly useless without all of us, that one," the warrior noted, as he pulled a particularly-thick scroll out from the pile. Khuzdul runes wrapped along the top and bottom, but Dwalin wiped the dust off the surface before Bombur had enough time to read it. He tugged on the ribbon that encircled the parchment, paper unfurling in his hands, long enough to reach the ground as it fully extended.
"I've other things to do than scan through this entire thing," Bombur gestured along the length of the paper, "just give it to Thorin, he's the one courting."
"He's got plenty on his mind, let him worry about the hobbit. Looking for some berries won't do us any harm." Dwalin shrugged the coat off his shoulders and set it aside, settling down onto the ground next to Bombur.
…
Hours later, the two were grimy with dust and eyesore from squinting at the faded runes when Dwalin let out a contemplative hum.
“Please tell me that means something good,” Bombur pleaded tiredly. He flopped back against the stack behind him, which didn't even quiver under his impressive bulk, fine Dwarven engineering that it was.
“Hmm…maybe?” Dwalin answered hesitantly. “This talks about Mesum Kaylithadrân,” he read from the page, “‘eagerly sought and as greatly prized as the finest rubies in the mountain’.”
“‘Jewels of Spring’? Oh that does sound promising, let me look.” Bombur reached out and wiggled his fingers for the thin leather-bound book Dwalin was cradling. It looked more like a journal than an informational text. “What is this now?” he asked as he turned the smooth cover back and forth.
“Dunno, it was inside that scroll that was all sticky,” Dwalin shrugged. “It likely is someone's journal that accidently got rolled up in it.”
“Dwalin! This is it!” Bombur shouted. He held out the page he'd found. On it was a map sketching out a path outside of the mountain, along the southern spur, leading to a spot that the map showed in vibrant green ink – a sheltered vale that would be one of the first places warmed by the strengthening Spring sunshine. Along the bottom edge of the paper, the author had doodled a line of bright red strawberries.
…
It was only then Bombur realised why he had been able to read the page so clearly, honey-hued light pouring into the room through one entrance and filling the space.
"Mahal, have we been here that long?" Dwalin groaned as he stood up, rolling his shoulders and assembling their discoveries into one pile. "Doesn't Bilbo eat earlier?"
Bombur stood up too, "He's been eating with Thorin mostly."
"The big mope. He doesn't even need to do all this song and dance," Dwalin waved the map in the air a little, "they're both besotted fools."
"Aye, nobody would bat an eye if the hobbit walked out in a crown and matching robe!" The two broke out into guffaws, unfortunately not noticing the hobbit standing in the doorway until he cleared his throat.
"Dwalin," Bilbo cleared his throat, "Bombur."
"Bilbo," the two murmured, averting eye contact as they shuffled in front of the pile of scrolls.
"What are you two up to?"
"How much of it did you hear?" Dwalin scratched the back of his neck, with a sudden interest in the specific shade of the stone he was staring at.
"Enough to know that you would be willing to help me, but I'd rather not hear that again, thank you very much." Bilbo walked into the room as Bombur scrambled to slide their clutter away.
"I had some questions about...well, it seems like an awful time to ask. What would you two know about dwarven courting rituals?"
…
“Er…” Dwalin offered helpfully, then he clapped Bombur heavily on the shoulder. “Uh…yeah, Bombur here has actually gone through courting. He can help ye.” The imposing warrior ducked his head, as he was now blushing all over his tattooed scalp in an alarming shade of pink.
Bombur blew a puff of air through his thick mustache at that, which helped him hold back the chuckles that clearly shone in his eyes. He led Bilbo further into the library to find a place to sit. “Oh it's quite intricate, Bilbo. We will have to start right away. Hmm, and the books are all in Khuzdul.” He tapped his lip contemplatively. Then his mouth cracked open in a huge yawn.
“Have you been here all night? What could the two of you be up to?” Bilbo asked dryly.
Bombur just cleared his throat and hemmed and hawed a bit until Bilbo broke in, “Never mind, then. If you've been reading all night I won't be the one to keep you from your breakfast and your bed today. Can we meet this evening, perhaps?”
Bombur sighed gustily. He would see his pebbles again…someday. “How about you come around for dinner with the family, and after Satthi and I can share our courting stories.”
“Delightful!” Bilbo clapped his hands loudly, then startled as the sound echoed in the cavernous library. He continued in a much softer voice, “That sounds delightful. Can I bring something?”
“ Ah, you know my pebbles will always take more of Uncle Bilbo's biscuits!” Bombur chuckled.
“It's a deal. I'll see you this evening.” Bilbo nodded decisively, then flapped his hand at the dwarf. “Now, off with you. You're about to fall over, I can tell!”
“Dwalin, do you–” Bombur started, only to realise the tall dwarf was nowhere in sight. “Honestly!” He answered Bilbo's wry grin with one of his own, then waved jauntily and was on his way to a warm meal and a warm bed.
…
Inside the Ur's living room, a dwarf and a hobbit sat down on a couch to talk. "Alright, now that we’re here—dwarven courtship is a joyful affair. There are many ways to court, but the simplest and most common is through courting gifts. The rules are straightforward. First, the gift must show your intent. Second, it must be made by your own hand. And third, it must reflect how well you know the one you are courting. Weapons are often an easy go-to, but some dwarrow don’t like receiving them since they feel too generic as a gift," Bombur explains, thinking to himself that a certain hobbit would be horrified at the idea of receiving yet another weapon.
"Oh, like roses! Roses are nice, but they’re used so often that they don’t feel special anymore!" Bilbo replies enthusiastically.
Bombur, however, looks horrified. "No! Never flowers!" he exclaims, making the hobbit frown.
"Why not?" Bilbo asks, confused.
"Flowers wilt and die. They’re ephemeral. Gifting them means you only wish for a fleeting romance, a short-lived amusement—and I’m certain you don’t want that with Thorin!" Bombur huffs, already picturing the scandal such a gift would cause.
Bilbo sighs. "So that’s how dwarrows see them, huh? Well, for us hobbits, it’s different. We see routine instead. You see, because flowers wilt and die, we give new ones again and again. Routine brings comfort, and change is unsettling for us hobbits. The fact that we continue replacing wilted flowers with fresh ones shows our willingness to change our routine to include someone in our daily lives," he explains thoughtfully.
Bombur’s expression shifts as he gains a new perspective on what had once seemed like a scandalous gift.
…
Bilbo carried on the conversation, making eye contact with Satthi. "Well then, what was courting like for you two?"
Satthi let out a loud snort as Bombur's face went pink, the dwarf shrinking into his seat as his beloved struggled to get her laughter under control.
"Never use water and smother it?" Satthi slapped Bombur on the back as she began to cackle.
"Oh. Oh, Bombur! Don't tell me you really did that?" Bilbo's mouth formed a perfectly shaped-O as the chef began to roll up his sleeve. A red scar crawling up his forearm painted him, skin seeming tight around the flesh.
"Auch, it wasn't even my pan! We were both under training, and I had been admiring Satthi's hand for seasoning for a while," he clasped his hand around hers, "I couldn't have let the fire fry all the skill off them."
Bilbo heard loud groans and retches from the weans behind him as Bombur lightly kissed both of their scar-and-burn dappled hands. Bilbo couldn't help the smile that came across his face when he saw how the couple looked at each other.
"Our courting was mostly a formality. I knew he was my One the second I saw the fool grab the pan out of my hands and dunk a bucket of water on it." Satthi gave one last squeeze to Bombur's hand before walking her way towards the fireplace mantle. She swiped up two wooden boxes that sat in the centre, one with gold patterning and the other with silver.
…
Bilbo looked at both boxes, surprised that the silver patterned one was almost twice as long as the gold patterned box.
At first glance he had assumed they held beads, or other such jewellery that dwarves seemed to love, however he realised they were much too big for that.
Satthi settled beside Bilbo with the longer, silver box, a soft smile on her lips as she gently traced the patterns on the top of it. "Obviously, Bombur made the box, and the design too of course," she said as she sent a soft smile over to her husband, who blushed beneath his beard. "But the most important gift in Dwarven courting is that which means you know your future spouse better than anyone, and well ..." she trailed off as she slowly lifted the lid of her box.
Bilbo gasped with delight when he saw what was inside the box.
There, nestled in the blue velvet was a beautiful bow knife made out of what Bilbo thought was cherry wood, giving it a stunning red appearance.
"You see, Bilbo, to have a One is to have half of your heart outside of your body, nestled in someone else's, and hopefully, that someone else sees you, understands you. And, in a world like ours, crafting something such as a bow knife, an item Bombur had only ever seen in the lands of men and not Ered Luin, was unheard of. And yet, he had taken time to chop the tree, carve it, perfect it, and give it to me. A knife like no other in our entire clan had and it was because he saw me, he knew me and he knew how I was experimenting with new foods. I make one comment to him about how the knives I'm using are not suitable, and my sap of a dwarf leaves for a few weeks and comes back with the perfect solution that he had crafted by his hands. If I hadn't already adored him the way Mahal adores Kaminzabdûna (Yavanna) well, I would have fallen for him right there and then," she explained with a smile that was just for Bombur, a smile full of love and contentment.
Bilbo was in awe of Bombur's beautiful carving, especially because he had seen the many beautiful things that Bofur and Bifur made, and yet hadn't realised that Bombur had the same, if not more, skill as his brother and cousin.
He also sat there staring at this priceless gift with a little bit of envy both because, what wouldn't he give for Thorin to know him this way, better than he knew himself, and how in Arda was he supposed to replicate something like this? He had no knowledge or crafting or creating. His carving was passable at best as a way to pass the time, nothing more than that, and well, he'd rather shave off his foot hair then ever step foot inside a forge again after the one and only time he had been cajoled to attempt to make anything and had failed utterly and miserably.
No, Bilbo thought, fighting back the tears in his eyes that had arrived there promptly and unbidden. He was and had always been a fool of a hobbit, and after seeing the bond of one of his closest friends and his wife, and the way they were with one another, he felt even more foolish than ever before.
…
“You got a minute?” Dwalin ducked into Thorin’s office, where his friend was perched behind stacks and rolls of parchment, reading glasses on his nose and a deep frown on his face. His expression lightened when he saw his shield brother.
“Mahal, yes,” he chuckled. “Anything to get a break from Brokkr’s very detailed report on coal reserves.”
“Found something,” Dwalin dropped the little journal onto the desk.
Thorin carefully thumbed through the pages, “A personal journal? Was it lost?” He stopped abruptly when he came to the page with the colorful map, fingers tracing lightly over the images. “This seems familiar,” he murmured.
“Seems like it'd be worth a look,” Dwalin said.
Thorin looked up with a wry smile. “Sensitive information requires investigation. I can get away for a few hours. Want to go now?”
Dwalin arched an eyebrow and tilted his head towards the small pack slung over his shoulder.
Laughing, Thorin dropped his glasses to the desk and strode to the door. “Quickly then, before someone brings me another report.” He clapped his Captain on the shoulder and they were off.
~~~~~<>~~~~~
"Nothing here either," Dwalin grumbled behind him. They had been scouring the underbrush for nearly an hour and were running out of time, yet no evidence of any fruit had been found.
"Let’s just…take a break," Thorin suggested in a tight voice, his frustration mounting. The vale that had seemed verdant and promising an hour ago was quickly losing its appeal.
As Thorin leaned back against a tree something caught his eye. A section of bark had been scraped from a tree across the clearing and the bare trunk underneath had some symbol on it. He drew closer and realized it was very similar to the symbol that was all throughout the little journal, a series of interlocking arcs surrounding a central diamond, but one quadrant of the arcs was missing, so the point of the diamond seemed to form an arrow. Looking in that direction, Thorin spotted another carving.
“Here! This way!” He shouted excitedly, running from one tree to the next.
When he broke out on the other side of the little forest, his jaw dropped to see a lush meadow filled with little mounding plants, dotted with tiny white flowers, and sheltering ruby red berries. He could actually smell the strawberries in the air and breathed deeply as he leaned against the tree.
Thorin paused as he looked down at his hand, splayed over the last carving. Something clicked in his memory and suddenly he saw his mother’s strong hands, adorned with a single ring with a large etched ruby. With a start Thorin realised the etching on the gem matched the symbol under his hand.
He quickly thumbed through the journal again and saw the symbol time and again. It had been more than 170 years since he'd seen it, embroidered on his mother's gowns and adorning her beads. Suddenly, he was awash with sense memories of warm hands cupping his smooth cheeks, a soft lap to snuggle, her deep laugh, and the smell of…strawberries. He'd never realised that's what it was but he used to tell her she was as sweet as jam.
“Find anything?”
“Fris,” Thorin croaked, startled that his voice was choked with unexpected tears. Dwalin put a bracing hand on his shoulder and Thorin breathed deeply. “It's hers, her mark,’ he explained. “I remember now. My mother loved strawberries.”
“Mi rathâkh Mahalul sullu birakhusugôn (By Mahal’s hands all has been shaped),” Dwalin rumbled.
“Ni rathâkh Mahalul mamarakhmâ (In Mahal’s hands we have been shielded),” Thorin offered the traditional response, almost reflexively. “In my mother's hands…like she's reaching out from the Halls to give her approval.” Thorin felt a forge light within him at that thought, filling him with light and warmth.
They set to harvesting with dwarven alacrity, fashioning impromptu berry baskets from small branches and thick grass, so their hard-won jewels could be transported safely. They ate nearly as much as they harvested, and still the meadow seemed brimming with berries.
“I'm going to bring Bilbo here someday,” Thorin vowed. “He would love it.”
Dwalin smiled at the idea of Bilbo's reaction to all these flowers and berries. “Aye. Ready?”
“Ready.” Thorin set off for the mountain with a new burst of determination, and the warm memory of his mother's hugs.
…
Meanwhile, Bilbo pondered what he should make for Thorin. Everything he knew how to create was ephemeral in nature. Clothes can be eaten by moths, so knitting was out. Plants wilt, so he couldn’t make a garden for him. He couldn’t even cook a meal, as it would disappear instantly. Every craft he has mastered fails to meet the standard of a proper dwarven courting gift.
With a frustrated groan, he decided to sneak into Thorin’s room while the king was occupied with his duties, hoping to gather some inspiration. What he found makes his hobbitish sensibilities twitch with both sadness and anger. The room was threadbare, as if the occupant planned to leave in a few days rather than stay permanently. It said nothing about the person who lived there. Bilbo knew Thorin had removed the extravagant metals and jewels from his chambers, but he hadn’t realized it was to this extent. Then again, perhaps seeing it like this spoke to how Thorin had spent most of his life displaced, never settling down.
Well, Bilbo couldn’t have that! "Right, that settles it. While Thorin is busy with his kingly duties, I’m going to make this room as comfortable as possible!"
And so, the hobbit got to work—unaware that, in doing so, he was mirroring his father’s courting gift to his mother: a home.
Over the course of several days, Thorin failed to notice the subtle but growing changes in his room, too preoccupied with preparing his own courting gift for Bilbo.
…
Bombur winced when Thorin removed the pan from his second attempt at fruit cake and the strawberries oozed over the side of the pan. Quickly grabbing a serving spoon, he caught the first couple of whole, fresh strawberries that were headed for the tabletop, flicking them back into the pan that Thorin was still holding as the King stared in despair at the cake that was quite literally falling apart as he watched.
“Did you not see that the berries must be dried?” he asked as he continued to scoop the strawberries into the pan so they might remain edible.
“Guess it’s a good thing we brought lots of berries back, eh?” Dwalin added his two coppers from the doorway where he was on lookout in case their burglar decided he needed a midnight snack.
Thorin slowly turned to look at his cousin and then back at the baskets on the counter. One was empty already, having been found by Kili and Fili earlier in the day before Bombur was able to hide the remaining basket and a half out of sight.
“I’m never going to get this right…” Thorin muttered to himself as he put the pan down on the table and stared at the strawberries that were covered in undercooked batter. Bombur looked up at Thorin’s defeated tone.
“You also said there was plenty more where these came from, so we’ll keep trying until-” he paused, eyes flickering past Thorin and Dwalin, paling slightly, “I get this recipe correct! Bilbo! Fancy a midnight snack tonight?” he finished brightly as he moved to stand in front of the table to attempt to hide the failed cake.
~~~~~<>~~~~~
Bilbo wasn’t exactly sure just what he had apparently interrupted that would cause both Dwalin and Thorin to not only be in the kitchen at midnight but for them both to jump, cursing what sounded like a blue streak for the former and blushing red for the latter.
Stepping into the kitchen, past a still cursing Dwalin, he gave the room a once over only to stop on the basket of what looked like fresh strawberries. Eyes widening, he inhaled deeply. The scent of undercooked cake batter had his mind racing.
“Bombur, are you trying to make fruit cake?” he asked, voice pitching up towards the end of his question, gaze locked on the basket of fruit as he stepped backwards. The dwarves all seemed to share a glance before he replied with a quiet ‘yes.’
“Oh. Well, I’ll just head on back to bed then! No need for me to be hanging around when you’re making fruit cake!” he said even as he turned to the door. Yet before he could leave the kitchen Thorin’s pained expression caught his attention. “Uh, Thorin are you ok? Maybe you shouldn’t be that close to the-” Bilbo shuddered, “fruit cake, uh, either?” He gave his best panicked pleading look to a now shocked looking Dwalin who had at some point blocked the doorway. Seeing as no one was moving yet he darted towards the dwarven king, grabbing his wrist and yanking him towards the doorway.
Several confusing minutes later Bilbo stood panting in the King’s own room with an equally out of breath King standing next to him perplexed but still with his wrist in Bilbo’s grip. As their breathing evened out Bilbo chuckled at the image they must have made, rushing out of the kitchen the way they did.
“And what was that all about?” His dwarf asked as he gave a gentle tug at his wrist. Bilbo blushed as he let go of Thorin even if he didn’t want to.
“Ah, well, you see…I can’t eat fruit cake. Can’t even be in the same room as it to be honest. Would have loved to have some of the strawberries I saw in that basket, but-” Bilbo shuddered, “No, no fruit cake for me! Not after the last time I ate a piece and nearly died.” He shook his head with a small chuckle. At Thorin’s sharp inhale he watched as he seemed to pale, his eyes darting back and forth.
Mahal! He had unknowingly tried to make a courting gift that would have killed his hobbit to accept! What kind of intended was he that he didn’t know about this?!
“Is there anything else that you can’t eat?” He asked.
…Allin
"Can’t eat? Oh! My apologies, Thorin! I didn’t mean it would literally kill me! It was just a figure of speech!" Bilbo quickly clarified, noticing Thorin’s growing panic. "We hobbits can eat a lot of herbs that are normally poisonous to other races. We even use poison ivy as a seasoning. You’d have a hard time poisoning a Hobbit. No, what I meant was—I really don’t want any fruit cake."
Bilbo stroked Thorin’s arms in a placating gesture, trying to calm him down.
"But Bombur said it was your favorite..." Thorin asked, taking deep breaths as he slowly regained his composure. Now he needed to figure out what else he could bake, cook, or create for Bilbo.
"It was… until Kili ruined it for me," Bilbo sighed.
Thorin blinked in confusion. Seeing this, Bilbo continued, "You see, Tauriel and I both love fruit cake, and Kili noticed. So, he decided to bake one for her. But he really wanted it to be good—so good that it outmatched even Thranduil’s chefs. Since I’d had the privilege of tasting their recipes before, he asked me to try his own versions. Over… and over… and over again. To the point that the beloved baked good I had adored for most of my life is now forever tainted by his horrid attempts." Bilbo’s left eye twitched as he recalled the sheer number of inedible disasters Kili had produced in the name of love.
"Kili made that knife-ear—" Thorin stopped mid-sentence when Bilbo shot him a look. Right. He really had no place to judge, considering he had fallen for a hobbit with sharp ears, too. He cleared his throat. "I mean… did Tauriel accept the courting gift?"
"Hmm? Wait—food can be a courting gift too?" Bilbo’s eyes widened before he groaned. "Uuuugggh! I can work with that!
"Yes, Tauriel accepted it, thankfully. Now, I need to head to the kitchen. I’m craving some tart pie, and those strawberries looked excellent," Bilbo said, turning to walk away.
…
“Oh but those…berries are, um, being reserved…for a secret, a special purpose…” Thorin trailed off. He could see that his hobbit was buying none of this.
“A special purpose, hmm?” He walked his fingers up Thorin's chest and tapped him on the nose. “And what special purpose does the King have that could possibly involve strawberries?”
“A secret one?” Thorin offered, bemused by his enchanting One. He brought his arms up around Bilbo's waist because he was just too tempting, smiling up at him.
“Would that secret involve…fruit cake?” He successfully suppressed his shudder this time, just barely.
“Not anymore,” Thorin mumbled. “Amrâlime, I would court you according to the traditions of your people. I must make you the best dish you've ever tasted.” He added emphatically.
“Well, I don't think anyone even in the Shire would expect you to top Grandma Laura's lemon curd pie.” Bilbo replied with a delighted smile. “I certainly don't. I'm rather taken with the Dwarven way of doing things, the symbolism and intimacy of it.”
“You…would prefer a Dwarven gift?” Thorin asked hesitantly. “I would not have you sacrifice the ways of your people for mine. You have already given up so much.”
Bilbo rested his head on Thorin's chest and sighed when his dwarf understood his need for a tighter hug. “Not so much as I've gained.” He said dreamily.
A gentle kiss was dropped on the top of his head, and Bilbo felt warmed to his toes. Thorin pressed back and pecked another kiss to his forehead. “Wait here.” His voice had a tinge of excitement that gave Bilbo a thrill.
“What…what is all this?” He heard Thorin ask from the other room.
Oh, Bilbo thought, he must have noticed the changes. He went over to the door to the now warm and cozy bedroom and found Thorin kneeling at the bed, pulling aside the velvet bed skirt that Bilbo had installed earlier that day. “Do you…like it?”
“It's very soft,” Thorin said, fingering the thick fabric. He stood with a very large, flat box in his hands which he set on the bed, now covered with a matching duvet. “This is very nice, Bilbo. Did you do this?”
Suddenly unaccountably nervous, Bilbo looked at the new rug on the ground when he answered, “I-if you don't like it I can take it all out. I just…” he looked up to find Thorin gazing at him with a soft expression, which gave him courage. “I wanted you to have comfort.”
…
Thorin didn't say anything in response, he just looked at Bilbo, bemused by the comfort around him. Bilbo, for his part, couldn't help but fill the slightly awkward silence between them with his own ramblings as Thorin stood there not saying a word.
"Look, I've seen the knife Bombur created for Satthi, and the one that she made for him in return. I've seen how dwarves craft the most beautiful, stunning things and, well, ... I'm just me, Thorin. I'm not even like my father who built an entire hobbit hole for my mother. I'm just me ..." Bilbo finished lamely as he looked down at his hands in agitation.
Bilbo couldn't stop the flash of hurt that covered his face when Thorin laughed at his nerve-racking confession, at his belief that he was unable to find or create a suitable courting gift for Thorin and so knew he was unworthy.
He was about to storm off, hoping to keep the tears in his eyes at bay when he was pulled into Thorin's arms again, their foreheads resting together as Thorin continued to chuckle softly.
"Silly hobbit," Thorin said fondly as he smiled down at Bilbo. "You can court me however you wish, with whatever you wish to give me. This ... Bilbo, no one has thought of my comfort since I was a pebble. This is phenomenal. But it is not necessary," Thorin said gently.
"But ... I need to be worthy of you, and so does my gift," Bilbo mumbled.
"We're here, in Erebor. Because of you. Did you love me when you gave me back my home, my kingdom, when you were one of the largest reasons my people have a home?"
Bilbo stepped back from Thorin, his hands covering his mouth. He had been fretting and worrying and terrified that he would be found wanting, that nothing would be good enough and he would never be worthy of Thorin or his love or to stand by his side the way he so desperately wanted to.
Thorin took one of Bilbo's hands and kissed the back of it, "Ghivashel, you are the reason I draw breath, the reason this very heart that beats for you is still working. You do not need to court me, or worry. In fact, it is very much the opposite. There are many dwarves who have told me if I don't court you properly then they will make sure our marriage can not come to pass. Not just anyone can court the Hero of Erebor after all," Thorin said with a soft smile, one full of love and adoration, that went straight to Bilbo's heart.
…
"And may I say—you may not have built it from scratch, but Bilbo, repairing a beloved item is also considered an honorable courting gift," Thorin said softly. "Looking around now, I can finally see what you have done. I have been without a home for so long that I never truly settled down. Every night, I sleep with the mindset that I must be ready to move, that I have to go, that something will go wrong, and I must be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice."
Thorin gently cupped Bilbo’s cheeks, pressing a small kiss to his forehead.
"I may have reclaimed my childhood home, but I forgot how to see it as my home. I couldn’t relax. All I could do was exhaust myself until my body had no choice but to sleep—something I am certain Dís has already told you," Thorin chuckled. "But then you came and made your subtle changes. I never noticed at first, because truthfully, I was only thinking of you. But I have felt more at peace. I found myself lounging on my bed while planning your gift. I realized I’ve been sleeping easier lately. And slowly, I found my restless mind quieting whenever I was here. Truly, you hobbits are creatures of comfort.
"Bilbo Baggins, you helped reclaim and rebuild Erebor, and that is a gift I could never turn down. But you went beyond that—you made it not just a place to house dwarrow, but a place that feels like home. You made it feel like my home again, Bilbo," Thorin said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Not just my home, but me as well. You changed me for the better. I was once blinded by prejudice, failing to see the worth of non-dwarrow. I had forgotten how to enjoy simple pleasures, and you reminded me of them. And the best of all the changes, I learned to like myself again, to know that my value as a person will always be seen by those who truly know me. You, Bilbo Baggins, repaired this broken dwarf.”
He smiled fondly. "I can see why your adventurous Took mother settled down—if your father did something similar to what you have done to this room.”
…
Overwhelmed, Bilbo pushed through Thorin's hands on his cheeks and embraced his dwarf, hiding from the adoration plainly visible in his regal features.
“‘Hero of Erebor’?” He asked after a while, in which Thorin had maneuvered them into sitting on the bed, Bilbo curled in his lap, still not looking up at him.
“Bilbo Baggins, Hero of Erebor, for he saved not only the mountain from Smaug with his silver tongue, but he also saved the King of Durin's Folk, Thorin II Oakenshield from his wounds after he slayed Azog,” Thorin spoke reverently, his deep voice rumbling through his chest into Bilbo where he was leaning on him.
Bringing his hand up to Bilbo’s chin, he gently encouraged his hobbit to look at him, “Mamarlûn Uzbadul, Beloved of the King.” He said quietly staring into the depths of Bilbo's eyes. Those mercurial eyes sparkled even as the face they were set in went lax in pleased shock, accompanied by a short sharp inhale.
Concerned by Bilbo's reaction he frowned, shifting backwards when his knee knocked into the oak box further down the bed. The contents rattled and drew Bilbo's attention to it. Leaning back, Bilbo observed the fine etching, ‘Property of Bilbo Baggins’ that had been inlaid at the bottom.
“What's–is this–Thorin is this a gift for me?” He asked, voice steady as he traced the engraving with his forefinger.
“A courting gift. If you would accept it as such, especially after the first one I gave…” Thorin replied, trailing off as he thought of the poorly-timed gift of the mithril shirt. He watched as Bilbo stilled, turning to look at him out of the corner of his eye.
“The first one?” He asked in a flat voice.
“The mithril was–it–I wanted you even under the sickness. Even more than that I wanted you safe. Forgive me. I would count this,” Thorin shuffled until he could hand the long wooden rectangle to its intended recipient, “as my first courting gift.” He finished speaking as Bilbo took it from him, who gave a small grunt from the weight as he let go.
“Forgiven.” Bilbo said as he looked over the light-stained wood he held in his hands. Seeing a hinge, he found the nearly hidden button on the opposite side and opened it, expecting a box like the ones Bombur and Satthi had. As it opened he heard again the rattle of items moving around, yet there was nothing to see that would cause the noise, nearly distracting him from what was inside it.
It was a writing desk. There was a soft leather blotter in the middle and a spot that would hold a couple of inkwells steady. Curling down and around the edges was a familiar plant, ivy, and when he brushed over one of the leaves a bit harder than he intended to, it opened a hidden drawer on the side of the base.
Investigation gave him a beautiful quill knife, its handle the same wood as the desk, tucked into a soft form fitted space. Now excited, he pressed down as he followed the ivy down the base, opening more and more compartments as he went. In one lay stunning gold feathered quills, another held a multitude of shiny black feathers primed to be used for quills.
It was the final compartment's contents that stole his breath. Laying there were two seals. One, he thought he would never have seen again, the other unknown to him. Picking up the newer one he looked at the bottom before noting a card stamped with an example of the seal left in the drawer. Erebor gave the background shape while an oak tree stood proudly under seven stars.
Thorin was nervous as Bilbo went quiet when the seals were finally revealed. Nori better not have tried to pass a random seal off as his, he thought to himself, not yet noticing which one Bilbo was looking at.
“You trust me to represent Erebor? Oh, Thorin…” Bilbo trailed off clutching the Ereborean seal tightly, cradling the Baggins seal in his other hand.
Thorin swallowed, daring to lean forward, wrapping his arms around his hobbit and nuzzling into his longer, yet unbound hair. “I trust you with something far more important, Master Burglar – the very heart that sits in my chest.”
…Allin
Bilbo couldn’t restrain himself any longer and flung himself into Thorin’s arms, his lips meeting his love’s, his dwarf’s, in a passionate kiss.
“I love you,” Bilbo murmured when he took in a breath.
“And I you, Amralimê,” Thorin replied as he pulled Bilbo closer to him, resting their foreheads together sweetly. “It doesn't matter what we make, what we create, as long as we continue to craft this life together. This life is more priceless than all the treasure, all the stone, all the ore in Erebor. I–”
“Thorin, I love you,” Bilbo repeated, watching expectantly as Thorin raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t that he didn’t adore hearing those words from Bilbo’s mouth, but the way they were said was intriguing. Then his hobbit ordered, “Now stop being so verbose and take me to bed.”
And who was a king to go against his future consort’s wishes?
~~~~<>~~~~
Outside of the royal chamber, Nori came slinking out of the shadows to report to Bombur and Dwalin. “It is done, they will be … entertained … for the rest of the day.
“Oh thank Mahal, maybe now the fool will stay out of my kitchen!” Bombur declared dramatically.
“And I can go back to work instead of dealing with the idiot’s crisis. He’s 200 years old. He’s much too old to be acting like this,” Dwalin grumbled, glad Thorin was now out of whatever funk he had gotten himself twisted in with his hobbit.
“Come on, Dwalin,” Bombur said, patting the captain of the guard on the back, “let's go have a drink, we deserve it after helping those two fools.”
And with that, a king found a way to court his consort, a hobbit found a way to court his dwarf and their friends let out a sigh of relief that this ridiculousness was over.
…fin…