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The day had started very nicely indeed. At the beginning of spring, even the stony crags of Erebor were alive with greenery. The hills sloping gently around the mountain sported fresh, bright green grasses, dotted with little wildflowers, and the air was cool and breezy, winds often gusting through the mountain halls, bringing clean, sweet air into places where shutting out the cold of winter had made them stale. The city of Dale, while still in rebuilding, was bustling and full of life. The market had begun once more, people milled about the streets, and the banners waved in the breeze, once again filled with the wind rather than hot dragon’s breath. The winter had been a harsh one; the people of Erebor and Dale both forgetting how bitter the cold tended to get after so long away, and the change into spring was more than welcome.
The King Under the Mountain and the Hobbit crowned Dwarf-friend had gone down from Erebor for a visit to the market and, in the King’s case, a diplomatic but certainly friendly meeting with Dale’s own ruler. The Crown Princes had come along too, for their own education Thorin cited, and as the three dwarves were occupied, Bilbo meandered through the winding streets of the city, a basket on his arm filled with seeds and produce and a few baked goods to satisfy his sweet tooth. It was a beautiful city, he thought. One with many scars, but the wounds were beginning to heal. The rebirth of life within the streets and houses felt even more miraculous, the long-silent city once again ringing with bells and alive, no longer the burnt husk it had once been. He supposed that spring certainly helped the feeling of renewal, made it all the more beautiful, but to see Dale come to life once more… It was like a heartbeat long dormant thrummed through it and the mountain again after an age.
Bilbo had requested his good wishes be passed onto Bard, putting into Thorin’s pocket a new pipe and his favorite pipeweed, imported all the way from the Shire. It brought the hobbit happiness to see Bard as king- a role many agreed fit him, despite the man’s own humble declinations. He had always looked after the people of Laketown, and he excelled in diplomacy. A more fair and just ruler the city had never seen, in Bilbo’s opinion. The city and Erebor had a rather good relationship (with a little bit of pushing from Bilbo to get the King out of his chambers, out of Erebor, and make some small talk, for Yavanna’s sake) and trade flowed freely between the two, dwarves often coming down from the mountain to visit the city. The hearts of men and dwarves alike were full once more.
Bilbo and Thorin had agreed upon a time to meet beside the gates and head home, in the late afternoon so they could enjoy dinner in the mountain. The day passed rather pleasantly. Bilbo finished his shopping, his basket rather heavy to carry with one hand, and headed to the grand gates of the city as the bells chimed five times to mark the hour. A few minutes passed, and a few more, and he was beginning to nibble upon a sweet bread when Fíli turned a corner, Kíli in tow. The two were rather weighed down with the heavy royal regalia, and looking tired from a day of nothing but diplomatic activity, but cheered up when they saw Bilbo leaning upon the stone wall, a crumb or two on his waistcoat.
“Bilbo!” Fíli exclaimed. “What a nice surprise. If I have to hear one more thing about trade or economics I will surely fall over and die. Please, tell me of your day!” Bilbo scoffed.
“Fíli, are you not second in line? You’d better get a taste for court quick as you can.” Fíli’s smile faded, and Kíli laughed.
“He’s got you there. What a lucky thing it is, to be the second-born.” Fíli shot him back a scowl.
“Speaking of kings,” Kíli continued, unphased. “Where is Uncle? I surely thought he would be with you. He left Bard’s halls only a few minutes after we did.”
Bilbo sighed and shrugged.
“You’re guess is as good as mine. I am betting that he got hung up, with an advisor wanting to discuss one more thing or something of the sort. He ought to be here shortly. I will leave for dinner without him, though, if it gets too late. Do not think I won’t.”
“You hobbits are rather serious about your meals,” Fíli nodded solemnly. “Uncle knows this quite well. He won’t be late, I’m sure. In the meantime, why don’t you tell us what you have gotten up to today?”
“And perhaps spare a bit of that roll?” Kíli asked, grinning charmingly with his very brightest smile. “I am so hungry. Lunch was ever so long ago.”
“You are lucky I had the mind to get an extra one,” Bilbo replied, digging in his basket and pulling out another sweet roll. “Mind you split it with your brother.” He added, fixing a look upon Kíli, who had already taken a large bite out of the roll, looking rather caught. He reluctantly broke off half and handed it to Fíli, who took it gratefully. The three sat by the city wall for some time, chatting with good spirits, yet there was a sense of slight unease, each glancing around from time to time.
The sun had begun to set when Thorin trudged down the street, and Kíli had almost fallen asleep sitting against the wall, but woke when he heard his brother’s cry of “Uncle!”
Thorin looked worn-out; his hair frizzed a bit, carrying his cloak in his arms, and gave the three a nod.
“Let us go home. I am weary of these streets.” he said, pausing only a moment to wait for the three to get up. They caught up to him, Bilbo tugging his coat back on, Fíli and Kíli chatting excitedly between each other. Bilbo walked to Thorin’s side.
“Whatever took you so long? I almost ate all the bread I purchased today while waiting for you. Do not tell me it was one of Bard’s men asking for another favor, or another relative wishing to chat for far too long.”
“No,” Thorin said. He did not seem eager to say more, his eyes focused on the looming mountain ahead.
Bilbo furrowed his eyebrows.
“Then why were you late? I thought we had agreed on a time to meet. Fíli and Kíli said they left the king’s home only a little bit before you did.”
“It does not matter,” Thorin replied, his voice taking an obstinate tone. “I am here now, yes? Let us get back with haste. It is almost dinner time and I am hungry.” Bilbo clicked his tongue.
“Why are you being difficult? I only asked a question of you, one that seems to have offended you greatly. I wish to know where you were. We wondered of your safety a bit. You were gone a long time, Thorin.”
Gritting his teeth, Thorin turned to Bilbo, scowling.
“Should you really like the truth, since you will not stop bothering me? I lost my way. Each of these streets look the same. Does that satisfy your damnable unending curiosity, Master Baggins?”
Bilbo pursed his lips and looked away, putting his hand over his mouth. His face was obscured, and Thorin glowered, confused.
“What?” he asked, taking the hobbit’s shoulder and turning him so that they faced each other. Bilbo, doing a poor job of concealing it now, was laughing! Thorin felt his face color, and anger rise in his chest.
“What in Mahal’s name is so funny now?” he spat. Bilbo attempted to compose himself, his mouth tightening with the effort not to grin.
“Oh, it is nothing,” he said, but Thorin shook him a bit. “Alright, well, if you must know! I only find it… oh goodness, it’s a little comical that you were lost that long.”
Thorin let go of Bilbo’s shoulder, his face stormy.
“Why, exactly, is that funny?” he asked, voice quiet yet strong. Fíli and Kíli had stopped as well, and were watching behind Bilbo. Kíli shot his brother a grimace.
“Oh, well, it really isn’t, but I only remember that when you arrived at Bag End, you were late because you had gotten lost. And I’ve had to go get you countless times when you’ve lost your way. You’re not very good with directions, are you? And I suppose it’s a little funny because you wouldn’t think that the King Under the Mountain would ever get lost, now would you? Not entirely a kingly feature, haha.”
Thorin looked quietly furious, his expression dark, his teeth clenched.
“None of us can be perfect, Burglar, and I am very sorry to report that the King of Erebor is certainly not. There are far worse things to be bad at, such as holding one’s tongue.”
Bilbo started to realize that he had been rather silly.
“Oh, Thorin, do not take it like that! Don’t be ridiculous. It is no moral failing or fatal flaw, and I did not mean to insult you.”
“You seem to think it is both of those, playing fun with me.”
“Thorin, now-”
“Enough!” Thorin exclaimed loudly, and Fíli and Kíli both jumped. Bilbo looked at the dwarf, frowning. He felt embarrassed but confused. He hadn’t said anything out of line, had he?
“I wish to return to the mountain so that I may return to my duties. I do not have time for these ridiculous frivolities.”
Bilbo opened his mouth to say something, but Fíli placed a hand on his shoulder, gently holding him back as Thorin stormed up the path.
“He’ll get over it, don’t worry,” he said quietly. “Uncle has a habit of making things mean more than they really do. He often makes a mineshaft out of a crack in the wall. Do not let it bother you,”
Bilbo nodded, feeling a bit guilty, and kept walking, watching Thorin’s back as he stalked onwards towards the mountain.
As it turned out, Thorin decidedly did not get over Bilbo’s remark.
He avoided the hobbit at every turn. He took meals in his chambers, made excuses to leave meetings early, and did not walk the more popular mountain paths if he could help it. Bilbo only saw glimpses of him, and as the week passed by, he grew more frustrated and confused.
One night at dinner he asked a question. The Company, as many were in the mountain and available, would often take dinner together. However, the past few times the seat at the head of the table was starkly empty. Thorin’s absence was noted by all.
“I am sure we are all thinking of it,” he began, taking advantage of a lull in conversation (which did not happen much, as dwarves are a rather talkative people). “But might anyone tell me why Thorin has been in such a snit as of late? He’s being ridiculous.” The dwarves cringed.
“Well,” started Bofur. “His Majesty is a little… oh, how to say it…”
“Sensitive?” Dwalin suggested, and Bofur nodded.
“Aye. Rather sensitive. The lad gets his feelings hurt pretty easy. It musta been something you said, Master Baggins.”
“But I said nothing rude!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Nothing even passive-aggressive! And I know the fine art of making something rude sound very nice indeed. No, I simply asked after his location and delay, and he became very cross!”
“Might you ask Balin?” Dori suggested. “He is the king’s advisor, after all.” Bilbo shook his head.
“A sound idea, but one that has already been tried. He really had no more of a clue than any of us do.”
“Uncle is being a pain,” Kíli said, poking at his potatoes. “He’s been in a foul mood, and I wish he would stop giving me paperwork to look over. Please figure out what is wrong with him. Fíli and I only know so many clauses and laws without having to ask Balin.”
“Why don’t you ask the dwarf himself?” suggested Bofur. Fíli and Kíli shared a look, and the rest of the dwarves grimaced.
“Don’t give me that look, you lot!” Crossing his arms, Bofur huffed. “He’s a big softie for you, Master Baggins, and it’s not hard to see. Go and find a time you know he’ll not be busy and ask him. Worst he could do is yell again.”
“Or banish me,” Bilbo mumbled under his breath. “But that’s been done before.” He sighed, taking a drink from his cup.
“Alright, if you think that’s a good idea. I’ll not be walking into my own funeral, though, so if there’s any inkling I ought to find a better course of action, please do let me know.”
The Company thought for a moment, then gave their responses in the forms of frowns or the shaking of heads. Bilbo sighed again.
“Well then, that is what I will do. Let us hope I can get a straight answer from that stubborn dwarf.”
“Mahal guide him…” Ori said, the only thing he had said all dinner.
After the meal, and helping himself to seconds on both dinner and ale, Bilbo felt very warm and comfortable indeed as he returned to his chambers. He trailed his hand against the smooth coldness of the stone walls, savoring the clean chill against his fingers. It had been not very long ago that the cold would have been impossible, instead being an unsettling heat coupled with stale, still air. Though Erebor was certainly not the great city it once was, it was beginning to adopt the shine of times past. Bilbo began to notice that the pain and longing that was once in Thorin’s eyes as he spoke of his home had been replaced with a spark and a hope. It brought a warmth to his own heart to see Thorin return home back to the halls of his people and to brilliantly fill the empty throne. Stubborn, emotionally constipated, and overly serious as he was, Bilbo did indeed have a great fondness for the dwarf.
He leaned against the wall, his head feeling light. He had overindulged in ale a bit, and was beginning to feel it. The cool stone felt wonderful against his warming face, and he remained pressed against the wall for a time until he heard the heavy metal of dwarven footsteps. He turned around, albeit a bit too quickly, and saw Thorin trudging down the hallway, a tired set to his shoulders.
“Thorin!” He exclaimed rather loudly, and the dwarf turned, looking weary and a little surprised. His face settled into a stony expression as Bilbo stumbled over.
“Thorin,” he repeated. “You’ve not been at dinner. We’ve missed you.”
The king had the decency to look a little ashamed as he turned his head, but his voice did not betray any emotion.
“My apologies, Master Baggins. I have been very busy with my duties as of late.”
“Surely the council can wait an hour or so to have dinner with your kin,” Bilbo replied, crossing his arms. “I know you are plenty busy and important, but a little socialization is good for you. Kíli’s been putting his great muddy clomping boots on your chair, besides.”
Still, Thorin refused to look at him.
“I will return shortly. I simply do not have the time at the moment. I trust you all will understand the duties of a king must come before that of kin.”
Bilbo frowned.
“That is simply not true, and you know it. There is something wrong with you, Thorin. Won’t you speak with me?”
“I do not have time for this, Bilbo. I must go.” Thorin turned and left without another word, Bilbo left standing in silence. His temper rose within him, and he kicked the wall, which served only to hurt his foot. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stormed to his rooms, cursing dwarves and kings and the whole blasted kingdom.
He woke with a headache and a sore toe, staring up at the ceiling as he laid in bed far longer than usual. He dressed slowly, mind circling, and only stopped briefly by the kitchens to quickly take a roll and an apple. He took his breakfast out to the ramparts, sitting rather quietly, the wind blowing chill into his sleeves and the ends of his pants. Balin found him up there, eyebrow furrowed, staring off into the landscape.
“What seems to be the matter, dear Bilbo?” He asked kindly. The dwarf was always rather considerate, and Bilbo enjoyed his company. Though he did not register Balin’s presence for a moment, jolting a little when he noticed him standing quietly.
“Ah, Balin. I’m sorry, I suppose I was lost in thought.”
“In thought of what, lad? You’ve been troubled as of late. The Princes both spoke of your worry at dinner last evening. I’ve had my own worries about Thorin, but I wish to know what you had in mind.”
Bilbo exhaled, his brows furrowing.
“That afternoon we went down to Dale,” he began. “He took quite some time returning to the gates, even though we’d agreed on a time to meet. And when I brought it up, he rather got offended, and has not spoken to me for almost three weeks.”
“I see,” Balin touched his beard, fiddling with a bead. “Have you tried speaking with him?” Bilbo nodded.
“Yes, actually. Yesterday evening. And he said he was busy, turned tail, and left. That’s all. I couldn’t get another word out of him.”
“What was it that you said to him, in Dale?”
Bilbo ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “I… I am not sure. I made a comment about him being late, and he said he lost his way. I poked a little fun at him for that, but it was only in jest, and I am sure he knows I did not mean to insult him. I simply do not understand what’s got him so upset.”
“Yet insulted he appears to be…” Balin mused. “I’m rather sorry. I don’t know what the problem is, as it seems you’ve done nothing wrong. Perhaps try to talk to him again. He’s not one to push you away forever, lad.”
“Thank you, Balin.” Bilbo replied, and Balin nodded. “I suppose I will keep trying.”
“That’s the spirit,” Balin said with a sympathetic grimace, patting the hobbit on the back.
Still, Thorin evaded him. It had gotten to a point where all of the dwarves were noticing his absence. Balin was absent often too, alongside Fíli and Kíli, called to Thorin’s chambers to assist with documents or treaties or whatever Thorin was doing in his rooms, leaned over a desk for all hours of the day. Fíli and Kíli (though the younger moreseo) complained of Thorin’s poor mood and his barked orders, and there was even one night where Fíli was woken many hours before dawn to go over a trade agreement that had been discussed until late evening, the dwarf returning to the end of dinner looking entirely worn-out. Bilbo had had enough.
One morning when the air was colder than it had been for several days prior, Bilbo marched up to the royal chambers and banged on the door. The sound echoed through the stone halls, incessant and loud, until the door was opened. Thorin stood behind it, looking exhausted and in disarray.
“I will speak with you later, Master Baggins,” he said, voice low, and closed the door. Bilbo caught it with a foot wedged in the door, and shoved his way past.
“Oh, no, you will not!” He exclaimed angrily. “I am sick to death of this ridiculousness. You will tell me what is the matter with you right now, and there will be no laters! Now, Thorin, son of Thrain!”
Thorin’s eyes widened in surprise, but then his features settled into a tired scowl.
“I am busy, Bilbo. A king has much to do.” he replied stiffly. Bilbo’s mouth grew tight.
“I said something that offended you. This much I know. And you have avoided me ever since. Do not try to deny it!” he cried as Thorin opened his mouth to speak. “It is incredibly clear to the entire Company that you have been offended.”
“You have spoken to the Company of this?” Thorin asked, looking angry. Bilbo scoffed.
“Of course I have. They have all noticed your state recently. You have worked your nephews to the bone, taking out your foul mood on all of us. Now, you will either stop being horrible or you will tell me what I said!” Thorin shook his head, laughing without humor.
“You do not remember. Of course not.” Bilbo clenched his teeth.
“I remember that you were late to our agreed meeting, and you got all in a tiff about being lost, which, frankly, was ridiculous. I mean, everyone gets-”
“Precisely that, burglar.”
Thorin cut Bilbo off with a sharp growl, and Bilbo stood with his mouth open. The dwarf looked furious, his expression stormy and dark.
“You insulted me. I was lost in a city I have helped rebuild, and have maintained diplomatic relations with.”
“Thorin, that is-”
“No!” Thorin cried. “No, I will tell you what you said, as you have forgotten. You seemed to think because I, stupidly, foolishly, was lost, that certainly it is not fitting for the King of Erebor to get himself lost in a city he professes to ally with. There are countless other things at which I have failed at. The fact that I am not fit to be king was the message that I received loud and clear from you, Master Baggins. I have known you long enough to know what you meant, without so many words. I understood your implications well.”
Bilbo stood in silence for a moment before speaking.
“Oh, my dear Thorin, that is not what I meant at all! Oh, I was poking fun at you! I did not mean that you are not fit to be king because you lost your way in Dale. Those streets do look similar after a while. Why did you not tell me what I had said earlier? This has all become a mess.”
Thorin stood deep in thought, his jaw clenched.
“I… I was weary from the meeting with Bard. I have been weary. I truly thought you had insulted me- oh, Mahal.”
“I am so sorry that I offended you, but you do not need to take it to heart. I was simply joking with you, but I can see that my words were made to mean more than they did. There is no one under this mountain I think more suited to being king.” Bilbo took Thorin’s hands in his own. The dwarf looked exhausted, ashamed.
“You silly dwarf, you’ve worked yourself to the bone. No wonder you did not take it as a joke. I am terribly sorry, but truly, I did not mean anything badly by what I said.”
Thorin’s hair fell into his face as he leaned his head down, his shoulders slumped.
“I am rather foolish, aren’t I?” he mumbled quietly. “I should have only spoken to you. We ought to have resolved this a long time ago. I am sorry to you, and to the Company.”
Bilbo shook his head, moving to Thorin’s side. He tilted his head to meet the dwarf’s eyes.
“Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain, you make your forebearers proud. You need not doubt yourself so. To be king is a hard job, and not one that any one dwarf can take up. You have done beyond admirably. I only wish you had more belief in yourself.”
“Thank you, Bilbo. It is only that… I worry for the sake of this kingdom.” Thorin sighed, brushing his hair out of his face. He looked down at his feet. “I feel as though, despite preparing for this my entire life, I am not ready. That I am not enough to lead Erebor.”
Thorin took in a deep breath, a little shaky at the end. Bilbo placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“You as you are is more than enough. More than anyone could ever ask for.”
Thorin attended dinner the following night, still quiet and weary, but he smiled at the cheers of the Company and at the easy companionship that flowed between them, smooth as the streams of ale that flowed through the tankards as the night grew on. Kíli and Fíli grinned broadly to see their uncle dine with them again (and the loads of paperwork and meetings lessened, adding to their merriment). Bilbo patted Thorin on the shoulder, letting his hand lay on Thorin’s upper arm.
“You can be simply Thorin too, you know,” he said quietly, smiling softly. “You needn’t always be the king. We like Thorin just as much. Perhaps even better.”
Thorin looked into his mug. His reflection looked back. He smiled ever so slightly, and took a drink of his ale.