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A Bagginshield one-shot where Thorin ignores tradition and Bilbo is oblivious.
i.
Living outside of Erebor hadn't made traditions forgotten, but Thorin didn't hold them as strictly as before. Before it would've been disgraceful to the highest level for him to lower himself to that of a common smithy, whose patrons were men and not even his own kind.
Dis frowned at the burns and the smell of metal when he returned, but it helped add to their living and wood for the cold winters. To their hopeless fund for the return journey to their home that was long-lost. Forgotten as it now stood abandoned miles, rivers, and mountains far to the east.
But suddenly it wasn't that far away in hope. The Fundin brothers had spread word, and suddenly the journey Thorin wondered he might have to take alone was increased to thirteen. Close and extended family alike coming together to agree. And dwarrows didn't put their heads together often, except to try and knock the other out in an affectionate greeting. It was a near-miracle they were stringing together for such a risky venture.
Plans were made, ponies were ordered, and Kili had the honor of smashing open the ceramic jar Thorin and Dis had added coins to for half a century now.
Thorin left the meeting of dwarf representatives with his legs working stiffly, his brain too occupied on other thoughts then how to move his body with more fineness. Because those who he had considered kin were not going to join in his cause, arguing it was a futile, lost one that would only end in ruin or dragon fire.
Thorin had thought over this mission for decades. He didn't need to be told the perils he'd lost sleep over.
To distract himself, Thorin thought of the others to stay his anger. How Dwalin would pull ahead from the others to scout out possible enemies in hiding on the road. He would arrive at the burglar's first, maybe with Balin following close behind because he worried about his younger brother even with all of Dwalin's strength. He would want to make sure he arrived safely.
Then it would be everyone else, probably meeting Gandalf at the door as the wizard finished off a pipe. Thorin was still concerned about that wizard. There was something more than just a little unsettling to have what was closest to an omnipresent being in their company. Even if it was temporary, and he had given Thorin the push necessary for this journey.
It was somewhat unsurprising when Thorin got lost, and found himself steering his pony down all the small roads in this odd place of flowers and bare-feet creatures. They had pointed ears, and if Thorin had already found fault in hobbits, he sure did now at seeing their easy lifestyles.
Finally he arrived at the marked door. When he was admitted in and saw what was to be their burglar, he barely managed to hold back a snort. He didn't hold back his displeasure at the idea of such a soft, vulnerable creature coming along to face a fire drake.
Thorin wanted to scoff again when this Master Baggins brought him some stew and bread, saying it was all that he had left to offer with a nervous frown and twitching fingers.
The dwarf involuntarily thought of the age-old tradition of becoming affianced: to give the last of your food to your other half. To metaphorically show that you were willing to give what supported you to someone else. Because what was life without the other?
Thorin gave a gruff thanks, because he wasn't completely rude, and turned back to his food. He didn't think of dwarvish engagements until some months later.
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ii.
There was the taste of ash in his mouth when he woke, even if the fires and danger were long past them.
Gandalf's face was the first he saw after awakening, and Thorin struggled to stand if only to get that weathered, concerned face out of his. He asked for Bilbo, and turned to see him away from the others, face open with concern and hope.
Thorin thought of how Bilbo had come swinging, hitting his mark more through luck than skill. How he would need to fix that with sword lessons, but maybe not by him. Thorin would be too harsh on him; Fili would be a better teacher, with his easy smiles instead of Thorin's grimaces.
It was not one of Thorin's proudest moments, bringing someone other than family close for an embrace. He barely touched strangers, and only then when the market was full and shoulders-jostling was a necessity. Never before had he brought someone from a foreign land and people close to his person. And not out of obligation, but because Thorin truly wanted to feel Bilbo's body live and safe against his own.
That night they set up camp below the carrock and Oin tended to his wounds. Thorin's eyes that were heavy with medicine watched as Bilbo helped prepare and grind herbs for everyone's burns or cuts. There were many scratches and scrapes needed to be cleansed; it was all too easy for wounds from goblins or orcs to become infected.
When Bilbo announced he'd be heading towards the forest for more herbs, Thorin shot Dwalin a look his cousin understood all too well. Although by the look Dwalin gave in return, Thorin would have to talk.
Not that there was much to explain. Thorin was simply glad the halfling had decided to find his bravery in time to save him. Who had been foolish enough to take on an orc twice his size on a warg that was at least three times bigger; it was no wonder Thorin had been knocked aside like a doll.
He should feel embarrassed then, disgraced, someone shorter and not even half of Thorin's weight would do what he had not. Instead all the dwarf felt was gratitude. Thankful that Bilbo had ignored Thorin's dismissal of him before, that he'd decided to bolt out his door and comfortable living to join them all on this hapless quest.
Thorin didn't sleep well that night, the new stitches pulling at his sides and his thoughts intruding upon his dreams. He dreamed of the halls of Erebor, of seeing gold not in the hard coins, but the soft curls atop someone's head.
It was only when they rested at Beorn's, when his wounds were fully healed and he had time to bathe and sleep without worry, that Thorin realized Bilbo had proposed to him again.
He had not abandoned Thorin in his most dire time of need, despite the obvious risk it was to the halfling's own life. The hobbit had gambled his life for Thorin's, offering to sacrifice more than just what was needed to fuel his body.
It was one of the boldest declarations of intent, and their burglar had done it without a thought or worry of consequence.
If Thorin was a little grumpy the next day, he thought no one could blame him. But he made sure not to let it all out on Master Baggins, even if he was the one for all this trouble.
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iii.
Dwarves were accustomed to battles and saving each other's lives. It was this main reason why Thorin hadn't put much thought into when Bilbo freed him from the trolls, then the spiders. It had also helped how Thorin hadn't been the only one in need of saving: the entire company had.
But this was different: knowingly putting all his faith in Bilbo as a last resort. To allow the halfling to save him from a situation Thorin had put himself in, had doomed himself to by refusing Thranduil.
And Bilbo, as always, didn't fail to succeed despite the obstacles. It wasn't as fast-acting as his other saves, as it took precious days away from their journey to find the keys, to find the occasion to escape from the prisons.
Riding down barrels in rapids, with rabid orcs and elves alike chasing after them while killing each other: it didn't hold the eminence finenessof some of Bilbos' earlier saves. But as their journey continued, Thorin was less interested in making their stories grand for songs and odes to come. All the dwarf cared about was getting there. If it had to be through riding empty barrels, of abandoning all their possessions and using the enemies infected weapons against the filth- it had a nice ring to it in his mind.
Thorin's idea of anything-goes was stretched even further when they were thrown in said barrels a second time, had fish poured over them, and then had to come into a rotting home through the privy. Eat stale bread and try and get warm through mold-eaten blankets.
Bilbo was the worst out of them, sneezing as they took a day to recover at Bard's. They had lost precious time in Mirkwood, but they had gained a day back from Bard's opportune appearance. Now they had a good week and a half before they needed to find the door at sunset.
Oin said it was nothing but a cold, which Bilbo thought fitting considering he'd had to skulk around without a proper place to sleep for a fortnight in Mirkwood. The stress had made it impossible to sleep, and then a ride down a cold rive to a frozen lake: the halfling was not short on words to affirm his slight affliction.
Thorin brought him tea once, on a tray with honey he'd given coin to the young boy to get. Bilbo had brightened at the liquid gold, and Thorin wondered if hobbits and dwarves were really that different in what they valued in life.
Thorin thanked Bilbo for what he'd done, how he'd allowed this foolhardy adventure to continue. He left out how once again Bilbo had offered himself to Thorin by saving him from a situation the dwarf had purposefully put himself in, only for Bilbo to get him out of.
Their burglar had laughed weakly before coughing harshly, and Thorin's fingers tensed at his thighs to reach out. To share his thanks with the warmth of his body to the halfling who couldn't stop shivering.
Thankfully Bilbo did get better, and with the honey that coated his throat, he could at least talk a little without sounding horrid. It allowed them to leave the next day.
And if Thorin wrapped Bilbo in more furs than strictly necessary at their leaving, his companions may have looked and whispered, but they didn't say anything to Thorin or Bilbo.
Thorin didn't care for their opinions anyways, when he had all the confirmation by his act by the shy smile Bilbo gave.
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vi.
Thorin only had glimpses, blurred images of after he'd seen the gold. He remembered mostly his emotions during that time of turmoil. Of feeling not the soft warmth of coming home, like he had in the Blue Mountains when returning from a day at the smith to Dis. To Fili and Kili who latched onto either leg.
No, Thorin remembered the incessant burning in his chest. Feeling that his limbs and body were something to ignore over the pounding in his head, demanding something Thorin was trying in all his ability to find. Because what was food, even liquid gold honey, in response to the splendor of this treasury.
He remembered some things with clarity: the hesitant, scared smile Bilbo gave Thorin when revealing his prized acorn. How he'd demanded Bilbo stay at his side by the throne, guiding him to his designated spot by a hand at his neck.
Thorin remembered thinking that Bilbo didn't need to wander Erebor, or talk to the others. The halfling- he belonged to Thorin. He needed to stay with the gold. To join it, and be the shining beacon of Thorin's treasure.
Bilbo had shown his worth too many times on this adventure, and it was finally time for him to deserve his place beside Thorin. For others to see and marvel at, to gain the respect and adoration of the wealthiest king in all of Middle Earth.
Maybe the pounding in every fiber of his being would never lesson if the Arkenstone was truly lost, but even then, Thorin had a new focal point in his wealth with Bilbo.
Of course the stone was found, as most things lost in the dark eventually are. Except it was not from the hands of any of the company sent to search for it: it was from a dirty rag in the hands of an enemy. Of Bard the Bowman who had decidingly saved Thorin on two occasions by hosting them and bringing down Smaug. But the company had paid him before, the dwarves had fashioned that black arrow, and if his ancestor had simply killed the dragon before-
No, Thorin didn't owe anything to this human or the posturing elf beside him. They were threats to his new position, come to claim what wasn't theirs. They hadn't bled for these halls, didn't have the nostalgia of the glory.
Bilbo had explained, and instead of listening, Thorin lashed out in rage. Part of him, the part that was the true dwarf and not this hollow the gold sickness had left him, said that Bilbo was braver and more committed than any other. His halfling had come back even after his betrayal.
It was a stronger statement than protecting Thorin against Azog, of saving him from Thranduil. Bilbo held camaraderie in Thorin, even if he didn't deserve it after crossing the dwarf. This little creature was offering his trust, his vulnerable life to Thorin in such blatant disregard for himself.
Thorin had only seen the later, not the trust in return. For what he should have done in response to such a strong declaration without words. Bilbo had faith in Thorin that the dwarf would understand. Would see that he'd only done what had needed to be done. To try and fix what Thorin had been unwilling to see and understand.
Instead of this, Thorn had nearly thrown him from the wall. Too engrossed in his grief of losing the two things closest to his heart.
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v.
Thorin awoke from believing he was dead with the singular thought that he obviously wasn't. While he'd done things he wasn't proud of in his life, he didn't expect hell to be so unoriginal in blinding pain and a tent with too many furs.
His vision swam from the pain in his stomach, of his shield arm, but something stopped Thorin from drifting off back into the blackness. It probably had something to do with the soft hands at his temple, and the soft voice that started when the fingers stilled.
Of course it was Bilbo, but before Thorin could open his eyes again and try to find him, the halfling was bolting from the tent. Thorin came back what felt like only a minute later to Oin forcefully opening his eyelids and shining light into them.
Thorin asked about his nephews and their burglar before asking for water. The old healer had snorted before saying something about seeing so for himself.
Bilbo had appeared then, properly, and he had never looked more beautiful even with the blood-crusted bandage around his head, of his arm wrapped in a sling. The halfling sat in the stool Oin vacated, and he explained in a hushed voice about what had happened after he'd fallen on the ice.
He cried while explaining how very cruel it was for Thorin to say that parting without any consideration to Bilbo's feelings. How Thorin would feel if Bilbo had decided to give up and die, asking for friendship when there was nothing that couldn't be overcome in time. How it was a cheap shot to use your dying breaths to ask for forgiveness. That Thorin should do it himself in the days to come.
The dwarf smiled slowly, and Bilbo stopped his babbling. Thorin wondered if it had only been after their embrace on the carrock that he'd shown Bilbo his true smile. He'd been delirious in the mountain, offering that owning smile to Bilbo when he wanted to gaze and appreciate him.
The days merged together in a way similar to the mountain, but this time Thorin remembered things with clarity even through the haze of the medicine and pain. Bilbo came and read to him, and the others in the company took turns saying hello as well.
Fili and Kili were in the adjoining tent, but they both made the short journey over if only to alleviate Thorin's worry over them. They cried and held either of Thorin's' hands, since they couldn't embrace or knock heads with their wounds still fresh and seeping blood through the stitches.
It took two weeks before Thorin finally awoke without pain clouding nearly all of his senses. He felt those same light fingers from the first time since he'd awoken at his temple. But this time, instead of ghosting over his skin, they were gently pulling and separating the strands there.
Thorin's eyes snapped open at that, and looked up to see Bilbo give him a sheepish smile and explanation. He said how Thorin would prefer his nephews do it, or someone from the company, but they were all too injured or busy. And Bilbo had gotten tired of seeing his braids in such disarray. While Thorin would have to wait to wash it for a few more days, Bilbo thought to at least correct his braids.
The halfling fussed over how it wouldn't be proper or good to welcome visitors to his tent without looking his best. Thorin refused the urge to laugh, as it would have pulled at his stomach wound.
Thorin closed his eyes, and breathed out with relief as Bilbo's deft fingers braided the hair at the sides of his face. The dwarf could feel it was the four-style braid Thorin preferred, and he wondered if Bilbo had known how to do this braid before their adventure, or had asked another to teach him.
The warm feeling of success, of feeling like himself, and of feeling Bilbo happy and at ease beside him made Thorin sleepy with joy. It was an odd, foreign feeling, but Thorin had learned lots on this adventure. And found he was willing to change, to become something better than generations past who had let old grudges and greed control them.
He was tired of hiding in the darker shadows of himself and thoughts, but Thorin would tell Bilbo another time that braiding was something only done through close family or married couples. If it was done in any other circumstance it was a bold declaration of love and intent to intertwine into one for the rest of their days.
For now Thorin would allow himself to slip into sleep feeling protected and wanted.
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+i.
By the time that Thorin was healed enough to stand, Gandalf declared that he and Bilbo would need to stay the winter. While they could make a good distance now, they could not make it to Rivendell without getting snowed in at a pass somewhere along the way.
Thorin had demanded they stay in the mountain, as Dale was still being re-built and lack any sound structure. The mountain was already open to Bard's people in their time of need. Here they were protected from the cold and spreading sickness.
So what was one extra hobbit, especially when it was the true hero of Erebor. Even with most of Dain's dwarves that had stayed to help, there were plenty of rooms for guests to stay in. Thorin tried not to dwell on the fact, and focused instead on how at least now they would be occupied.
Bilbo was put in the royal suites, in one of the four guest chambers saved for esteemed guests. Thorin was disappointed when Bilbo had seemed more flustered than honored.
Even with him staying a season in definite, it was hard to find the halfling. True, Thorin had countless duties as a new king to a fledgling, new time of peace and prosperity. The elves were once again their allies and brought food to feed his people and Bard's; Thorin wanted to accept them but all he felt was unease. It was even worse with that redheaded one that simply refused to leave and would braid leaves, leaves, in his nephew's hair.
When Thorin did get away from his duties, he usually retired to the library to find Bilbo pouring over text and helping Ori translate. Other times he was in the kitchens, which Thorin preferred more, as it usually meant baked treats were pushed the dwarf's way with a wide smile.
Today had felt like any other day, with Thorin retiring to his rooms to shuck off his heavy court-armor and boots. He was looking forward to a long bath and hot dinner, but was surprised to see Bilbo sitting by his fire smoking a pipe and looking decidingly worried.
The halfling stood in a huff, and Thorin felt dread well up in his throat before taking steps closer. It was soon approaching the height of spring; it was not surprising Bilbo would want to talk of him returning home soon so preparations could start.
Instead the hobbit apologized for his actions, for any confusion of unwanted attention they might have brought. He babbled that he had only had the best intentions for Thorin, and that the dwarf should feel no obligation towards him.
When Thorin rested a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, telling him to relax and explain, Bilbo looked up and Thorin sucked in a hasty breath in shock. Because the halfling explained how he knew; he knew how he had proposed to Thorin on occasions from the very start, between, and end of their journey.
Thorin indulged in a smile, and told him it was fine. That Bilbo had nothing to worry about, that Thorin would gladly give him friendship for as long as they should draw breath.
Bilbo had sighed in relief at that, before his entire demeanor changed and he looked up in determination. Then he proposed, as casually and naturally as if it was a greeting, and Thorin was left there standing still like a statue.
Bilbo dropped his eyes, made to move away, but Thorin tightened his grip on Bilbo's shoulder. It made him look up, and Bilbo must have seen the affirmation instead of needing to hear it, because the next moment Thorin had his arms full of light, laughing hobbit.
FIN