Chapter Text
The Lonely Mountain loomed ahead as they approached the city of Dale, and Bilbo had never been so glad to see that craggy old rock in all his life. The return to Erebor had been more dangerous than Bilbo had foreseen. Kili and Fili had brought a few dwarf soldiers with them who had stayed in Bree while the princes retrieved the hobbit. But that did not stop the orc hunting parties they encountered past Rivendale.
Bilbo had prayed he’d never have to use Sting again to defend the ones he loved, but with little Frodo cowering in the cart, he thought nothing of jumping into the fray with his dwarf comrades; Fili hacking away at the enemy while Kili’s arrows found their marks imbedded in orc skulls.
After that they rode hard, lingering only to give the young hobbit a respite, Bilbo assuring a weary Frodo that they were close, only a little further.
Frodo peeped out from his uncle’s arms as they neared the vast gates to the mountain and shivered.
“This place is scary, Uncle Bilbo.”
Bilbo petted his dark curls and kissed his head. “Not to worry my lad. It’s just that we are so small. It’s really quite extraordinary inside.”
“Aye,” Kili pulled his pony up to the wagon and reached over to touch Frodo’s arm. “You’ll love it, little one. Your uncle even has a garden here that will be a grand place for hide and seek.”
Bilbo smiled at Kili, charmed by how much the youngest prince had taken to Frodo. He hoped the others in the company felt the same. He wondered after his garden, probably gone to seed and left to rot in his long absence.
Anxiety ate away at Bilbo’s insides, worrying for Thorin’s health. Kili and Fili had assured him that the King was made of sterner stuff than all that, but hearing that Thorin had been weakend at all set Bilbo’s heart to racing. The King could not appear to wane, not with dissenters in the ranks.
After sending Frodo off to the kitchens with the princes, Balin met Bilbo at the doors to the throne room, giving the hobbit a hearty hug.
“Oh laddie, I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you back,” Balin said, wiping tears of joy from his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I did not know my leaving would be so detrimental to everyone,” Bilbo wrung his hands, glancing at the doors. “Is he…?”
Balin nodded, suddenly serious. “We’ll have to wait, though. The King has just presided over an execution.”
Bilbo blanched. “What?”
“Some miners from the Iron Hills tried to steal in order to fund a revolt. They believe Dain should rule, though make no mistake, Dain has his hands full in the Iron Hills,” Balin explained.
“But… an execution?” Bilbo shuddered.
The great doors to the throne room opened and a throng of dwarves waited inside. Balin ushered Bilbo inside, along the pathway that lead to the mighty stalactite that dipped down from the abyss above to create the throne.
“Thorin has no use or patience for scheming traitors who would stir up trouble. Especially not these days.”
Bilbo wondered how many others had felt the bite of the King’s fury since his absence. Surely this wasn’t because of their supposed bond? He swallowed the bile in his throat, suddenly afraid to see what had become of his dwarf.
Balin nodded toward the dais. “Only in the last few days has he regained enough strength to leave his rooms.” At Bilbo’s horror-struck look he continued, “It would not do for the people to see their king in such a weakened state. He was nearly bedridden for the last month. We worried he might slip away. Thank Mahal that he has finally rallied in these last few days.”
There on the throne, sat Thorin; every bit as resplendent as Bilbo remembered. He nodded to his scribes and Bilbo could hear a few words of Khuzdul uttered in that soul-shivering timbre before the king dismissed his audience. As the dwarfs dispersed, Bilbo watched Thorin slump to the side of this throne, looking bone weary and cast down.
Now that he was a little closer, Bilbo could see the ashen complexion and the dark smudges under the King’s eyes. Dwalin appeared and almost had to help Thorin rise from the great stone chair. Bilbo felt his stomach drop to his knees.
The lads hadn’t been exaggerating, for Thorin looked like he’d aged another hundred years in Bilbo’s absence. His heart pulled and tugged like a wayward horse on a lead, urging him to his King’s side but his furry feet remained rooted to the ground.
Soon, it was just Balin and the hobbit standing before the throne of Erebor and finally Thorin glanced up.
Bilbo froze and Thorin seemed to turn to stone, shock etched into his face. He took a shuddering breath and used Dwalin’s arm to brace himself.
“Bilbo?” Thorin had never sounded so uncertain; as if Bilbo were a wraith conjured by his mind.
The hobbit took a step or two forward, his hand going to his chest as if trying to rein in his heart and he was shocked to see Thorin mirror his action. The dwarf king made his way down the steps slowly, eyes never leaving his hobbit, until he broke into a run, robes flying and armor clanking.
Bilbo had enough time to suck in a shocked breath as a hard, dwarven body collided with his and impossibly strong arms crushed him to Thorin’s chest. Thorin buried his face in Bilbo’s neck, great heaving gasps wrenching themselves from his body and all the hobbit could do was hang on.
“You’ve come back,” Thorin was murmuring over and over. “My hobbit… you’ve returned to me.”
“I told you I would,” Bilbo sobbed. He didn’t care if tears were flowing freely.
When Thorin moved away enough to take the halfling’s face into his large hands, Bilbo saw streaks of tears on his roughened cheeks as well. Suddenly there as a mouth greedily devouring Bilbo’s and he struggled to match Thorin’s fervor, pushing and pulling at robes and braids and pressing his body flush with the king’s.
Bilbo gripped the king’s neck as best he could, letting the big dwarf bend him to his will and drink his fill. Soon, the need to breathe took hold and Thorin broke away, panting, as color returned to his complexion.
Bilbo sagged against him, belatedly realizing that they’d been left alone in the great cavern. Thorin ran his hands down Bilbo’s arms, then through his hair, touch starved and needy, like he could not get enough of the hobbit's skin against his.
“You were gone so long,” Thorin’s voice rumbled pleasantly through Bilbo, “I had feared you’d abandoned me.”
Bilbo huffed out a self-deprecating sigh and burrowed into the king’s chest again. Thorin wrapped his bulk around the Halfling, tucking him into his side as they walked from the throne room.
“I’m so very sorry.” It seemed all Bilbo could do was apologize these days. “I didn’t realize how long I’d been gone.”
“Are we so easily forgotten?” Thorin clutched him closer still as they walked, watching closely.
Bilbo reared his head back to look at the king, askance. “No! Never. I just found myself overwhelmed with family and business.” He sagged against Thorin’s side and sniffled miserably, “Oh, Thorin. I didn’t mean to cause you pain. Truly. If I had but known...”
“Peace, beloved,” Thorin rumbled as he pressed a kiss to the crown of Bilbo’s head. “All is well now that you have returned.”
Thorin led him back up the stairwells to a familiar room. The great crystal doors shone brightly and as Thorin opened them onto Bilbo’s garden, the Halfling took a breath and gripped Thorin’s arm hard.
Instead of the desolate place he expected, the garden was in full bloom. Orchids and lupines waved in the slight breeze, the flowing bushes were covered in white flowers and even some of the vines had vivid purple buds on them. Everything was so beautiful he could scarcely breathe.
“I hired a young man from Dale to tend this in your absence,” Thorin said quietly, watching his hobbit’s reaction. “I could not bear to let it fade. It was all I had left of you.”
“Oh,” Bilbo breathed. Looking over the perfectly tended beds and sculpted shrubs, he felt the hot, wet rush of tears flowing down his cheeks
What a fool he’d been to stay away so long, causing such distress to those he loved. When he thought about how wretched Thorin looked, and the way the princelings worried, he simply could not stand himself.
Bilbo collapsed on one of the stone benches, gathered his knees to his chest, ducked his head and wept bitterly. Thorin rushed to his side, kneeling before his hobbit and tried desperately to comfort him.
“Hush now, Bilbo,” Thorin crooned, reaching to pull the quivering mass of blubbering hobbit into his lap on the warm grass. He arranged his robes around them both and settled his back against the bench. “Stop your tears, beloved.”
Thorin kissed his forehead and cheeks, wiping away the tears he could get to and coaxing the hobbit to look at him. When Bilbo did, Thorin smiled such a beautiful, tender smile that Bilbo felt his chest would burst open.
“I didn’t know,” Bilbo choked out. “I didn’t know what my leaving would do to either of us, about this One business or… oh Thorin, what a wretched fool I was.”
A deep chuckled bubbled up from Thorin’s chest. “I see my nephews have been talking to you about our legends.” He cradled Bilbo to his chest and let out a deep contented sigh.
“They told me that I am your One,” Bilbo said quietly.
“Aye.” Thorin gently tilted Bilbo’s chin up to meet his gaze and smiled. “It seems that our souls were meant to be together, Halfling. Happenstance brought us together but fate meant us to be a Whole.”
Thorin leaned down and sealed his lips over Bilbo’s tenderly. To the end of his days, Bilbo would remember the feeling of rightness overtaking his entire body in that moment and the way Thorin seemed to glow when he pulled back.
“I guess we should thank Gandalf for insisting I be the fourteenth member of your Company,” Bilbo smiled into Thorin’s beard, pressing a series of kisses to the king’s neck.
Thorin made a wanton yet grumbling noise in the back of his throat as Bilbo nipped at the hollow of his neck.
“I’d rather not think about that conniving old wizard having a hand in the fate of my heart, little one.”
Bilbo let the dwarf cradle him in his arms as Thorin explored the tender parts of his neck with his tongue and teeth, until he was squirming restlessly by the time the king pulled away. The passion alight in Thorin’s eyes burned Bilbo to his core. The dwarf took a steadying breath and fished something out of his pocked.
It was a small black box made of polished onyx. Thorin took Bilbo’s hand in his, pressing a kiss to each knuckle before opening the box.
Inside was the most beautiful ring Bilbo had ever laid eyes on. Wrought of silver or some other light-colored alloy, with a perfect sapphire in the middle set with diamonds, the ring sparkled valiantly at him in the setting sun. Thorin took it out and carefully slipped it onto one of Bilbo’s fingers.
“I had it sized for you over a year ago,” Thorin rumbled, eyes never leaving the halfling’s. “I am a fool, knowing my heart for so long yet too craven to act on its desires until now.”
“A year?” Bilbo shuddered and Thorin gripped him tighter. He shook his head and smiled at his One. “We were both foolish, you great stubborn dwarf, dancing around the truth like we did.”
Thorin’s laugh was indulgent and he kissed Bilbo’s hand again.
“Just so, my Halfling.” He looked hesitantly up at his beloved, dipping his head to catch the hobbit’s eyes. “Do you accept?”
“Let us not leave room for misunderstandings this time,” Bilbo said, grinning unabashedly at the confused look on Thorin’s noble brow. “What exactly am I agreeing to? And I am agreeing, just to clear that part up. Whatever it is, yes!”
“You accept my offer of courtship and eventual marriage,” Thorin stated solemnly, though Bilbo could see him trying to reign in the joy threatened to spill out of his every pore.
Gazing up into Thorin’s bright eyes, Bilbo smiled serenely, feeling like something had slotted into place in his chest at last.
“I accept your offer, my king,” Bilbo said formally and sucked in a happy gasp as Thorin swooped down and kissed him with a demanding adoration.
Several long moments later, Bilbo managed to settle against his One’s chest while the great King of Erebor nuzzled his curls. Just as Bilbo was considering straddling the king’s lap to take better advantage of the height distribution there on the ground, someone coughed from the doorway.
The two bond mates looked up to see Kili and Fili, both barely able to hold in their glee. Well, Kili was failing miserably, as his smile could have lit the darkest heart of the mountain.
“Someone was wanting you, Mister Baggins,” Fili said.
“Or should we call you Uncle Bilbo now,” Kili actually giggled.
Thorin sighed indulgently. “Must you always interrupt?”
Both princelings nodded enthusiastically but Bilbo spied a set of large blue eyes peering around Kili’s leg.
“Oh!” he cried. “Thorin, I nearly forgot. I have someone to introduce to you.”
Bilbo ignored the low, frustrated moan that rose from the king as he extricated himself from Thorin’s lap and went to the lads.
Thorin was just brushing his trousers of grass when Bilbo turned around, a tiny hobbit child attached to his leg and looking up at him shyly.
The dwarf’s mouth fell open and Bilbo fought the urge to tell Thorin to stop gawping. It was not as if he'd produced a fairy from thin air – though he supposed in a dwarf kingdom hobbit childeren were indeed a rarity – but he enjoyed the undisguised shock on his king’s face.
“Frodo Baggins,” Bilbo said gently, urging the boy to take a step forward and let go of his leg. “My nephew.”
Frodo looked up and up at the imposing form of the dwarf king and blinked. He clutched Bilbo’s leg a little harder and in a tiny voice he asked, “A-are you the king?”
Thorin’s face softened and he looked up from the child to his beloved One, smiling crookedly. Bilbo had little doubt now that the great dwarf king was just as enchanted with his little Frodo as the princes were.
Then Thorin, son of Thrain bent his knee to put himself at eye level with the little hobbit and gave a slight bow of his head.
“Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain,” he said, reaching out to take Frodo’s little hand and smiling warmly. “At your service.”
“Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole.” Plato, The Symposium.
~Fin~