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“Frodo, dear!” Bilbo called as he rounded the corner into the sitting room of Bag End. Loud voices had been enough to draw him there after his bath, curls still wet and dripping. Pushing open the door, he saw he was right as to his guest’s location. Yavanna, he did not want to know what they were playing with those cards - or what the stakes were.
“Frodo, I’ve got something to show you,” he said. Three sets of eyes swiveled to look at him. Kíli dropped his cards.
“So that’s it, then,” Dwalin growled. Kíli’s eyes were wide, mouth gone slack.
“But… did we do something wrong?” the young prince asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“What in heaven’s name are you lot going on about?” Bilbo asked as he sat, setting the pot of wax and two beads down on the little end table, careful not to let the beads roll off the edge.
“The beads…” Dwalin started, then stopped, seeming to think this was explanation enough. Just as both he and Kíli had felt meaningful glances and half finished sentences were enough of an explanation for a lot of things as they journeyed with him from Erebor.
“Yes, my beads. That’s what I came in here for. Frodo, darling, remember when I said I’d show you how I put the braids in the next time I washed my hair?” Frodo hurried over to where his uncle sat, cards forgotten. He’d been fascinated with the braids his uncle now wore in his hair ever since he saw them.
When his little nephew had first asked about them, Bilbo had told him that they were gifts from the dwarves, a slant on the truth that had been all he’d felt up to. He wasn’t even sure why he kept wearing the things, withstanding odd looks from other hobbits and fussing about with a special wax to keep them in his fine hair. It just felt wrong to go without them, was all, and he didn’t see a reason to miss the slight weight of them.
“Wait just a jot. Is this about your odd dwarvish sense of propriety when it comes to hair?” Bilbo asked. Maybe he’d just done the dwarvish equivalent of walking into the sitting room in naught but his drawers.
“No, no!” Kíli said quickly, head shaking. “It is your right to share your braiding with your closest kin. Dwalin and I will go.” Dwalin looked slightly confused, but stood anyway when the younger dwarf stamped on his foot.
“Yes,” he grumbled, “You should have privacy while you discuss such personal family matters.”
Bilbo rolled his eyes, but let them go. If walking into a room with wet hair was enough to disturb even Dwalin’s sense of decorum, then it must be a grave affront indeed. Though he could have sworn he heard him mumble as he left the room, “I hope this means he’s about to make up his fool mind, and we can all go home,” which didn’t make any sense at all.
“Dwalin, he didn’t have any blood relations present at the first Gathering,” Kíli whispered, continuing their nonsense conversation. The rest, however, was cut off as the door shut behind them.
Shaking off thoughts of odd dwarrow and their odd behaviors, he turned his attention back to Frodo, who was rolling his red garnet bead between thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the light.
“Are you finally going to tell me what these funny symbols mean?” the boy asked, carefully setting down the deep red bead and reaching for the blue one.
“Careful now,” Bilbo said, gently picking up the sapphire bead and running his fingers over it before setting it down again. “I’ll start with the red one, since it was given to me first.”
With a practiced movement, he opened the jar of wax and coated the tips of his fingers before sliding them through his hair.
“A dwarf called Dori taught me this braid,” Bilbo explained as he separated out four strands of hair and began the plait. “He has the most intricate braids you’ve ever seen, all through his beard and hair. Some dwarves even braid their eyebrows!” He paused here, both to coax out a tangle and to appreciate his nephew’s laugh.
“And a dwarf called Thorin gave me this bead,” he said, voice soft as he plucked the bead from the table. “I think he carved it himself, but I’ve never gotten a straight answer on that. Each side has a symbol on it. This one is Thorin’s family name, so that people know I helped out his family. I suppose I already told you that he’s a king, now--”
“Like a million times, Uncle Bilbo!” Frodo whined, but Bilbo knew he didn’t really mind much. The boy lapped up any little crumbs of information about his uncle’s adventures.
“Yes, well, in Erebor apparently it was a good thing for people to know that you had some connection to the king. It’s not at all like knowing the Thain.” Here Frodo wrinkled his nose. In his two months living in the Thain’s crowded house before Bilbo had returned from Erebor to collect him, any glamour that may have existed for the leader of hobbits had evaporated. Not that announcing the winner of the annual hog contest or settling squabbles over tomatoes was very glamourous to begin with.
“And this mark,” Bilbo continued, “is to show that I’m a friend to royalty. This one means thank you, and this last one is um… meant as an allusion to the job I did in helping to reclaim the mountain.” He wasn’t very well going to explain that he’d been a thief to his impressionable young nephew, now was he?
“It’s very pretty. Why is the braid so complicated? It’s not like the ones that girls wear on picnic days.”
“Well, the braid has a message, too. This one is called ‘kingsfriend’ and makes the message of the bead a bit repetitive, I suppose.” Frodo watched with rapt attention as Bilbo finished off and fastened the braid with the bead and a bit more wax. It had taken him ages to get the hang of that when Dori had shown him.
“And what about this one?” Frodo asked, pointing to the sapphire bead. Unlike his garnet bead, this one was smooth and round. Half of the surface had a Khuzdul symbol carved in it, the other half an etching of six stars over a crown, two crossed hammers, and an anvil. The detail was exquisite, each etching inlaid with silver so that it showed in stark contrast to the blue gem.
“Ah.. This may be a story for a different time, lad,” Bilbo says, starting in on his second braid with wax-dabbed finders.
“Come on, uncle! At least tell me what the braid is called!” Frodo whined, and Bilbo was as defenseless to it as ever.
“Well, this one is called, well. Dori said there was a general purpose braid for this sort of thing, but in the circumstances, with high nobility - or something like that. He said we’d best use the Durin family braid.” Bilbo’s nose crinkles at that. He isn’t sure why the thought of wearing Thorin’s family braid makes his stomach flip-flop and his cheeks burn, but there’s no need to share his anxieties with Frodo either way.
“Durin?” Frodo asked, scooting closer to eye the intricate yet compact braid forming above his uncle’s right ear.
“That’s - ah- that’s Thorin’s family name, like we are Bagginses.” Frodo’s eyes widen a bit, then he nods, like all of this makes sense.
“So, your braids and beads are to show everyone that you and King Thorin are best friends, since it’s important for people to know you’re friends with a king in dwarvish cities,” Frodo concluded. Bilbo stifled a snort, one that seemed to push at the invisible shard that lodged itself in his chest the day he left Erebor.
“I… I suppose so. Now, shall we see about supper?”
Bilbo had been in Erebor for four and a half months when Thorin had given him the garnet bead.
Bilbo was sitting in his room pouring over lists of habituated dwellings as of the time the dragon came, cross-checking it with maps and information Bofur supplied about which parts of the mountain were salvageable and which would need to be rebuilt from scratch. He was helping a group of dwarves clear out living quarters for the flood of dwarves streaming in since the winter snow had thawed. A knock at his door interrupted him.
“Enter,” he called without looking up. It was either a member of the Company, or a guard come to ask him if it was alright that so-and-so come to see him. Living in the royal wing came with a certain amount of increased security.
“You are busy.”
Bilbo looked up sharply. There Thorin stood, looking regal in the simple circlet he wore in lieu of the crown he hadn’t technically been coronated in yet. His gaze lingered on the papers before Bilbo with all of his usual intensity.
“Oh, just trying to figure out where to put everyone. Would you like some tea?” Bilbo asked, already moving to fill his kettle with hot water. “Sit, please.”
Thorin did, pulling off his circlet as he sunk into the loveseat next to Bilbo’s chair. He held it awkwardly in his hands, as though he wanted to set it down but was not sure where. Ever since he had made his recovery, there had been awkwardness in his interactions with Bilbo. Bilbo assumed it was because of what had happened in his madness and tried to show there were no hard feelings by being as friendly as possible whenever they spoke.
“You do much for me and my kingdom,” Thorin said gravely. He finally decided to just set his circlet beside himself on the loveseat.
“It’s nothing, really,” Bilbo said over his shoulder as he measured out flower buds for some chamomile tea.
“We both know that is not the case.” He held up a hand, forestalling Bilbo’s further protests. “And yet, I have another favor to ask of you.”
“Anything,” Bilbo said. An odd look passed over Thorin’s face, as though he had just eaten a bitter root. As soon as Bilbo thought to ask about it, though, it was gone.
“Many dignitaries from the other dwarven kingdoms have begun to arrive to treat with me. They bring their families, and I find that Fíli, Kíli and I are… not up to the task of entertaining them.”
A beat passed as Bilbo digested this, then he laughed. He just couldn’t help it. Thorin had that bitter root expression again, though this time there was a twist of dwarven stubbornness to it too.
“You don’t like talking to dull dignitaries over dinner! And I’m sure Fíli and Kíli are no help, the rascals.”
“They try their best,” said Thorin, all wounded pride on their behalf.
“I’m sure they do,” said Bilbo, controlling his mirth and taking the matter more seriously. “So, you’re inviting me to a meal with you and the families of important dwarves. Why me?”
Thorin looked at him as though he was being purposefully obtuse.
“Because…” he said slowly. “You always have been good at… people. Beorn, men, even elves. You make people comfortable in a way that does not come naturally to me.”
Bilbo knew it must have cost the king something to admit to this, so he did not cheapen the confession by refuting it.
“Alright,” he said, pouring a small teacup full of herbal tea for Thorin. “What time?”
“You are most gracious with your time. We eat in the royal dining hall at the first evening bell.”
Bilbo nodded, taking a sip of his tea, but it seemed that Thorin had something more to say. He picked up his saucer, running his fingers over the handle of his teacup in a way that Bilbo would call fidgeting in anyone else.
“Ask Dori to teach you to braid. If you want to, I mean, if you are comfortable…” he trailed off, eyeing Bilbo’s unruly curls that were getting just a bit too long to be respectable. He’d asked around a bit for someone to cut his hair, but everyone he’d asked had looked aghast at his question for some reason. Thorin must have noticed how scruffy he was becoming, and was asking him to tidy up before meeting important people.
“There is a bead I would have you wear,” Thorin finished, taking a hasty sip of his tea and burning his tongue.
Bilbo knew that the beads dwarves wore in their hair and beards had special meanings, and that there were specific rules about who could braid them into whose hair. It was a tradition that he had not expected to be included in, as he was not a dwarf and dwarves tended to be very unwilling to share their traditions with anybody of another race. At Thorin’s rather forceful pronouncement, Bilbo’s eyebrows shot up into his fringe.
“Really? Is Dori allowed to do that? I mean, I don’t know all of the rules about these things, and I’d hate to offend…”
“Dori and I have spoken about this. He will not misunderstand your request,” Thorin hastened to assure him. Misunderstand it for what, Bilbo was unsure, but he nodded anyway.
“Okay. What sort of bead is it?”
Thorin dug about in his robes for a moment, setting down his teacup on the low table in front of him as he did so. There was no way Bilbo could have managed that without spilling tea all over himself. It must be something they teach in prince school. After a moment he withdrew his hand, holding out the small thing for him to see.
It was made of a deep red stone that he thought was probably garnet (Bofur had been instructing him in semiprecious stones so he would know what he found while clearing out rooms). It had 4 sides, each with a rune carved on it. As he was still not allowed to learn runes or Khuzdul (though Ori had been hinting that he may be able to start learning soon), he had to rely on Thorin for a translation.
“This is the symbol that was carved on your door meaning ‘burglar.’ This one does not have a good translation into Westeron, but most closely means ‘in service to the king.’ This is a more general symbol for gratitude, and the last one says my family name, Durin.” After carefully indicating each of the runes as he spoke, he handed it over to Bilbo. Bilbo took it gingerly between two fingers, holding it to the light to see the detail.
“It is made of garnet, which means gratitude to my people. When anyone in the kingdom sees this bead in your hair, they will know that the line of Durin is forever indebted to you. Dori will know the appropriate braid to put it in,” Thorin said.
“Oh, Thorin, I couldn’t possibly… I mean, I didn’t really…” Bilbo started, but trailed off at the stubborn set of Thorin’s jaw. Besides, they both knew that despite all that came after, Bilbo had done his job by burgling the dragon.
“All of the Company have one, with their own inscriptions. It is only fitting that our burglar has one too.”
“It’s beautiful,” Bilbo finally said, gazing at it. “Thank you. Do you want me to wear it tonight?”
“Do as you wish,” Thorin said, now rising to go. Bilbo knew the king well enough to take a walk to Dori’s as soon as he finished his tea.
“So, do you approve?” Kíli asked eagerly, as soon as Bilbo and Frodo had walked from the sitting room into the kitchen. Dwalin was studiously inspecting his axe for cracks or flaws, neither of which any weapon of his was likely to have.
“Approve of what?” Bilbo asked. Kíli shook his head.
“Not you. Frodo. Do you approve?” Frodo’s little brow furrowed.
“Approve of what?”
“The beads!” Kíli exclaimed with a wild gesture at Bilbo’s hair that nearly slapped him in the face. “Uncle! Do you approve of Bilbo and Uncle?”
Frodo turned to Bilbo for guidance, but all Bilbo could do was shrug. All his time with dwarves had not brought any sort of clarity.
“Um, I think so?” Frodo ventured.
Kíli let out a whoop of joy, punching the air. Dwalin looked up, a bearing of teeth that looked almost like a grin covering his face.
“What in Yavanna’s green garden is all this about?” Bilbo asked, unable to hold back. Months of odd comments, months of whispered comments between his two dwarven companions. And why had they come, after all? Didn’t they have more important things to do than escort a hobbit home, and then hang about the Shire for months?
In response, Kíli swooped forward and scooped Bilbo into an embrace that lifted his feet from the floor.
“It’s finally settled! We can go back to the mountain now, and you can give Uncle a bead in return, and everyone will be happy!” he said, dancing Bilbo around his own kitchen.
“Would you- Kíli, stop this! Set me down and tell me what is going on. Right. Now.” Bilbo used his best fauntling-freezing voice, and it didn’t disappoint. Kíli dropped him like he’d been caught red handed with Hamfast Gamgee’s prized turnips.
“Well,” Kíli said, glancing at Dwalin and Frodo. “We thought that you wanted to discuss the match with your family, since you couldn’t before you accepted Uncle’s offer of courtship.”
“Accepted his - I really think I’d remember something like that,” Bilbo spluttered.
“You don’t remember the Gathering? When we all got together, and Uncle gave you the sapphire bead? You wear it every day…” Bilbo’s hand automatically sought out his braids.
“Yes, well… Why did no one tell me what it meant?” Bilbo exclaimed. He wasn’t sure if he felt like ripping out the blasted confusing beads, or never taking them out again.
“You accepted the first one easily enough,” Dwalin cut in.
“But… but all of you have a garnet bead. Everyone in the Company does.” Kíli swung his own hexagonal garnet bead proudly. It was the only one they could get him to wear consistently. Even Dwalin had one, small and round, woven discreetly into his beard.
“Well, it’s different to give a bead to family, or a shield-brother, than to give one to someone you’ve been making disgusting eyes at for months on end, and to pair it with that braid” Dwalin said, as reasonably as though he were explaining the differences between supper and dinner. Kíli nodded.
“With us, it was simple thanks. With you, it was more like… a claim? And everyone who saw the king’s bead of thanks knew it, since you’re not a dwarf and wouldn’t have worn braids and beads as part of your culture. The first bead was Uncle biting the coin.”
“Biting the coin?” Frodo asked. He had been watching the proceedings like a badminton game, eyes wide as they bounced back and forth.
“Yeah. I guess it doesn’t translate well? It means testing out, like how you test what a coin is made of by biting it,” Kíli explained. Frodo did not look less confused.
“Can we get back to the part where you explain to me how I entered a courtship without being aware of it?” Bilbo snapped.
“Right. Well, the proper way to enter into a courtship with one of high standing-”
“High- what?” Kíli barreled on as though Bilbo hadn’t interrupted.
“Is to gather up the families of both parties and make sure everyone agrees to the match, then publicly exchange beads. When you didn’t give one to Uncle, we weren’t really worried, because deciding to be Consort is a big decision, and maybe you weren’t entirely ready even if you liked Uncle, and -”
It was like the “incineration” episode all over again. Bilbo felt hot and cold at once, and sat heavily in a chair. How had all of this happened without his noticing? Sure, Thorin was far more handsome than anyone had the right to be, and noble, and even secretly kind, but him? A fussy little hobbit from the Shire who couldn’t even manage to suss out when he was being courted? What was Thorin thinking?
“Uncle?” Frodo asked. “Are you alright?”
“Fine, fine, my boy.” Bilbo waved him off. “But why did no one tell me? Why didn’t Thorin just say, ‘I like you, let’s court?’” Even as he said it, he knew Thorin would never say such a thing. It wasn’t at all kingly, or noble, or whatever other criteria everything that passed Thorin’s lips had to meet. Kíli’s expression seemed to mirror his thoughts.
“He did. At the Gathering.”
“Is that what he was saying? In Khuzdul? A language that I don’t speak!” At least the dwarves had the decency to look slightly abashed.
“But how could you not know? What with him visiting your rooms at all hours, and inviting you to talk to the noble visitors, and letting you borrow his cloak all the time. Not to mention the sparring practice…” Kíli paused here to wrinkle his nose the same way he did when Bilbo tried to get him to eat vegetables.
“That was just practical! Everyone in Erebor needs to know how to defend themselves,” Bilbo huffed. Hadn’t Dwalin told him so often enough?
“Oh, aye,” Dwalin grumbled. “Just practical to set aside all his duties and do it himself when a tutor could have done as well, and just practical to stand pressed up behind you and correct your hold on the sword just so .” Kíli sniggered as Bilbo felt his face heat.
“Honestly, Uncle has no new moves. Sparring practice! That’s the oldest come on in the book!”
“Then after, when he’d clean your sword…”
“You know, Bilbo, among dwarves, cleaning another dwarf’s sword is a well known symbol for--”
“Yes! Thank you! I can imagine.” Bilbo thinks it’s probably a good thing that he’s already sitting down. And Frodo’s young ears! “I have been a bit of an idiot, haven’t I?”
The thing about inviting a hobbit to a dinner party, for that was what “the Gathering” had seemed like to Bilbo, is that they won’t think anything of it. If anything, Bilbo thought it was about time someone in the mountain thought to have a formal little get together for the Company.
Bilbo had been walking down a hallway, nose buried in an ancient map of Erebor, when he had literally bumped into Thorin. The dwarf steadied him with large, warm hands on his elbows.
“Oh, hullo,” Bilbo said. The king was tidier than when he’d seen him that morning, at sparring practice. He was wearing the clothes he typically wore during receiving hours in the throne room - plain and practical, yet fine quality. And, of course, the circlet that marked him as the king he was. “Sorry about that. Wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“It is I who should apologize. You are once again hard at work for the good of Erebor,” the king said. Bilbo flushed.
“Well, it’s not as though I’m running the place, not like you. I’m just fiddling about with some maps.” Bilbo gestured with the one he was holding. “Trying to find places to put people.”
Thorin nodded slowly, a slight light in his eyes and lift to the corner of his mouth.
“As I said, hard at work.” His gaze shifted to Bilbo’s hair, just above his right ear. “You are wearing the bead.”
Bilbo’s hand flew up to his little braid, finished off with the garnet bead. He felt along it, self-consciously hoping he’d done the braid right and hoping it hadn’t unravelled. He still wasn’t quite used to it yet, and didn’t fully believe that the lovely bead wouldn’t slip off the end at some point without him noticing.
Thorin seemed transfixed by Bilbo’s nimble fingers, gaze intent as he watched them travel the length of the brain then fidget with the bead. He cleared his throat.
“Among dwarves, to touch one’s braid in public is... “ he trailed off. Bilbo pulled his hand away from his hair like it had burned him.
“Oh dear. Oh no, I’ve been- and all the time! Oh my, I’m terribly sorry!” Bilbo spluttered. The miniscule smile returned to the king’s face.
“No matter, you were not to know.” He glanced away, shifting slightly. “I was, ah, hoping to find you, actually.”
“Yes?” Bilbo asked distractedly, still flustered. His fingers twitched against his sides where he firmly held them.
“There is a dinner tonight. A… gathering. I was hoping I could have the honor of your presence.” Most people would have made it sound like a question, but Thorin was not most people.
“Of course, you need only ask. Is it the delegates from the Iron Hills? Or the Guild Masters this time? Just, please don’t sit me next to Alfar again, I think I accidentally insulted his battle ram last time.”
“No, they will not be there. This will be the Company only, and my kin. I am sorry that none of your kin will be present, but I was hoping you would find the Company an acceptable substitute. We can of course send a raven to the Shire…”
“Oh, a family gathering! How lovely. Of course, I’d be delighted! And I already have sent a raven to the Shire, to let them know I was alright. Don’t you remember? Hamfast sent back word that the message had come just in time, they were about to declare me dead! I’m actually expecting a reply from him soon, since I sent instructions for how to handle Bag End until I can get back there and square things away myself.”
Thorin didn’t seem to be listening. His small smile had grown to the tender, private thing that never failed to make Bilbo’s heart clench. He swept up one of Bilbo’s hands in both of his, looking like Bilbo had done something much more significant than accept an invitation to a dinner party among friends. Honestly, dwarves.
“Go to Dori for another lesson in braiding,” he murmured. “Durin’s braid.” With a quick glance to be sure the hallway was deserted, he ran a calloused finger down Bilbo’s braid. Then he was gone, striding away regally as though none of that had really happened.
The dinner party was going quite well, by Bilbo’s estimation. All the Company was there, eating and drinking as only dwarves can and telling loud, raucous stories that all seemed to center around Thorin and Bilbo.
“And then the lady says, ‘I’d let your poker into my forge,’ and Bilbo just stares at her and says, ‘Excuse me?’ you know, like he does. And Uncle practically shouts his name across the table so that he’d turn his head and she could see his bead!” Fíli was recounting a more embarrassing incident at Bilbo’s first formal court dinner.
“Yes, well, she backed off then, so that’s all done,” Bilbo sniffed. Thorin gave him his most indulgent smile. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why seeing his Company bead had been so off-putting to her, but he supposed he should just be grateful. He was about to say something else when Balin cleared his throat and stood. Everyone quieted, looking towards him with anticipation.
“I think we’d better get on with the formal part of the evening, before you all are too deep in your cups to appreciate it,” the old dwarf said with a twinkle in his eye. Oh dear, there was a formal part? Bilbo wasn’t prepared for any such thing. Hopefully he could get by with just looking politely interested, as he did for the formal portions of the functions Thorin asked him to be at.
“Thorin?” Balin asked, sitting once Thorin nodded and stood.
“ Amlune barraf akrusik ,” he said, the deep rumble of his Khuzdul vibrating through Bilbo’s body. He had no idea what was said, but it seemed important. Final.
“My family,” Thorin said, gesturing to Fíli and Kíli. They both drew themselves up. “Do you agree?”
“ Ijlibilabî! ” they exclaimed together.
“That’s ‘we agree,’” Fíli explained with a wink in sotto whisper to Bilbo. At Balin’s stern look, he said, “Come on, I’m only starting a little early. He’ll be able to learn all of it soon.” Balin shrugged, seeming to concede whatever oblique point the boy was making.
“Master Baggins,” Thorin said to him. Bilbo blinked up at him, feeling a bit lost. “As you have no family here in the mountain, I hope that the rest of the Company can stand in as a substitute.”
“Oh, my. Well, that’s very… Of course, I-” Looking at the wide eyes of his friends looking up at him, he felt a slight stinging in the back of his throat. He cleared it, wiping discreetly at one of his eyes. He may not know what all this was about, but he was deeply touched to know the Company thought of him as family.
“We love you, too!” Bofur yelled, cutting through Bilbo’s spluttering. Thorin was still smiling indulgently, and Bilbo had no idea what was going on, but everyone was being so nice .
“Family of Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, do you agree?” Thorin asked.
“ Ijlibilabî! ” the rest of the company yelled, followed by a round of cheering from everyone.
“Then I, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, King Under the Mountain and of the line of Durin, present to you this amrâlafhu .” In his palm, he held out a lovely sapphire bead. There appeared to be little symbols etched in it in silver.
“Oh,” he said. The eyes of everyone in attendance were fixed on him. “Why thank you. That’s - ah- very lovely, thanks.” Thorin practically beamed. Then, in front of everyone (weren’t there rules against that sort of thing?), he actually picked up a lock of Bilbo’s hair and began to braid it.
“This bead belonged to the wife of Thorin the First,” Thorin murmured in his ear as the Company went about having the loudest dinner party ever. “It was the amrâlafhu he gifted to her.”
“Well, I hope it won’t step on any toes, you giving me something so - er- valuable.” Bilbo hadn’t even known that there had been another Thorin in the Durin line.
“Let it,” Thorin said simply, fasting the end of his new braid with the sapphire bead. “Find me a dwarf outside of this room that did as much as you to help us reclaim our home. If you can do that, then they may complain.”
Bilbo simply smiled at Thorin, knowing there was no talking him out of his unshakable belief that Bilbo had done something miraculous.
“I’m sure you have questions,” Thorin said. Bilbo nodded, grateful that someone was finally acknowledging the fact that nothing made sense. “Talk with Balin tonight. He will be able to explain, now, and tell you of a time when we can meet tomorrow.”
Bilbo nodded again, content to spend the rest of the evening at Thorin’s side. It wasn’t often that he was able to spend so much time with him, without the stiff formalities of a court dinner or some pressing business to discuss. He found he had missed it. Thorin’s heat was familiar, his smell (somehow the hint of campfire smoke still clung to him, despite the months it had been since they were warmed by one). Bilbo felt wrapped up in his presence, blanketed by his undivided attention.
As the evening came to an end and the party split up, Bilbo remembered Thorin saying he should talk to Balin. He caught up with him as he was headed out the door. Bilbo followed him, waving quickly at Thorin before he left.
“Balin! Thorin said I should talk to you,” he said, falling into step beside the white-haired dwarf.
“Ah, yes, that would be a good idea, laddie,” Balin said. “Why don’t you meet me in my office tomorrow morning after breakfast, and I can answer your questions?”
“That would be wonderful. Honestly, everyone has been acting… well, a bit odd lately.” Balin nodded, that little twinkle in his eye still shining.
“It would look that way, wouldn’t it? Don’t worry, it will all make much more sense tomorrow.”
“Thank goodness!” They had reached a fork in the path, and would need to continue down different halls. “Good night, Balin. And I’ll see you tomorrow morning!” Bilbo said.
“Good night, laddie,” Balin turned to go, then spun back around quickly. “Oh! I almost forgot to mention. A letter from the Shire came for you earlier today. I had the currier put it in your sitting room.”
“Ah, that will be the reply I was expecting. Thank you, Balin,” Bilbo said. Once he got back to his rooms, he saw the envelope on his desk. He didn’t open it, however, thinking Hamfast’s reply to his instructions for Bad End could wait. It had been a long day, and it was late, so instead he headed straight for bed.
Interlude: Thorin & Fíli
Thorin was slightly ashamed to admit it had taken him two days to figure out where Kíli had disappeared to. Really, it had only taken him one day, because the first day he hadn’t even noticed his nephew was missing. Not that he would ever admit that to Dís.
Once Thorin had noticed that it was oddly quiet (and it was difficult to notice, with the constant wailing in his mind, “Bilbo is gone, Bilbo has left me, Bilbo has finally realized that I am not good enough for him”), he had called Fíli to him at once.
“Where is your brother?”
Fíli looked guilty. Perhaps someone who had not watched him grow up, who had not seen versions of that expression for 80 years would not have noticed, but Thorin was not that dwarf.
“Hunting. He went with the latest party and they were waylaid,” Fíli answered.
“Try again, Fíli. The hunting party returned ten minutes ago, and your brother was not with them. Where is he?”
“What- how did you know they’d returned already?” Fíli asked.
“Because the horn blast announced it, which you would have heard yourself if your skull wasn’t so thick. Now tell me. Where is Kíli?”
Fíli’s face set, preparing for battle. Good. That meant he’d realized it was no good trying to lie to Thorin anymore. The jig was up.
“He went to the Shire, with Bilbo and Dwalin,” he admitted.
“What?”
“You’re always telling us to be proper, to learn the traditions. What is the point of learning all of that dusty old stuff if we don’t use it?”
“Explain yourself. And it had better be good, because your mother is on her way, and she will tan both of our hides when she gets here and Kíli is not waiting.” Fíli’s eyes widened and he paled.
“Mother is on her way?” he asked faintly.
“Yes. The ravens sent word today. She will likely be arriving just after your fool brother makes it to the Shire.”
“Well, if we’d known that… No, he still would have gone. We read about it in the book Balin gave us, the one on courtship and ceremonies.” Thorin hoped he’d hidden his surprise that his nephews had read the large tome Balin had thrown at them in annoyance.
“Don’t look like that, ‘course we read it. We needed to make sure we understood everything happening between you and Bilbo.”
“Then I am sorry you wasted your time,” Thorin bit out. He had thought, for a fleeting moment, that Bilbo had felt the same, would stay by his side. He had been wrong.
“No we didn’t, Uncle. Bilbo loves you, any fool with eyes could see it. Whatever is going on with this Frodo fellow, it isn’t love. So Kíli went to represent our family,” Fíli explained.
“Your brother went to challenge a hobbit?”
“And chaperone,” Fíli said, as though the idea of Kíli as a chaperone wasn’t madness itself.
“That will not convince Bilbo to return,” Thorin sighed. “Hobbits do not follow our customs. He will not appreciate violence between Kíli and his intended, and he will not forgive Kíli if he hurts him. Bilbo is an honorable hobbit. If he gave his word to another before the quest, he will not go back on it.”
Of course, it had cut like a rusty Orc blade, when Bilbo had told him he must return to the Shire for Frodo the day after the Gathering. The very day after he had woven his courtship bead through Bilbo’s honey-colored curls. Bilbo was far too honorable to wear his bead when he had given himself to another. The guilt must have been unbearable for him, beginning a courtship with Thorin, knowing that Frodo waited for him in the Shire.
And how was it possible to hate someone he didn’t even know so much? Would Bilbo throw himself in front of a warg for Frodo? Would he cross Middle Earth for him? Could Frodo give Bilbo more than Thorin could, when he had the greatest dwarven kingdom at his command? But of course, Bilbo didn’t want those things. He wanted peace and quiet, two things that Thorin, for all of his riches, could not guarantee.
“But we had to try, Uncle! We couldn’t bear to see him go without a fight! Of course, I should have gone, as the eldest, but we decided that you might need me more here, so Kíli went instead. And maybe if he just talks to Frodo, explains the situation, then maybe…”
“Bilbo will not return,” Thorin said, turning away from Fíli’s hopeful eyes. “He has made his choice.”
“Bilbo loves you, Uncle. I know he does.” Fíli rested his hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “If Bilbo truly doesn’t want to come back, then Kíli will leave him alone. We all will. But we had to try.”
Thorin had left it at that, and they did not speak of his nephew’s foolish mission again for some time. Fíli received word that Dwalin, Bilbo, and Kíli had made it through Mirkwood (he was not going to call it “Greenwood”), and then again when they stopped in Rivendell.
“Hmm,” Thorin said with each note.
He had just received a note of his own from Dís, that she would be arriving in two week’s time with the first caravan from Ered Luin, when Fíli burst into his study.
“Kíli has written, properly this time!” Fíli exclaimed. His brother’s previous notes were little more than updated coordinates. “They’re in the Shire, and you won’t believe it!”
With that, he thrust the letter at Thorin. Thorin took it, and reluctantly began to read.
Fíli -
I’ve met Frodo. He’s a little child, not even to the age of majority! I’m not sure how old that is for hobbits. We’re in the Shire at last. But Frodo is Bilbo’s nephew, not his suitor. His parents died, and they had named Bilbo as Frodo’s caretaker if anything happened to them. That’s why Bilbo had to come at once. Fíli, you would not believe how tiny hobbit children are! Frodo is much nicer than Bilbo, not bossy at all. He’s so polite and sweet! He even got Dwalin to give him a piggy-back ride. To be honest, I’m glad I don’t have to challenge a hobbit to a duel. It just would have been sad.
Anyway, we’re here now. Once Bilbo gets things squared away, I’m sure we’ll return. He hasn’t said so, but he’s still wearing Uncle’s beads. He’s asked a few questions about them, but I didn’t think it was right to answer. That sort of talk has got to come from Uncle, right?
Dwalin and I will stay here until they’re ready to come home, to escort them back, unless we hear otherwise.
Love,
Kíli
“Uncle? Are you alright?” Thorin looked up. Apparently he’d sat, letter clutched in his hand, though he had no memory of doing so. He blinked at his nephew.
“Frodo… is his nephew. His orphaned nephew.” He looked back down at the letter, quickly reading it again. “He still wears my beads.”
“I know! It’s all just been a big mixup! Bilbo can collect Frodo, and come back here to the mountain,” Fíli exclaimed.
“I doubt that Bilbo will want to return here, after the things I said,” Thorin murmured. He was ashamed to look back on it now, but when Bilbo had told him he was leaving Erebor, Thorin had… not taken it well. Kíli had even admitted that Bilbo had not said directly that he was planning on returning. Why should he return to a cold mountain with a king who brought him nothing but pain?
“Uncle-” Fíli started, but Thorin did not want to hear his platitudes. He had ruined his chances with Bilbo for the last time, of that he was sure. It was incredible that Bilbo had forgiven him for his rudeness early in their journey, his lack of faith, and, worst of all, nearly killing him in his gold sickness. He could not ask for forgiveness again.
“Mahal, I have been a fool,” he said. Fíli didn’t even try to correct him.
Bilbo had almost reached Dale when the sound of hooves and raised voices reached him.
“I’m allowed to come, Dwalin! It’s my right as a member of the line of Durin.” That was Kíli, sounding as officious as Bilbo had ever heard him.
“An’ does Thorin know yer coming along, then?” That was, unmistakably, Dwalin. Mercy, was the whole Company following him?
“No, but Fíli does, and he’ll let him know. Uncle has to agree. It was in the book that he wanted us to read.” Kíli again, and getting closer.
“Just because somethin’s in a book, doesn’t mean you follow it to the letter. I never thought I’d be explaining that to you ,” Dwalin said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kíli exclaimed, but didn’t give Dwalin a chance to answer. “And anyway, won’t Uncle be upset that you’re gone for months on end?”
“Who do you think sent me?” Well that was a revelation. After the things Thorin has said… well, he was surprised that he would care if he died in a ditch.
“How long have you been waiting to scurry home to the Shire?” Thorin had spat at him. “You never belonged here, not in a cold, lonely mountain.”
Not that Bilbo had taken it lying down, of course. He hadn’t faced down a dragon only to wilt at the sight of Thorin in a strop because he wasn’t getting what he wanted, no sir.
“Bilbo!” Kíli called, pulling him back to the present. The lad had pushed his pony to a trot, and was now drawing up to level with Bilbo. With a clatter of hooves, Dwalin pulled up to his other side.
“And what are you two doing coming down to Dale on this lovely day?” Bilbo asked. As a matter of fact, it was drizzling, and there was a bit of a breeze, but that was neither here nor there. All the sunshine of the Shire would not have made it a lovely day.
“Keepin’ an eye on you,” Dwalin said.
“I don’t need you to keep an eye on me,” Bilbo sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
“No you won’t,” Kíli declared. “Uh, no offence,” he added at Bilbo’s glare.
“Look, if Thorin sent you as some sort of… apology, or something, then you can just turn right back around,” Bilbo said, keeping his eyes facing forward.
“Bilbo, we’re not going to let you travel halfway across Middle Earth alone. We understand why you’re going. We won’t try to hold you back, we just want to see you home safely,” Kíli said.
“If you understand so well, then you can march right back up to Erebor and explain it to your uncle! I tried. I told him that I had made a promise to Frodo’s parents, that I would share all I had with him if it came to it. That I’d take care of him. Of course, I never thought I’d need to…”
The mention of Frodo’s parents had only baffled Thorin, when Bilbo had tried to explain.
“So it is a contractual binding that you leave for? Not a matter of the heart?” he’d asked, looking almost hopeful.
“Well, I don’t know Frodo very well, as he was very small the last time I saw him, but I suppose I love him,” Bilbo had answered. Thorin had become considerably less civil after that.
And honestly! His favorite cousins die, leaving him to care for their child, and does he get any sympathy? Even a half-hearted “sorry for your loss?” No, just accusations of keeping secrets and harsh words. He hadn’t meant to keep it a secret that he was to be Frodo’s guardian if his parents died. It had just never come up. He had thought it never would come up.
“Uncle understands,” Kíli said now, as they rode through Dale. “He just needed some time to cool his disappointment. He knows you are no oath-breaker.”
Yes, he’d said as much just before Bilbo had left. He had seen Bilbo’s stricken face, the tears of grief and anger he couldn’t keep back, and he had stopped. He’d come up to Bilbo then, his gentleness a sharp contrast to how harsh he had been moments before. With a careful hand, he brushed his fingertips along Bilbo’s beads.
“You are no oath-breaker, Bilbo Baggins. I know this. Just please, do not return the beads. I could not… please do not return them to me.”
“Yes, well,” Bilbo said to Kíli, ignoring the friendly waves of the people they passed. “I gave my word I would take care of Frodo. So I will.”
“And we’ll escort ya,” Dwalin said gruffly.
And that was that.
“Uncle Bilbo?” Frodo asked, voice heartbreakingly tentative and blue eyes huge. Definitely up to something, then.
“Yes, lamb,” Bilbo said, cracking open the oven to check on the bread inside. It had been two days since the… revelations that had come out when he’d shown Frodo his beads and braids.
“Are we really going to go to Erebor? Only, Kíli and Dwalin were talking earlier, and they said we would need to go soon if we were going to make it before Durin’s Day and the first snow,” Frodo said, all in a rush. It had a slightly stilted air, almost as if... Bilbo narrowed his eyes. Ignoring his nephew for the moment, he marched over to the door to the kitchen and pulled it open with a sharp tug.
“Ow!” Kíli yelped as he was crushed under Dwalin.
“Just as I thought,” Bilbo snapped. “Now, why are you two corrupting my nephew?”
“Corrupting? We were just- it was only a suggestion -” Kíli tried.
“We figured it’s abou’ time things moved along,” Dwalin cut in. Kíli shut his mouth with a click and nodded.
“Alright, yes. Fine,” Bilbo said, sighing. He had known, when he shooed them all from the kitchen two days previously under the guise of preparing supper, that he couldn’t avoid it forever. If only thinking about the whole thing didn’t make him feel like such a fool .
“So?” Kíli asked. “What do you think? Now that you know Uncle was courting you, can we go back to Erebor?”
“It doesn’t quite work like that, Kíli. I can’t just swan back into Erebor after months away, explain it was all a big misunderstanding, and we all just pick up where we left off.” The look Dwalin and Kíli exchanged screamed that that was exactly what they had thought would happen. Bilbo sighed deeply.
“Look, there’s still a lot about all of this that doesn’t make sense to me. Why was Thorin so angry when I told him I had to leave? Why are you, Kíli, here, a prince of Erebor? If this was all just a misunderstanding, why didn’t Thorin write to me? Why-” Bilbo cut himself off with a frustrated huff.
He had given it quite a lot of thought in the past few days, and come to some conclusions. Yes, when he thought over Thorin’s behavior before the party when he’d given him the second bead, he felt like a right idiot. But other things didn’t quite make sense. He was clearly still missing something.
“Ah, yeah,” Kíli said, rubbing the back of his neck and not quite meeting Bilbo’s eyes. “Well, I guess we might as well tell you the lot. Thorin thought that you were coming back to the Shire to marry Frodo, not adopt him.”
“What?!” Bilbo yelped. He shot a glance at Frodo, who giggled.
“Why would Uncle Bilbo marry me? That’s gross,” he said, still giggling at the absurd idea.
“We dina know ya were a wee one,” Dwalin said, and Kíli nodded.
“Balin had given us this old etiquette book, and Fee and I read in it that a member of the family of the challenging suitor may confront the original suitor by way of a duel.”
“So you came here… to challenge my recently orphaned, child nephew to a duel?” Bilbo asked as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. He definitely felt a headache coming on. Honestly, dwarves .
“Yeah. But as soon as we met Frodo, of course that was off. So I wrote Uncle to tell him,” Kíli said.
“So why didn’t he just write to me, and clear all this up months ago?” Bilbo asked again.
“This is Uncle we’re talking about, remember?” Kíli pointed out. “And anyway, he has written.” With that, Kíli pulled out a wad of folded parchment from his tunic. Though Bilbo only caught a glimpse of them as Kíli waved them around, they were all clearly written in runes. Not for him, then.
“And does he- ah, does he ever mention me?” Bilbo asked, feeling his cheeks heat and wishing he didn’t sound like some sort of love-sick fauntling hoping to be asked to their first dance at the Party Tree.
“Nope!” Kíli said, sounding far too cheerful. “He’s always so careful to not so much as use your name. He’s all ‘I hope that your stay is pleasant and that your host is in good health.’ And, ‘kindly see that your host knows of my gratitude in housing you.’”
“Ah. Well, that is to say, of course…” Bilbo petered out, feeling his stomach descend to somewhere in the region of his feet. For all that he had known Thorin had been trying to court him, that was of course before he left. Things change. People move on.
“Until his last letter, that is,” Kíli added with a sly smile. Bilbo’s head whipped up. “In this one, he says…” Kíli lifted a sheaf of parchment to his eyes, only to squint at it, mouthing words.
“Yes?” Bilbo prompted, hoping he didn’t sound as impatient as he felt.
“Hang on, translations are hard. Ori always makes it look so easy.” He mouthed at the words for a moment longer, then his expression cleared. “Here we go. ‘I have long given up hope of his return to my lands or my return to his affections, but tell me one thing and I shall never ask it again- do the beads still sit in his braids? If I know he has not forgotten me, I will be at peace.’”
Bilbo blinked open his eyes, having found to his surprise that they were closed. He took in Kíli’s smug expression, Dwalins slight look of disgust at his king’s soppyness, and Frodo’s eager eyes.
“Foolish dwarves,” he said with a sigh. “How can you… and- and Thorin- have thought that Frodo was my hobbit lover that I’d- what? That I’d kept secret from you for an entire year? That’s… I can’t even begin to describe how ridiculous that is.” Bilbo paused, shaking his head.
“For one thing, any hobbit worth their salt wouldn’t have anything to do with me, now that I’ve been on an adventure. If there had been any sort of engagement before I left, it would have been broken the moment I stepped foot out of the Shire. And before that… well, I was respectable, but a bit dull. There weren’t exactly suitors banging down the door. Besides, I couldn’t leave Thorin for a hobbit lad. I couldn’t leave Thorin for anyone. I’d have had to send my regrets, sincerest apologies, but I… well, my heart is quite taken, and has been for some time.”
Kíli let out a whoop of joy while Dwalin pounded him on the back. With slightly numb fingers, Bilbo reached up to lightly touch the beads in his hair. It was one thing to know, in his heart, that he loved Thorin. It was quite another to admit it out loud.
“Well, Frodo, I suppose we should pack,” he said. “We’re going to Erebor.”
Dear Uncle -
We’re on our way. As for your question about the beads, you’ll have to see for yourself when we arrive.
- Kíli