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“…form dough into a ball and turn to smooth side.. up! Yes alright then” Bilbo cheered happily and kneaded his small plump fingers into the sticky doughy mass. After he took a glance to the cookbook he sighed happily, finally having some free time to himself. Having spent most of his days in the newly reclaimed Erebor, Bilbo had been entrusted as assistant cook, advisor to King Thorin Under the Mountain, and royal gardener. If it wasn’t enough, the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains held a special ceremony in his honor once they had found out that a small homely hobbit had a hand in reclaiming their homeland. Indeed, he had a wonderful life formed for him in the Lonely Mountain.
Two days out of the week he was promised time off so that he may do whatever he pleased, which included making scones for the King Under the Mountain if he wished. The Hobbit realized that somewhere along the way from the babbling brooks of the Shire to the Lonely Mountain, he had slowly developed feelings for the hard-headed stubborn dwarf. There was something about the way he carried a commanding air around him or the way he could charge into the goblin ranks and clear broad paths without so much as a scratch. Perhaps it was the sheer perseverance that brought the company to finally reclaiming Erebor or how Thorin seemed to trust Bilbo whole heartedly even when the King was faced with many other alternatives than to jump down into a bobbing barrel down a river. There was something…something…
“..special” he thought aloud and regained his thoughts long enough to pull his fingers out from the dough, the stickiness stretching between his fingers.
Meanwhile, Thorin was up early pacing down the halls muttering words in Khuzdul, reading over letters and reports of what was left of their kingdom when the clang of pots and pans brought him to his attention. A small colander rolled out of the royal kitchen and fell near his foot with a clank. It was rare that someone would be cooking in the royal halls this early. Fíli and Kíli would’ve burned down the entire mountain if they had stepped foot in the kitchen. So who could it be? Curious, Thorin stepped quickly near the bright archway and placed his back against the stone wall, listening to the loud thumping against the floor. He inched his head to see Bilbo bent over clambering for a sheet pan.
“Burglar?”
Bilbo’s rump jerked and there was a loud yelp from the Hobbit. Bilbo turned swiftly to see Thorin gazing down at him quizzically. What was he doing up this early?! Surely he wasn’t standing there for a long time was he? Oh Aulë tell me he didn’t hear me singing earlier.
Bilbo’s curls were frazzled and out of place when he stood up to swipe the sticky flour from his fingers. His blue quilted apron was splattered with beaten egg and flour. No one in their right mind would be allowed standing infront of the King looking like a lowly servant, even if both had shared in an incredibly deadly and dangerous quest that once left Bilbo covered in snot and Thorin recovering from his bloody wounds.
“Th-thorin! What…what are you doing here…” Bilbo moved his nose, rocking back and forth on his feet. Thorin eyes trailed down the hobbit’s appearance and he refrained from speaking, making Bilbo feel all the more anxious about presenting these to the King.
Thorin cleared his throat loudly and stepped closer, pressing a finger to the flour covered table, inspecting it.
“Balin requested I come down at first light to oversee the mines, most are still salvageable…”
"…are we to finally get a taste of Hobbit cooking Master Baggins?” The King appeared smug as he placed his hands behind his back. Oh how Bilbo wanted nothing more than to knock off that smug face he knew all too well. Bilbo merely shook his head and continued to search for the cutting knife. Bilbo gave a laugh, his head tilted slightly towards the ceiling in disbelief.
Bilbo hadn’t even noticed how close Thorin had come to him in that short amount of time. The King’s hand was coming down on a plate of scones he had prepared earlier and he sprung into action. A wooden spoon came smack into contact with the back of the King’s hand, causing him to mutter incoherent curse words in Khuzdul.
“Still so early in the morning and you still have a mouth on you”
“Does that displease you Burglar?” Thorin asked, rubbing the red spot on his scarred hand.
“Quite so, especially since these are for someone…now if you’re just going to stand there and take up space, you might as well make yourself useful” Bilbo turned and handed the King a wooden rolling pin, afterwards checking the furnaces. Thankfully, the fires of the oven were hot enough to conceal the fact that the poor halfling was blushing madly around him. The Dwarf King had definitely caught wind of what was said and stiffened his back; the coarse braids were covering the discomfort on his face. The idea of his burglar making something especially for someone, more likely one of his kin, had never crossed his mind until now. There was a tightness growing in his taut chest that seemed inexplicable the more Bilbo moved around with such urgency, as if the dwarf these were meant for would grow weary of waiting. Or Aulë forbid, an elf. Those vermin tree huggers made Thorin visibly shake at the thought.
“And what am I to do with this?” He asked gruffly, batting the rolling pin in his palm while looking down at the Hobbit quite menacingly. His eyes narrowed, the thought of someone else occupying Bilbo’s mind was displeasing.
“What? Oh dear, Thorin see you roll it like this.” He demonstrated with adept expertise. Now Thorin took over from how Bilbo showed him so expertly and began mustering all of his upper arm strength to flatten the dough into a pancake.
The Hobbit hoped baking something homemade for the King would potentially bring them closer, especially since resources were rather scarce in the early months of reclaiming the mountain; as Dís said, ’the closest way to a Dwarf, is through their stomach’. Bilbo sprinkled each triangle generously with cinnamon and sugar, placing the sheet of scones in the coal-fired oven.
Outside the archway, Bombur and Bofur were jostling and shushing each other. Apparently, the sweet smell of warm scones were pleasing to dwarfs and sent them flocking to the royal kitchen.
“Oh! It’s Bilbo….and Thorin? Shh Bombur..” Bofur shushed Bombur with a wave of his half bitten apple. Both dwarves clambered over each other to get a peek of the two in the kitchen. From what they could see, their King and Hobbit were standing suspiciously close to each other, the scene rather domestic. Bofur squawked when Bombur placed his hand atop Bofur’s head to get a better look.
The growing pain in Thorin’s chest did not squander; instead it grew more evident as Thorin pounded the dough with a lot more force than necessary, the flour coming up in small plumes, staining his clothes. When did the Hobbit grow so close to another that he did not notice? Nothing happened in the kingdom without his knowledge and now he felt a blistering hatred form for this unknown dwarf who apparently was soo important they’d taken residence in Bilbo’s priorities. Something had begun to swirl within the King's heart that was not dragons sickness. It was burning like a crackling flame that made his thoughts as muddled as they were when they were in search of the Arkenstone. What if Bilbo decided to leave the company for good? The mere thought made the red tide within him grow worse and Bilbo noticed the subtle change in Thorin's eyes. When he thought he couldn’t take it any more, he reached out to grab the rough cuff of Bilbo’s jacket, his grip tight.
“Th-thorin!? What ever is the matter with you” The Hobbit knit his brows in frustration and gave his King the same look as when Thorin pointed the Orcrist at him in the dragon dungeon. Thorin relented his grip, growing annoyed now at his innocent expression. Even with his larger build, commanding aura, and greying hairs, The King bore stark resemblance to a stubborn child.
Bilbo put down his oven mitt and placed both hands on his hips for an answer, quirking a brow. “Thorin.”
The Halfling had no idea what constituted the dwarf’s mood swings soo suddenly. Did the scones resemble elven bread? Was his appearance soo slovenly that Thorin thought it insulting? Even if he grew to love the dwarf, he could not deny he definitely had his rash and arrogant moments.
“These scones, who are they meant for?” Thorin asked callously, looking away to the flickering fires of the oven. Tinges of oranges ghosted over his rough, battle-worn skin.
“What?”
“Food is scarce Master Baggins! And you’re wasting every last precious resource we have for simple affairs. Hobbits cannot last without their second breakfasts and elevenses…” He spat, his frustration stemming out of jealousy. Of course the Dwarf would not reveal the true reason of his disdain. No, he found it rather painless to blame the Hobbit’s round tummy.
“Oh, well you were certainly not complaining when I nabbed the last apples to make that pie for you!”
“That matter is entirely different Master Burglar” He retorted
Oh, Bilbo’s face was absolutely fuming by the time Thorin had finished. The Hobbit lifted a finger up to say something when a loud thud from the doorway drew both their attention. Behind them, Bofur and Bombur were groaning and pushing themselves up off of the rocky ground. The King had turned to face both dwarves, anger twisted in his brows. Bofur was the first to sprint away, laughing and patting Bombur on the back. The larger dwarf looked to Thorin clearly petrified. Both his gloved hands were raised in defense and with one last look to Bilbo apologetically, he ran off towards Bofur. There was distant yelling and laughing now that the dwarves had gone.
Bilbo ran a hand over his face, small eye bags exhibited his exhaustion. At first his eyes were locked on the doorway where Bombur and Bofur once stood now they were locked on Thorin, and he was surprised to see the same intensity redirected back at him. Those piercing blue eyes made him flustered yet again. A thought dawned on him slowly. It couldn’t be…there was in no conceivable way that Thorin, the King Under the Mountain was..
“..jealous? Are you jealous?” Bilbo narrowed his eyes with a knowing smile on his face, his fists placed firmly on his hips. When he received no response other than an evident lack of eye contact, Bilbo broke into delightful laughter.
“So you are! King Under the Mountain, I can’t believe it. Well I actually can believe it considering how fast you scarfed down those pies need I remind you..” Bilbo reminded and coughed. Thorin looked more embarrassed than he thought he’d be. A silence ensued with only the soft crackling wood fires to fill it. Bilbo smiled and went over to the fires to pull out those freshly made scones using his Hobbiton oven mitt, plating them.
“….you know I was going to wait until you had finished your meeting…but I think now’s a good a time as ever. These are for you” He handed the plate of freshly baked scones to a stunned Dwarf King, lips parted slightly in astonishment.
"Bilbo.."
“Now you don’t need to say anything…it’s important to Hobbits to cook something special for those we care about and these months we’ve spent together I’ve come to see you as more than a..” Bilbo knit his brows and coughed a little, bending down to regain his bearings. It wasn’t all that he wanted to say but for now, it was enough. Bilbo was preparing himself to be let down or be pushed aside. Cast off, away from the company of the dwarves once they knew that a hobbit, an outsider, had developed feelings for their King. What he hadn’t expected was a comforting embrace, pulling him in closer. It reminded Bilbo of the first time Thorin had ever hugged him atop that cliff, the warm sun setting down the horizon. The dwarf’s warmth was soothing and served to alleviate all of his fears in an instant.
“..as more than a friend..” Bilbo squeaked and looked to Thorin. The King had his face buried in the crook of his shoulder, not daring to lessen his grip on the small Hobbit. As a survivor of Smaug’s tyranny, Thorin had felt abandoned and desolated than most he would say. His own father, Thrain, was driven mad and was never to return again, with only rumors to rekindle his son’s hopes. His own kin in the Iron Hills had refused to join the company to reclaim the mountain, claiming the quest belonged to thorn and Thorin alone. He didn’t even have to bring up that damned Elven King Thranduil who drew back his forces at the time when the dragon’s fire burned bright in the town of Dale. In spite of all this, a brave Hobbit from the hills of the Shire had proven to him time and time again that he would help reclaim his homeland and never leave the company’s side. It was long before this moment that The King finally realized his feelings.
Thorin finally pulled away and the smallest smile tugged on the corners of his lips. A throaty chuckle escaped his lips before pulling Bilbo into another hug, his lips brushing against the shell of his ear. The sudden contact made the burglar stand ever so slightly on his tip toes, as if craning for more.
“I feel the same Master Baggins..”