Work Text:
a day in the life of a dwarven king
Once upon a time, in a land a great distance from where you, the readers, probably are now (unless one of you wishes to share something, which would be considerably important to the plot, that is, take me with you), in a single, Lonely Mountain, there lived a great nation of hardy and stone-faced dwarves. In Erebor they dwelt, their hands hardened by years of toil, their beards braided with fine metals and precious gems, their eyes shrewd from their past exile, and their hearts forged by dragonfire. These dwarves were a mighty and majestic lot, and none was more mighty and majestic than their great King Under the Mountain: Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thráin and grandson of Thrór, Thorin ruled with a firm hand and a strong heart. All the kingdom respected and revered him, even as his grace and kindness was a legend among them, the dwarves of Erebor knew their king to be a dwarf that no one would dare disrespect so much as to yank the covers off of him when he’s trying to sleep, that would be just too much, come off it, who was doing that, they were disturbing a really wonderful dream, stop it –
“Alright! You! Great! Lump! Get up already!”
Thorin gave a groan and covered his eyes at the sudden light on his face. Bilbo Baggins, formerly of the Shire and now Prince Consort of Erebor, continued to tug on his feet in efforts to force him up and out of slumber.
“It’s nearly an hour past sunrise! Don’t make me go wake up the baby! I’ll do it, I’ll bring her in her and have her yank on your mustache again!”
“I’m up,” Thorin grumbled, then rolled over and buried his face in his pillow.
The mattress sank a little and a pair of hands pushed at his shoulder. Thorin opened one eye and attempted to glower at the perpetrator. Bilbo glowered back at him, then gave his beard a gentle tug, which was less annoying than Bilbo probably meant it to be.
“Get up,” Bilbo insisted. “It’s common court day.”
Thorin groaned a little, now even more determined to ignore Bilbo, despite his fingers curled in Thorin’s beard. He detested common court days. It wasn’t that he disliked interacting with his people, quite the opposite, he loved his people dearly, and genuinely wanted to help them whenever possible. No, the point of holding common court was less for the people of his kingdom to have serious matters resolved and more for the stubborn of his kingdom to knock their heads against the biggest stone wall they could find before giving up on their unrealistic goals and accepting reality. Thorin, obviously, was that big stone wall, the biggest possible, and unfortunately, could not escape common court days no matter how much he ignored his husband trying to get him up.
“Get up!” Bilbo repeated, tugging on his beard again.
“I’ll get up if you give me a kiss,” Thorin growled, then snatched Bilbo by the waist and tugged him onto his chest before locking his arms into place. If he was honest, Bilbo should have seen it coming with all the tugging on Thorin’s beard he was doing. His husband, however, was unamused and raised an eyebrow. Though all the dwarves of Erebor respected and revered the King Under the Mountain – with the possible probable exception of Dís –, one Hobbit was not about to be daunted by a king’s majestic glower.
“If you don’t get up, you’ll miss breakfast,” Bilbo told him firmly.
“What a horrible and daunting prospect, kurdulu ,” Thorin sighed. “Whatever shall I do?”
“I will go and fetch Luna,” Bilbo said. “She’ll be all cranky and everything.”
“I’ve faced down a dragon before, you know,” Thorin reminded him. “I think a cranky baby won’t have me shaking in my boots.”
“I think it’s been too long since you’ve dealt with a cranky baby,” Bilbo sniffed.
Thorin kissed him. Bilbo softened a little, and Thorin relaxed his grip on his husband’s waist.
“I’d be delighted to deal with our cranky baby,” Thorin murmured.
“Oh, you,” Bilbo spluttered, quite effectively flustered, then rolled off him and scrambled out of the bed. Thorin sat up a little, smiling to himself as Bilbo stalked off to the dresser. “You’ve got all sorts of sour and unpleasant folks lining up to talk to you today,” Bilbo announced, then pulled a pair of trousers out of a drawer and threw them at Thorin, who caught them, all the while maintaining his happy smile. “In particular, there’s a quarrel you’ve got to settle between a pair of merchants over whether or not one of them’s been plagiarizing the other’s designs. Fíli’s decided it’s the Main Dispute of the Day,” Bilbo added, as if an afterthought.
The Main Dispute of the Day was a very, ironically, highly disputed topic between Thorin’s nephews. The two of them in the evenings would go through Balin’s list of cases that Thorin would be overseeing the day after and discuss which of them sounded the most mundane and easily solvable of all. It often resulted in both of them arguing heatedly until one or both of their spouses hit them over the head, usually figuratively in Tauriel’s case and often literally in Ori’s. (Fíli had quite the bump on his head a few months ago over the case of Takan the Cobbler versus Takan the Baker, who were arguing over which of them got to trademark the name Takan for their businesses, after he and Kíli got a little too into their discussion and taught Lȍri her first curse word, kakhf . Ori was not impressed, despite Fíli’s insistence that he had said mahimrêl and Kíli had said kakhf . It resulted in another hit over the head for Fíli as Lȍri said her second curse word. Bilbo had nodded in approval and Thorin had resolved to watch his tongue around Little Luna a little closer.)
“Sounds dreadful,” Thorin answered pleasantly.
Bilbo tossed a shirt to him, then stood up and set his closed hands upon his hips. “And here’s the kicker,” Bilbo said in a huff. “Laslûna hasn’t got a minder for the day.”
Thorin frowned at that, rather confused. “Isn’t she going to be with you?”
Bilbo crossed back to the bed and sat on its edge as he answered: “I’m going to be going all over the mountain dealing with the preparations for Durin’s Day, so no, she’s not.”
“What about Dís?” Thorin asked, then tugged his nightshirt up and over his head.
“Working with the Guild Leaders,” Bilbo answered, distractedly and very pointedly not looking Thorin in the eye, rather, at his now bare chest. He blushed. “Erm…”
“What was that about me missing breakfast if I didn’t get up soon?” Thorin asked cheekily, then leaned over and pecked Bilbo on the mouth.
“Sorry?” Bilbo murmured, then he shook himself and looked away. Thorin pulled the fresh shirt on and the flush faded from Bilbo’s cheeks. “Anyway, before you ask about Fíli or Kíli or Ori or Tauriel, they’re all busy, too.”
“What about Sam or Frodo?” Thorin asked. “They’re old enough to babysit, aren’t they?”
“Just barely, besides, Sam’s working with Bombur in the kitchen and Frodo’s shadowing Ori,” Bilbo answered. “We’re lucky that Lȍri, Víli, Lilì, Pippin, and Merry are in lessons in your fancy new primary school, otherwise we’d have twice the mess on our hands.”
Thorin gave a nod and a hum; the Mountain-wide primary school had been something he’d been trying to get set up for ages, but only just managed to get running properly in the last season. “So that leaves…?” Thorin mused as he slipped out of the bed to don his trousers.
“Just you,” Bilbo answered, now looking at the ceiling with a growing flush again.
Thorin frowned again and paused in pulling up his trousers. “But I’m holding court all day.”
“Precisely,” Bilbo said, practically looking over his shoulders at that point, reminding Thorin to pull his trousers the rest of the way up. “You’re sitting still all day, whereas the rest of us are moving around and about and throwing hammers, in Dís’s case, likely. Luna can sit on your knee and hold court with you.”
Thorin raised his eyebrows. Bilbo copied the movement. Thorin broke into a soft smile and let out a light chuckle, then took his husband’s hands and pulled him up off the bed and into his arms. “That sounds doable to me,” Thorin murmured. He pressed a soft kiss to Bilbo’s lips.
“Breakfast,” Bilbo mumbled against his mouth.
“I’m not particularly hungry for that right now,” Thorin answered in a hushed tone.
“But…” Bilbo murmured, sounding almost swayed but not quite.
“Shouldn’t’ve tugged on my beard like that earlier then, kurdulu ,” Thorin whispered, then, after pressing another kiss to his mouth, dragged his lips across to Bilbo’s cheek and then his ear.
“Mmm,” Bilbo hummed with a shiver, which delighted Thorin in just the right way, and he brought his lips over the crest of Bilbo’s ear, biting very lightly. “Sod it,” Bilbo whimpered, and Thorin gave a low chuckle.
“That’s the spirit, kurdulu .”
As it was, they did miss breakfast – second breakfast for Bilbo, rather – and Thorin was nearly very late to opening court.
When he did finally enter the courtroom, those already seated in the court fell rapidly silent. Thorin gave them all a sweeping look, expression set into its usual almost-scowl, and shifted Laslûna a little higher up on his hip.
“All rise for the King Under the Mountain, Thorin the Second Oakenshield,” Balin, standing to the right of the throne, announced.
The assembled dwarves rose, a respective silence filling the courtroom. As Thorin swept his gaze over them once more, the sound of a pin’s dropping could have been heard in the hush.
“Bleh,” Laslûna declared, then shook her rattle.
Thorin was sure that he was not the only one fighting back a smile. His daughter peered curiously around as Thorin strode to the heavy throne upon its raised dais, the Arkenstone glinting gently in the light of the torches and windows. He sat with all the decorum a king should possess, then had to hastily resettle Laslûna when she tried to twist out of his arms and onto the floor.
“All may be seated,” Balin said. Thorin gave them another sweeping look as the assembled dwarves took their seats with many a clatter and shifting of stone bench on stone floor. Balin sat upon his own tufted stool and turned his head to wait for Thorin’s next words, though he was rapidly distracted by Laslûna shaking her rattle at him. Thorin gave her a very brief but fond smile, before reverting back to his majestic glower, his standard expression for holding court, and nodded to the dwarves before him.
“Let the court now open,” he said, and Laslûna gave a shake of her rattle to punctuate his words. Thorin half wondered if he ought to scold her for fussing so much, but on the other hand, the way that Dwalin’s stony expression was twitching as he stood off to his right was highly amusing, much more entertaining than much of the day was bound to be.
Balin drew out a thick scroll and unrolled it to address the crowd. “Today’s agenda starts with Master Quirinus Vȕlcanul versus Master Bȍnirius Vȕlcanul on the matter of the splitting of their joint business. You may approach the dais, Masters Vȕlcanul.”
The next hour went much like this: Bȍnirius wanted to expand the business the two brothers had started many years previous, but Quirinus did not. Bȍnirius said that Quirinus was a frightened little treebrain and, thus, wanted to leave to start his own business, but Quirinus insisted that to do so would break their poor father’s heart as Vȕlcan himself had started the business nearly two hundred years ago and entrusted it to them on the condition that it remain within the family, however, Bȍnirius was positive that him leaving the business would not break the contract upon which they had entered into the business in the first place, and besides, Vȕlcan had been dead for nearly twenty years so what did it matter? It was a good thirty minutes before Thorin even fully grasped what business they were discussing precisely, and upon learning that it was a small jewelry shop that made only woven nets for beards and hair, he spent a good deal of time wondering how many people needed woven nets of gold for their beards that such a business would even flourish for two hundred years. It turned out that this was exactly the problem that caused Bȍnirius to want to expand and consequently leave, their business was failing as beard nets did not seem to be much in fashion anymore.
They were off to a really grand start.
“It seems that the wisest course of action would be to expand your business,” Thorin said after a very long time listening to Bȍnirius and Quirinus merely squabble over Bȍnirius flighty nature and Quirinus’s cautions one.
“Do you see!” Bȍnirius exclaimed with a grand gesture to Thorin. “Even the King agrees that we ought to expand!”
“Well… If the King thinks so…” Quirinus murmured.
Laslûna shook her rattle at them. For a moment, Bȍnirius and Quirinus looked at her, both seemingly rather confused
“It is settled!” Bȍnirius cried, apparently deciding that the rattle shake counted as the final say. “Good King Thorin, we thank you!”
“I accept your thanks and offer my own gratitude,” Thorin said, a reply that was just as scripted as it was relieved.
Bȍnirius bowed deeply and Quirinus presented him with a golden beard net woven with diamonds, and the two left. Thorin looked at the net, then shrugged a little and put it into his pocket; Laslûna tried to grab for it, but he very hastily shoved it away. She had a tendency to put things in her mouth at this age, and such a thing would likely be a choking hazard.
“Next, Master Tobold Goblin-squasher Haboldul versus Mistress Raina Jensiul on the matter of a disagreement on Mistress Jaina Raniul’s betrothal contract to Tabȏl Toboldul.”
Mistress Raina wanted her daughter and Tabȏl to live on the west end of the Merchant’s district, while Master Tobold wanted his son and Jaina to live on the east end of the Market district. The Merchant district and the Market district were right next to each other, so Thorin wasn’t sure why Tabȏl and Jaina couldn’t just live in between the east end of the Market district and the west end of the Merchant’s district. In fact, he said so.
“Because the Merchant’s district is twice as respected as the Market district!” Mistress Raina exclaimed in horrified protestation.
“The Market district is twice as welcoming the Merchant district any day!”
Thorin did his very best to keep from covering his face with a hand and sighing. Laslûna shook her rattle right next to his ear, which was helpful in that incredibly trying moment. He looked to Tabȏl and Jaina, standing behind their respective parents and shaking their heads in shame, and sighed despite himself.
“Master Tabȏl,” Thorin said abruptly.
“ – there’s all those rats and nasty little things in the Market – Oh!” Raina stopped talking hastily. Tabȏl stepped forward.
“Where would you and Jaina like to live?” Thorin asked.
“Er,” Tabȏl said.
“In the Guild Halls,” Jaina said, and both Tobold and Raina gasped in horror. “Where I already have an apartment and a shop!” This she shot backwards at her mother, who let out a slight gasp and pressed a hand to her beard.
“There,” Tabȏl added, albeit a bit sheepishly.
“Then you will live in the Guild Halls,” Thorin decided. Raina looked faint and Tobold was visibly biting the inside of his cheek, but Thorin had declared it in as Kingly a voice as he possibly could, and that was that.
“Guh,” Laslûna said, then hit her rattle on his knee, and Thorin gave a firm nod.
“Well said, mimûna ,” he added, trying very hard to keep back a smile.
“Erm, thank you, Your Majesty, er, Majesties,” Tabȏl said, then hastily bowed. Thorin was highly pleased at his addressing of Laslûna as well as himself. “We are grateful for your wisdom.”
“I accept your thanks,” Thorin said. Something struck the back of his throne, likely Balin’s walking stick, and he again added: “And offer my own gratitude. And congratulations on your upcoming marriage.”
“Thank you,” Jaina repeated, bowing as well. “I offer this amulet created by my own hands in my gratitude.”
Thorin took it, it was actually a very lovely amulet, a fine silver chain and the pendant a tree with fine branches encircled by many firm silver threads. Bilbo would like it or perhaps Tauriel, he decided, and bowed his head to the family before him. They all bowed again and left the chamber. Thorin realized that Laslûna had stuck the chain of the amulet in her mouth and carefully took it away from her before stowing it in his own pocket with the beard net. He still wasn’t sure what he’d do with it still.
“Next is Masters…”
The next case was very much the same, just mundane and just as rooted in pure Dwarvish stubbornness, as was the case after that, and the case after that, and just as Thorin was hoping they would be breaking for lunch soon, Balin called forward the Main Dispute of the Day: the two merchants who claimed were plagiarizing each other.
“Master Althar Althinul versus Master Berȉr Dagȉrul on the matter of plagiarism by one or the other,” Balin announced, and even he sounded tired at that point. A couple of people chuckled, and both Masters Althar and Berȉr looked displeased.
“State your complaints,” Thorin recited.
“Blah,” Laslûna said before either of them could speak. Thorin’s scowl twitched, but so did Dwalin’s, so it didn’t matter. Laslûna’s statement was rather accurate, Thorin thought however. He patted her head, but then she grabbed at his hand and started chewing on his thumb.
Althar, Berȉr, Balin, Dwalin, and in fact the entire court looked at their King, at his daughter, and at his thumb which was being steadily chomped upon. Thorin looked back at them for a long moment, then cleared his throat.
“She’s teething,” Thorin said simply. He should have brought something for her to chew on other than her wooden rattle and his thumb, then again, he didn’t particularly mind, it wasn’t as if she had any teeth yet to make her chewing on him painful.
Dwalin’s face twitched again, and Thorin decided he was going to make Laslûna a very small but glorious tiara in honor of the fifty times she caused Dwalin to almost smile.
“Erm,” Berȉr said.
“He has stolen many of my designs!” Althar exclaimed.
“I have not, Althar stole them from me!” Berȉr shouted. “I have been in business three years longer than you and I come up with twice as many designs in the first place, why would I ever need to copy your pitiful attempts at dressmaking?”
Thorin’s eyes slipped from the now loudly shouting dwarves in front of him to Laslûna, who was still determinedly gnawing on his thumb, and he couldn’t help but let his lips curl into a fond smile. Laslûna looked up at him, her eyes wide and doe-like, then she pulled his thumb from her mouth and, breaking into a wide grin, cooed at him adorably. She grabbed at his beard and yanked hard on it, or as hard as an infant could. Thorin chuckled and tickled her stomach, causing her to giggle and snort.
“My King?” Balin asked hesitantly.
Thorin looked up, cleared his throat and hastily resumed his majestic glower; Laslûna gave his beard another tug and he gently removed her hand from it without looking down. Althar and Berȉr were looking at him expectantly, each of them holding up a dress, one green and the other blue. Thorin looked between the two, trying to discern exactly where the issue with either lay.
Balin leaned into his throne. “They each claim that they made these dresses in absolute secrecy so as to debut them on Durin’s Day.”
Thorin leaned in as well. “They look nothing alike,” he murmured.
“The issue of contention is the borders on the hems,” Balin hissed.
Thorin took another look at the hems. On the blue gown, the border was a symmetrical design of a deep red line, then a purple line, then a geometric scrolling pattern done in yellow on a background of red and purple swirls before a purple and then another red line. On the green gown, the border was also a symmetrical design of a thick yellow line, then a line in a second shade of green, then another scrolling geometric pattern in brown on a background of the second shade of green and yellow, but instead of being in swirls as the blue gown’s was, the was made up of very tiny squares in the respective colors.
“Aren’t those just generic borders?” Thorin whispered to Balin. “I’ve got about twelve robes with borders like them.”
“Apparently not?” Balin answered questioningly.
Thorin looked back between the two gowns. Personally, he thought that perhaps they ought to try going back to study under more talented dressmakers, but he really shouldn’t say that to them.
“Well, Your Majesty?” Althar demanded. “He has copied my design! I will not stand for this!”
Thorin opened his mouth, but then, as if finally fed up with having her father’s attention stolen from her constantly, Laslûna gave a very loud wail and threw her rattle. Thorin watched, as if time itself had slowed just for that one moment, as it arced through the air towards the angry dressmaker in front of him. It hit Althar right on the nose and then clattered to the ground. A heavy hush settled over the court. Althar blinked. Thorin had yet to close his mouth.
Laslûna giggled a little. So did Berȉr, and then, amazingly, Thorin heard what almost sounded like a chuckle in Dwalin’s direction.
“Court is adjourned for the time being,” Balin announced, “we shall resume, er, later.”
Thorin stood up and tucked Laslûna onto his hip. Althar bent, picked up her rattle, and held it out meekly. Thorin took it, then, out of sheer pity, said: “I apologize. She, er, gets cranky, when she’s hungry.” Not that she was definitively hungry. Just, in general, cranky.
“No need to apologize,” Althar said carefully, “I have wee ones too, I hold no offense.”
“All rise!” Balin called.
Thorin secured his daughter on his hip, then made his way out of the throne room, with Balin and Dwalin trailing behind him. They walked in complete silence to the Royal apartments, and as they did, Thorin was mentally designing Little Luna’s new tiara. It would be made of mithril and have diamonds and rubies and perhaps even amethysts or opals, he decided.
In his office, Thorin set Laslûna upon his desk, handed her a teething ring, and finally looked at Balin and Dwalin.
Balin, very slowly, pulled his lips into a grin. “I think she’s going to be a highly fine diplomat one day,” he said, as if he couldn’t be prouder of Thorin’s wee princess’s political skills.
“Or one fine axe thrower,” Dwalin rumbled. And then, a miracle that only occurred once in a blue moon, Dwalin bestowed a wide smile upon Laslûna, who looked at him with wide eyes that only expressed how little she knew of what an honor it was to receive a smile from Dwalin.
Her tiara would have amethysts and opals, Thorin thought.
“What are you doing back from court so quickly?”
Balin and Dwalin whipped around to face Bilbo, standing in the doorway with Bombur, Glóin, and Dori behind him. Bilbo was the one who had spoken and was giving them all a very confused frown.
“It’s not even afternoon tea,” Bilbo added.
Thorin, at a loss for words, merely grinned and shrugged at his husband, then pointed to Laslûna, who looked at him, her mouth stretched by the teething ring, and made a confused noise.
“Court has entered an early recess,” Balin said.
“Really?” asked Bilbo. “Whatever for? And why are you grinning like that, you silly Dwarf?”
This last question Bilbo asked as he stepped further into the room, aimed, obviously, at Thorin himself, who merely continued in his grin and his pointing at Laslûna, who made another twice as confused noise.
Dwalin was still smiling, and Bilbo would be getting a coronet to match Laslûna’s. No one ever called Thorin Oakenshield a silly dwarf, not even behind his back, except, of course, for Bilbo.
“What have you done, you little monster?” Bilbo asked Laslûna affectionately, giving her a smile and lifting her off the desk into his arms. He looked between Thorin, who wouldn’t stop grinning, and Balin, who had the expression of a master whose pupil had just exceeded him upon his face. “What?”
“We were in the midst of the Main Dispute of the Day,” answered Dwalin, before letting out a second chuckle and shaking his head with pride at Laslûna. “The two dressmakers' were showing off their designs and swearing the other had copied it, and this little beauty decided she’d had enough of it.”
“And she chucked her rattle right at Master Althar Althinul,” Balin sighed, clicking his tongue and looking to the ceiling as if personally thanking Mahal himself.
“Hit him square on the schnozz,” Thorin said finally, then gently tapped a finger on Laslûna’s little button nose, causing her to giggle and grin.
Bilbo looked between the three of them, his expression at first blank, then slowly, his eyebrows began to travel further and further up his forehead. In the doorway, Bombur smiled, Dori chuckled, and Glóin guffawed.
“Dwarves,” Bilbo sighed, and walked out of the room through the door to Thorin’s private rooms.
Thorin, Balin, Dwalin, Bombur, Dori, and Glóin all burst into laughter, until –
Laslûna gave an upset noise and threw her teething ring; it hit Thorin with a sharp thwack on the side of his head. The dwarves went dead silent; Bilbo turned back, his eyebrows somewhere lost among his hairline, as Thorin’s face went slack and he stared at nothing.
Dwalin sniggered. Balin’s lips twitched. Glóin burst back into laughter.
“You deserve it,” Bilbo declared, and shut the door behind him.
Thorin grinned despite himself as his fellows guffawed around him. He bent, picked up her teething ring, and opened the door Bilbo had just shut to follow him through.
Laslûna waved a hand at him over Bilbo’s shoulder. Thorin waved the teething ring back at her, and she giggled.
Thorin decided he would make her ten tiaras.