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Bilbo snored.
It was such a small, simple discovery but Thorin was oddly delighted to make it. He couldn’t remember Bilbo having done so on the journey, even before he found himself paying more attention to their burglar (and his sleeping habits) than he probably should have been. Perhaps Bilbo had been too worried to sleep soundly enough to snore. Or perhaps he had been so fatigued that sleep had been more like collapsing from exhaustion than actual rest. That certainly had often been the case for Thorin, at any rate. He didn’t recall Bilbo snoring at the beginning of the restoration of Erebor when sleeping arrangements had been communal and crowded. But this particular morning?
This morning, Bilbo was snoring.
It was a soft, huffing sound that Thorin knew couldn’t have possibly woken him. He was awake because he had been waking before dawn for far too many years. Apparently, not even a wondrous night could keep his body slumbering past daybreak. On this morning, however, Thorin did not mind. How could he be irritated when Bilbo was curled up beside him, sleeping ever so soundly? When there was a bare arm that he was allowed to caress draped ever so possessively across his chest and the weight of Bilbo’s head resting ever so snugly on his shoulder? There could not possibly be a single irritating thing on the first morning he woke like this. Even now, the memories flitted before his eyes and Thorin knew that he had no hope of containing the smile upon his face today. Or tomorrow. Or even the day after that.
Because now Thorin knew.
He had felt the sweet caress of Bilbo’s lips upon his skin. He had seen that adorably handsome face engulfed by wanton ecstasy. He had whispered endearments and words of tenderness to his beloved hobbit and heard them returned and shared. It was knowledge he had thought would be impossible to gain, especially after everything. After everything that had happened between them. But last night, they had been in the middle of a bantering argument about the elves (again…) when an odd look had appeared on Bilbo’s face and he had simply pounced on Thorin. Kissing led to groping which led to…
Well, that was likely Bilbo’s waistcoat hanging from the bedpost and Thorin wondered if his belt was still dangling over the chair Bilbo had thrown it on.
What had Thorin lying there with a soppy grin on his face as he soaked in the warmth of Bilbo’s bare skin against his own was the awareness that it could happen again. His hobbit snuggled closer – Bilbo’s lips brushing his skin as he slept – and Thorin resolved that it would happen again. He would ask Bilbo for permission to court him properly. Granted, they had skipped more than a few of those steps last night and Thorin was not looking forward to the lecture from Balin about proper behavior he was likely to receive from his old friend and advisor if he ever found out. When he found out, actually. The smile would give him away the moment he left his chambers. But the image of Bilbo Baggins, Consort Under the Mountain, was far too appealing and heartwarming for him to be overly concerned about lectures or funny glances from dwarves wondering why their king was grinning like a besotted fool.
He was a besotted fool, though. And he had been for so long, it was possible that Mahal had crafted him that way. That he had been born with a place for only Bilbo Baggins already set aside in his heart. For the fussy creature he had called a grocer and dismissed so shortly after meeting him. For the clever and surprisingly brave hobbit who had saved them so many times. For his unexpected and beloved Bilbo, who had, for reasons Thorin would always be grateful for, chosen to make a mountain his home.
Mahal, he didn’t deserve him. There would never be enough words in Khuzdul or Westron to tell Bilbo how deeply Thorin loved him. There was not a gift in all of Arda that could adequately express how much job he received from simply having Bilbo’s presence in his life. And now, there was so much more to look forward to. Plaiting a braid of intent into Bilbo’s curly hair. Teaching Bilbo how to plait a braid of intent into his hair. Marriage vows and forging a consort’s coronet that Bilbo wouldn’t give him that glare over. Thorin was happy. Genuinely, honestly happy in this moment and in the promise of moments to come. If felt as if he was bursting with it and he couldn’t stop the low, pleased chuckle from escaping his lips.
Bilbo’s hand flexing on his chest and the accompanying grumble from his bed partner alerted him to the fact that apparently Bilbo had started to rouse while his mind was wandering. As was the pattern for the morning, Thorin wasn’t even slightly annoyed. He was actually excited for Bilbo to wake up, in way that was only matched by a handful of times in his life. Being handed his first practice sword. Holding Fili and Kili for the first time. But the feeling was strengthened by a core of hopeful optimism. Today was a beginning and Thorin couldn’t wait. Maybe Bilbo would consent to wearing a braid of intent this morning and he lightly chuckled at that thought as well.
“It’s too early for silliness, Thorin.”
Bilbo’s voice was rough with sleepiness and his breath kissed Thorin’s skin as he spoke. Tightening his hold on the hobbit in his arms, Thorin nuzzled the hair on the top of Bilbo’s head – besotted grin still happily in place.
“Never. Good morning, Bilbo.”
The hair on the tops of Bilbo’s feet tickled his legs as Bilbo lazily stretched his legs out but didn’t really move all that much. Which was just fine with Thorin. He was quite content with where his hobbit was. Bilbo fit against him like he was always meant to be there and Thorin liked it.
“Last night was… interesting.”
Interesting? That was not exactly how Thorin would describe it. Interesting wasn’t necessarily bad but it didn’t sound all that good, either. Why would Bilbo call a night so full of gentleness and passion ‘interesting’? And there was something in the tone of Bilbo’s voice that worried him. Bilbo sounded almost nervous. Beneath his hands, Thorin could feel as Bilbo’s back tensed and his whole body went still. It felt as if they were both holding their breaths.
“If interesting is your word of choice, Master Baggins, then I shall have to endeavor to do better tonight.”
And apparently that sounded better to Bilbo’s ears than it had in Thorin’s head because all of that sudden wary tension quickly disappeared. There were tender kisses being peppered along his shoulder and anywhere it seemed Bilbo could reach without moving too much from where he was snuggled up to Thorin. The teasing kisses halted but before he had a chance to miss them, he could feel Bilbo scramble next to him and then there was a hobbit hovering over him with an affectionate smirk on his face.
“You see that you do that, Master Oakenshield. I have high expectations.”
And now, Thorin had to kiss that smirk off of Bilbo’s face. He had to. Shifting his hold on Bilbo, he rolled them over and propped himself up on an elbow so he could easily lean down and bring his lips to Bilbo’s. It was far from the greatest tasting kiss but that unpleasantness was insignificant in comparison to the elation of actually having his hobbit squirming sweetly beneath him and Bilbo’s hands roaming across his bare back. When Thorin pulled back slightly, the smirk was gone and Bilbo just looked dumbstruck.
Much better.
The fingers of his free hand slid into Bilbo’s disheveled curls – not that his own hair likely looked any better. Thorin was well aware of the complete mess that was his hair in the morning. Particularly after last night’s amorous activities. He lightly tugged at various strands of hair almost subconsciously testing their strength and suitability for braiding. Almost. How did one go about asking someone if you can court them when they are lying naked under you and looking dazed from a single (lengthy and skilled but just one) kiss?
“Bilbo, I…”
Somehow, Bilbo’s had drifted up past his neck and had started trying to work through the tangled morass that was Thorin’s hastily undone braids. The sensation of Bilbo doing something so intimate – something that was such a loving act in his culture – was both pleasurable and reassuring. All he had to do was ask. Even if Bilbo needed a long courtship to sooth his nerves or ease his sense of propriety, that would be all right. He could do that. Or at least Thorin hoped he could. The nimble fingers in his hair tugged at a particularly stubborn knot and Thorin felt his cheeks flush as a throaty moan that could only be his echoed in the small space between them.
“I am trying to ask you something important.”
Bilbo only grinned at him impertinently. Cheeky hobbit.
“I could tell. You were becoming your usual scowling self. No scowling in our bed.” Before Thorin could figure out how to defend himself – he didn’t scowl that much – Bilbo’s exact words registered. Our bed. Ours. “That’s more like it. Ask your question.”
And that was love and light in Bilbo’s eyes and the words slid easily from his lips.
“May I have permission to court you, Bilbo Baggins?”
Bilbo’s hands stilled and fell out of his hair, dropping to rest fitfully on the bedding beneath them. And Thorin watched helplessly as that joy in Bilbo’s eyes was pulled away. Something dark and painful started to settle in his stomach.
“Thorin, that’s… I… it’s complicated.”
“Complicated!” Thorin knew his voice was harsh and angry but he couldn’t find the strength to rein in his temper. “How can it be complicated? You have just called this our bed. We have lain together! I do not understand why…”
Bilbo’s voice was meek and frustrated all at the same time. “Because we are already married.”
What?
Wait, what?
His mind refused to function. It made no sense. Bilbo considered them married? How did that work?
“Married?”
“By the traditions of the Shire. Well, not the entirety of the Shire. But to the Tooks and some of the Brandybucks, consummating a relationship after a proposal of marriage has been offered and accepted is the same as reciting wedding vows. I suppose it has to do with the impulsiveness of the lot and it is a very old bit of tradition, mind you…”
Thorin was very aware of just how fidgety Bilbo was beneath him. He could hear the sound of Bilbo repeatedly grasping and releasing the fabric under his fingers. His hobbit always worried with his hands. And his eyes, which had already been drained of emotion, had closed altogether. Tracing a finger around the edge of one of Bilbo’s pointed (and not at all elf-like) ears, Thorin tried to get his heart to calm. Whatever pain had been in his stomach had long since fled. Courtship was complicated because in the Shire, Bilbo would been seen as his husband. And he would be Bilbo’s husband. Thorin knew that besotted grin would be back if his hobbit didn’t look so dejectedly miserable.
“Bilbo…” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead in an attempt to get him to open his eyes but his hobbit visibly winced at the gentle caress. “You are a Took, are you not? On your mother’s side?” Thorin got the barest of nods in response. They had discussed hobbit clans more than once, even though it seemed in Bilbo’s soothing rambling on the subject, he had left this detail out. “So to you and your kin, I would be your husband?”
“Yes.”
Bilbo’s voice was a faint and frightened whisper and Thorin knew he needed to get Bilbo to at least look at him. To understand that there was nothing to be afraid of. How could he possibly be mad at such a thing? Bilbo had lain with him, even with the knowledge that the traditions of his people would name them wed at the act. The ruling council would never validate a Shire marriage in place of a traditional courtship but for single moment, Thorin allowed himself to fantasize about plaiting a marriage braid into Bilbo’s hair that very day. Thorin found it mattered little to him that it wasn’t under dwarven tradition. He was Bilbo’s husband. A thought occurred to him, though.
“When did you propose, Bilbo?”
The idea that Bilbo had somehow extended an offer of marriage and he had no idea was more than slightly discomfiting to Thorin. How did he miss something like that? And how could he keep Dís from ever finding out? His question finally caused Bilbo’s eyes to open, however. He still wouldn’t meet Thorin’s gaze and there was embarrassment in the smile that curved his lips.
“I didn’t. You did.”
What?
Wait, what?
“I proposed to you?” Another short nod. “When?”
“When you gifted me the mithril shirt.” As soon as the words reached his ears, Thorin’s mind was frozen. The mithril shirt. That was over a year ago. In the middle of the torment of the dragon sickness, he had inadvertently asked Bilbo to marry him. “You see, in the Shire, proposing is usually done by offering a family heirloom of some kind and Balin explained the significance of the mithril to me…”
And depending on how interfering and sentimental of a mood he was in at the time, Balin also likely hinted at how often that very shirt had featured in the courtship stories of the line of Durin.
“And yet you still wore it, even after the battle. Even after Erebor was safe.” His mind suddenly recalled how pleased he’d been to find that mithril on Bilbo’s body the night before. The pure delight he’d felt at knowing Bilbo still valued the gift given under the haze of madness. “You were wearing it last night.”
Finally… finally… Bilbo’s eyes met his and Thorin was not prepared for the fierce surety in them.
“Of course I was! I love you, you confounded dwarf. Even if you never knew it or I never found the courage to tell you, I would still…”
Even though Thorin had never wanted Bilbo more than he did at that moment, it wasn’t with need and passion that he kissed Bilbo. It was with love that he kissed him. The kind of love that was strong enough and everlasting enough that it just might convince Mahal to make an exception and find room in his halls for one unexpectedly extraordinary hobbit. Thorin poured into the kiss every dream he dared have in the dark loneliness of the years before they had even met. Every fantasy he’d had of waking exactly as he had this morning, with Bilbo pressed against his side.
“Amrâlimê.” The one endearment that he had been afraid to use last night was murmured against Bilbo’s lips. “My beloved Bilbo. My husband.”
There was a reverence in the way Bilbo tenderly caressed his cheek that Thorin hoped would never fade. All that light and love was once more easy to see in his hobbit’s eyes and Thorin could feel that his besotted fool’s grin had reappeared once more as well.
“My husband.” Bilbo traced that grin with his thumb and Thorin couldn’t help but capture it briefly in his mouth. “Well, almost my husband.”
What?
Wait, what?
Thorin had to admit that he was rather confused now. Hadn’t Bilbo just said that they were married?
“Almost?”
Bilbo nodded with a bit of a grimace. “It’s not considered official until the couple leaves the bedroom and their union is acknowledged.”
“Acknowledged how?”
“The elders just always seem to know.” Thorin had a feeling that was true, no matter the race. “It’s not exactly something that anyone bothers to hide. All it usually takes is one look at a pair and…”
Before he could think too much about exactly what he was doing, Thorin rolled over, stood up, and pulled Bilbo out of bed too. They could work out the details of a dwarven courtship later. But today… today he wanted to be Bilbo’s husband, even if the two of them were the only ones who knew it.
“Thorin, what are you doing?”
Trying to drag Bilbo was obviously not working. His stubborn hobbit. Kissing Bilbo to distract him, Thorin picked him up out of the blankets tangled at his feet – that might explain the ineffectiveness of the dragging - and scooped Bilbo up into his arms.
“What?! Put me down!” Thorin left the bedroom and marched over to the main door to his chamber. With a swift kick that only slightly threw off his balance, the door opened and Thorin carried Bilbo over the threshold and out into the hallway. “Where are you going?!”
“To Balin.”
His old friend often woke as early as he did and would undoubtedly know what had happened with one glance at them and it would be enough to fulfill that final requirement.
“Balin?! We need clothes first, Thorin!”
Unfortunately for Bilbo (and Balin and any other poor early risers), Thorin was oblivious to that fact.
-fin-