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It had been difficult at first, the distance. But with time, the ache turned dull and tolerable. Since his parting from his friends in the lonely mountain, Bilbo had been living alone. Bag End was peaceful, Bilbo wrote as much in his letters, willing his heart to make it so. But in truth, it was empty. For years before the journey, he'd been content on his own. He'd only ever missed his parents on special occasions. He'd always been able to entertain himself and didn't mind that his more agreeable relatives lived all the way in Buckland. That was before.
Before the journey. Before the dragon.
Before Thorin.
These days, a visit to Buckland felt no more than a stroll in his backyard in comparison to the miles Bilbo had travelled and the sights he'd seen. Still, he rarely went out. He made time to go to the market of course and he answered all correspondence in a timely manner, but the reality of socializing in his dear little neighbourhood served as a sorrowful reminder of the dear companions he was missing.
His life was due for another unanticipated development. And it came as a blessing he could not yet recognize upon its arrival. A blessing dressed in great tragedy. The shock of the loss of Drogo and Primula Baggins devastated the Shire. Bilbo was so unbalanced by their deaths that he reclused entirely, in a very unhobbitlike fashion. He even forgot to write any letters.
After the initial condolences were expressed by neighbours hanging on the door– a month passed before someone came knocking again.
Esmeralda Brandybuck arrived with a packed lunch, as well as supper and some homemade jam for tea. And what's more, all of his mail was tucked under her arm. Bilbo felt rather foolish and accepted his letters with a sheepish look, inviting her in. Determined to be a gracious host, he made her sit as he served up what she'd brought him. He was polite and expressed his condolences for her loss before she could extend the same to him.
Family could be difficult, but Esme had always been easy to be around and it was clear she felt the same about him. They ate their lunch in silence, only occasionally interrupted by remarks about chores that needed doing before the season changed. She offered to help him with a few things here and there, which he was grateful for but reassured her the Gamgees took very good care of him and he would be back to normal before long.
After clearing their dishes, he poured them tea and sat across from her in the kitchen. He held his tea in both hands on the table, but drank none of it. He'd been trying not to seem anxious to read his letters, but he mustn't have been as discreet as he'd meant to be.
Before long, Esme told Bilbo to go ahead and open them. She sipped at her tea patiently as he tore through the first from a stack of weathered envelopes. Each letter from Thorin was worse than the one before it. Bilbo felt just awful for worrying him. He politely excused himself to his office, which Esme encouraged, nodding in understanding. He took out paper immediately, sitting at his desk to complete a thorough recount of recent events, heavily laden with apologies. He stressed with great importance that he was alright now and perfectly well.
Bilbo sealed the letter carefully and set it down with some reluctance, an irrational part of him feeling he should run down to the road and try to catch the mailman on his way to Bree. Truth be told, long distance messenger chains don't function quite so efficiently and he knew that whether it arrived in the next town today or tomorrow would make no difference. It wouldn't leave the region until the end of the week no matter what he did and it would take longer still to reach its destination. He breathed in deeply, pressing down a pool of guilt in his stomach he could cope with later on. He returned to his guest and offered her more tea.
Esme asked Bilbo to sit with her again so he did. Her tone indicated she wanted to discuss something rather serious. First, she asked if he would come to visit Frodo– Prim and Drogo's orphaned faunt. He was surprised by this. His nephew had been very small the last time Bilbo had spent more than a passing moment with him. He was still very small in Bilbo's opinion. Esme went on to explain to him that Buck Hall was too noisy and bustling for Frodo to recover from the loss of his parents. She was happy to raise the young faunt, but had begun to worry for him. The hill was overflowing with excitable young faunts of all ages and while initially, his relatives agreed it would do him well to be surrounded by family, they may have been mistaken.
In her words, Frodo was an unusual child, different. She said that with all due respect, Bilbo was different as well, in his own way. Esme made it clear that she meant this with the greatest affection, and she believed Bilbo could provide a more suitable environment for Frodo in the short term.
In the end, Bilbo agreed to consider it. He promised that he would come to visit his nephew soon and ask Frodo directly what he thought of the idea.
It wasn't long before Frodo moved to Bag End. Shortly after his arrival, Bilbo wrote to Thorin again, expressing how much he admired the boy. Frodo was quiet at first, and indeed odd, just as Bilbo had expected. It made his environment no different for Bilbo. Frodo was under no pressure or expectation to behave a certain way. He settled in well– as he was permitted to grieve in his own time.
Bilbo found that he and his nephew had much in common. It was flattering, but also startling to learn that perhaps Esme knew him better than he'd realized in order to perceive this similarity. Bilbo found that Frodo loved to hear stories of his adventures, which motivated him to begin the task of writing them down.
After a few weeks of co-habitation, the home was filled with laughter again. It wasn't always easy, of course. Some days Frodo was morose or defiant, refusing his chores or worse, his meals.
Bilbo learned that he was not a strict guardian nor an overly permissive one. He would not entertain useless drama and when they argued, he simply let Frodo ride out difficult waves of emotions in his own way. Without fail, the boy would come around once more and timidly apologize. Either that or they would go on with their day without addressing it at all. A reassuring smile here and there or an offer of a bit of bread with honey would make all well again. They were learning from each other, in each passing day, how to be part of a family again.
A pleasant addition to their day to day was the visits from Frodo's cousins and other friends. It became apparent that he had plenty.
Faunts were funny in that way, flexible in the face of great changes. As soon as a band of faunts arrived, asking to see Frodo; he would light up again, running off to play. He was changed of course, by what he'd been through– and still quite sensitive, but never shy.
Frodo would lead the group on imaginary journeys to find elves in the woods or go bug catching. If ever they strayed too close to a body of water, he would abruptly sit down on his bottom and go quiet, uninterested in playing any longer. His friends would bring him home and Bilbo truly felt for the boy. He'd try not to coddle him and usually failed.
If ever the group were out too late, surprised by the sun lowering in the sky, Bilbo would herd them into Bag-End and send them to bed– rather than let them travel home unsupervised. It was a drastic change in his life for the first time since his adventure. Although he found that a smial full of excitable faunts was still somehow less rowdy than the grown dwarves had been.
All was relayed by letters to Thorin. Thorin wrote in turn that young Fili was being considered for the throne. Bilbo couldn't pretend that he understood the inner workings of Dwarven royalty or statecraft. It was a revelation that Thorin could consider relinquishing his duty and still be respected for his achievements, but of course it was surely more complicated than that. Thorin's letter didn't fully explain the nuance of the situation, and Bilbo wasn't sure what would happen. Bilbo wondered if Thorin would retain his title as King if he were to leave the throne to his nephew.
Bilbo expressed his understanding of the weight of this decision and asked that Thorin please pass along his well wishes for Fili in any case. Afterwards, he received no more letters for a long while. He did his best not to worry, but it couldn't be helped. It surely would be a difficult adjustment for Thorin and Bilbo knew he must be terribly busy.
Thorin arrived unexpectedly.
It was the end of spring, a light shower of rain had just passed and Frodo called for Bilbo to come to the back garden to see the colors in the sky. Frodo was meant to be weeding while Ham Gamgee was away for the day. Bilbo heard a knock on the door and called out for Frodo to wait. He couldn't possibly have anticipated who he would find on the other side.
The first detail he noticed was that Thorin was damp, droplets glistened on his hair, which was braided loosely back for travel. He had long sleeves pushed up and no overcoat, his lower half wore thick riding pants and a belt with pockets in it that almost balanced out how top heavy he was, strong shoulders heaving as he caught his breath. A small smile pulled at his lips at the sight of Bilbo in his sunhat, which Bilbo quickly removed.
"Bless me…" Bilbo whispered. He could hardly believe Thorin was really before him. He blinked several times and there he remained.
"Hello, Bilbo." Thorin said, satisfied at the sight of him. "I'd almost forgotten your face."
Bilbo's heart did something funny, hearing him again. And with such a romantic declaration he should leave him on the step. But of course dwarves always spoke plainly.
"Did you come down with the rain? The Green Lady delivers you to my doorstep this Astron instead of flowers, is that it?" Indeed gifts of Spring and then again in Harvest were often credited to Yavanna, although the Shire at this time no longer remembered her true name.
Thorin laughed, a rare sound, which delighted Bilbo. Forgetting his manners, he felt himself moving forward and he was embraced without hesitation, Thorin pulled him in so near that he felt his feet lift off the ground for a moment. Bilbo laughed along with him and felt tears spring to his eyes, which he blinked away as best he could. Thorin made no such efforts, his eyes visibly wet when he set Bilbo down and got another look at him. He made no move to take his hands from Bilbo's shoulders.
Outside intervention was necessary to break them apart, the sound of Frodo calling Bilbo's name startled them both and Bilbo removed Thorin's arms from his own.
"Coming, my boy!" Bilbo called in return.
Thorin tried to look past Bilbo. "Is that your nephew calling?"
"Get yourself inside. Silly dwarf… you lot are always so emotional." Thorin tried to protest, gesturing to a pony that he'd left tied to a post at Bilbo's front gate. Bilbo shook his head, insisting. "There are no thieves or trolls in these parts. Later."
Bilbo stopped Thorin as he entered and first demanded that he remove his boots, or clean them. Thorin was a bit bashful as he looked down at them and decided to sit on the entryway bench and remove them, although it felt a bit odd to be without. His socks were worn from walking and without his luggage, he had nothing to exchange them with. He expressed as much and Bilbo only chuckled.
"We're going into the garden, you don't need them in any case. Leave them in your boots." And with that he was down the hall.
Thorin felt vulnerable as soon as he was alone. Dirty and tired he didn't mind, but without any shoes or decorative layers on at all, he didn't exactly look or feel the part of a Dwarvish king. Looking around the charming hobbit hole, his embarrassment began to melt into a relief far more comforting. It was a little messy at the moment, just like he was, lived in.
Stepping out the back door, Thorin was greeted by an endearing sight. There was Bilbo, kneeling in the mud pulling a stubborn dandelion root out from underneath his rosebush. A young boy, who must be Frodo, was standing beside him, tugging on his arm.
"Uncle, it's turned double! There's two now, look!" Frodo pulled insistently, his other arm pointing at the horizon.
Bilbo lifted his head, dandelion in hand, and looked to the side to take another look at the rainbow. "So it is. And if you're so clever– what does that mean, my boy?" He asked.
Frodo looked thoughtful. He hadn't taken notice of Thorin standing there just yet, but Bilbo had, who gave him a wink and mouthed, 'Wait.'
"It means… that…" Frodo lowered his arm and tried to remember. He was a little thing, still, but only in comparison to what Thorin had expected. He seemed about as old as he'd thought, developmentally, based on his speech. "Hm. It does mean it will rain again, doesn't it?"
"And why is that?" Bilbo pressed.
"Because the double rainbow means it is… wetter there than it is here. And if that's the way the wind is coming, it will be carried over, won't it?"
"Is it?" Bilbo stood and wiped his hand off on his gardening apron. "Coming this way?"
Frodo raised a muddy finger to stick in his mouth, to wet it and check the wind's direction, but then thought better of it when he caught Bilbo's expression. He thought for a second longer, then bent down and picked up one of the uprooted dandelions. He pulled off a few petals and threw them up as far as he could into the air.
Sure enough, the petals went soaring over their heads into the other side of the garden opposite the rainbow.
"That's incredible." Thorin remarked, making his presence known. "Divining the weather using colors in the sky and petals."
Frodo was startled by an unfamiliar voice and turned to see Thorin, eyes going wide. Instead of replying, he looked up to Bilbo. "Who is that?" He whispered, badly. Thorin couldn't help a small smile pulling at his lips.
"Why, this is my good friend, Thorin. You've heard of him, remember? Thorin, this is Frodo, my nephew." Bilbo answered.
"And I have heard of you, young Frodo." Thorin said, walking a bit closer. The feeling of wet grass under his bare feet was unfamiliar, which reminded him of how silly he must look, but he held himself with all the gentle dignity he could muster. "It's an honor to finally meet you." He bowed his head in respect.
Frodo's eyes remained wide, his mouth opening a bit as he had to look up at Thorin even more now that they were close. One of his hands reached for Bilbo's but then dropped before Bilbo could hold it, fidgeting with his other hand instead. He lowered his head a bit and it was clear he was trying very hard to be brave.
"You're the king of Dwarves?" Frodo asked, his voice a little small, but clear.
"One of them, yes." Thorin told him. Frodo's body language was informative. He was a little afraid and appropriately cautious. Thorin was bigger and denser than he'd expected, even dressed down. Thorin knelt to reach his level. "Bilbo has told me much about you since you've come to live here. I understand you're an adventurer, is that right?"
Frodo's eyes lit up a bit and he shifted to put his hands behind himself. "I am." He said, voice raising a little in the way children do when they can't contain themselves. "This morning I actually, rescued a poor im- innocent creature from being eaten alive!"
"Incredible." Thorin said. "What monster was trying to eat it?"
"Frog." Frodo said simply. Behind him, Bilbo smiled, wide. He resisted any laughter, clearly he'd already been regaled this tale and was rightfully endeared by little Frodo's enthusiasm. "It was after a grasshopper in the garden. Frogs come out when the rain falls," Frodo conveyed this bit of information as vital education. "But they don't usually come all the way up the hill. So when I saw it in the garden I came out to watch it! It was watching something too."
Thorin glanced up at Bilbo again, then returned his attention to Frodo, settling in to hear the rest of it.
"There was a great big grasshopper on that rock over there." Frodo pointed to a flat stone near the back gate. "And it had no idea it could be in trouble! So I was… sitting there." He caught his breath. "And so was the frog. And we were both looking at the grasshopper and looking at each other. I didn't think I could be faster than a frog's tongue, so I tried very hard to be brave. I couldn't shout because it would frighten the grasshopper as well. I sat there for ages before I saw the big frog blink so I rushed forward and caught the grasshopper in my hands! The frog hopped away and I remembered that Uncle Bilbo told me we don't want many grasshoppers in the garden –a few are fine– but not too many. So I went all the way to the bottom of the hill and I put on another little rock."
Frodo had reached the end of his tale abruptly. Thorin nodded sagely, glancing between both hobbits again. "Why that is quite the tale, Frodo. You certainly are heroic. And you protected this fine garden while you considered what to do for the poor creature, very impressive."
Frodo raised his chin a little and his eyes went wide again.
"Isn't he?" Bilbo said. There was not an ounce of condescension in his tone. "However, even adventurers need to wash up." Bilbo carried the handfuls of pulled weeds he had over to a metal bucket and tossed them in, which would let the roots dry out before he disposed of them.
Frodo took a deep breath and sighed, as if he was far too grown for such things. He looked up at Thorin. "He'll need to wash up too, then, won't he?" Frodo asked.
Thorin nearly blushed and Bilbo scolded the faunt. "Frodo. We don't talk about somebody right beside us. We talk to them."
Frodo turned to Thorin again, "Well, you must have come all this way from the mountain. Your clothes are all filthy and wet from the rain. Will you wash up before dinner too?" Bilbo sighed loudly, finding this attempt even worse, and Frodo looked over to him quickly.
"And we don't tell anybody they are filthy quite so plainly, especially not a guest. Go on, indoors with you!" Bilbo pointed to the door and Frodo ran off. He made it a good few steps inside, the door open behind him, before Bilbo corrected him with an, "Ah-ah! Muddy feet!" Frodo went back to the door and took hold of a clean rag from a basket and put a little water on it, wiping his feet down and then drying them. It was quick work, but better than nothing for doing it all on his own.
Thorin resisted any impulse to tell Frodo his assumption wasn't offensive and risk interfering with Bilbo's guidance. He was unfamiliar with a Hobbit's idea of manners and thought it best to hold his tongue.
"I'm sorry about him, I am." Bilbo said. "I'm also happy you could finally meet him. I'm surprised he didn't jump out of his skin at the sight of a dwarf."
"No apology is necessary." Thorin insisted. "Dwarf children are much the same. Although, they do tend to be more physical. Fili used to pull on my beard when he saw me." He chuckled fondly at the memory.
"Faunts are no better, I assure you. Frodo keeps to himself most of the time. But he'll warm up to you." Bilbo said. It was halfway between a reassurance and a warning. "He is right though, you know. You are filthy." Bilbo looked him up and down and huffed air out his nose instead of laughing properly.
Thorin opened and shut his mouth, before deciding to take it.
After he brought in his travel bags and was shown where to wash up, he was finally able to make himself decent. He cleaned as thoroughly as he could without time for a bath and dressed in fresh clothing. Long before dinner, Bilbo made arrangements for Thorin's pony to be put up at the nearest barn in lieu of a stable. Thorin took his things to the guest room of Bilbo's choice, which set the hobbit into a flurry of changing sheets, airing out curtains, and dusting.
Through the afternoon Thorin didn't see much of Frodo, enough so that he considered Frodo might be avoiding him. By the time they sat down for dinner, Frodo sat across from Thorin, with Bilbo at the head. The boy was staring as he laid down their napkins, the final responsibility he had, since setting the table had been his job.
Dinner was roast chicken, accompanied by odd purple potatoes that Thorin found sweeter than he was used to, but not unpleasant. There was an herby sauce that he watched both hobbits put over the chicken and a salad of fresh tomatoes, pickled onions, and bits of a soft fresh cheese. He didn't initially have any interest in the salad, but as he took his first bites of food he quickly realized how hungry his stomach was from a long day on the road. He did his best to eat slowly, but ended up clearing his plate, tomatoes and all.
After plates were cleared, Frodo insisted he wanted to go to bed and asked that if he'd fallen asleep, not to be woken for supper later. Bilbo accepted this without any discouragement. Thorin mostly listened and observed up until this point. He was learning much about ordinary life among hobbits already and the sun had yet to set. He was charmed by the two of them.
Thorin helped Bilbo clean the kitchen, finding where each thing belonged as Bilbo explained to him that he must feel able to help himself to anything he needed, so long as he cleaned up after. Thorin took this as genuine care, not condescension, and only smiled softly, agreeing to behave. It was quick work and then Bilbo stepped outside to smoke from his pipe for awhile.
It was apparent that Bilbo was a creature of habit and despite some awkward hesitation here and there, allowing room for Thorin in each activity, he was not to be pulled from the regularities of each hour. At least not yet, not for the arrival of a guest. Sitting outside in the night air, Thorin and Bilbo were alone together for the first time in several years. It was a comfortable silence at first, passing the pipe back and forth, mulling over all the things yet unsaid.
When he was ready, Thorin made a simple offer to Bilbo. "I am sure you have questions, Bilbo. I can see them in your eyes."
"How is it you're here alone?" Bilbo was quick with his first question. "I hardly think they let their king go on long dangerous journeys without anyone with him so easily. But what do I know? And to be here so soon after you last wrote, why, you must not have been able to read my last letter. I told myself not to worry, I worried a little, and then here you are."
Thorin had the decency to look a little apologetic. "I'm sorry to have worried you." He said. He considered Bilbo's line of logic and began his explanation at the most rational place, the beginning. "I wrote to you of some of what was happening, but left some detail unsaid. In truth, it was decided that I should be relinquished of my throne. The illness… Passed down to me from my grandfather, was their cause of worry. Balin, not wishing to embarrass me, did not tell me of this. He put together an assembly of my advisors and generals, who discussed the matter privately at length until they all agreed. Once it was certain there was no unfair bias against me, their decision was brought to myself and then to my relatives. I was given the opportunity to pass the throne down willingly with grace to a qualified person of my choice. In return, I was to be effectively retired from my duty, but I would retain honor and become an advisor in kind. They hoped, I believe, to spare me from my grandfather's fate. Madness, from the pressures of ruling, from the power it yields… Either or both."
Bilbo made no efforts to interrupt, listening with rapt attention and looking only a little uncomfortable. Eventually, after another drag from the pipe. Thorin went on.
"There were a few relatives that my council put forward for consideration, but the choice was ultimately mine. It would be controversial, regardless, as such a thing has never been done for a ruler as young as I am. My cousin Dain, who has a kingdom of his own, has done much for our people and with his vast knowledge, would have made the logical choice. I could have selected my sister of course, Dis, to rule as Regent until Fili was older and she felt he was ready, or as Queen for the rest of her days."
Bilbo began to ask a clarifying question here, but a full word didn't take shape before he shook his head and instead had a drag from the pipe, signalling for Thorin to go on.
"A Dwarrowdam's judgement in politics is considered highly valuable. I would have trusted her with this. But when the two of us met to discuss the subject, we both agreed. Fili, while young, has lived a far more challenging life than is typical for a prince of his years. He has proven his mettle in our reclamation, the battle won, and the rebuilding of our kingdom. His maturity is well established, needing not the care of his mother and uncle to make sound decisions any longer. Fili was resistant at first of my sacrifice, but he accepted at the insistence of his mother. He knew he was to be my heir long ago, only we knew not when."
Bilbo could feel the gravity in Thorin's words. "And now, you're here." Thorin nodded. "For how long?"
Thorin looked to the horizon. "As long as you'll have me."
Bilbo found his answer more than a little overwhelming. He folded his hands on his lap and also looked to the horizon, same as Thorin. It was easier than looking at him any longer. It wasn't that Bilbo didn't want him here– On the contrary, he had dreamed of little else since their parting. And yet, standing on the threshold of an uncertain future, hearing a promise of this nature, without the date it would end; made him uneasy. Fear and hope seized him at once and his heart began to beat quickly. He felt himself become light-headed and shut his eyes.
A warm hand wrapped around his own and Thorin pulled Bilbo to face him.
"Bilbo." Thorin said, soft. "Open your eyes."
Bilbo did as he asked, finding his bravery. He felt transported, back into the cold dark of the mountain, preparing to descend into the den of a dragon. In those dim halls, when Thorin had looked at him, he'd looked through him. Bilbo had to face that piercing gaze again. But Thorin was not lost to madness, no longer draped in his own suspicious paranoia. Bilbo met Thorin's eyes and instead found a dear friend there. The pressing urge to possess and guard had been long replaced by tenderness. Steadfast Thorin made this offer with a clear mind, illuminated in a fiery glow by the setting sun of the west. His adoration shone through him.
"You are always welcome. Of course you are." Bilbo managed. "But why now and here? Tell me what drove you to leave your home."
A short breath from Thorin's nose betrayed his amusement at Bilbo's expense. The dragon again, Bilbo thought, and shook it away. "I was not driven. I chose this, I was called. If you must know-"
"I must." Bilbo interrupted. "Sorry, go on."
Thorin still held his hands, squeezing them once. "Your letter. Taking in your nephew, you have entered a new chapter. You must understand that for dwarves, caring for our families, rearing our young, is terribly important. You are to provide Frodo with a home, to instruct and guide him– all in the shadow of a great loss. I feel strongly that one cannot raise a child alone, especially in these conditions. When my sister's husband was lost to us, I stepped in to help her raise my nephews. It was the greatest honor of my lifetime. I will do the same for you and young Frodo, if I can."
Bilbo raised his head to meet Thorin's eyes, searching them and finding only kindness. He looked at Thorin's collar, adorned with a braided cord and a gem. He'd told Bilbo once that it wasn't valuable to any trader or thief, but it had been made for him by Kili when he was very small, and so it was precious to him. He didn't begin to wear it around his neck until their battle was won and Kili had found it on the battlefield, torn from his uncle's wrist in the struggle. And yet somehow, despite how unlikely, Kili had found it and gifted it to him a second time. It wasn't a burden, like the Arkenstone. It was a keepsake that carried a wordless charm. A memory.
Thorin hadn't intended to come travelling to Bilbo. He'd meant to come home. Frodo may not be his family as he was Bilbo's, but this gesture was in Thorin's mind, deeply important. Feeling Thorin beside him, holding onto him, Bilbo felt a weight on his shoulders that he hadn't been aware of… lifting. He'd heard many times before; "A burden shared is a burden halved." Thorin revealed to him the reality of how overwhelmed he'd been until the moment he realized he need not do this alone.
Bilbo rested his head against Thorin's shoulder and in turn felt Thorin rest his head on his own. They stayed like that as the sun descended and watched the first stars appear, talking quietly of less serious subjects until it was clear they needed to retire for the evening.
Those first few months were one discovery after another. The seasons changed and so to did Bag End. Its residents settling into a gentle domesticity, complete with growing pains. The days became shorter, the air grew colder, and the whole of the world seemed to slow.
Frodo and Thorin were the last hold outs, never still. Thorin kept the smial in order, and his mind busy with projects. He'd weatherproofed the entire property, and kept their wood and pantry well-stocked. Frodo became increasingly interested in Thorin now that he'd warmed up to him and was no longer intimidated. He had unending questions and more often than not, trailed behind the dwarf like his shadow.
"What is Irk-Iruk-da…da..." Frodo screwed up his face, trying to get his tongue around the unfamiliar word.
"Irakdashat." Thorin cut in helpfully.
"That." Frodo nodded. He was at Thorin's heel as he moved through the home with an armful of split wood for the stove.
"Go on, you must sound it out and say it yourself if you want to know it."
"Irak-d-uh-sat." Frodo slowly attempted to break it down. They passed Bilbo on their way inside and Thorin caught sight of his charmed expression of interest.
"Nearly there, Irakdashat." Thorin encouraged, feeling a little cheeky as he used it how it ought to be while repeating it for Frodo's sake. He stepped over a broom on the floor which must've been knocked down earlier.
"Irak-da-shat." Frodo repeated, confidence growing. He laughed and celebrated for a moment, and then remembered he'd been asking its meaning. "What is Irakdashat, Thorin?"
Thorin dropped his armful of wood into the chest it was kept in, then removed several and slotted them into their storage beneath the stove. "Why, it means Nephew."
"Nephew? But I'm not your nephew and you called me it- called me Irakdashat." He was already practicing, which made Thorin's chest seize up affectionately.
"Hm. My mistake. I must have been thinking of my nephews. There are times you remind me very much of them." Thorin dusted his hands off and retrieved the broom to clear the mess he'd made.
"Are they my age? Why would you confuse us?" Frodo asked, stepping out of his way.
"No, not for a long time now, although it's easy to forget. They are grown and nearly as tall as I am. You know, Frodo. I wouldn't mind if you called me Uncle." Thorin turned to see Bilbo enter the room, listening in, and Thorin addressed him. "If that were appropriate. I notice it's not typical for young hobbits to call their guardians or elders by only their name."
Bilbo shook his head a little, looking up as he considered it and pursed his lips. "No, I can't see why there would be any issue with it. You're right that we're… particular when it comes to proper language here in Hobbiton. But you're clearly an exception."
"How do you say Uncle in your language?" Frodo asked Thorin.
"Ah, well. That would be irak'adad. It's similar, see? But you would not call me this, not here among hobbits. You would call me Uncle Thorin, and only if you should wish to."
Frodo now faced another confusion and made it plain. "Why would I not call you Uncle in your language here?"
It was by this point that most parents would be tiring of answering questions. But Thorin had no such sensibility. It was typical for dwarves to be considered instructors for all children in their families and he found this question in particular to be very good.
"You'll notice, Frodo. That I do not speak in these words frequently. This is because I am not among my own. The language of my people is considered a very private thing, sacred," Thorin searched for a more direct word, "and secret. I won't be speaking it with you among other hobbits, but I answer your questions because you are Raydîth ab-Barfith. New heir of my new family. We may speak among family if you wish to learn the language."
Learning this served as a hefty reminder for Bilbo as he began to understand what exactly Thorin had done for them. New family kept ringing in his ears.
Bilbo caught Thorin's eyes and lingered there, considering what they were becoming– what they had and hadn't been. Thorin's expression morphed into something knowing. A private smile was shared between the two of them as Frodo became distracted by leaves they'd tracked in.
"Here now," Thorin said, "hand me the broom and I'll clear this mess, Frodo."
"I want to do it!" Frodo said.
Thorin restrained his surprise, not wanting to discourage the faunt's desire to be helpful. Bilbo nodded approvingly in a way that said more without words. Thorin could almost hear the remark that went unsaid, how Frodo was old enough to contribute to the home without being asked. Thorin got the feeling this was a milestone of some kind. "Thank you," he told Frodo instead.
Bilbo jerked his chin, signalling for Thorin to step out into the hall with him. There was much he had to learn about raising a hobbit, but together they'd been doing just fine. Thorin laid a hand on Bilbo's waist and slid it round to brace between his shoulder blades as they rounded the corner. It was familiar, not the first time he'd done so, and Bilbo marvelled at how such changes could happen so slowly that he couldn't recall when it began.
"New family?" Bilbo asked as soon as they were alone.
Thorin blushed. An unfamiliar sight. "Yes."
"Ah." Bilbo nodded, sitting with this revelation. "We don't have a phrase especially for this. I realize our situation is unusual. What exactly is the er… usual case for this idea?"
"I am unmarried." Thorin answered. He considered how best to explain what he meant. Bilbo waited patiently, standing close and watching his face. He really was handsome with his hair pulled back, Bilbo thought. "Unmarried, my family was made up of my sister and myself. Her husband joined our family, which was expected as we were considered a higher status than he was, and I was the eldest male between us. When he was lost to us, Fili and Kili became my heirs."
"Yes, I know a good deal of that already." Bilbo said. "But what does that make Frodo and I. He isn't your child after all, or mine. And you and I aren't… Well we live together." That was the polite way of saying it, here in the Shire. Bonded but unmarried. Something between. It only ever happened if one had no living relatives to speak of, as relatives usually stayed together in a home and the only time a lover might leave their family home was in interest of getting married. Bilbo imagined that what Thorin had described to Frodo was a similar idea.
Thorin was uncharacteristically bashful. He hadn't been prepared to broach this subject yet, but he supposed it was overdue. "We live together." He repeated Bilbo's words and took a deep breath. "I… left my family. My home. I forged a new path to a new home, with you. I have done so in order to care for Frodo, making him my new heir. Dwarves value children above all else and adoption is a suitable way to make one a member of your family permanently."
"Oh. You're saying that Frodo is… as good as blood to your nephews? To you?" Bilbo hoped to clarify. Thorin hummed to agree. "Where does that leave…?" 'Me' went unspoken, as did 'Us'. Nevertheless, Thorin understood his meaning.
"We are family. Any further meaning that may impart is… not forced upon you. Your role is determined by you alone, Bilbo. When a dwarf leaves their home to settle elsewhere, to marry, to build… They begin a new life. There is no shame in what I've done. I am proud to strengthen our home and our honor.
'Our home.'
Bilbo was left reeling once more in the wake of poetic dedications. Thorin, like any dwarf, he had learned would go several hours without saying a word only to speak with profound honesty and raw emotion as if it were no vulnerability at all. But it was vulnerable. Bilbo could see it and so it must be. He laid a hand on Thorin's arm and looked at him warmly. "I understand, or at least I'm beginning to."
Frodo, having finished sweeping, came out into the hall and tugged on Bilbo's clothing. "What's for tea, Uncle?"
"You've had tea, but I imagine you're hungry again. We'll have our next meal once I work out what to make. You'll help me."
As a family, the trio made an odd but not unsociable impression on the community. Over time, Bilbo became more comfortable acting like a traditional head of family around others. Mrs. Gamgee said that he and Thorin made a "handsome pair" and it was clear they were perceived as some kind of couple. Thorin and Bilbo made no effort to correct this assumption, but really it wasn't quite clear what they were to each other.
Thorin slept in his own room each night, but they often stayed up late in the back garden, leant against each other and talking. They were without any doubt, Frodo's guardians. And although they were no replacement for his parents he'd lost, he loved them as such without reservation. He was particularly defensive when it came to Thorin, if ever an attempted slight was made on him in otherwise polite company, Frodo would jump to Thorin's defense before anyone could intervene. It was a little embarrassing at times, for Bilbo, but Thorin wasn't bothered by it.
Another cultural difference, no doubt.
Over time, it was discovered that Thorin disagreed with Bilbo's approach to raising Frodo in some regards. Each time they reached one of these points of divergence, Thorin made his case very plainly and without apology. They usually found a compromise, or one would sway the other to his side. Truthfully, as stubborn as both of them were, Thorin had the most success swaying Bilbo to agree with him.
There was however, one recurring subject on which Bilbo was unconvinced. Or at least, uncertain. Thorin held fast to his belief that there were certain unnegotiable principles when it came to education. The most important of all being skills that aided survival.
Bilbo tried to explain that he saw no need for Frodo to know how to track prey, evade detection, build shelter, or anything of the like. The shire was a peaceful place, a land of plenty. But Thorin only answered, with difficulty, that the same was once believed of Erebor. He wanted Frodo to be capable and never find himself unable to rely on his own knowledge.
Some skills were more generally applicable. Thorin decided to teach Frodo how to build a fire, and how to read stars to tell direction at night. Simple skills that Bilbo could not find a good reason to contest. The fire in particular was absolutely crucial, although Bilbo argued that Frodo was still too young to handle the stove on his own.
Eventually, Thorin made up his mind on one lesson in particular that he knew Bilbo had protested. He thought if he could only encourage Frodo to try… there would be no harm in an attempt. If it really was a mistake, or Frodo was too young, they could try again when he was older. Thorin put it out of his mind for the time being and mentioned none of his musing to Bilbo. He loathed unnecessary arguments.
When Thorin was next forced to confront the subject, it had been market day.
Bilbo, Frodo, and Thorin had been browsing the stalls when Frodo's cousins and their friends asked him to join their games.
Thorin watched the faunts over his shoulder as they ran down to play in the puddles along the road. He could see Frodo was about the same size as the others, despite being a year older at least than all of them. Frodo was laughing along, the sound carrying across the distance, and Thorin felt Bilbo pull on his sleeve. "He'll be alright, stop hovering."
Thorin returned his attention to the conversation Bilbo was having with the hobbit running the stall they were browsing.
"–yes, exactly as you've said. Now, look here Thorin. Look at these. Wooden jewelry." Bilbo was talking to both of them at once, occasionally interrupting himself to remain considerate of the seller. "We've had our disagreements in the past, you and I. Namely that unfortunate confusion regarding Elvish handiwork, but no matter- these are really something. You have real skill!"
Thorin inspected the decorations laid out before him. They were indeed carefully carved. There were rings, earrings, and ankle bracelets all delicately adorned with floral designs, sealed against moisture and treated by heat. He paid no mind to the allegation that their maker had at one point tried to lie to sell his wares as it sounded long since resolved thanks to Bilbo setting him straight. Simply not his business, Thorin thought. He didn't like the idea of paying for goods from a person like that, but the hobbit looked appropriately abashed once Bilbo brought it up.
Bilbo's grip on his arm loosened, but didn't end. He smiled a bit to himself, enjoying the contact. It filled him with pride to be seen by Bilbo's side like this, connected. Thorin was in truth, romantic.
"Was one of these trinkets of interest to you?" Thorin asked. In truth, he'd rather travel all the way home to the palace markets in Erebor to find something suitable for Bilbo. Or at the very least he would prefer to consult with a silversmith of the Blue Mountains (of which he thought some must remain) and purchase materials to make his own gifts for Bilbo. His hands were not practiced with delicate work, more accustomed to smithing steel weaponry and armour. But for Bilbo, he would master any trade. "If you want accessories or jewelry I would happily make you something more fitting."
Bilbo smiled and scoffed, turning to the maker. "Dwarves. Don't listen to him, he can't help it."
Thorin made a face and let his eyes drift away with a soft sigh. Not worth fighting on this particular subject. There wasn't anything wrong with wooden jewellery, he only meant to make the offer. He felt a strange sensation at the back of his neck and then noticed what had changed. He no longer heard any laughter.
He turned and scanned the road to try to find the faunts, slow rising concern in his chest, despite what Bilbo had said earlier. His eyes finally found them a little further away by the bridge. Thorin laid a hand on Bilbo's to quietly garner his attention and when Bilbo leant backward a bit to find what he was looking at he whispered a soft, "Oh no… Not again."
Thorin immediately released him and started walking towards the bridge. Bilbo called out to him at a reasonable volume, then had to give it up. "Thorin, it's fine! Let it- Mm…" He lifted his hand in a loose fist and pressed his thumb and first finger to his lips, trying not to raise his voice.
"What's happened?" Thorin asked, coming to stand beside the faunts with a pinched brow and carefully steadied tone. Frodo was sitting a little away from the bank, curled in on himself with his eyes shut tight as the others stood around quietly, unsure what to do.
A younger boy, Meriadoc, was the one to answer. "He stumbled by the water and got frightened. Same as before. We didn't mean to get too close, we were just…"
"Playing." Another boy finished, looking sheepish. "Come on Frodo, it's alright, honest! Let's go somewhere else."
Thorin signalled for the others to wait and knelt at Frodo's side. He laid his warm hand on Frodo's back. "Dear one, you're in no danger. Tell me what happened."
Frodo shook his head and buried his face into his arms further.
Thorin shifted to sit beside Frodo in the grass, pulling him against his side. Frodo let him, face and fists pressed against the Dwarf's chest.
"You're frightened of the water, is that it? A terrible thing happened. It's natural that you carry it with you." Frodo held on tighter, a quiet sob escaping him. Thorin breathed in deeply and so too did Frodo. When Thorin felt the little fists in his shirt loosen, he spoke on. "But the water is no evil thing. It does not mean harm as it pulls through the land on a journey to the sea. It simply is. And does it not give, too? Look there."
Frodo hesitated to lift his head, but eventually did, following Thorin's arm where it pointed.
"Many animals rely entirely on the creeks and rivers in this land to live. Do you like fish?" Thorin asked. Frodo nodded. "And do you know how to catch them?" Thorin asked. Frodo shook his head. "Wonderful. Then I will teach you."
"You know how to fish? I don't remember you ever fishing while we were on the road." Bilbo, who had caught up with them, stepped closer and laid a hand on Frodo's head fondly. The boy, beginning to calm, smiled up at him timidly.
"One of many skills I've learned in order to survive. You have more to learn about me, it seems."
"It seems so." Bilbo said.
"I learn more about you with each passing day." Thorin said. "As long as I am here."
Frodo looked between the two of them and then was distracted upon realizing one of his friends still lingered close by. He climbed to his feet and went over to reassure Merry that he was alright. Merry needed to be told twice over that he could go play with the others in a new game before he accepted it, but Frodo stayed behind. He was curious to learn from Thorin.
Privately, Thorin suspected there were more lessons in order. Introducing one new challenge at a time was the best approach to ensure new knowledge stuck and trust was not broken. Still, he often dwelt on the very same concern he'd kept from Bilbo previously.
Thorin wanted to teach Frodo how to swim.
Dwarves were naturally dense, and so sank unless they were very skilled swimmers. Not all dwarves had any reason or opportunity to learn how to stay afloat, but Bilbo knew as well as Thorin that the skill had saved their company's lives on more than one occasion.
It didn't matter how safe the Shire was believed to be, water was an impartial natural force, obeying no mortal's wishes and heeding no cries. The tragedy that befell Frodo's parents was, in Thorin's opinion, a preventable fate. He'd made up his mind on an otherwise ordinary day, when Frodo (unknowingly) gave him a reason to.
Over the next several weeks, Thorin spent as often as possible introducing and practicing new skills with Frodo. First, fishing. Proximity to water and the needed strength to reel in a line made it difficult for Frodo, but from the safety of the bridge and a firm hand gripping the clothes on his back made it possible. He took on the challenge with determination. Frodo had patience in abundance, at least. Which Thorin had to remind himself was not a dwarvish trait alone.
When it came time to get Frodo closer to the water, he was already familiar with fishing. Thorin was relieved when Frodo approached the river without fear, only occasionally glancing back to Thorin, waiting for guidance and reassurance. Thorin came to stand close by and introduced the idea of casting his line further upstream, instead of letting it fall from the bridge into the deepest point. The line would naturally drift with the current, luring in the fish.
While Frodo didn't catch anything the first day, he did get the excitement of a few bites that didn't pan out. They were near enough to Bag End that Bilbo could just see them from the gate. He could wave to them if they turned around, but calling out was less successful. Staying close by prevented Bilbo from worrying and before long, he didn't feel the need to go out and watch them at all unless it was time to come home.
Then, Thorin and Frodo were late for lunch. This was usually a sign that they'd lost track of time, which wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Bilbo wasn't initially worried. He'd seen the two of them down by the water earlier, getting comfortable. But when he stepped out midday, he couldn't see them on the bank at all. Sighing, he shut the front door behind him and went to the neighbours, but they hadn't seen Frodo for an hour.
Bilbo found it strange, not knowing where they were. He'd gotten used to the both of them keeping him informed or nagging him to go with them places. Thorin hadn't found a niche or trade to entertain himself just yet, so Frodo had become his primary preoccupation. When it came to entertainment and education, Thorin was pretty full-on. An attentive partner… or co-parent at least, was a desirable thing.
Bilbo left the garden and made his way down to the bridge at a leisurely pace. It had been chilly out for many days and nights now, but the sun was unseasonably warm today. It was almost enough for him to shed his sweater, but not quite. He got to the base of the bridge and still he couldn't see them. It was then he began to worry. He wondered where they could have gone that Thorin wouldn't have told him first.
When he heard a splash of water in the near distance, Bilbo felt his heart plummet to his stomach. Looking downstream, he caught sight of an elderly couple standing a ways off the bank, watching the water, and looking stricken. The old woman had a hand over the lower part of her face, her coat drawn tight around her dress by her other hand's fingers.
Bilbo picked up his pace until it became a jog, hopping down the hill further until he could get a look past the ledge at what they were looking at. What he saw nearly took the air out from his lungs. There in the shallows, Thorin was standing up to his chest in cold water—not standing—swimming. Beside him, on his back, was Frodo.
Frodo was trying to float on his back, although it didn't come naturally. Thorin was talking to him, and while Bilbo could not see it, Thorin had his hands under Frodo's back and head helping him reach the surface.
"You're doing well. I know it's difficult when your ears go under, just keep breathing. The air you pull in is lighter than the water around you, see? It lifts you." Thorin was focused entirely on keeping Frodo calm. It had taken hours to warm Frodo up to the idea of stepping foot into the water, much less submerging himself at Thorin's mercy. It was a testament to the trust he had in him. Frodo's face briefly dipped beneath the water and he spluttered as he resurfaced, instinctively turning towards Thorin, who let Frodo grab onto him.
"What are you doing?!" Bilbo demanded, shouting as he ran to the water's edge.
Thorin tried to think of what to say in his defense, but before he could get a word in, Bilbo went on. Frodo clutched to him, still shaky at treading water, and beginning to shiver.
"The water must be freezing! Near enough, anyway- and look at the state of you! In the water in your clothes, and- what if something happened to you? What are you doing?!" Clearly, they'd given Bilbo a fright. He wasn't really angry at all, Thorin wagered. He was beside himself with worry.
"Swimming!" Frodo piped up helpfully, before coughing a bit and undermining the impression his own confidence, but only a little.
Frodo's answer was so unexpected that it successfully stopped Bilbo where he was on the bank and stopped his tongue just as quickly. He blinked owlishly at Thorin, as if he expected an apparition to disappear if his vision cleared.
"What… what…" Before long, Bilbo collected himself. Catching sight of the older couple from before stepping away reluctantly, shaking their heads. "Get out at once! Before you catch your death of cold!" He waited nearby until he was absolutely certain Thorin and Frodo both had made it to the bank, dripping wet, but safe– before he turned his back on them and started back up the path home. He didn't wait for them. Not because he was upset—although he was—but because he needed to get a fire going.
When they came through the front door, Frodo was wrapped in Thorin’s overcoat, sopping wet and shivering. Still, it was obvious by the look on his face that even if he’d been terrified and he couldn’t feel his feet, he’d had fun. His grin did nothing to alleviate Bilbo’s worry.
After they’d both had a quick wash with hot water, Thorin made sure Frodo was as dry as possible. He sat him in front of the fire and took to his hair with a soft cloth and a comb, shaking his ears out. He held the cloth as near to the fire as he could without burning it and then pressed it against Frodo’s ears, encouraging any remaining water to turn to steam. It was a thorough job, Bilbo had to admit, but he was occupied with his own remedies. A hot tea of dried herbs and roots that tasted rather bitter but served to prevent illness and keep a body warm. He stirred in a generous pour of honey to be sure Frodo would actually drink it.
Bilbo poured Thorin a cup as well, to which he added a small amount of a spicy root that encouraged circulation, and he sweetened it with honey liqueur instead. Bilbo briefly considered adding no sweetness at all to cover the medicine as he was rather cross with Thorin. But the same reasoning applied to Thorin as it did to Frodo, Bilbo wanted him to drink it.
Under Bilbo's watchful eye, wrapped in quilts and wool sweaters, Thorin and Frodo had no choice but to take their medicine without protest.
"It's not bad." Thorin tried to appease him, looking up from the fire to find Bilbo with his arms crossed and stern look. Frodo did well, steadily making his way through it even as he sniffled. Thorin passed him a handkerchief and sat nearer.
Bilbo was cross, but he found himself proud in equal measure. Reluctantly, he admitted that Thorin may have been right if he'd indeed cured Frodo of his fear. Bilbo made them promise that they would wait until the warmer months to resume their lessons.
As expected, Frodo had caught cold. He spent the next few days wheezing pathetically, but he was out of bed before long, trailing around the home draped in a blanket and complaining he couldn't go out.
Bilbo took this as evidence that the remedies were working and was relieved it was nothing serious. Hobbits and Dwarves both were built of sturdy stuff, even if a faunt like Frodo didn't look it. It gave Thorin a new understanding, but he wouldn't be so foolish again.
Despite this initial hiccup, the Autumn season progressed in all its glorious phases. The Harvest festival was unlike anything Thorin had experienced before and the sheer generosity and bounty shared had made him envious until he remembered that he was part of this now. An outsider in the community, yes, but as Bilbo had so eloquently put it, "Some folks are downright unpleasant and pigheaded no matter what you do. They don't like anyone. I take it as the highest compliment when somebody without any taste finds me distasteful."
This sentiment was demonstrably true, the hobbits worth knowing made fine neighbours and were perfectly welcoming. And Frodo knew without a doubt that his little family was odd. It was clear that this filled him with a great deal of pride and comfort. He would never need to feel alone in his eccentricities, for he was valued exactly as he was.
Sitting by the fire one night after supper, Bilbo asked Thorin if he should let part of his hair grow long in order to be braided. He'd said it in jest. Thorin smiled privately, but told him that wouldn't be necessary. Frodo, who had insisted on staying up later than usual, sat on the armrest of Thorin's chair, scribbling in a journal. He'd been given it to practice his writing, but at present was drawing his imagining of a dragon. Without looking up, he asked Thorin why he wore the braids he did, and did he have to re-braid them every day.
Thorin explained that yes, he did re-braid them every day in order to look neat and presentable and that oil was helpful after washing to keep the hair in place. Frodo of course had more questions, which led to a proper education on the meaning of different braid patterns and placements within Dwarvish custom.
This brought them to the subject of marking one's achievements using clothing, decorations, and braids. Personal details such as coming of age, battles won, professional skill, marriage, and children; all displayed in cultural code and artwork.
While Thorin explained, Bilbo left the room and later returned with a warm cup of tea, setting it by Thorin. He sat down very near and before returning to his book, rest a warm hand on Thorin's. By way of thank you, Thorin squeezed Bilbo's hand gently and bowed his head in a simple nod, which made Bilbo smile.
Frodo, who had looked up from his drawing in time to notice this, interrupted Thorin. "Are you and Uncle Bilbo married?"
Bilbo halted sipping his tea as if he'd burned himself and hid behind the lip of the mug, eyes shut silently laughing. Thorin stared at Frodo, caught completely off-guard.
"Well… No. We aren't. If we were… No matter, we aren't married, no." Thorin sounded uncertain at first, looking to Bilbo and back to Frodo.
Frodo was unimpressed. "Well… Why not?"
Bilbo snorted then muttered an apology under his breath, shaking his head in amusement. Thorin could tell he wasn't going to save him, but still he tried.
"Bilbo?"
"Thorin?"
Thorin struggled to read Bilbo's expression, searching. There was no doubt they'd both felt the affection growing between them in the past few months. They'd been unofficially courting unintentionally, only by way of a complete lack of appropriate boundaries. After travelling together and roughing it in the wilderness, they’d been forced to endure time apart, expecting to never again see each other in person. How could they be expected to behave better under the circumstances?
Still, Thorin hadn't been mentally prepared for Frodo to ask these questions. He didn’t have any answers yet. Taking stock of Bilbo's smug expression, a stern look settled between his own brows.
"Well, Bilbo? Why aren't we?" Thorin deflected the question easily. Frodo turned his attention to Bilbo, expectant.
Bilbo scoffed quietly, setting down his tea with an incredulous look cast Thorin's way. "I wasn't aware it was an option, if you must know."
"I know only that I have made my intention to stay by your side for as long as you will have me unerringly clear. What do I know of Hobbit customs if I have never been educated in them? Dwarves are incredibly patient, Bilbo, and we do not rush these matters; but the boy makes an excellent point."
Bilbo looked between the two of them and found they looked shockingly alike in the firelight, united against him. He blinked several times, eyes wide. He considered his situation and had no choice but to accept it. "I suppose that we're long overdue, aren't we? Are we… Is this a proposal then? Or am I being informed of my engagement?"
Thorin smiled, warm and pleased. "I take it you accept. Well then, there's your answer, Frodo. We will be married."
Frodo was visibly pleased with himself. "I like weddings." He said, rubbing his eyes. "Goodnight, Uncle Thorin. Uncle Bilbo." He stood, left his book on the table, and went to wash up. He really was growing up quickly, Bilbo thought.
"Goodnight," they chorused. Once Frodo was out of earshot, Bilbo turned to Thorin. He shut his book and leant forward in his seat. "Did you put him up to that?"
"What? Of course not." Thorin denied, sounding puzzled. "Did you?"
Bilbo shook his head. "I don't know what I expected, but- this was all very rational wasn't it?"
Thorin reached over to him and took his hand. "Dwarvish marriages typically are. I hope you aren't disappointed. The question startled me, that's all."
Bilbo didn't say anything in reply just yet, reeling. Thorin moved to kneel in front of him, placing his hand on the side of Bilbo's cheek. The firelight flickered in Bilbo's eyes and Thorin shone like he was made of moonlight.
"I find this rather romantic, actually." Thorin said, leaning forward and up to press a firm kiss to Bilbo's lips, his hand shifting to the back of Bilbo's neck to press him nearer.
Sharing breath, Bilbo softly laughed. He couldn't remember ever feeling so happy. Any unease that had been clouding his mind immediately cleared. "Impossible dwarf." He whispered, voice shaking.
"Dearest treasure." Thorin answered, rich with adoration. "How lucky we are."