Chapter Text
The door slammed, and silence reigned, being broken by nothing but Bilbo’s heavy breaths, he was backed against a wall, hands flat behind him, as if he was trying to disappear into the stone itself, a feat that not even dwarves could hope to achieve. The walls and floors were decorated with fine tapestries and carpets of soft weave, all of them themed in shades of purple and soft grey, Dori’s colors, because this was Dori’s sitting room.
Said dwarf stood in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, a worried crease on his brow, grey eyes studying Bilbo. Nori stood near the door, his posture forcibly relaxed. “Bilbo dear,” Dori’s voice was soft and nonthreatening, the hobbit closed his eyes, “come here dear, no one is going to hurt you.”
A whine escaped Bilbo at that and he had to fight back the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry. The high collar of his tunic was too tight, the air too warm, he could still feel it, the strong hands on his shoulders, pulling at his clothes. A mouth pressed to his ear, and filthy names he had called Bilbo when all he did was say no, as was his right.
“What…” his voice was rough in the stillness of the room, with his eyes closed, he could hear the brother’s come to attention at the noise. “What… is a Courtesan?” A sharp intake of breath, Dori, a muttered curse, Nori. “And why… was that d-dwarf calling me one?”
There was the unmistakable thud of dwarven boots crossing the carpet, before he felt a presence before him, Bilbo opened his eyes, Nori had his hand stretched out, waiting for the other to take it, his expression oddly serious. “Come sit down Bilbo, Dori’s going to make tea.”
The hobbit was suspicious, all he wanted were answers, but he let the thief lead him across the room, let himself be pushed down into the plush, lavender arm chair by the fireplace. A minute later a cup of tea was pressed into his hands by Dori, who still had that worried crease in his forehead. The white haired dwarf sat down in the plumb colored chair next to his, smoothing the wrinkles out of his tunic, a nervous habit of his. There was silence for a moment, long enough for tension to coil tightly in the bottom of Bilbo’s stomach.
“Well!” Dori’s voice and the clattering of china broke the hush abruptly, almost making Bilbo jump. The white haired dwarf clapped his hands together in that way he did when there was something to be done and Dori didn’t feel like dancing around the issue. He looked the hobbit square in the eyes and grasped his hand lightly, a kind expression replacing his worried one.
“Bilbo, my title right now, is Head Royal Courtesan of Erebor; this is a highly respected title among dwarves, those who are in my care are titled Royal Courtesans, or, Consorts. They also hold a great deal of power and respect in our society, Nori is one.” Dori gestured to his pointy haired sibling, who was sitting on the footstool in front of Bilbo, nodding. Dori swept his hand towards Bilbo, taking a pause, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And you Bilbo Baggins, are also officially titled, Royal Courtesan of the kingdom of Erebor.”
“Wh-what?! Dori! Me?” Bilbo spluttered at the thought of having a title at all, let alone one that held power. He thought he had just been treated with respect by the dwarves outside of the company because he had been the hobbit who stole from Smaug. He glanced up at the brothers, resisting the urge to wring his hands by tightening his hold on Dori’s.
“But uh…” He paused uncertainly, he almost didn’t want to know. “What… exactly is a Royal Courtesan? I-I mean… what do they… do?” Bilbo stuttered out and trailed off lamely, biting his lip, beside him, Nori gave a groan, covering his face with his hands. Dori on the other hand who was far more composed, tightened his mouth into a hard line and said nothing.
A beat of silence passed before Nori sighed and uncovered his face, glancing between Bilbo and Dori for a moment before picking up where his brother had left off. “Dwarfs, unlike men, or elves,” he sneered a little at this, “value sex, we think of it as something sacred, almost holy. We can craft beautiful things from the earth, we can fight mighty battles, and we have the ability to give and receive a pleasure unlike any other.”
Bilbo’s face heated rapidly, hands fluttering uselessly in the air, fighting the urge to clap his hand over Nori’s mouth. The star haired dwarf grinned at that, somber mood breaking somewhat.
“But the problem with our race is that we have few women, and fewer still that are willing and able to bear children. We are a race devoted to our craft, and our battles, we often do not wish to be tied down by marriage, or taken away from our kin by them. A great many of us prefer the same gender, and having bed companions that only stay for a night. Royalty prefer marriages born from political relations or with the interest of continuing their bloodlines.” Nori paused to drink his rapidly cooling tea, Bilbo rolled his eyes, hands coming to rest in his lap.
“What on earth does this have to do with Courtesans?”
Nori hummed at the others question, swallowing and placing his cup back onto its saucer carefully, much to Dori’s liking, before continuing. “Royalty of either gender want their pleasure to be something sacred, and not linked to marriage beyond consummation or the purpose of creating offspring. This is where Royal Courtesans come in, the Royalty keep a group of specially chosen dwarves, and occasional hobbit in this case, who are trained and trusted. They are given a section of the royal suites, dressed in the finest clothing, they are a few of the most revered and respected beings in dwarven society. Their job Bilbo, is the business of this sacred pleasure.”
Nori finished his speech, leveling the hobbit with a meaningful stare while Dori carefully observed his friends’ reaction over the rim of his teacup. Bilbo’s brain came to a halt, there was complete silence within the confines of his brain, probably for the first time in his life. He shut down, long enough for the brothers to start worrying; before a single train of thought came to life in his mind. One sentence that kick started everything back into full gear with agonizing speed.
“You mean to say…” Bilbo whispered, little hands clenching in his green tunic “That Royal Courtesan, is a fancy word for whore?”
Bilbo stood up, breathing quickly, his head was light and the world seemed to be closing in on him “You mean to say,” His voice rose both in pitch and volume with his distress and anger. “That this whole time, you have been grooming me to be nothing more than an exotic fuck toy for dwarves!?”
This time, closing his eyes didn’t work, and the dam broke, Bilbo doubled over, hands fisted in his hair, sobbing, a scream escaping him. He had never felt so stupid, so used in his life, that’s why the company had accepted him, not for his merits or for all the good he had done, but because they had planned on using him.
Strong arms encircled him, gently lifting Bilbo from where he had crumpled on the floor, he was pulled back into Dori’s lap and gently cradled to his chest. Bilbo curled into himself tightly, hands still clenched painfully in his curls, sobbing violently.
“It’s alright dear, you’re alright,” the white haired dwarf murmured, stroking the back of his head with one large hand. Nori moved to Bilbo’s vacated chair, his expression painful. “Bilbo, you have it all wrong.” He rested a hand on the hobbit’s back, rubbing circles. “Royal Courtesans are important, revered respected.”
“Wh-Whats so re-respected about a w-whore?” Bilbo hiccupped brokenly, one of his hands unclenching so it could cover his mouth with the hope of stifling the noise he made, he was a grown hobbit after all. He had no place curled up on someone’s lap crying like a fauntling who had skinned their knee.
Dori spoke, his voice calm and clear. “Royal Courtesans are teachers, Bilbo who explain to young dwarves who have come of age how children are brought into the world. They teach them how to safely and properly give pleasure to their future partners, and what they should try avoid in a partner.” His voice was steady and smooth in the midst of Bilbo’s anguish and panic, matching the steady hand on the back of his neck.
“If a dwarf is abused by a partner or another dwarf,” Dori continued, “or is captured and tortured prisoner of war, they are handed over to a Courtesan, who will show them how to be intimate and to trust again. To learn that whatever happened was not their fault.”
The weight on the back of his neck grounded him, the hand rubbing circles on his back was soothing, Bilbo’s breath evened a little, the vice that had clenched around his heart loosening a little.
Dori pushed forward, his voice even and warm. “Royal Consorts can pick and choose who they take as clients, royalty come to them, with gifts and formal requests for their services. If a courtesan does not like whoever is asking them, if they find them rude or arrogant, or are uneasy and feel like they would be unsafe in any way, they can say no, even if the person asking is a king. Their words are respected and treated like gold.”
The hobbit pulled back, looking up at his friend, who smiled softly, removing Bilbo’s remaining hand from his hair and wiping away the last of his tears with a large thumb. “If harm comes to a courtesan, or they are threatened in any way, the punishment is death or banishment.” Nori stepped in at this smiling wickedly,
“Courtesans are well learned, trained by the best, and are considered invaluable to the kingdom, they sit with the royalty, are considered part of it, and are often consulted on political matters or asked to sit on the king’s council.”
The hobbit blinked, sitting a little straighter and uncurling a bit on his perch in Dori’s lap. “If a courtesan’s business is sex, and… education… then why the kings council?”
Nori’s grin sharpened. “Few beings in this world, if any, are capable of keeping their mouths closed while in the throes of bed play. In fact, when left alone with kings and high men alike, we courtesans often find ourselves doing more listening than anything else.”
An hour later Bilbo was curled up in the lavender armchair again, wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea in his hands. (Dori was insistent.) Nori had slipped from the room a while back, claiming a need to use the bathroom, (even though there was a fine one attached to Dori’s rooms.) The Ri brothers’ logic, and their arguments were solid, so solid that Bilbo could not find a hole in them. Still, he couldn’t help the pang of guilt and shame that curled through his gut every time he thought of the title he now owned.
“Dear me,” he murmured, listening to Dori putter about in the background, “what would the Shire say about this?” But his head was fuzzy and his eyes were tired from crying, the little hobbit soon drifted away into exhausted slumber, leaving his thoughts behind for another day.