Chapter Text
As life was wont to do, it carried on, yet Bilbo felt changed regardless.
Breakfast settled into an easy camaraderie, though Bilbo and Thorin mostly remained silent, listening to their families exchange pleasantries. Every so often, Bilbo would glance at Thorin, only to find Thorin watching him in the same distracted way. Realizing that he could stare if he wanted, Bilbo let himself study Thorin, from the fine clothes he was wearing for the day, to the glimmer of the jewel in his crown against his dark hair.
It was odd, though, knowing that Thorin was studying him in the same manner.
After breakfast Bilbo and his cousins were greeted by a tall Dwarrowdam with a long green scarf tied over her thick dark hair, who said she had come to escort them. The small family was led to a wing of the palace that, as she explained, was staffed by a team of healers that served the King, his family, and other diplomats that worked in the palace.
"Many families have their own private medicinists and doctors, but Master Óin has been the royal family's healer since they were children, being cousins and all," the young Healer told them, after she introduced herself as Sigga. "His grandmother Groár wrote the best healing texts under the mountain, you know."
"So his skill runs in the family. He looked after me after Moria," Bilbo explained to his cousins, who looked suspicious enough to prompt the words. "I believe he was there when we were rescued. You might remember him, Rory."
"That time was a bit of a blur," Rory said offhandedly, but his gaze had darkened. Otho leaned over without looking and mussed his curls, causing Rory to squawk, and the two began grappling.
"Boys!" Bilbo called in exasperation when he looked back, and they immediately disengaged from each other and adopted innocent expressions. Sigga looked amused, while Bilbo just sighed. Drogo was grinning, as if he had never started identical tussles in the past.
The four Hobbits followed Sigga into a large hall arranged much like the healer's camp from Moria, but with many rooms for patients and physicians alike. Healers milled about, seeing to patients or mixing medicines, and the soft murmur of voices was soothing. "Oh, we're right on time! Healer Óin?" she called to a tall grey-haired Dwarf at the end of the hall, standing with two other Dwarves in healer greens, and the Dwarf turned with a wide smile.
"Ah, Healer Sigga! My thanks for escorting Master Baggins here," Óin said cheerfully, and Bilbo smiled upon seeing him. His cousins followed him, looking around with interest, as they stopped before Óin. "Good, good. Now, off with your shirts, all of you."
His smile was met with Otho and Drogo stepping in front of Bilbo and Rory, expressions darkened with fury, pushing Bilbo and Rory back simultaneously, while Rory himself looked outraged. "We sure as hell won't!" Drogo snapped, and Óin and the other healers blinked in shock. "Who do you think you are?"
"Bilbo, let's go back to the room, neither of you have to do this," Otho said, protective as he held Rory back. Rory's face had gone white. Bilbo stared at the three of them in confusion, before his expression softened, and he stepped around the boys and gently took Drogo and Otho's hands, lowering them.
"They're just healers," he said, ducking his head. "I told you Óin looked after me. I trust him, and you can, too. But if any of you are uncomfortable, you could leave and wait outside. There's no shame in that." Bilbo met Drogo's eyes, until he looked down, face reddening, then held Otho's gaze. Otho stared back at him, stiff with tension, before nodding once and dropping his fist. Behind his shoulder, Rory had averted his gaze, but his dark eyes flitted up to glance beyond Bilbo at the healers.
"Are you sure?" Rory asked, voice hushed, and Bilbo reassured him with a nod.
"Do you want to leave?" Bilbo asked, keeping his gaze on Rory's face. Rory reluctantly looked to Bilbo and finally shook his head no.
"If Healer Sigga will look after me," Rory replied, a bit louder, and the kind-eyed Dwarrowdam looked over at them with a curious smile.
"It would be my pleasure, Master Brandybuck. Come this way," Sigga said, and Rory squared his shoulders and followed her to one of the rooms. Drogo and Otho exchanged a long glance, then went wordlessly to the other two Healers, and Bilbo sighed and went through the doorway where Óin was standing.
"Sorry about that," he murmured to Óin as the older Dwarf shut the door.
"No worries, laddie, Healer Sigga is the best of the whole lot here, and my former apprentice besides. I apprenticed to her mother myself," Óin replied. "Off with that shirt now!"
Bilbo relaxed to know that Sigga would take care of Rory, though he kept an ear out for any of his cousins' voices. "Yes, yes, alright," he grudgingly agreed, beginning to unbutton and shrug off his clothes.
"Very good," Óin said approvingly, tapping Bilbo's belly, which had blossomed into something much rounder and softer than half a year ago. "Still too thin for my tastes, but now that you've been eating decently, there's no reason not to visit the kitchens as much as you like. Bofur's taken good care of you, aye?" He turned Bilbo around to look at the scars on his back, humming to himself.
"Oh, yes, of course," Bilbo agreed with a nod, glancing down at his stomach which still held faint scars in Azog's name, but much softer now, less stiff within his skin. All over his body, from his neck to his feet, the old scars remained visible, but no longer did they haunt Bilbo every time he looked upon his own body. Óin's salve had given him hope, months ago, that he could be normal again, and he was finally seeing the truth of the fact. If he ever did meet someone and settle down, he might, one day... but that was a thought Bilbo brushed away, refocusing on Óin.
"I used your ointment, you know, every day, and mixed it up again when I ran out. Mine isn't as good as yours, I'm afraid, but it still... it still has worked wonders." Bilbo sighed slowly, running his fingers over his wrists, then looked over his shoulder. "Thank you for them."
Óin watched him with keen eyes, but he only nodded. "I've got some more somewhere if you're needing some, and a few more ointments besides if you should like to try something else. I'm glad it helped, laddie," he smiled, letting Bilbo face him again. "You've got time now to take care of yourself, and I expect good results, you hear? Now, have you any ailments? Any problems you'd like to share?"
Grateful for Óin's kindness, Bilbo thought of his conversation with Thorin and took a deep breath, lowering his voice. "Yes. This is more for me and my cousin Rory, the brown-haired Hobbit with me, but I wanted your advice. I sometimes have spells where my knees and joints grow weak, and they begin to shake. I have it worse than Rory, but I've noticed that he sometimes needs to sit for a while. Would there be anything that could be done for that? It's... leftover from our time without sunlight or proper food, in the mountains."
Óin stroked his long, curling mustache, his head tilted toward Bilbo as he listened. "Well, lad, you could try the medicinal baths. There's a bathhouse down on Vustel-nalil that I recommend to my patients. I can send you a referral if you like. Given it's a medic's house, most of the rooms are private for healing, but you should balance it with regular soaks in the public houses. Go tonight after supper. 'Tis best to do it before bed."
Bilbo blinked in surprise, bemused that Thorin's premonition about Óin's advice had proven true, and a bit thrown by the Khuzdul. He knew better than to ask what it meant, though. "We could try that. Thank you, Healer Óin."
Óin gave him a small bag containing more salves and ointments with a wink, and after looking over Bilbo and declaring him fit as can be, Bilbo redressed and left the room, finding Drogo and Otho waiting for him down the hall. Drogo was pacing as he watched Rory's door, and Bilbo smiled when he meet Otho's anxious gaze, stopping at his shoulder.
He was not unaware of how much his cousins worried for him, and he was glad that they looked after Rory, too, for all that both he and Rory were older. "What did the healers say?" he asked Otho, who shrugged at him, but the pinched expression in his eyes relaxed.
"Fit as a fiddle, so they say. They told Drogo he'd lost so much weight, though, since he used to be... well," Otho trailed off, sharing a look with Bilbo. Drogo had once been quite proud as a Hobbit, with girth that could rival any of these Dwarves, but Shirefall had changed that. "Said he needed to eat a better variety of food after he told them how we'd eaten on the journey up here. Not like we could help that," Otho shrugged, following Bilbo's frown to watch Drogo pace.
"Kíli's brother said we could visit the kitchens whenever we wanted, though, and Kíli showed us a few shortcuts. I'm looking forward to proper meals again, myself... It's just not right, not having second breakfast." Otho frowned; Bilbo was eerily reminded of Longo Baggins, and his frown over Drogo's health melted a bit with a twitch of his lips. Otho glanced at him and scowled. "What?"
"Nothing," Bilbo replied with a small smile, turning his head back to Drogo when Rory's door opened. Healer Sigga walked out, smiling at them as she passed, and Rory followed a step later, his eyes cast downward, carrying a small bag like Bilbo. Otho turned his glare from Bilbo to Rory, the sour expression fading as Rory joined them, Drogo swinging his arm around Rory's shoulders.
"Alright, there?" Bilbo asked quietly, and finally Rory met his gaze and smiled, a shadow of his usual cheer. Resignation warred with disgruntlement, before a sigh escaped his cousin as acceptance won.
"Nothing I didn't figure already," Rory replied, then grunted when Drogo leaned against his side. "Get off," he complained, shoving at Drogo, but the movement was half-hearted. Otho joined on Rory's other side, and Bilbo followed the three of them as they left the hospital ward, content as his Baggins cousins pestered Rory into smiling.
Now he had the time to look after them. He couldn't before, traveling for months as they had, but here he could relax; he could take the time to see to each of his cousins' needs and wants, to give them the healing they deserved. He would take care of himself, too; he had learned that lesson already.
Bofur would drop by after lunch, to take Bilbo on a tour of the city, and later that afternoon he would meet with Dís to go over their contracts. They had the rest of the morning free; Thorin had court most of the day, else Bilbo would go to see him, but they would see each other for supper. Until then, though...
"Boys," Bilbo called, grinning as Otho, Drogo, and Rory looked back at him in tandem. "What do you say to second breakfast?"
His cousins' faces lit up, and Bilbo laughed as they whooped and danced about, catching the attention of the Dwarves in the hall. Their energy proved too exciting, though, when Otho twirled around and bumped into a red-haired Dwarf walking past.
"Er, sorry," Otho apologized, rubbing at the back of his head sheepishly, while Bilbo hurried forward. The red-haired Dwarf faced him, his handsome features solemn, before he cracked a grin and twisted his hand, producing Otho's coin purse, which must had fallen in the scuffle.
"No worries, but keep an eye on that, would you? Easy for pick-pockets." The Dwarf caught Bilbo's eye and winked, and something in his mien was familiar; he had seen that face before, but where? Perhaps in Moria? The Dwarf walked away, whistling cheerfully, before Bilbo could ask, and he sighed and looked at Otho, who was staring at his pouch in bewilderment.
"Are you alright, Otho?" Bilbo asked, gently ushering his cousins along again, and Otho scoffed, tossing his dark curls.
"I'm fine, Bilbo, don't fuss over me," he replied, sniffing, but then Otho pressed his shoulder to Bilbo's arm, and Bilbo relaxed, listening as his cousins began chatting again.
He did wonder about that red-haired Dwarf, though. He remembered most of the soldiers he had worked beside in Moria, but for some reason he could not place this one stranger, even with his particular hair-style, separated into three sections.
Well, if he saw the stranger again, he would simply have to ask. Until then, Bilbo was more concerned with second breakfast.
~
Such as Thorin, who had lingered on Bilbo's mind all day.
He felt changed for meeting him, finally. Yet still life continued, there was breakfast and family, duties and appointments, but Bilbo existed separately from them, as if...
As if meeting Thorin was his sole reason for coming to Erebor. As if nothing else now mattered; he would fulfill his duties and responsibilities, but his focus remained on Thorin and little else. When he saw the gleaming lanterns on the streets, he thought of their glow from his balcony, of the garden Thorin had made for them. When he noticed beads or braids in other Dwarves' hair and beards, he found himself comparing them to Thorin's own decorations.
Blast it, he was distracted beyond measure, and he could hardly tear himself from these wild thoughts that were wholly, completely inappropriate.
Thankfully, he soon had something to distract himself from his distraction: his meeting with Princess Dís about his duties whilst he would stay in Erebor.
The tour of Erebor was cut short by the advent of lunch. The glance into the Dwarven city was enough to entertain the small family, and Bilbo longed to walk its halls at leisure when he could help paying proper attention. He had time enough, at least.
Bofur took his cousins off his hands easily enough, grinning at Bilbo's hint of worry and clasping his shoulder. "I'm taking them down to see the yards where the princes usually train. The princess'll keep you busy all afternoon, most like, so don't worry about snacks. I've got it covered, Bilbo." Bilbo let them go with a small sigh; even in this safe, if strange place, he did not like being apart from his family; nor did they, for Bilbo caught glances from all three of them, Drogo and Otho the most frequent, as they trailed after Bofur.
A charming Dwarrowdam appeared at his shoulder then, with a gentle smile and skin the dusky brown of a doe's eyes, introducing herself as Nyssa, Dís' mediator. "The Princess will see you now," she explained, guiding him from the courtyard to a large office high in the palace, with great windows that looked over the city.
Dís herself was sitting at a large oaken desk, which was covered in a great number of scrolls, books, and sheaves of paper. She looked up with a smile when Bilbo entered with Nyssa, rising and walking to join him, reaching out to clasp his hands. "Bilbo, did you have a good morning? I hope you have enjoyed Erebor's hospitality."
Bilbo smiled at her, as Nyssa gathered a stack of papers and laid them out on the table, with a few long ink pens and a bunch of envelops bound with bright yellow ribbon. He squeezed Dís' hands and followed her gesture to the table, sitting in front of the papers with a curious glance at them. "Yes, and I cannot thank you enough. Everything has been lovely."
"Very good." Dís smiled at him warmly, sitting across from him and glancing up at Nyssa, who had paused at her shoulder. "Thank you, Nyssa. Are you going over to the Guild now?" Dís asked the Dwarrowdam, who nodded serenely.
"Yes, my lady. Guildmaster Frera of the leather workers requested a meeting this morning. I will return after I speak with her," Nyssa murmured, bowing to the Princess before leaving. Dís nodded and focused her attention on Bilbo, her smile slipping into a more formal, serious expression that reminded Bilbo of his Baggins relatives, particularly his father during business lessons.
"Let's have a look at those contracts, shall we? I have a few more I'd like you to read this week, and we can work out the details as we go along," Dís said, and Bilbo agreeably bowed his head over the contracts.
His father had taught him well; Bilbo took care to read the finely printed contracts, noticing where his agreements with Dís by letter were already in place, and nodding at a few other requirements. He had expected no less for the guarantees and was pleased that Dwarven contracts were even more thorough than the drollest of Hobbit legal matters. He signed three of the contracts after reading through them and spent at least another hour working on a fourth, negotiating with Dís until both of them were content with the plans.
"I think that will do nicely. I will send those off to the ledgers this afternoon," Dís sighed, setting the revised contract aside to be rewritten for a final copy. She glanced at the closed door to the office, where Bilbo saw a shadow hovering, smiling to herself, and took the bundle of envelopes and scrolls, passing them to Bilbo. "Now, these came for you in the past weeks while you were traveling with my brother, as well as a few for your cousins. It looks like the raven tower we built for Khazad-dûm has plenty of work with your family in the Vale," Dís told Bilbo, who took the letters, his hands shaking slightly as he unbound the yellow ribbon (Hobbit-made, and he recognized Mirabella Brandybuck's signature color already).
"Thank you," Bilbo murmured. Dís gave him some space, taking Erebor's copies of the signed contracts back to her desk, and Bilbo stroked his fingers over the papers with his name scrawled in familiar script. He had hoped for letters, for some sign that his kin had reached the Vale, but he had not thought that so many would be sent.
First he opened the one with the Brandybuck emblem pressed into the sealing wax, smiling to see his Aunt Mirabella's handwriting.
My dear Bilbo, The Vale is beautiful, my dear nephew. Your friend Beorn is very tall! But for a man of the Tall Folk, he is kind with the children and has helped us in great ways. Our first few nights, we stayed in Bag-End, like most everyone who has come here. (I hope you call it that again; it looks so much like dear Bella's home!) There are already roads and homes being built, so nobody stays in Bag-End for very long. We've all left little gifts, though, and I go back when I can to unpack your things for you. I have so much to tell you, my dear Bilbo. The farmers and gaffers have been working the fields, and so much has grown already! It's just like the Shire before, and Beorn has been more than kind with his supplies. Even with dozens of hobbits streaming into the valley every week, his supplies never run low! I've no idea how he does it, but I am quite thankful to Mister Beorn. The nights are warm and there is little rain, so some of us have taken to camping further in the valley. I've been eyeing a hill up at the northern end of the vale. It has a lovely view of the mountains to the east and I should like to build our smial there. Your uncle Gordy would prefer to be closer to the river, but we aren't Brandybucks for nothing! Beorn says it hardly swells during rainy times, and it isn't as deep as the Brandywine was. We shouldn't need to live so close to it, this time. I've written a list of supplies I think that we should need. Mistress Marjun and her band of dwarves are industrious to the last hour, and we have our wealth in stone and wood for creating homes and furniture. Yet I've found that a few more things would go very much appreciated by the families here, if you can look into sending something our way. (and my! I never realized how proficient lady dwarves are! I should like to meet more dwarves like Mistress Marjun.) I have written a separate letter for Rorimac, so please give it to him. I should like a response from you both! I want to know every detail of how Rorimac behaved on your journey, and I should like to hear about the adventures you faced. I've also attached letters from your Aunt Linda for young Otho and Drogo, and a few more for you from Primula and some of your friends here. I am very proud of you, my dear nephew. Your mother would be proud of you, too, for what you've done. We miss you very much. Write to us soon. Love,
I hope this letter finds you well, and that you and my dear son are safe in Erebor when you read it. It is my pleasure to tell you that Gorbadoc and I have arrived at the Vale with your cousins, alongside Gaffer Gamgee, your gardener Holman Greenhand, and the rest of the Bagginses and Brandybucks. Our Took kin will wait until the last of the families have left the Shire, but they will follow.
Mirabella Brandybuck née Took
Bilbo breathed in slowly, touching his fingers to his lips in a poor attempt to stop his smile from stretching across his entire face. As he had hoped; as he had dreamed, his kin were finding peace again. Rory would be overjoyed to hear from his family, just as Bilbo was. He pulled a small handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his eyes, setting the letter and its attachments aside. They felt too personal; he would prefer to read them later, and he would like to review the list alongside the new contracts, to see if anything coincided.
"Good news, I hope?" Dís asked, her voice carrying across the office with a touch of worry, and Bilbo laughed, his breath catching wetly.
"Very good. My aunts arrived at the Vale safely with my cousins, and everything seems to be going very well. I imagine most of these letters contain requests alongside good wishes, so we might end up working out some additional contracts," Bilbo said, and the keen look on Dís' face softened into a smile.
"I am glad to hear it. Would you like a snack, Bilbo? I'll call for something." She stood smoothly and went to the door, disappearing into the hallway. Bilbo heard her speaking to someone as the door closed, but he did not hear the words and went back to his letters.
He set the ones addressed to his cousins aside and leafed through the others written to him, seeing one from the Gamgees (though, with a pang of disappointment, he did not see one from Holman). He found the letter from Linda Baggins, as well as a few from names he recognized but did not know personally, though he did pause when he found a small envelope with a drawing of a flower on it and Bilbo's name written in carefully tidy letters.
Instead of reading the letters from his family or the farmers working in the Vale, Bilbo selected the letter from an unknown child, possibly one of his many cousins, but hopefully from one of the orphans sheltered by the Tooks. His heart beating faster, he pulled out the folded paper, and a pressed violet fell out onto his lap. It was paper-thin and soft, and he gently tucked it back into the envelope, before reading the letter, written in the same childish script as on the envelope. The letter was carefully written as if someone older had guided the small hand at times, but the words fell into Bilbo's heart with joy all the same.
Dear Bilbo Baggins, I saw a bear yesterday. He was very big. He called me a bunny and I ran away and hid under the bed. Aunt Marigold told me to say sorry so I said I was sorry and he gave me a honey candy. Auntie said it had lemon in it and that your daddy used to make them for tea. The candy was good. The mountains were scary but we met a lady named Aina and she is very nice. She has a beard and pretty braids with lots of beads. She let me put a flower in her hair. Auntie and cousin Rufus and I like her very much. I pressed a flower for you and I hope you like it. I miss you and I love you. Yours truly,
My name is May Grubb. Today I am in the Vale and it is pretty here and there are many flowers.
May Grubb
"Oh, May," Bilbo whispered, beaming against the tears welling in his eyes. How he had worried for her and the quiet children he had left behind! How it had torn him to leave them, to force them back into the mountains that had tormented them! But here he had proof, true evidence that at least one of those children was safe, that the Vale was the right place for them, and that they were healing as they could not in the Shire. "I'm glad you found your flowers," he murmured, setting the letter down and pressing the handkerchief to his eyes.
"Bilbo?" asked a deep, familiar voice, worried and too close for Bilbo's nerves. He jumped and twisted around, his heart in his throat, and made a noise upon seeing Thorin of all people standing there, holding a tray and appearing ready to throw it across the room, his deep blue eyes fastened anxiously to Bilbo's wet cheeks.
Bilbo waved a hand, inhaling and turning his face into his elbow to hide his tears. "Thorin! You surprised me," he gasped, hearing a clatter, and a moment later Thorin was taking his hands, gently pulling them from his face.
"Bilbo, what is wrong? Did something happen?" Thorin worried, but Bilbo sat up and pushed Thorin back to give himself space, turning his hands around to catch Thorin's fingers and squeezing them. The movement felt natural, and bravery had him lifting his head to meet Thorin's eyes, thought he felt embarrassed for letting Thorin see him crying.
"No, no, nothing's wrong! I'm happy, truly," he explained, gesturing feebly to the letter. "I read a sweet letter, is all, and it made me very happy. I'm fine, I promise." He wiped at his face and took a deep, shuddering breath, straightening and giving Thorin a smile.
Thorin hovered before him, his worried gaze straying between the letter and Bilbo's face, but eventually he accepted Bilbo's reassurances and relaxed enough to sit in Dís' empty chair. "My apologies, seeing you in such a state... alarmed me," he muttered, looking away and rubbing at the back of his neck.
Bilbo watched him with a small, fond smile, smoothing his handkerchief and tucking it away. After a moment of thought, he offered May's letter to Thorin, his cheeks warming slightly to share such an intimate part of his life. "This is from one of the children I used to look after in the Shire. She was... well, she was a slave just as I was, and she was still recovering when I left. I'm very relieved by her letter."
Thorin, frowning at the mention of Bilbo's former slavery, took the letter with gentle hands, unfolding it and reading the childish script. Bilbo watched Thorin's face, how his gaze softened at different parts. He could tell Thorin was not as touched by the letter as he was, but Thorin's smile when he reached the end of the letter was enough for him. After tucking the letter back into its envelope, Bilbo looked over at the platter Thorin had set down, blinking to see a tea arrangement with a plate of pastries and a bowl of sweets.
"You brought me tea?" he questioned, glancing up at Thorin, who turned an interesting color.
"I thought you might be hungry, and since you were done with your meeting..." Thorin seemed to catch his words, twitching, while Bilbo's chest blossomed with warmth and amusement.
During his meeting with Dís, he had noticed her glancing at the door every so often, and when he had followed her gaze, he had seen a shadow lingering, waiting beyond. Dís had always distracted him from the figure, likely an attendant or courtier with business, or simply a guard. No one ever knocked, though, so Bilbo had hardly thought about it -- until now.
"So you were the one hiding at the door during our meeting," Bilbo said, cheerful now, and Thorin's cheeks colored to an even more interesting shade. "Didn't you have court this afternoon?"
"We finished early," Thorin said quickly, picking up the stoneware pot and pouring cups of tea for them both. Bilbo noticed there were only two place settings; he wondered where Dís had gone.
As if reading his mind, Thorin cleared his throat and said, "My sister had to go to the Guild for a late meeting with one of the Guild masters and her Mediator." His expression was sheepish, though, and Bilbo took one of the offered cups, thinking they could both use a moment with their tea. He wondered if Nyssa's meeting had gone sour, or if something else had happened.
He felt a soft pang when he realized the tea was chamomile. Thorin had remembered his favorite.
"How old is Miss Grubb?" Thorin asked after a moment, and Bilbo tilted his head, thinking.
"She must be ten now, I think. A few years younger than my cousin Primula, at least," he replied, smiling fondly. "I'm glad she's doing well. She was... well, she had done poorly after returning to the Shire. She and the other children needed warmth... life, nature and peace and healing. They couldn't find any of that in the Shire as it was. I'm glad the Vale will give the children what they need."
Thorin nodded slowly, his gaze cutting to the letter again consideringly. He was dressed in regal blues again, missing both his crown and the long furred cape that he had been wearing that morning. Bilbo was briefly distracted by the shining beads in the braids at his temples. "She mentioned a Dwarrowdam in her letter. Balin had told me that more and more of our people are migrating to our ancient halls, to rebuild and live where there is prosperity. It is good to see that after the war, life goes on as it should."
"Yes... as it should." Bilbo watched Thorin for a moment, though he quickly averted his gaze when he realized that Thorin was staring right back at him. Instead, Bilbo leaned forward to investigate the tea service, beaming when he realized that the pastries had some sort of savory, meaty filling. He busied himself with the small meal, watching as Thorin did the same.
The snack did wonders for his mood, though he quickly grew distracted by Thorin's presence, the letters and contracts fading to the back of his mind as he watched Thorin eat. The teacup seemed extraordinarily small in Thorin's hands, and Bilbo thought that a good stoneware mug was more suited for them, broad as they were.
"Thank you for bringing me tea," Bilbo said into the quiet, drawing Thorin's attention again. "I haven't tried the sweets yet. What flavor are they?"
"Oh," Thorin said, following Bilbo's gaze to the bowl of candy. He frowned in consternation, his hair falling in his face as he leaned over to look into the bowl. "I took them from downstairs, but I don't actually know what kind they are."
Bilbo eyed him in amusement, though when a chuckle escaped him, Thorin crossed his arms with a cranky expression. "Let us try them, then."
Thorin obligingly set the bowl between them, and the two of them sat together, each picking out a piece of candy and eating it. When the sweet flavor hit his tongue, Bilbo's eyes widened in delight.
"Peppermint! How wonderful," Bilbo admired, wondering when he had last eaten candy. Likely not since before Shirefall. "Do they make these downstairs?"
"They do," Thorin said after a moment, twisting the candy around in his mouth. "When I was a child, my siblings and I used to sneak into the kitchen to steal them. Little did we know then, the cooks would make them in bulk and leave them in certain places just for the royal children. They still keep them in the same places, even though my nephews are grown now."
The image of Thorin, small and sneaking, stuffing candy into his pockets like a thief in the night amused Bilbo, and he ate another candy, his nose crinkling as he smiled up at Thorin. "When I was a lad, my father made honey candies that he would serve to visitors for tea. I used to take them and put them in my tea for a sweet, syrupy treat. I grew out of it, but even as an adult, sometimes I would make the candies and drop one in my tea, especially if I made it with lemon."
Thorin chuckled, glancing at the pile of letters. "They must have been good indeed, for you to hear of them in letter. Perhaps you could make them here, sometime. The kitchens are always stocked with supplies, even from Beorn's realm far away. If you would like assistance, I can make myself available."
For a moment Bilbo could only imagine standing beside Thorin and teaching him how to make sweets, which could be a trying lesson in patience. "Perhaps I will," he demurred, pouring himself another cup of tea and dropping a curl of lemon into it. Thorin had remembered.
He could tell Thorin wanted to ask him questions, and he was rather sure that they were about his copies of the contracts, which were laid out with his letters. Thorin kept glancing at them, his large hands flexing as if he wished to pick them up to read, but he held himself back. His gold rings glinted, and Bilbo was glad to see that Thorin's grandfather's ring sat on his finger with the others, as if it belonged there. He touched his fingers to his pocket where his own ring was safely tucked away, content. Bilbo smiled behind his teacup and waited.
Thorin struggled in silence for a few moments, but eventually he gave in. "Did your meeting go well with my sister?" he asked finally, fingers twitching toward the contracts.
Bilbo leaned over and neatly gathered them up, tucking them into the stack of letters and binding the whole pile with his aunt's ribbon. Thorin frowned but did not stop him. "It went rather well, I think. Your sister has a formidable mind for business, I'm afraid, and our afternoon was surely successful."
Thorin eyed the bundle of papers, but he did not reach for them, instead busying his hands with smoothing the creases in his napkin, in between moments where he bundled the whole thing into a sorry state. "Good, good... and, ah, the negotiations were positive for both of you? For the Vale and Erebor, I mean?"
Sipping his tea held not only the benefit of a flavorful drink, but also the opportunity to watch Thorin fidget. Bilbo was amazed to know that Thorin could twitch around like that, like a cat that wished to pounce but was unsure of its target. "Quite successful," he replied after a moment, and said no more.
Thorin's gaze cut to him, and he began to frown when he saw the smile hiding behind Bilbo's cup. "You're enjoying this," he grumbled, tossing the napkin on the table and glaring.
The expression startled a laugh out of Bilbo, and he quickly covered his smiling mouth. "I told you before, Thorin, all negotiations will be through Princess Dís. You have only yourself to blame for this."
"Me? How am I to blame for you and my sister cavorting against me?!" Thorin exclaimed, which sent Bilbo into another fit of laughter, though Thorin's tone piqued his irritation, long forgotten in the aftermath of being kidnapped in Moria.
He huffed and set down his teacup as his laughter faded, frowning back at Thorin. "Because you didn't tell me about the gold! You can't just offer to send me aid, then turn around and give me more than what I needed -- and don't you frown at me like that! I've got a large job to work, now, and I'm going to do it properly!"
Thorin looked abashed for a moment, but still no less cross. "I simply wish to help you as my ability allows, which is more than anyone else. Surely your people could use it, after what has happened. Why won't you let me help you?"
"Because I am different from my people, Thorin, and my people have their pride, as do I!" Bilbo snapped, standing up and walking away from Thorin, his temper sending him to the window with his arms crossed. The silence hung between them, sparking with their ire, and Bilbo realized that he had just shouted at his friend, not a day after they had properly met.
Bother his temper! Bother his anger! Thorin did not deserve such words!
Bilbo turned around, an apology on his tongue, though the words fell silent before he could voice them, for Thorin had stood to approach him, looking as sorry as Bilbo felt. "Bilbo, I'm sorry," he started to say, but Bilbo held up a hand, his gaze dropping in shame.
"I'm sorry, too," he blurted, then took a deep breath. "I didn't mean to shout at you. I'm not angry at you, I'm just... mm. It's not you, Thorin, I promise. I've just been... angry." He looked up hesitantly, meeting Thorin's anxious blue gaze, and breathed out, feeling even worse to see that look on his face. Like he had hurt Thorin.
"Will you tell me?" Thorin requested quietly after a moment, walking to Bilbo's side. "I will listen. I will always listen to you."
Bilbo craned his head toward Thorin, his hand fluttering against his side, before closing into a fist and facing the window. His eyes remained on the scenery outside, watching the Dwarves walk through the courtyard, but his attention was completely devoted to Thorin. Thorin gave him space, but Bilbo felt his presence all the same, the strength of his character, and knew that if he just leaned to the side, he could rely on Thorin to hold him up.
Yet he held himself up instead.
"I told you in my letters... I am angry," Bilbo began, his voice quiet. "At what was done to us, at what we suffered... and at the same time, I become even angrier when I hear people patronizing us, like we are helpless, like we deserve to be coddled."
"Even though so much has happened to my people, we survived. We fought for our right to live. Yet, I hear it... in the words of Elves, of Men, even of Dwarves, that when they give us aid, in food or clothing or help, that they are giving us that same right to life. That we are helpless by ourselves, and that only through the actions of others are we saved. I am not talking about what the Dwarves did, physically freeing the slaves. I am not forsaking your aid, nor the foodstuffs we received from different people. I am not refusing your help, I just... I want you to separate my needs from those of my people.
"We Hobbits have our pride. We survived Shirefall alone. We didn't sit idly when the Orcs came, you know. We fought back, every step of the way, even as they dragged us into hell. I heard, even, that the Bounders pushed the Orcs out of the towns, before the Rangers came to help. We saved ourselves.
"My people had to pay for their food, though, often at terrible prices. Our stores and fields were ravaged, and we could only rely on distant towns of Tall Folk, who did not understand us or how much we ate, and they ended up overcharging us for too little, then told us we should be grateful for the help. The Rangers protected us during Shirefall, but they soon disappeared, leaving us to fend for ourselves.
"I kept my people safe in Azog's halls. No one else, no Man or Elf or Dwarf kept Azog from killing us. It was me and my people, working harder than we had ever worked in our lives, forcing the Orcs to use us as chattel, rather than as stores. We made them see us as something to be used, and once we began working for them, they stopped eating us, for the most part. Mostly..."
He took a deep breath, staring out the window, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Thorin's face. Paled, eyes darkened beyond despair, his gaze fastened to Bilbo, narrowed with attention. Bilbo forced himself to turn and meet Thorin's gaze, determined.
"I am tired of being seen as weak. As something to be pitied. I heard it whenever I spoke with Men, and with Elves, and even Gandalf. I heard it from Balin and the other Dwarves I've met. They all believe that they know what is best for us, that their decisions supersede ours.
"I know they mean well. I know everyone means well, but that does not mean I am comforted by their pity, because I know they see me as a slave still. I would rather be seen as myself. Not as a slave, but as Bilbo Baggins."
Thorin stayed silent, his lips pinched, but his gaze had finally softened with understanding. Bilbo wondered how much Thorin understood, if perhaps Thorin was the only person outside of his race who could comprehend Bilbo's feelings and not reject them out of hand, as others had done before.
"I don't want you to give me whatever you think I need, Thorin, nor do I want you to give everything you have to my people in a show of pity. We have the money to barter for goods and services, and we have the ability to guide our lives as we see fit. Please, let me do what I need to do for my people. As for my needs, well..." He fidgeted, his face warming as he thought of their letters, of the promises they had given each other.
"Just be my friend. I wish for you to look at me... and see me as Bilbo," he implored, his voice even as he met Thorin's blue, blue gaze, though his heart rattled in his chest as if trying to escape its confines.
For a long moment, Thorin said nothing, studying Bilbo's face with such rapt attention that Bilbo felt his cheeks warming from the weight of that blue gaze.
"I am sorry," Thorin uttered, in the moment that the tension became too much for Bilbo to bear, "that I have been so blind. I did not mean to undermine the agency of your position here, nor your people's determination to govern themselves. I never realized how thoughtless I was acting in that regard, and it was never my intention, but I am sorry nonetheless. I will not do so again."
"Thank you," Bilbo murmured, his chest aching with the realization that Thorin did understand him. After a moment Thorin stepped closer, reaching up to the back of Bilbo's head, and Bilbo's heart sped up to a hammering, jittery state, beating in his ears as he stared up at Thorin. Then Thorin leaned in and touched their foreheads together, gentle as the softest breeze, his eyes lowering as his mien softened.
"As for you, my friend, I could never see you as anything else," Thorin said softly, his nose nudging against Bilbo's, in a brush of warm skin that felt as intimate as a time long ago, when he had shyly taken Holman Greenhand's hand behind a hedgebush. Thorin pulled away from the Dwarvish gesture of affection, and his hand lingered on Bilbo's neck, fingering the curls for a moment before letting him go.
With a start, Bilbo realized that his face was as hot as a rock in the sun, completely flushed from Thorin's close proximity. Just a touch of affection, and he was completely overdone. He turned away, pulling out his handkerchief and patting at his cheeks in bewilderment. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Thorin ducking his head, hot red flashing across his cheeks beneath his beard.
Suddenly Bilbo wondered how often Thorin showed this side of himself to others, if he was as affectionate and open with his family and friends as he seemed to be with Bilbo. He felt honored, then, that Thorin would share such a part of himself. He was glad, too, that he himself could share such affection with Thorin, that despite his past, the torment he had suffered, he could share that physical intimacy with a dear friend. Even Bofur, with whom he had traveled and shared quarters for months, could cause him to tense sometimes.
So far, he had never felt even the briefest flash of fear in Thorin's presence.
Bilbo took a deep breath. Then he took a step toward Thorin and leaned in, simply resting against his side, letting himself feel Thorin's solidity, his unwavering strength. He gave in, just for a moment, and let himself rely on someone else. For a moment, the entire world seemed to weigh on his shoulders, but then Bilbo realized that he could feel something more powerful than any pain that haunted him: Thorin, who stood quietly at his side, holding Bilbo up with the strength of his conviction.
Thorin's hand touched his back, and Bilbo breathed in shakily and stood up straight, lifting his gaze with a small smile. Thorin was watching him, the deep blue pool of his eyes gone dark with some unnamed emotion, but that Bilbo understood all the same. For a time, they simply stood together, their bond ever deepening in the peace of their silence.
~
The bath itself had been nice. The constant inquiries about his health, not so much. Bilbo dreaded braving the public baths, if even the private ones lacked such privacy.
Looking upon his letters, Bilbo had found that his aunt had listed a large number of items that Bilbo had never considered, from textiles to kitchenary needs. He thought of the contracts he had signed already that covered only the basics and despaired to himself, wondering if he was up to handling all of this.
Yet as he looked upon the letters from his kin, from the sweet note from May Grubb to the effusive letter from his own cousin Primula, he knew he would. Whatever his people needed -- and he had the gold now to do it. Dís was respectful and proficient in her negotiations, and Bilbo trusted that she would not take advantage of his people's plight.
It comforted him to know that Thorin understood, that Thorin of all people would not take Bilbo's right to take care of his people away from him. As he stirred the twirl of lemon around in his tea (and he would have to ask Thorin's cooks to show him how to do that; his father had used to make them for pies, but Bilbo had never learned), Bilbo took a deep breath and went to the bookshelf behind his desk, where the gilded box that had once held Thorin's ring sat.
He had found the box sitting on his desk when he had returned to his room, empty of the ring stand but still lined with soft velvet. After undoing the locks to make sure it was the same box, Bilbo had chosen to use it to house his letters from Thorin. He thought it fitting.
Each letter was carefully preserved, though the paper had gone a bit soft, from Bilbo pulling each out and reading them late at night on his journey. He was glad that he could converse with Thorin just as easily in person as in letter, but there was something special about keeping Thorin's words in writing.
Now he could imagine Thorin's face with each word. He could read the letters in Thorin's deep voice. It was almost as good as talking with Thorin face to face.
What needed to be done for his people would be done. Bilbo would make sure of that, no matter how hard he needed to work, no matter what his people asked of him.
But surely... surely, for himself, he could take a few moments to be happy. Surely he could take the time to aid his family, to help his cousins heal from the trauma they had faced over the past several years. Surely he could allow himself to enjoy a moment with Thorin, someone who had grown very dear to him.
Surely his people would not begrudge him this peace.
After a time, Bilbo gently tucked the letters away and locked the box once more, hiding it against a few books in the corner of the lowest shelf. Then he gathered the letters from the Hobbits of the Vale and began to read.
From Myrtle Burrows: [...] and don't forget to look after yourself, my dear boy! Don't you go moping and hiding yourself away in that big mountain! I expect lots of stories for the children when I see you again. [...]
From Dobbin Hayward: [...] can't thank you enough for what you've done for my son. This place is just what he needed. Today he told me about the frog he had caught in the river bed. My Hob hasn't thought of chasing frogs in years! I hope you're taking care of yourself now, Mr. Baggins. You deserve some healing, just as my son does. I hope that mountain does good for you. [...]
From Linda Baggins: [...] I do hope you are taking this time to relax a bit, my dear nephew. Surely you have been traveling for months; a small respite will not harm you! I've instructed Otho and Drogo to behave for you, and I look forward to hearing about your trip, long as it was. Your cousin is looking after me, as are Mirabella and her family, so don't you worry about us. Look after yourself. [...]
From Primula Brandybuck: [...] told Lobelia she would have all the flowers she could dream of using, and I was right. We've been teaching the younger girls about flower meanings, too, for the parties we will surely have in the summer when everyone has come here. You'll come too, won't you, Bilbo? I miss you surely, and I hope you are doing well, and that you and Rory are taking care of yourselves.[...]
"I miss you all," Bilbo whispered, touching his fingers to his friends' and family's signatures, but his heart felt lighter for it. Everything he had worked for was for them; and perhaps they were right. Truly... if everyone said it was alright, then he could take a few moments for himself.
If those moments were spent at Thorin Oakenshield's side, well, nobody needed to know that but Bilbo himself.