Chapter Text
"I... don't really understand," Thorin admitted.
Bilbo huffed from his place on the floor, but being that he was half buried in amongst a forest of leaves, he didn't bother with any real response.
Thorin eyed the mountain of... well.
Tree.
There was a tree. In his gathering room.
A large tree.
In his rooms.
"I... don't understand," he admitted again.
Bilbo backed out from under the tree and shot him a fond look.
"I told you, it is for my little celebration," he said, absently flicking leaf matter from his face. Thorin's fingers twitched.
"Your Hobbit celebration," he said dubiously, giving in to the urge to take a few steps forward and carefully smooth a few more leaves from Bilbo's curls.
"Yes, my Hobbit celebration."
"In which we need... this," Thorin said dubiously, gesturing to the great hulking thing stretching almost to the high vaulted ceiling above.
"Well," Bilbo huffed, hands finding their way to his hips. "It is traditional."
Thorin eyed the tree. It wasn't much like any other tree that he had ever seen. Not that he ever really bothered paying much attention to trees; one was as much a tree as another. This one was very dark green and very dense, in an almost bell shape, tapering towards the ceiling. And at the end of each of its many, many, many branches, the thick oval leaves flowered out into silvery clusters that almost looked like flowers. He supposed it was pretty enough. And at least it had the good graces to come with a touch of decent colouring, though the silver was very pale. Nice enough with the dark foliage.
Why was it in his rooms?
"If you want, I will have it removed," Bilbo said, giving it one woeful look. Really, it was a little foolish of making the assumption that Thorin wouldn't mind. Served him right to have to take it down when he had just seen it set up!
"No, that's... No. If you have a traditional celebration you would like us to participate in, than this..." Thorin eyed the tree again dubiously, but shrugged. "I am happy to have a tree in my rooms."
"A tree branch, really," Bilbo said, smiling a little bashfully. Thorin was so very kind to him, even as he looked so bewildered! "It is also traditional," Bilbo said, smile dancing around the edges of his lips as he stepped closer, "to decorate the tree with silver coins and yellow fruit."
"Yellow fruit?" Thorin tried to keep the distaste from his voice, but it may have been that his face twisted a little at the thought. And silver coins? Silver was a good metal, but what was wrong with gold? Gold was a good metal to represent celebration.
"Yellow fruit are the closest thing to golden fruit that Hobbits can manage," Bilbo informed him, smile breaking through at seeing Thorin's aborted resignation. "The silver coins are usually to simulate silver flowers. Some of the more prosperous families, though, have beautiful intricate decorations of silver and gold made for their trees. I wondered that perhaps, here amongst one of the richest mountains of the land, with some of the finest silver and gold workers, that perhaps..."
Thorin brightened.
"Golden fruit, you say?" he mused.
"And silver flowers," Bilbo chuckled, unable to hold back his amusement. "Sometimes silver stars, or small balls to represent the moon. Bells are popular."
"Gems?" Thorin asked eagerly.
"Not very traditional," Bilbo hedged, but seeing the eagerness on Thorin's face, he sighed. "This particular variety of tree is often entwined with a vine that produces red berries. The effect is quite pleasing, so often red berries or flowers work their way into the arrangement-"
"Rubies," Thorin interrupted, eyes bright with ideas. "Perhaps garnets. Even jasper? But they would have to be set into silver at least, to be seen amongst the darkness of the green. What about white?"
"White? Er, yes, I suppose, since-"
"I have pearls," Thorin nodded. "Pearls would be very pleasing amongst the rest. My mother..." Thorin trailed off, eyes distant for a moment.
Bilbo moved closer, fascinated by the mention of a member of Thorin's family. His King was so very closed off at times, and Bilbo was so very eager to know anything and everything about the one that fascinated him so.
"Your mother?" he prompted gently. He of course, would love to hear about Thorin's family, but he didn't want to upset him. Thorin shrugged, though, and smiled fondly when he glanced at Bilbo.
"My mother loved pearls, and my father had a hefty sum placed on their value, so many traders of Men would come in the summer with what they had found, sometimes small crates of them! My mother loved them so much, she once decorated for an event while hosting a delegation from Mirkwood. It was a rather important event, though I cannot recall why. She adorned the feast hall with great bushy trees similar to these, in an attempt to please the guests. She had pearls strung amongst the boughs, and tiny glass decorations that glittered in the candle light. It was very beautiful. I thought she had used magic for certain, to create such a sight, so ethereal was the scene she set. I was very young," he hastened to defend himself, but Bilbo moved closer still, and took Thorin's hand in his own, leaning into him in gratitude of the shared memory.
"Do you think you can help me create that, here? A scene of magical delight?" he asked, aiming for a teasing tone, but instead sounding more than a little yearning.
"Is that...?"
"Traditional? Yes, a sense of wonder and magic is the goal, to create that feeling in all that surround the date. It's the general idea, anyway."
Thorin hummed thoughtfully, before his face stretched into a soft smile.
"I will see what I can do," he promised, hand rising to wrap gently around Bilbo's shoulder.
Bilbo smiled, leaning into Thorin, and Thorin's smile stretched wide and happy, and Bilbo felt his heart bounce and reel, and made himself step backwards, trying not to notice Thorin's smile dimming slightly.
"I should go and do that then," Thorin said, hand squeezing once before falling away as he stepped back and hurried from the room.
Bilbo sighed.
***
Three days later, the mountain was awash with trees.
There were trees in corners, trees on pedestals and trees in miniature forests in the middle of halls. Trees hanging upside down from the ceiling, and one lot trying to mount them from the walls like odd bristling torches.
They were stunning.
"This is completely ridiculous," Bilbo muttered, gently setting a silver bell to tinkling.
"I think it's quite pretty," Kíli said, circling one of the newest trees.
"Fancy doing all this to indulge my silly Hobbit customs."
Kíli grinned and nudged him, pulling him into his side to hug him one-armed.
"Uncle would do just about anything for you, Bilbo."
Bilbo did not know what to say to that. He sighed instead, wrapping his arm around Kíli's waist in return, and turning them to look again at the tree in the centre of the mini forest in the Hall of Kings. It was, in Bilbo's humble opinion, one of the prettiest so far.
Dwarrows, he had discovered, actually had wonderful sense of taste. Bilbo had honestly expected a lot more... gaudiness, and truthfully, there were some that had made Bilbo's eyebrows raise -not that Hobbits were immune to the gauche at times; the Bracegirdle tree year before last had been dreadful!- but still, Bilbo had been ever so stunned to realise that Dwarrows had a deft hand at placement and colour. He'd been ashamed to realise he had made quite the prejudiced assumption. Of course Dwarrows would have a unique and well attuned sense of placement and colour coordination. They were the greatest craftsmen in all of Middle Earth! Bilbo had been careful to keep his surprise at their taste to himself.
There were some things that he could not keep quiet about, however.
"Why," he said with no small amount of exasperation, even as he set one small glass creation to spinning, "Why would Thorin order his people to divert from the restoration of the mountain to decorate it with trees?"
"Oh, he didn't," Kíli reassured him. "Thorin started out doing all this on his own. He's just not very good at glass work, so some of the glaziers took over once they knew what he wanted."
Bilbo reached out a finger to gently touch one beautiful glass ball, clear at the top, and swirling down to a milky white in the bottom in wisp-like clouds. No Hobbit had ever had anything so beautiful on their trees before, he was sure.
"Of course, then the crystal workers got in on that," Kíli continued, and Bilbo gave him a sharp look.
"You're a crystal worker," he pointed out, and Kíli at least had the sense to look somewhat abashed.
"Well, I had these pretty crystals with patterns like snowflakes, and I just thought..."
Bilbo humphed, but tightened his grip around the lad's waist. The very stones he was speaking of were hanging from what the Company was calling 'Bilbo's tree', in Thorin's rooms.
It had been a whim, really, on the way back from a trip down to visit Bard and see how the slow recovery of Dale was coming along, to ask one of his -completely unneeded, thank you- escort, to lend him an axe to chop off a small limb from a Telpe tree off the side of the newly stamped road. The Dwarrows with him had all given him the queerest of looks, but instead of just handing him an axe to do the job himself, they'd hastened to do the job themselves, quickly and efficiently removing one large branch from the tree and loading it onto their cart. The branch had been quite a lot larger than the one that Bilbo himself would have taken, but he hadn't the heart to tell them otherwise, and thanked them for their assistance.
Of course, once they had reached the mountain and asked Bilbo what he would like them to do with said tree, was when he had realised that his little indulgence would simply not fit in the small room he had chosen for himself -to Thorin's, and really, all the Company's loud objections; the room he had chosen was within the Royal wing where Thorin was settled and the others in homes nearby, but was apparently something along the lines of a storage cupboard. Honestly, Bilbo didn't know what the fuss was all about. It was large enough for one small Hobbit, and quite cosy, thank you very much. It wasn't as if he should even be there, by any rights, being merely a simple Hobbit in such grand surroundings as the Palatial residences. It served him well, at any rate. Large enough for one Hobbit, but unfortunately, not quite large enough for Festive décor.
He wasn't quite sure what had prompted him to have them deposit it in Thorin's gathering room.
Despite Thorin's grumblings of tiny leaves on his floors and in his sheets and somehow always in his boots, he hadn't had the thing removed so far. The Company was calling it Bilbo's tree, and if there was a tree to pick in the mountain that was by far the prettiest, it was Bilbo's.
"Anyway," Kíli said, reaching to flick a set of dangling crystals on a nearby branch. "Once I started, the others in my guild all jumped on board to help me give those snooty glaziers a run for their money. But we needed our own tree to, well, test them on, so we asked some of the hunters to grab us a few."
Bilbo sighed.
"And then you had that massive hissy at us over chopping down whole trees-"
"Hissy?" Bilbo sputtered. "I made my objections to the massacre of innocent trees known. Fancy cutting the whole thing down -those trees are giant!- when a branch will suffice? Honestly."
"Yeah, well after you had that hissy, some of the others came to see what the fuss was all about. And Fíli got the Filigree Artisans and the Silversmiths on the job as well. Annoyed the stuffing out of Uncle, but once he got down there joining in the fun, he mellowed."
Bilbo sighed yet again, tugging Kíli sideways so that he could admire a particularly beautiful silver creation in pride of place centre mass of the tree. Tiny ornate silver flowers twined in a wreath of intricately detailed leaves, not unlike the leaves the decoration nestled in.
"You like that one?" Kíli asked with an odd smile.
"I do," Bilbo said, running his fingers over the leaves one last time before allowing his hand to fall away. "Very much. I have something similar on my tree."
"Yes you do. Both Thorin's work. He had Ori tracking down all sorts of pictures of flowers for him to model from. Because Hobbits like flowers, apparently."
Bilbo felt his face flush, and let his head fall forward, curls obscuring his face from Kíli's knowing gaze. Honestly, he had no idea what was going on between himself and his prickly Dwarf King. Thorin seemed to like him, and Bilbo tried to convince himself it was in a way that was promising, considering what he felt himself for Thorin. Even still, it was difficult to tell, and just at the moments when Bilbo felt that a moment between them might be significant, he'd start to wonder whether everything he thought there might be between them existed purely in his own hopeful imagination and he would find himself blustering in a ridiculous manner and half running from his poor bewildered Dwarf. It was frustrating, since Bilbo was becoming more sure that Thorin was merely grateful for all his assistance, and saw him as no more than a friend, an acquaintance, really, towards which he perhaps felt honour bound to keep about.
But then something like this would happen, and Bilbo would feel himself getting his own hopes up again. Bebother and confusticate his silly hopeless heart.
Kíli unhooked the floral wreath from the tree and pocketed it with a wink, moving one of the beautiful filigree balls into place instead. The balls were another wonder; each was hinged in the middle, and small cups inside held the odd glowing mixture the Dwarrows used to light lanterns in the mines. The placement of what seemed to be dozens of the things gave the impression of the trees lit from within and made the elegant glass and metal ornaments glow and glimmer in the most magical of ways. It was the most stunning display Bilbo had ever seen.
"You have to know that Uncle admires you a great deal," Kíli said, steering them both from the gallery and along the terrace that was the most picturesque route to the upper residences where the Royal family lived.
What was he to say to that? It was relieving to know that Kíli believed Thorin was somewhat fond of him, but how does one ask whether that fondness was fondness, especially from the nephew of Bilbo's crush?
Instead, he waved to a few of the guards he knew and nodded to a scribe that rushed past him and very carefully held back another sigh when Dori appeared on the other side of him and silently handed him a pure white bell, made from a smooth sort of clay, with a perfectly rounded stone clanger on a wire that tinkled beautifully when shook.
"Thank you Dori," he said quietly.
Dori clucked a little and said nothing, and they walked silently on to Thorin's rooms. Bilbo was not surprised to find several members of The Company already at home in the rooms; despite being Thorin's chambers, they all seemed to congregate there as if common rooms for the whole group. Dwalin was sprawled in a lounge chair nursing a tankard and regarding Bilbo's tree lazily, and Balin was chattering at him from behind a large stack of papers of some kind, while Bifur and Bombur were sitting playing a board game -one that was mathematically based, Bilbo had found, and quite beyond him- off to the side. Crossing to add his beautiful new Dori bell to his tree, Bilbo found several more already dotted about the branches in artful disorder. He seemed to have also gained a series of tiny carved roses, made from a lovely milky ivory stone and expertly detailed, placed here and there discretely in the bows.
"Nori," Dori said simply, when Bilbo fingered one thoughtfully, and Bilbo sighed.
"You're both very kind," he said quietly, sitting down beneath the boughs of his tree to plop his chin in his hand and stare morosely amongst the work of wonder.
"What's got his knickers in a twist?" Dwalin asked behind him, and Bilbo huffed another sigh.
"He's mooning over Uncle," Kíli said cheerfully, coming to fish out the pretty silver wreath out of his jerkin and hang it carefully on Bilbo's tree, adding a few almost-clear stones shaped into icicles that he had apparently been hiding away on himself.
"It's going to be too full to add anything else to, soon," Bilbo mused, watching Kíli carefully reorganise a few ornaments to suit his purpose.
"We'll have another brought in, then," Balin said absently, still shuffling his documents back and forth.
"Thorin may not like that," Bilbo said, shifting about so he could see the others and the tree all at once.
"Bah," Dwalin said lazily, propping his feet up on the low table before him, ignoring his brother's cursing when he crinkled several of his scrolls. "Thorin'd let you have whatever your little hobbity heart desired."
Bilbo frowned thoughtfully, standing and gently running a finger over the silver wreath Kíli had claimed for him and left the room without one more word to any of them.
***
"Are you alright?" Thorin demanded loudly, stomping over to the small corner of the gigantic communal kitchens that Bilbo had tucked himself into for his current business.
Thorin did not wait for a response, plucking him from his standing stool -even that what was made for Dwarrows at their more sensible size was still slightly too large for Bilbo- and checking him over, spinning him this way and that to check his body for... well, Bilbo was not quite sure. He made sure to keep his floured hands well away from Thorin's lovely velvet robes, though. He'd been busy kneading the biscuit dough for rolling when Thorin had rushed in all a-bothered, straight from something important, if the regal crown and intricate embroidered and bejewelled robes were anything to go by.
"Thorin?" he attempted over Thorin's muttering to himself. "Thorin, I am quite well, though I am not so certain that you yourself are!"
"I?" Thorin exclaimed incredulously, though he did cease his slightly frantic manhandling. "I did not go wandering off to the markets without escort, only to go trading with the Easterners!"
"Oh," Bilbo said sheepishly. "That. Well, they weren't that bad, really. I know that many have deep suspicions of any Man travelling out of the East, but they truly were not so terrible. Wonderful spices, so very exotic and aromatic. I bought much from them."
It had been, well, another small whim of his. He seemed to be having many very UnBagginsish impulses lately. Word of the reclamation of the Lonely Mountain had spread far, and Thorin had made it known that the riches of the mountain were free to flow generously to any that came to trade. Within weeks, the markets were established and all sorts of goods pouring into the mountain from far across the lands, even in the midst of winter. They traders had not been disappointed; Thorin was making certain that the Dwarrows that had suffered all these years would never again to be hungry or cold or ill, or without any sort of luxury that they had previously done without. Much gold was changing hands in the ever growing market place and all parties were leaving well satisfied.
Apparently -according to Óin, that was- Men from the East had once been regular traders in the Markets of the Lonely Mountain, coming to trade many wares that were popular with the Dwarrows of Erebor of old. It had been a point of contention with Erebor's allies, but the combined Markets of Dale and Erebor had been some of the most expansive in all the lands, and Thorin could not turn the contingent away that had ridden in from the wastes of the Eastern wilds a mere month after the dust had settled after the great battle. They had promised they had come for naught but peaceful trade, and so far had stuck to that promise. Bilbo had been wary of the tall beings in their odd dress, but they had been polite enough, and their stalls had smelt so very good! He'd ended up speaking with them amicably for quite a while, and parted with a pouch of treasure eagerly, coming back to his little square of kitchen that always seemed to be ready for him, and had whiled away the morning attempting a few of the suggestions the Men had given him and trying a few of his favourite recipes with some of his purchases. Much to the delight of the other Dwarrows cooking in the kitchens, as Bilbo had scurried around with a tea tray and some of his creations to be taste-tested by mouths other than his own.
Thorin sighed loudly, pressing one large finger to the bridge of his nose and allowing his eyes to fall shut.
"Bilbo," he started, falling silent again. He opened his eyes and stared at Bilbo a moment, moving forward to carefully cup Bilbo's face between big, warm hands and study him a moment.
"Bilbo," he began again, gentler this time. "I... worry for you. I do not wish for any harm to come to you, not here, not-" He cut himself off again, sighing deeply as his thumbs smoothed over Bilbo's flushed cheeks. "Not here, in this mountain. I wish no harm to come to you here."
"None will," Bilbo said hesitantly, feeling himself sway into Thorin's touch. "I just wanted something special for the baking."
"Baking?" Thorin asked, giving one last sweep of his thumbs across Bilbo's skin before letting his hands fall away. "Baking for what?"
"The celebrations," Bilbo said, flustered. He turned back to his bench, arm gesturing expansively to his collection. "Biscuits and cakes and good puddings, oh, anything truly wonderful to eat, one makes at this time of year. Give them as gifts, bring them as offerings at all the parties that spring up, and a great feast, of course, at the main event. Scones and pies and pastries and breads of all kinds, from seeded to cheese to fruity. Oh, the smells that waft the whole of the Shire! The time when each and every Hobbit really flaunts what wealth he has."
"Wealth?" Thorin asked, amusement dripping thick in his tone.
"The wealth of Hobbits," Bilbo said, flustered, and flapped his hands at the Dwarf. "I am a Hobbit, and that means-"
"Comfort, yes, I know," Thorin said, grinning widely at Bilbo's frustration. He relaxed then, assisting Bilbo back onto his step, and drawing a stool out from beneath the bench to sit. Bilbo wiped his hands long enough to tug his knitted cosy -a present from young Ori- off his teapot and test the temperature, and satisfied, poured Thorin a cup. A plate of the best of his experiments went with it and Thorin hummed happily around a bite of fresh biscuit flavoured with thyme and an eastern spice that Bilbo had already forgotten the name of, but was pleasantly reminiscent of fruit and warmth to taste.
"And is it only baked goods that are important to this occasion?" Thorin asked around a mouthful, slurping his tea in a most unmajestic way. Bilbo shook his head fondly at the eagerness Thorin was displaying with putting his little plate of biscuits away. He snorted as he went back to kneading his dough.
"Oh no, not at all! Now is when the poulterer has the best and fattest of geese hanging in his window, and duck as well, and Farmer Brownfoot's smoke house is fit to bursting with his special cured hams. The Men of Bree know to step up their hunts and come to visit us with the choicest of their venison and pheasants, and be well rewarded for their troubles. There is creamy butter and carefully kept jams and crocks of honey, and the best of the stored fruits and vegetables. All the nicest kinds of sweets, toffees that stick your teeth together and boiled jawlockers so big you can barely get your mouth around them. This," he finished with a flourish of his rolling pin, "is comfort at its finest. A warm hearth, excellent fare, and the ones you love most gathered close."
Thorin hummed, chewing slowly on a lovely little sugar biscuit, washing it down with the dregs of his tea and swiping the crumbs from his beard, these days braided finely into a neat, gold trimmed plait, now that it was growing again, though why he had not allowed it to grow until Erebor had been reclaimed, Bilbo did not know, and suspected he would not like the answer to. Regardless, Bilbo found himself most days eying that beard braid keenly. It was most attractive. Even now, bobbing slightly as Thorin chewed his last biscuit slowly, reaching to pour himself another cup of tea.
Bilbo got on with rolling and cutting while Thorin sipped from his cup, silent and contemplating. Not a word was said for the entire cup, quiet and staring at nothing before he drained it again and nodded decisively.
"I will leave you to your craft, then," Thorin said softly. "But I will ask this of you. Should you have need of special ingredients again, please ask one of the Mountain's negotiators for assistance in acquiring what you need. And if you will not take some of your guard when you visit the Markets, at least ask a member of the Company. Promise me?"
Bilbo nodded slowly, not really understanding the fuss, really, but Thorin did seem so terribly worried.
"I promise," he said, reaching under the tea towel cover beside him and retrieving a scone. He handed it to Thorin and was gifted one of those grins again, and the King was off, munching happily as he swept from the kitchens.
A dwarf at a nearby counter snorted loudly and smirked at Bilbo.
"Oh, you are besotted," he said, sniffing and grinning and wandering off with a bucket full of peeled potatoes. Bilbo gaped for a moment, flushing red in embarrassment before sighing and thumping his rolling pin onto his dough.
Dwarves.
***
A few days later, Bilbo was growing a little suspicious. There were an awful lot of hunting parties ranging out in all directions for game, and the Ereborian traders were being quite free with their gold. The store houses of the Lonely Mountain were positively groaning. The kitchens were a flurry of production. The smells were delicious.
Bilbo said nothing, however, choosing to let this one go, as his concentration turned to other matters.
Important matters.
Very important matters. That may have compelled him to, to... well. He hadn't broken his promise. Not really.
All right, maybe a little.
Which is why he was hiding. Not terribly successfully, as it turned out, when Thorin yanked him from his little reading nook and shook him by the scruff of the neck.
"I thought I told you not to go back to the Eastern Men!" he growled, spare arm waving, and the other giving Bilbo another shake.
"You did not! You said to ask for assistance from your Pursers if I needed, or ask one of the Company to come with me," Bilbo said defensively, squirming until Thorin released him.
"No, I said to take one of the Company with you to trade, period, and for you to leave it to the Pursers to deal with the Easterlings. And of all the Company members to take with you to Market, you chose Ori?" Thorin yelled, pacing back and forth with his hands waving once again.
"Ori is impressive in a fight, and you know it," Bilbo said, waggling one admonishing finger in Thorin's face.
"When he's armed," Thorin snapped.
"He had a knife!"
A loud snort came from behind one of the nearby racks, and Ori poked his head out from behind a stack of books, looking very red and flustered.
"Had you warned me where we were going, I would have borrowed Mister Dwalin's war hammer again," Ori said snottily, and pulled his head back around the corner.
"I couldn't take the Pursers," Bilbo insisted quickly, when Thorin turned to him triumphantly. "They write down everything, and Ori is the only member of the Company that I trusted to keep a secret. Apparently, that was ill placed trust," he finished with a mutter, scowling at the pile of books. So much for his super secret reading nook.
"Why would you want to keep this a secret from me?" Thorin yelled, tugging at his own hair in frustration.
"Because I needed to buy the last part of your gift!" Bilbo hollered back, his own arms waving about now.
Thorin went still, eyeing him with a frown of pure befuddlement.
"Gift?"
"Yes," Bilbo hissed, tugging his waistcoat back into place and folding his arms across his chest defensively. "And I was getting worried that I would not find anything suitable. The main event is just two weeks away, you know! I wasn't sure if I would have everybody done in time."
"Presents." Thorin stared at him. "Presents are a part of your celebration."
"Umm," Bilbo's arms dropped to his sides when he saw the flummoxed look on Thorin's face. "Yes?"
"And you have gifts? For us?" Glóin asked curiously, head bobbing over the top of a storage crate.
"It's traditional to bestow gifts on one's family at the main event, yes," Bilbo confirmed. "And you lot, well-"
He was cut off when he was smushed into Ori's front. And then Bifur's. And Glóin's. And Fíli and Kíli's and really, the whole Company had turned out to watch Thorin rouse on him? At least he was getting some nice cuddles out of it.
"We must set to work, then," Thorin announced, eyes gleaming. "To find gifts for you, then, little Hobbit."
"Oh, no!" Bilbo protested, tried to, at any rate, but Óin gave astonishingly good hugs, and he was a little busy enjoying it to sound terribly against the idea. "It is my tradition. There is no need for you to go to the trouble."
"Nonsense," Bofur said, chucking him on the chin and grinning. "Sounds lovely. Gifts for all, I say!"
"Quite right," Balin said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Just the other day, I came across something that would suit my brother well. Off to the markets, I am!" And off he marched, the others waving themselves and wandering off looking thoughtful, leaving Bilbo with Thorin.
"I really do not need-" he started, but Thorin shook his head sharply, and abruptly started to chuckle.
"You are a wonder, my Hobbit," he said, running one affectionate hand down Bilbo's arm, making him shiver. "Presents for all," he muttered, and with one last grin, he strode from the room.
"Honestly," Bilbo sighed. "Dwarves."
***
He ignored all the activity around the mountain the next few days. The Company seemed incapable of keeping things between them, for once they had an idea, the whole mountain seemed to be involved somehow, and during his morning stroll around the halls, he was halted and asked over a dozen times for confirmation of the when during the main celebration day one should give a gift, and what exactly constituted an appropriate gift to give to one's family and friends and acquaintances and business associates and random strangers in the street. The Dwarrows of Erebor, it seemed, were in a mood for presents.
That, coupled with the trees that were just everywhere, and the Dwarrows running about with preparations for what seemed to be enough food to hold feasts for the next month, Bilbo for some reason felt quite... melancholy.
He wasn't home sick, not exactly. He'd made the decision to stay at the mountain as it was re-established, and he knew that even had he left, he would not have made it back to the Shire in time for the winter celebrations. It wasn't even that he wanted his home, or a more Shire-style of celebration. He missed some of his relations and friends, but not so much as he would miss his silly Dwarrows if he left the mountain, that was for sure. He wasn't very certain at all what was making him feel so down, even as he was happy, he knew that.
He was happy here. Whoever described Dwarrows as stoic and heartless did not know them at all, Bilbo decided. They had taken to him well enough, and were being more than tolerant where it came to his little celebration. Perhaps the Dwarrows were just itching for a reason to celebrate. And who could blame them? Bilbo did not care a whit if that were their motivation, as these Dwarrows more than deserved a chance to throw themselves into the party mood, as it were. If it made them smile, it made Bilbo smile.
He was happy here. He was. He just felt... odd.
Alright, fine, there might be a reason for that, but Bilbo was nod ready to be facing the reason for his moroseness, thank you very much. He'd much prefer to mope in blissful ignorance.
"Are you pouting about Thorin again?" Kíli asked from behind him, bounding up with his brother, who slung an arm around Bilbo for a side-along hug.
"We're off to market to buy presents!" Fíli announced cheerfully, not waiting for him to answer Kíli's frightfully inappropriate question. "And then down to see Marf the engraver. He's the deftest hand in the mountain, and I have a bracelet I made for Amad that I'd like inscribed."
"Mam should be here, soon!" Kíli exclaimed, bouncing along. "Thorin had a raven arrive this morning. A nice big caravan of all our people, come the long way up and around the top of the Misty Mountains, and back down to us again. Uncle's sending out warriors to guide them in. They should get here in time for our celebration!"
"Our celebration?" Bilbo asked with no small amount of exasperation, though butterflies were fluttering in his poor stomach. Oh, now he needed more gifts! "And your people are travelling at this time of year?"
"Yeah," Fíli said, grinning. "The Blue Mountains are pretty much tapped dry at this point. Erebor was our last hope. Even if Uncle failed, the rest were going on to the Iron Mountains, and a small group might have tried to reclaim the old home lands in the Grey Mountains up north. They all left not long after we did, but wagons of belongings and wee children move so much slower, and like Kíli said, they were going the long way; North a fair way, and down again, to stay as safe as possible from Orc packs and such."
"Besides," Kíli interjected. "Dwarrows are tough. The cold doesn't bother us so much, and any little pack of Orcs would be foolish to attack a whole caravan of heavily armed Dwarrows with young to protect."
"Most of the Orcs and Goblins around here are the dregs left from the battle, anyhow," Fíli said. "None of them will be looking to go near a Dwarrow anytime soon, in their wretched state. Especially when Dain went off hunting the stragglers for sport."
"Good thing he was needed back in his mountain, else he'd have happily cavorted about the mountains on that pig of his," Kíli snickered happily, rocking in place.
"Right," Bilbo agreed faintly, mind whirring. "Well, I'm off. I need to borrow a hand cart."
"What for?" Kíli asked suspiciously, laughter dropping away as he stopping dead in place.
"I'm not going back to the Markets," Bilbo said exasperatedly. "I'm just going out to the woods to collect some green. I should like to decorate my little stove and make a wreath for my door. And Thorin's mantle would look fine, also, with some sprigs of something, a wreath perhaps, and I could borrow some of those beautiful red balls off the tree for the display to tie it all in together nicely..." He trailed off, planning the scene in his mind.
He wanted to decorate his own little room a bit, certainly, but he'd had the niggling sense of wrongness when viewing Thorin's rooms since he had brought in the tree. The room should be so festive with it in, but the rest of the room was bare of decoration- it really could do with some accentuating pieces. He had some wonderful candles, and beautiful solid silver candle holders he had bought from one of the immensely talented Dwarrows in the market place, and maybe a touch of, of... well. It couldn't hurt. Nobody had to know. Did they?
"Wreath?" Fíli asked abruptly, right beside his head, and he jumped, clutching a hand to his chest at the fright.
"Yes, wreaths, very traditional," he gasped, fanning himself. What was wrong with him lately?
"A wreath for Uncle's rooms, eh?" Kíli asked knowingly, and had the gall to wink at him.
"Oh Bilbo," Fíli sighed. "Would you please just kiss him? Put us all out of our misery?"
Bilbo huffed loudly.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," he said, and turned on his heel and stalked off to find his cart.
***
He was teetering on a ladder when Thorin found him later that day. Or rather, when Thorin leapt forward to catch him as his rickety step wobbled and slowly started to topple.
"Hello," Bilbo said, arms around Thorin's neck, and more than a little breathless.
"Any particular reason you saw fit to try for a broken neck?" Thorin asked calmly, slowly lowering him to the ground. "And in the middle of my gathering room, for me to find the body later?"
"Well, not later obviously, since you are here now," Bilbo reasoned, brushing down his shirt sleeves of specks of leaf litter. "And I was hanging... well. I was placing a decoration."
Thorin stared at him a moment, before his gaze turned upwards. And stared some more.
"There's a twig hanging from my ceiling."
"It's not a twig. Well, it is, but it, it... Eh hem." Bilbo trailed off, blushing heavily. "It's mistletoe," he finished in a rush.
"I... do not know what that is," Thorin admitted, still staring.
"Oh," Bilbo said, suppressing a sigh of relief. He'd hoped that the typical disinterest of Dwarrows in all things green and growing extended to this, but he hadn't been sure.
"Well," he explained brightly. "It's actually a parasitical plant that grows in certain trees in the Shire, and everywhere else, I think, since I found it well enough! It's an odd thing, as while it can cause sickness and withering in the host tree, the benefits incurred by the spread of seed by birds in the form of diversity of species and the increased rate of germination of new crops-"
"Why is it hanging from my ceiling?" Thorin asked, frown edging onto his brow.
"It's pretty?" Bilbo hedged nervously.
Thorin reached for the plant, and Bilbo, oh he was so foolish. Later when he would think back, it was unlikely that Thorin intended to tear the plant down, but Bilbo panicked, and perhaps he did want Thorin to know after all...
"Kissing!" he blurted, watching Thorin's hand rise to the plant, and almost immediately felt his face turn a deep crimson. Thorin froze.
"Kissing?" Thorin choked out, slowly turning incredulous eyes on Bilbo.
"Mistletoe, it's considered a symbol of love and happiness," and oh, look, he was babbling. "The berries, when one encounters another under the branch of the mistletoe, one picks a berry and gifts the person a kiss. When all berries are gone, no more kisses may take place beneath the branch," Bilbo cautioned, eyes darting about as he aimed for a casual tone and instead hit flustered, unable to do much more than blather on and hope for a chance to escape. "It's terribly bad luck to continue on after all the berries are all gone. I'm not quite sure why, a Hobbit superstition, and what are you doing?" he asked shrilly, as Thorin quick as a flash, relieved the branch of a berry.
"I told you, we would do all we could to honour your traditions," Thorin told him gravely, before he swooped in.
Bilbo was certain that if he were to die right at this moment, he would die... well, frustrated that some bugger had interrupted such a moment! But otherwise, quite content. Yes.
Or, you know. Deeply aggrieved that he was dying in the middle of the most amazing experience of his life.
Thorin's lips were softer and warmer than Bilbo had expected, and he had expected a whole lot. The beard was an unusual sensation, but oh, quite delicious, and he had wondered so long at what it would feel like, losing himself in daydreams of such back during the Quest, as early as Rivendell even. The reality was...
There were more vague thoughts in his head about how wonderful Thorin smelt, and the weight and warmth of his hands on Bilbo's waist, and there was a small amount of panicking, if he was really paying attention, but...
Oh, it was easy, it was natural, it was tingling, amazing, earth shattering, Gandalf's-fireworks-exploding-behind-his-eyelids brilliant. Thorin's tongue flicked out ever so briefly to taste his lips, and then again and again, and just as Bilbo felt himself about to swoon and fall, Thorin was withdrawing, and Bilbo heard the breathy little sound of disappointment that came from his own mouth, and blushed anew.
Thorin stared at him a moment, that pretty pink tongue dashing out again to taste his own lips, even as his gaze dropped to Bilbo doing the same, and he blushed, red moving up across his cheeks and blazing his ears brightly in the most adorable way.
"What," he started, and then stopped to clear his throat when his voice rasped uncomfortably. "What do I do with the berry?"
"I'll take it," Bilbo managed numbly. Thorin handed him the berry, and Bilbo was not entirely sure what madness took a hold of him in that moment, but he went to the tips of his toes and yanked another berry from the spray and took a hold of Thorin's beard braid- and oh, how convenient that was, that lovely neat, gold-trimmed hand hold just perfect for exactly this- and yanked him in for another kiss, this one harder, hotter, wetter. Mmm, more tongue.
Briefer.
Bilbo staggered back, a little shocked at his own brazenness, and cleared his throat a time or two. Thorin was quite still, mouth a little agape, and eyes glazed, and Bilbo nodded decisively.
"You'll notice the Ivy and Holly and Laurel upon your mantle, and the wreaths throughout the room. They too are traditional, though no rules for, for-" He broke off when Thorin smiled at him, warm and tender and his mind flailed to grasp for what he had been saying.
"May I have the berry?" Thorin asked, voice low and warm.
"The what?" Bilbo asked, more than a little dazed.
"The berry you picked," Thorin said, gesturing to his hand with another little smile.
Bilbo opened his palm and Thorin plucked the berry up, smile only widening.
"Don't eat it," Bilbo said, eyes locked onto that smile. Oh, how beautiful it was! "They're poisonous."
"Of course they are," Thorin chuckled, hand brushing Bilbo's fondly before he wandered from the room.
Bilbo hummed to himself and looked about Thorin's gathering area, absently ensuring that all his decorating was done, and noted the little bit of mess he had to tidy. Best to take care of that quick, then. He rather thought he deserved a nice warm bath and a bit of a wank after that.
***
When Bilbo went to wander to the kitchen the next morning to partake in a little more baking, there was Mistletoe hanging almost every few feet in every corridor and tunnel that Bilbo could see.
Half of them already looked well picked.
The Dwarrows, too, were enthusiastically embracing this new tradition as well, by the sights that Bilbo was seeing in his innocent walk.
It was entirely possible that he was scarred for life.
It was sweet, though, and Bilbo's escort had appeared out of nowhere- as they were wont to do- to trail after him to his destination, but a dip in the hall, and having to wait for a cart to rumble by, meant that he stopped and was joined by the two guardsmen thereafter. One had gasped and blushed, but quickly reached for a berry and kissed Bilbo clumsily on the forehead, before gifting him the berry, and they had all moved on, the second guard chuckling in delight.
If these Dwarrow did not stop being so adorably sweet, Bilbo was never going to leave this mountain.
Balin was waiting for him in the kitchens, sitting by the bench square that seemed to have unofficially been claimed as Bilbo's, grinning widely from a stool as Bilbo wandered into the kitchen.
"So lovely to see you, Balin," Bilbo smiled, padding up to his friend. "What can I do for you this morning?"
"You can keep being yourself, you wonderful little Hobbit," Balin beamed, standing to tug him into a great bear hug, swaying Bilbo happily.
"Alrig- what?"
"Such a wonderful little Hobbit," Balin sniffed, drawing back and smiling proudly, misty eyed.
"What?"
"I'm sure you'll be wanting your breakfast, so I will leave you to it," Balin said, patting Bilbo on the head gently. He sniffled, looking over Bilbo once more, before reaching into his over-robe and fishing out two decorations, popping them onto Bilbo's bench and leaving him with one last pat to his curls.
Bilbo stared after him, more than a little baffled, before turning back to his latest little offerings.
They were metal of some sort, and beautifully enamelled. A jolly looking Dwarrow, something like a cross between Bombur and Balin, round-bellied and white haired, laughing in red robes and a dapper cap, his boot tips and robe accents gilt in gold and shining brightly. The other was clearly a hobbit, with sparkling green eyes and the typical pointed ears poking whimsically from bouncing curls, in green trousers and weskit, and his own cap with beautiful tiny silver bells. A festive Dwarrow and Hobbit for his tree.
Bilbo sniffled a little, hugging the little figures to himself a moment, immensely touched by the symbolism of the gift. Dwarrows and Hobbits celebrating together.
Even if the gits had not even bothered to ask him what exactly they were celebrating yet.
The new figures went carefully into his pocket for later, and he trotted off to retrieve a fresh loaf to munch with some jam, and some cheese, already planning his baking carefully.
His stupid adorable Dwarrows perhaps deserved something extra special for their tea that afternoon.
***
At some point, Bilbo was not sure when, a sprig of Mistletoe, positively bursting with berries, had appeared above his little work area in the kitchen.
Suspiciously appeared.
While crafting his little tea cakes -in three different flavours and glazed in a cooked sugar icing- a few of the different kitchen workers and visitors to the heated hall had come to collect some kisses, most going for modest pecks on his forehead and affectionate bristling busses on his cheek, only one Dwarrow brazen enough to bend him back and lay a great smacking smooch on his lips, much to the raucous approval of the rest of the kitchen's residents.
The few others, well. Thorin had visited the kitchen on three separate occasions between elevenses and lunch. On each occasion, he'd left Bilbo flushed and breathless and dizzy with happiness, with the catcalls of the Dwarrows around them echoing after him.
Bofur came to see him after lunch, darting forward to catch Bilbo up and spin him in a quick circling jig, ending with a twirl and bending Bilbo back, swooping in for what Bilbo expected to be quite the enthusiastic snog- only for Bofur to halt at the last moment and instead gift him one affectionate, and very gentle kiss on his lips, and standing him up again.
"Lovin' this tradition of yours," he said cheekily, adjusting his hat with a jaunty flick and a happy grin.
"I would bet that you are," Bilbo agreed, still giggling, fanning his face. "But you didn't take a berry."
"Didn't I?" Bofur asked, expression twisting into an exaggerated show of regret. "Oh deary me, let me just pick yon berry and we'll have another go of it, aye?"
"Oh, stop." Bilbo flapped a hand at him, instead moving some of his freshly made egg sandwiches to a plate and plonking them in front of the chuckling Dwarrow.
"Thorin's in quite the mood," Bofur said innocently, taking a large bite of his lunch. "I'm surprised the lads haven't been in here to bug you."
"Oh, what have they done now?" Bilbo cried, throwing his hands in the air. "Thorin was in a lovely mood when he was here an hour ago to, to, well. In any case, if they've gone and mucked that up, I shall be taking my wooden spoon to them, let me tell you."
"Oh, they didn't do anything," Bofur said around a mouthful of sandwich, and went silent while he dug into the second on his plate, while Bilbo stared at him impatiently.
Bofur grinned when he was done, handing the plate back and looking oh so innocent.
"Lovely bite that was," he said, smile mischievous. "Thankyou kindly for sharing."
"Bofur," Bilbo said with great impatience, when the Miner said nothing else, merely reaching to snag one of Bilbo's red apples from the bowl on his counter. "What is wrong with Thorin?"
"I never said anything was wrong with Thorin," Bofur said, tossing his apple in the air a few times. "In fact, he's in an amazingly good mood. I thought the lads would be down here thanking you for it."
"And why would they be thanking me?" He firmly ignored the flush crawling up his cheeks at Bofur's knowing grin.
As for his friend, Bofur could not leave well enough alone, and reached up to snag a berry from the mistletoe, kissing Bilbo's cheek and passing him the berry, and made for the door.
"Why do you think?" Bofur called, and was gone.
There was really no need to read much into that. For all Bilbo knew, Thorin was in a great mood because he was able to go around kissing everyone, not just Bilbo.
It would be nice. If it was Bilbo. And the kissing. But how was he to know if it was or not?
***
So, Bilbo might have been hiding.
Again.
This time, he'd taken the safer route and not told Ori where to find him. Not that Bilbo was in trouble this time. He just wanted to be alone.
Alright, so he didn't want to be alone. He was just...
Uncertain.
Once the idea was in his head, Bilbo could not stop thinking about Thorin roaming about the Mountain, kissing all sorts of Dwarrows under the Mistletoe, all of them receiving the same toe-curling wonderfulness that Bilbo had managed to receive a good half dozen times. And once he had started thinking about it, and aching deep inside at the thought, he'd contemplated the awful idea of witnessing it, and what sort of horribleness that would be. Truth be told, as much as Bilbo had been through on his great mad adventure with his Dwarrows, he was not brave enough to be confronted with the sight of Thorin kissing another.
He just couldn't.
Stupid traditions.
So, here he was, tucked away in his little storage cupboard of a room, with his little pot-belly stove (that Thorin had requested an engineer come to affix when it was clear that Bilbo refused to take one of the larger suites) for warmth and tea, wrapping all the larger presents he had picked in lovely swaths of brightly coloured embroidered silk he had bought from the easterners, and stuffing small sacks full of littler gifts for all his family and staunchly refusing to leave his room, pretending very hard that he wasn't hiding.
He was definitely hiding.
His presents were all completed and wrapped, and hidden safely away under his bed again, and Bilbo was back to melancholically staring into the open square door of his little stove, ignoring the fact that he could be in Thorin's lovely receiving room, surrounded by his friends-come-family, and warming himself by a nice large fire while admiring his beautiful tree. Instead of feeling lonely and a little cold and with a numb bum from sitting on the cold hard floor for a few hours.
A banging at his door made him jump and almost spill the dregs of his lukewarm tea, and he glared at the barrier between himself and the one who had startled him.
The banging came again when he didn't rise to open it, and then there was silence, and Bilbo huffed, turning back to his fire. Best to let everybody think he was not at home, so they would leave him alone to mope.
"Halfling, if you don't open this door, I'm choppin' it down, frame and all, with my axes!" Dwalin bellowed through the keyhole.
"Don't you dare!" Bilbo yelled in panic, and then cursed himself when he heard who was certainly Glóin give a loud "Ah HA!".
"Bugger," he whispered to himself, dithering on what was the outcome most beneficial to himself; answer the door and be bothered by Dwarrows, or wait and possibly be ducking for cover from wildly flying splinters.
They may just leave again. It was possible
Or, they might have Nori with them ready to have his latch unhooked in about three seconds to stroll in looking smug.
Dammit.
Bilbo glared as Glóin and Dwalin and Óin all followed him in, cramming into his tiny room.
"Right," Óin said, dropping a great hulking satchel on to the bed, hauling him up to sit next to it. "Let's have a look at you then."
"Whatever fo- I'm not sick!" he cried, when Óin undid the straps of his bag and started withdrawing pots and potions of all kinds.
"I'll be the judge of that," Óin said ominously, cracking his knuckles and reaching to start an examination.
"I am perfectly well," Bilbo insisted as Óin turned his head this way and that, and Dwalin snorted loudly.
"You've missed a lot of the meals a Hobbit needs," Glóin said with great disapproval, tutting at him. "Barely seen you for days!"
"Thorin's in a state over it," Dwalin said, frowning deeply at Bilbo. "What with the preparations for the arrival of the rest of our kin -what looks to be tomorrow- and your great celebration in a week, he's stomping and stressing and worryin' that you've not left your room in days."
"I have so left," Bilbo protested, and received a whole bunch of glares for his troubles.
"Hiding" Nori coughed into his fist, and Bilbo huffed.
"I am not," he protested weakly, and Óin gave him the most disappointed of looks.
"You need a hot meal and some company," Óin diagnosed, yanking him from the bed and tossing him to Nori, and Bilbo squawked when Nori took the opportunity to pull a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and-
"Its purpose is kissing, not fondling, you wretch of a being!" he protested loudly, and Nori laughed, dragging him out his room and down the corridor after Dwalin and Glóin, Óin trailing behind and muttering to himself.
Bilbo only had another moment to gulp in anticipation before he was yanked into Thorin's receiving room and dragged through to the dining area, the rest of the Company hollering loudly in greeting.
They must have been worried. A table laden with grand fare and not a bite had so far; the silly gits had actually waited for him to come to the table, for once, and now all groaning that they could finally eat.
Thorin was at the head of the table. Smiling, but subdued, eyes relieved and something Bilbo couldn't quite identify before he was buried under a Dwarven snuffle pile and shoved into a seat.
Through lovely roasted meats and a rather odd but incredibly tasty traditional Dwarven Fish dish, with breads and cheese and pudding and jam tarts (Dwarves ate rather heavy meals when they could- though these days there tended to be at least one plate of vegetables for Bilbo to add to his plate) Thorin was quiet. He ate, though slowly and with head down, and contributed little, even after Bofur produced a nice barrel of mead and set the lot of them to toasting and singing. He was there, he smiled, he nodded along to tales and bobbed to songs, but Thorin was... well. He was almost the Thorin that Bilbo had known back at the beginning of their quest. Solemn and apart and weighed down by a whole world of troubles.
Well. They could not have that. No matter how much Bilbo wanted to sulk.
When next Dwalin shouted something down to Thorin, Dwalin being seated quite conveniently next to Bilbo at the table, Bilbo made sure to catch Thorin's eye and give him the warmest smile he could manage, hoping just a little it might bring a brighter smile to Thorin's dear face.
For a moment, Thorin looked confused, and oh, Bilbo had right royally mussed things up if Thorin was surprised to see Bilbo smiling at him. His eyes fell to the table for a moment, before darting back up to Bilbo's, and he smiled back tentatively, face relaxing when Bilbo beamed happily.
Thorin turned back to murmur with Dori and Balin for a while, Dwalin patting Bilbo on the back with a satisfied smirk, and not long after, Bilbo was a little disappointed to see Thorin stand to excuse himself. Before he left, though, he slunk down the table to Bilbo, hovering nearby as Bilbo stumbled to stand, and they moved away from the horde of smirking unsubtle Dwarrows suddenly pointedly 'not' listening in.
"How are you?" Thorin asked carefully, and, oh, that face. Bilbo needed that face to smile, happy and carefree again.
"I am quite well," he insisted brightly, "very busy with preparations lately. But yes, very happy, thank you for asking."
"Oh," Thorin said, pleased and surprised and moving in to Bilbo's space a little more. "I- I had thought..."
"You had thought?" Bilbo asked, leaning into Thorin a little. By the Valar, he had missed this dwarf this so very much, locking himself up these last few days. He was such a fool of a Hobbit!
"I... Well. I know we are a poor substitute for your people, despite our efforts; I know that you must be disappointed to be missing the celebrations of your homelands locked away in the mountain as you are."
"What?" Bilbo asked, leaning back in surprise. "I mean, no! You, all of you have been wonderful, every last Dwarrow in this mountain has been amazing, and I most certainly have not been locked up anywhere. I like living in Erebor, Thorin. I really do, I love it here."
"But," Thorin said, expression warring between pleased blushing, and a doubtful scowl. "The mountain is no place for a Hobbit to flourish."
"Hogwash!" Bilbo said hotly. "Who has said? I am perfectly content. I am happy here, thank you very much, enough that I would stay here always if it were permitted!"
"Truly?" Bombur asked behind him, and when had that giant fellow managed to sneak up on him so? "You'd stay here with us, and live here for good?"
"Well, yes," Bilbo frowned, somewhat perplexed. He thought they were aware of this. "I know that Dwarrows do not open their homes for outsiders, though, so I thought perhaps I could one day come back to Dale and-"
"No," Thorin cut him off, grinning broadly, now, and thank goodness, there was that smile. "We rarely allow outsiders to live within our walls. Not never. This is my mountain, won for me by Bilbo Braveheart, and he is most welcome to live within our walls. Foolish Hobbit," he finished with a carefree laugh.
Of course, that set their gaggle of eavesdroppers to cheering and toasting, and after Bilbo and Thorin both were bombarded with the hug fest that seemed to have startled, they managed to drift unnoticed into the hall by themselves.
"I wanted to ask you," Thorin said, smiling bashfully, head ducking low for a moment. "It is likely that the caravan of my people will arrive on the morrow, and things will most likely become quite hectic for a time, organising living arrangements and work assignments and guild placements, and, well. I had wanted to gather those family of the Company together before all that starts, though, here, to reunite. And I was hoping that you would come, to meet them, I mean."
"I'd be ever so honoured," Bilbo managed around a sudden lump around his throat, breathing sharply through his nose to ease it. "I have so wanted to meet the few people you have all spoken briefly of. Which, in fact, I am not sure who it is that I will be meeting! Fíli and Kíli's mother, and I believe that Glóin and Bombur both have wives? And of course, Glóin speaks often of his son."
Thorin nodded ruefully, resting his weight against the wall beside him for a moment.
"A Dwarrow superstition. If one is to speak of those he loves with longing from separation too often, it is as if prophesy, and they may find themselves separated for good, through death or loss. And most say that if one locks the memory of all that they love within their heart and hoard it jealously, that none can take it away. So we talk very little of our loved ones when distance keeps us from them."
Bilbo stared at him a moment. Of course Dwarrows would hoard their family as they would gold and gems, to the point of guarding away the very memory and existence of them. It did make a lot of sense, considering the insanity that was a Dwarrow.
"You will meet them all tomorrow," Thorin reassured him, straightening from his slouch against the wall and taking Bilbo's hands in his own. "Do not worry. They will adore you as we do."
Bilbo hummed, not capable of much more with how breathless and tight in the chest with these silly emotions of his, and so he squeezed Thorin's great paws with his own and smiled up at Thorin, a small part of him shouting at himself to stop mooning and behave with some dignity. Thorin smiled easily in return, so fond and free, and opened his mouth to speak, before his gaze darted over Bilbo's shoulder and he sighed instead, gently dropping Bilbo's hands after one last squeeze.
"Duty calls," he said, instead, running one hand down Bilbo's arm and making his way along the hall to the waiting courtier.
"Will you please, for the love of all Mahal, please tell him you love him?" Dori asked, leaning around the doorway and scowling, though he was more than a little misty-eyed as well.
Bilbo spluttered, and Dori rolled his eyes, pulling back around the door with a huff.
***
Dwarves really did not talk of their families much. Bilbo was somewhat annoyed. There were many, many, many Dwarrows they had failed to mention before.
As far as Bilbo could tell so far, Dori, Nori and Ori were greeting their two sisters (Moli and Holi, that had made Bilbo work terribly hard to suppress his snickers at; what a line-up) and the husband of one (Hruk, was his name, though to what sister he wasn't quite sure), plus a few wee young ones (whose names he had forgotten almost immediately), as well as their own mother (Foli, and Bilbo had definitely not smirked. Nope). Bifur's father was there (Rifur, nice and easy to remember), and Bombur and Bofur's mother (Drakhn, which had a pronunciation Bilbo was not even going to bother attempting any time soon. She had been very amused by the first attempt), and Bombur's wife (Yfal, very sweet and little- almost smaller than Bilbo!) and six, six children, the genders that Bilbo had not been able to discern just yet (nor their names).
Balin and Dwalin had two cousins through their mother (Galf and Holf), that they were very enthusiastically greeting with headbutts and chatter, and Dwalin apparently had a sweetheart (whose name appeared to be Bo?) that he had been courting with the intent of marrying! Glóin's famous wife (Farn) and son (Gimli) were present, as well as Óin's husband (Benrin), and they were all doing the rounds with hugging everyone and making a muddle of things, so Bilbo had to admit, he was feeling quite overwhelmed.
Fíli and Kíli had, in fact, very enthusiastically greeted their mother, but now they were with her and Thorin both, and with some Dwarrows that Bilbo was quite certain were female, and utterly perplexed with who they might be.
Especially as one seemed to be permanently attached to Thorin's side. And he did not seem to mind.
And she was quite pretty.
He was a Hobbit. Parties amongst Hobbits were no small affairs, and he was used to being around many many people at once. The difference, he thought, was that as a Hobbit, one knew everyone else, practically, that lived in and around their home. Here, he knew very little, it seemed, and these Dwarrows deserved to be greeting their kin and basking in their presence again, not groping for small talk appropriate for a Hobbit that they did not know. Bilbo was just sidling subtly for the door, intent on excusing himself discreetly and allowing the Company their peace, when Fíli yelled his name from across the room.
"So, this is the Hobbit?" Thorin's sister -Dís, Bilbo was sure she was called- said archly when he was dragged over for inspection, eyeing him up and down as she circled him, and the Company roared their amusement at her choice of words, all of them seeming to be determined to tell their kin about Thorin's first meeting with Bilbo.
"I shan't call him a grocer," the pretty one that had been attached to Thorin's hip suddenly said above the clamour, and clasped Bilbo to her. "He's far too adorable to insult so."
"Yani, leave him alone," Thorin said, exasperated but smiling fondly.
"But he's so cute," the Dwarrow -Yani- said, leering and cuddling Bilbo close.
"Better you than me," Kíli said sympathetically, before cackling wildly.
"What...?" Bilbo managed, eyes a little wild.
"Get off him, Yani," one of the other female Dwarrows said, and Yani pouted, but returned to a chuckling Thorin's side.
"I suppose introductions are in order?" Dís said, smiling at him in a way that reminded Bilbo very much of Fíli.
"I should say so," Bilbo said, and Dís laughed. "You... are Dís, are you not?" he asked.
"I am," she said, crossing to draw him into a warm hug.
"I don't know if you remember me speak of it, Bilbo, but Dís and I once had a brother named Frerin," Thorin said, and though he was still smiling, there was an edge of not entirely dulled grief there, and Bilbo could not help following the impulse to step out of Dís' hug and forward into Thorin's space, to reach out, slide his hand into Thorin's, even as he nodded his answer. Thorin smiled down at him, warm and grateful.
"My brother had the opportunity to find and marry his One early in life. He was never one to follow tradition, so- well. That is neither here nor there, now, and I am grateful, as even if I cannot make him known to you, I may introduce you to his wife, Yuna. And my neice, Yani."
"You know how you're always calling Fíli and I terrors?" Kíli said evilly. "Yani is way worse than us."
"Hey!" the girl objected.
"It's true!" Fíli said. "Since you'll be staying on here at Erebor, soon you'll be cursing her existence just like the rest of us, Bilbo."
"When have you ever heard me curse about anybody?" Bilbo said, flushing when Yani had exclaimed "he's staying with us?" quite excitedly.
"That time at Beorn's house, when Uncle-"
"We are not bringing that up in front of your poor mother," Bilbo interrupted Fíli, blushing all the more at the chuckles from some of the Company.
"I don't remember that?" Thorin said, free hand tugging at his beard braid, and Bilbo cleared his throat and slanted his gaze away from the sight; he was fairly certain that should not be so... stimulating.
"Do you remember that hellish ale that Beorn brought out the second night we stayed with him?" Bilbo asked him, and Thorin's head tilted to the side, frown deepening.
"No," he said, baffled.
"Exactly," Bilbo said wryly, shaking his head when Balin cackled expansively at the comment and Thorin shrugged with a grin.
"And last, but certainly, most definitely not least, is Baljak, my lovely soon-to-be-wife," Fíli said, presenting the last Dwarrow with the sweet dimples next to him with a flourish.
"Oh, you... really?" Bilbo asked. "What have you said to the poor girl to convince her of that?"
"OI!" Fíli yelled, and the Company was laughing, and so were their families, and Dís thumped him on the back as she chortled, and Bilbo sighed.
Oh yes; he seemed to have acquired a whole new flock of Dwarrows to adore.
Bilbo was fine with that.