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Every day he spent in Erebor, Bilbo found himself cursing his soft and Tookish heart for various reasons. Sometimes his heart grew too fond of the King's nephews, for all the mischief and trouble they cause, and have him longing to be able to call them his own. Sometimes too his heart grew soft and squishy for the home he left behind in the Shire- not that he'd trade his dwarves in the mountain for anything, mind, but such was the plight of a Hobbit in a hole-less mountain. Sometimes things just didn't quite fit like they should.
However, more than anything, the number one reason he cursed his soft heart was Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, and his perfect, sculpted face.
Thorin caught his eye on the day he first ducked into his smial and insulted him, and proceeded to catch his heart much later on. At the moment, Bilbo didn't think there was a single body part left of him that Thorin did not have a hold over, but this was a problem for quite a few reasons. Chief amongst them? King Under the Mountain. King. What was a hobbit to a king? Yet he yearned for Thorin every day just as hotly as he did the day before, and he only had his Tookish romanticism to blame for him wondering if he ever had a chance.
As it were, the King Under the Mountain was currently in the market for a consort. The royal market, mind, not just any old someone who came along with a bouquet of flowers and a heart on his sleeve (Though Bilbo thought the roses they grew in the Dale were plump and lovely enough for a king, he didn't want to take any chances).
He'd found out this unfortunate fact at one of the Company's weekend suppers (they all made an effort to dine together on the eve before the work-week's end, all 14 of them) when Thorin and Balin made the announcement. The King Under the Mountain needed a consort to share the load of ruling, and a procession of the highest dams from lordly families from Ered Luin and the Iron Hills were coming over the following weeks to throw themselves at Thorin's feet and plead their case for marriage.
Bilbo, at the time, thought that the stone had dropped out from under his feet. But it was not the mountain; just his heart. And stomach. His appetite had never disappeared so quickly, and he thought he might be physically ill. He'd excused himself with a belly ache, and cried himself dry in his quarters for no reason that same night. There was no reason, really. He never had a chance to begin with. He knew this, he knew this like he knew his name was Baggins, but he still felt as though the king had picked a crack down the center of his heart.
He wanted nothing more than to curl up under his bed and waste away into the next life, but he shook himself out of it after a while. He cursed his Tookish heart for so much, but he benefited from its tenacity. He would not lie down and weep for his loss, no matter how much he wanted to. Even if he couldn't have Thorin, he'd make damn sure, to the best of his ability, that whoever he chose was worthy enough of him. Thorin had lost so much, and had settled for so much in his life because of it. He settled for a smith's apron when he should have donned a crown, and when he should have slept on a down mattress he settled for the ground. There would be no settling- no, Bilbo would not allow it. He would have the consort equivalent of the crown and down mattress that he so deserved, Bilbo's heart be damned.
"I want to help," he'd besought Balin the very next day in his study, and explained himself vaguely. He would not have Balin know of his deepest motives, but he did explain his desire for Thorin's true happiness. Balin had given him a long, saddened look that Bilbo couldn't quite decipher.
"I think he'd appreciate that very much, laddie."
Bilbo Baggins was not a burglar, as he'd fought to explain for so long. However, he was quiet, and he had elf-sharp ears, and thus became somewhat of a Nori overnight. That is to say, he spied.
When the dams arrived in Erebor and settled into their respective visiting halls and chambers, Bilbo made nice with each and every one. Just the sight of them, with their luscious braided beards and thigh-length hair, sent Bilbo's stomach twisting with envy (the pinnacle of dwarvish beauty, which was not possible for the likes of a hobbit to match), but he held the most polite of smiles on his face whenever he beheld them. He'd have tricked even the likes of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins into thinking he was genuinely enjoying her company.
What he was truly doing was looking, like a jeweler studied gems for imperfections, or like he would study his cousin's pockets for the outlines of spoons. He looked for cracks in their visages, or sneers behind their beards. Thorin would not have a dam who sneered, for he'd received too many of those in the faces of men and elves in his exile. He made mark of the ones with ostentatious braids and markless beads (braids with no purpose but complexity and beads for no accomplishment but vanity; he'd been taught to tell which was which in his time amongst the dwarves), because he knew that Thorin detested overmuch austerity. How else would you have had the king of the dwarves slipping up through the toilet of a man's house, except by having an earthly king? That's what Bilbo thought, anyway. Over the course of weeks he made these observations, marking names and memorizing faces, and passing on the information to Balin and, sometimes, to Thorin. Thorin's schedule had exploded in busyness since the dam's arrival, for he had much entertaining to do and many dates to meet. Bilbo thought the whole affair to be ludicrous: if Bilbo were not putting in the work he was, how was Thorin even expected to remember all of their names? Much less their personalities and outward flaws.
Speaking of outward flaws, Bilbo was well-aware that simply watching the dams like farm animals would not be enough to weed out the rotten ones. Thus, he introduced the ladies of the high society to Hobbit tea.
Every day at the same hour he entertained dozens of dams at once, alone, through a long and multi-tiered tea, during which he extracted the most horrendous of gossips and picked out the weakest links. All of the dams who had fine outward appearances but rotted, ugly interiors. There was nothing more effective at bringing a person's worst qualities than tea. Bilbo knew this firsthand.
This way, Bilbo was able to pluck out the worst of the worst; the dams who would have made Thorin absolutely miserable, and been happy for it. He marked off the ones who spoke overly often of the treasury (as if he would allow Thorin to be wed to a dam who was practically no better than his grandfather) and the ones who looked down their noses at the serving dwarves. Thorin was a servant to his people- how much more would they look down on him?
Bilbo thought he had an excellent system going on, feeding information back to the king and his advisor and gathering more and more by the day. There was not a perfect apple in the basket, unfortunately, but Bilbo thought he'd found a couple who were the least bruised.
Lavik, daughter of Pavik, was a sweet dam with deep black hair and green eyes and a bellowing laugh. She overbraided her hair and thought a bit highly of herself from time-to-time, but it was nothing unmanageable, and she had no great love of treasure or riches that she had let on about. Kisek, daughter of Dorin, had surprisingly light hair in conservative designs, and was a bit (but not intolerably) abrasive. Bilbo did not like how handedly she ordered and pushed around the serving staff, but thought it was an excusable flaw given how she was raised. There were some others, all of which Bilbo made note of and passed on his approval of. He found that the ones he mentioned were being granted more private time with the king, so Bilbo plumed at the idea of his approval being taken into consideration.
(Throughout it all, there was a throbbing ache in Bilbo's chest that felt like a slowly twisting knife. He would picture some of these dams in wedding regalia, Thorin standing at the waiting end of the aisle, and had to excuse himself to rub a bit of dust out of his eyes.)
At the end of a period of two weeks, Bilbo thought he'd found the perfect dam from the selection: Gorrin, daughter of Golorin. Yes, the naming was a bit quaint- Gorrin and Thorin -but Bilbo had trouble picking out any aspect of her that was overly unlikable. She had a fair mien with honey-brown hair, not unlike his own, and grey-blue eyes. She did not overbraid nor overbead, but had a thick, curly beard that was well-kept and well-oiled. Her laugh was dainty and and genuine, and her fingers bore only the ring of her family crest. Gorrin was not overly polite, he'd found, but that wasn't such a bad thing. Bilbo didn't like to think himself overly polite, where it was appropriate (perhaps he'd been overly polite to the dwarves who ransacked his pantry, but that was another life). Best of all (or worst of all, to one perspective) Thorin seemed to like her very much. He smiled more easily when he beheld her, and had taken her on more walks and private meals than he had any of the rest of them. And she was from the Iron Hills, so it paid very much to strengthen their relationship with those families.
Bilbo thought that she would be the one. It made him sick. He smiled through it all and bore it gracefully, no matter how he felt like his insides were being pulled like roast pork when he saw the way Thorin's eyes glinted when he looked at her.
There was one last tea that Bilbo held before the decision was made, and everyone at the table was quite confident who it would be. Bilbo was not the only observant one. Gorrin was congratulated and head-butted and quite popular at the table, either with looks of pride or envy. Bilbo had nothing left to look for, so he didn't participate in the conversation much. He thought instead on what his life would look like after the wedding. His and Thorin's casual relationship might never be the same, knowing he had a wife that wasn't...well...that wasn't him. There, he said it. Or thought it. Bilbo wasn't sure he'd be able to look him in the eyes and know that he would never be on the receiving end of that loving glint.
Perhaps he'd leave. Return to the Shire, for whatever there was left for him. His dwarves would protest and try to drag him back by his suspenders, no doubt, but Bilbo was almost certain he'd never be fully comfortable again looking upon the King Under the Mountain and knowing that he would never again stand by his side and hope. He'd return the mythril mail as a wedding present, and set out within a week of the wedding party. Yes, that would save them all the most heartache, and Thorin would be so occupied with his new bride that he might not even notice he'd gone.
It would be for the best. For everyone. He hoped Gorrin's life here was wonderful, and that Thorin loved her well.
"So...be honest. How are you going to stand it?" One of the dams asked.
Bilbo tuned back in to the conversation in time to be confused. The topic must have switched from Thorin while he was lost in thought.
"Stand what?" Gorrin asked, confused. Her voice had such a lovely tone, musical to listen to.
"Him," the dam insisted, as though Gorrin should know what she meant.
"The king, you mean?"
"Yes."
Bilbo was quite sure he didn't like the implications of the conversation, but sipped his tea and deigned to listen lest he jump the gong.
"Oh, he's not so bad! He's quite sweet once you get past the introduction."
Bilbo nodded. Damn right.
"We know that, but what about-" The dam made a gesture, circling her own face.
Oh, Bilbo did not like this conversation anymore. If he liked it to begin with.
"Oh!"
Bilbo sipped his tea. Gorrin was a sweet girl, he'd like to see-
"It's not so bad when you get to know him, he's got a fine personality. He's great if you're not looking straight at him."
He thought he heard the handle of his teacup crack. Bilbo stiffened, and he began to listen much more attentively. Around him, the dams giggled.
“Do his chambers have windows?”
“Goodness, no! I've not seen them m’self, but they're far in the mountain. No windows could reach.”
“Oh, that's good. You'll be able to consummate in the dark, then.”
“Oh yes, I've thought about that. Started dropping hints that I'm shy, so he won't insist on candles,” Gorrin said.
“Good girl.”
“I beg your pardon,” Bilbo croaked out after choking on his tea. “Are we still talking about the king?”
All the dams turned to look at him, some with cheeky smiles on their lips. Bilbo straightened his shoulders.
“Oh, yes. King Thorin?” The dams who first spoke leaned in conspiratorially. “Don't tell me you haven't noticed, being the king's advisor?”
“Noticed what?”
Gorrin swatted her on the arm. “Hush. He's a hobbit, remember? They don't have the same standards.”
“Standards of what?” Bilbo bristled like a porcupine, a bit peeved.
"Well, I don't know how it is for hobbits..." She said, and leaned in to Bilbo to lower her voice. "He is a bit...homely, wouldn't you say?"
"Thorin?" He asked. He couldn't believe his ears, and Bilbo thought himself to be a very open-minded fellow. "Thorin Oakenshield? Homely?"
"Of course." Now Gorrin and the rest of the dams were looking at him as though he were a poor stupid boy who didn't know any better. "I mean, you've seen his beard. Not much to look at, that's obvious."
"Not much to-!" Bilbo squawked. Thorin's beard? That soft, thick patch of ink-black hair that absorbed all light yet outlined his scant smiles like a corona? That Bilbo had fantasized about grabbing, burying his fingers in, using as leverage to pull his face close? The one that Thorin had shorn out of shame for the loss of his home, and was just beginning to grow back? That beard? Bilbo thought he was going to boil over, but the dams kept talking.
"Mmm, and that nose. So small and sharp. Beaky's the word I'd use for it. Could almost be elvish, I say. Might be where his nephew gets it," another added conversationally.
"Face is quite narrow too, for one who claims to be of Durin's breeding. Runs in the family, though, so perhaps some poor genes got mixed up in there. I blame the grandmother!"
"Oh, don't say that so loud!"
"Hair's quite nice, though, even I must say."
"Oh yes, he does have that going for him. Easy to braid."
"Good thing, seeing as it'll be the only thing you can braid."
The dams all giggled again. Bilbo only wondered what his face looked like, for his mind was just about blank.
"You...all...think this?" He asked. 23 nods replied. Bilbo was either going to be ill or throw a chair. He'd talked up so many of these women, scrutinized them, encouraged Thorin to follow up with them, dine with them, walk with them, all of the things he so longed to do. And they could hardly stand to look at Thorin? How could Bilbo have missed this?
"It's fairly known, of course," one said, then chuckled. "We certainly weren't expecting a handsome prince!"
"Fair better sight than his poor sister-sons, though."
"Hear, hear."
"I don't know, I might say I'm quite glad I wasn't picked," said another (Grila, whom Bilbo marked off on the first day for the sheer amount of markless gold beads dotting her beard and hair). "May Mahal give you strength, waking up t'that face every morn."
Gorrin giggled. "Like I said: no windows."
"Right, then." Bilbo felt properly dreadful, and sat for the rest of the tea in dead silence. How could he have been so stupid? So blind? And he called himself observant. He would not- could not -allow Thorin to marry any of the dams at this table. If he had to throw himself at the foot of the throne and beg, he would. If he could not have Thorin, yet one of the vultures at that table could, he might as well save himself the anguish and toss himself from the ramparts right then.
Call him a selfish fool for that, for that was what he was.
Tea lasted sixty years, with conversations breaking apart, though drifting every so often back to the subject of Thorin's looks. Bilbo couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm terribly, terribly sorry to cut this tea short, m'ladies," Bilbo stood and said, using his 'get the hell out of my house, Lobelia' voice. "I'm feeling a bit peaky, and it wouldn't do to leave you all here unattended. I declare this tea adjourned. I hope you all have a pleasant day, and good morrow!"
Bilbo couldn't leave fast enough. The giggling dams lingered in the hall behind him, and as soon as he turned the corner he all but sprinted to Balin's study.
He skidded to a stop by the door, panting, and knocked rather frantically. Balin was there moments later, and took in Bilbo's state.
"Who in Durin's name is chasin' you, laddie?" He asked, looking past him down the hall in worry.
Bilbo shook his head. "Nothing. No one. Listen, Balin, we need to call this off. The engagement. Thorin can't marry any of these women."
Balin's mighty eyebrows hefted to his hairline. "Quite a change of heart you've had there. It's a wee bit late for that, I'd say."
"What? No, Balin, listen to me. He can't . I've just had the most horrendous tea of my life- not the tea, mind, that was lovely, but the tea, you understand. They were saying the most terrible things. I cannot, I will not, in good conscience, as someone who cares very deeply about Thorin's well-being, allow him to go through with a marriage to any of them."
Balin sighed. "There's no use standin' out here in the hallway. Come in and tell me what's on your mind."
Bilbo followed Balin into his study and Balin shut the door.
"You know, I thought Gorrin was a nice girl. I thought-"
"Daughter of Golorin?" Balin asked.
"Yes, her. I thought she was a nice girl. She wasn't overly pretentious, she was kind, I thought she was as perfect as things could get. I was wrong. I was so wrong, about all of them. I need to fix this."
"Laddie," said Balin. "Thorin's already got the engagement bead. Gorrin's the one he's going to propose to tonight. You gave him your word that she was one of the good ones."
"Yes, and I was wrong!" Bilbo insisted. He felt the urge to latch onto the lapels of Balin's robe and shake him. "Thorin cannot marry this girl, Balin! He cannot marry any of them! They're- they're snakes! Harpies! Vipers! I won't allow it!"
"Calm down, Bilbo. Why don't you take a breath and tell me why. You've not said why, yet," he urged.
"Oh, yes, I'll tell you why." The indignation he'd suffered just minutes before came bubbling back up to the surface like overboiled soup. "They all think he's ugly!"
Balin paused. He pressed his lips together. He didn't look confused, or angry like Bilbo was. Bilbo wasn't sure what he was.
"They said that, did they?"
"Yes! Each and every one of them, and Gorrin was the worst! Said that he was great so long as she wasn't looking straight at him, said that she would only- only...c-consummate, excuse me, with the lights off! That sort of thing. And they all agreed! Speaking on his beard, and his nose, the shape of his face, I couldn't stand for it. I won't stand for it! Thorin will not marry that girl, and if any of them even so much as come near him I will-!"
"Lad, calm down," Balin interrupted him with a very sad grimace. "Attraction is not mandatory in a marriage such as this one. However much we might like it to be."
"Yes, but-" Bilbo's words caught in his throat. "But- Balin. Balin, you cannot tell me that we're supposed to allow Thorin to settle for a dam who doesn't even care to look at him. You're not saying that."
"I'm saying, laddie," Balin sighed again, and looked as though his words pained him. "That if we limited our pool of options only to dams who found Thorin to be attractive, our scope would be very narrow indeed."
Bilbo's brain wasn't working correctly. He wasn't normally this slow on the pick-up.
"Thorin," Bilbo said. "Thorin Oakenshield. The Thorin Oakenshield. You're saying that most women find him to be...ugly? Thorin Oakenshield?"
Balin flinched, but nodded. Bilbo's stomach twisted.
"You can't be serious," Bilbo scoffed. "Thorin. That Thorin is ugly."
"By the standards of our people," Balin said slowly. "It is true that our king is...well...not much to look at. Some might even go as far- though I am not among them, and there are few I know personally who would say this -some might go as far as to say he is unpleasant to look at."
Words would not come to Bilbo. It was like the wagon in his mind had lost a wheel. Thorin? He would have said it had it not been redundant. Thorin is unpleasant to look at?
"Well," Bilbo stammered and looked for something intelligent to say. "Wh-what are your standards? If Thorin somehow does not meet them?"
Balin contemplated. "Larger nose. Rounder, stronger face. Shorter, I'd say, but not too short. I think it's the beard that puts most off of him."
"The beard that he shore to take on the shame of his people," Bilbo said. Balin winced.
"There are not many of our people who appreciate it for the sacrifice that it was. Most see it as a desecration of his honor."
"Y-yes, but, was the honor not won back by the reclaiming of Erebor?"
"It will be, once the beard length has regrown to match the deed," said Balin. "Mind, these are the general opinions. I happen to think Thorin is perfectly fine to look at. Much...the same as you do, I assume?"
"Of course!" Bilbo blurted out. He shook himself loose of the grip of confusion, and the determination returned. "Well, blast all of it. I still won't allow him to settle for a dam that does not love him body and soul. He has been settling for more than a hundred years, Balin, I cannot allow him to settle for any more. He deserves the best, and that is something that none of these dams can offer. We need a new crop."
Balin smiled pitiously and it made Bilbo irritated.
"Thorin is prepared to propose to Gorrin, daughter of Golorin, at dinner tonight. He has made his decision. I agree with you, and there are no words to describe how grateful I am for your involvement in the happiness of our king. You stand for him in a way that I only wish I had the strength to do. But Thorin is very set in his ways...and it was not unknown to us that the future consort might not be attracted to him. Thorin has looked this way all his life, save for the beard- this reception is not new to him, laddie."
"Well!" Bilbo was at a loss. Thorin himself had been ready to settle for less than the best. Was Bilbo the only champion of his happiness? So be it! "I suppose I'll have to go knock some sense into him, then! Is he in a meeting at the moment?
A gleam entered Balin's eye that was gone as soon as it came. But Bilbo knew mischief when he saw it. The whole line of Durin shared the same look, it seemed, likely inherited from Durin himself.
"No. He's just left his final one. He's in his quarters, preparing for the proposal this evening. You'll find him there," he said. "You know the way?"
"Of course I know the way. I helped clean those rooms when we settled!" Bilbo had no time to waste, if he were to convince Thorin of his right to happiness. "Thank you, Balin!"
"Good luck, laddie."
Bilbo was back sprinting through the halls towards royal apartments, praying that the princes were too busy to waylay him and only slowing his pace when he reaching the steps he was liable to trip and die upon. He thought his death would but a damper on the whole occasion. He was soon stumbling through the gilded royal halls, passing the prince's doors and the old apartments of the royal family, and skidding to a halt before the king's chambers.
He steadied himself, sucking wind yet trying to look presentable. He straightened his waistcoat, tugged on his trousers, and at last beat on the door to await an answer.
"I'm busy," came the call, muffled by the thick iron door.
"Not too busy for a visit, I hope?" Bilbo called back, suddenly and violently losing his nerve but standing firm regardless.
A chair scraped back from within the room, and a few quick footsteps prelude the door opening.
Thorin was standing there in a simple, comfortable blue tunic and black trousers, trimmed with enough silver thread to indicate his status but otherwise looking very comely on him. His black hair was tied back off of his shoulders in a loose tail, held by a thin bit of leather. His eyes were tired, as they often were, but seemed to brighten when the bright blue met Bilbo's gaze. He smiled, and Bilbo's knees were weak.
"Bilbo," he said. "I hadn't expected a visit."
"Yes, well..." Bilbo had quite forgotten what he wanted to say. "Well, erm, I had something quite important I had to say to you, but I seem to have lost it."
Thorin took pity on him. "Come in. I've just lit the fire."
"Oh, yes, thank you!" Bilbo allowed himself to be led into the room and to the loveseat near the flickering fire. The flame was young, but growing rapidly, and the warmth reached down into Bilbo's bones.
"I can call for tea, if you'd like?" Thorin asked, stoking the fire which had no need to be stoked. "You've caught me at a good time. I'm in need of a distraction."
"I can imagine." Tea! Of course! All at once, Bilbo was struck by what he needed to say. "But I have something extremely important I needed to speak to you about."
Thorin turned around, face serious. He straightened back up and approached him again. "What is it?"
Bilbo swallowed and searched for the nerve he'd had when he'd nearly fought for Thorin's honor at the tea table. He sucked in a breath and said, "You cannot marry Gorrin, daughter of Golorin."
Thorin blinked. Evidently, Bilbo had surprised him.
"You had said she was the best of them, did you not? What changed?"
"I had thought she was, but then she said some very dreadful things at tea this afternoon, and I cannot in good conscience allow you to proceed with her. I've already informed Balin, but he did not seem to take this as seriously as I would have liked. So, I'm telling you. You cannot marry that woman," Bilbo said.
Thorin crossed his thick arms. Bilbo couldn't afford himself getting distracted by them.
"What did she say?"
"She said...well, she said..." Somehow, it had not struck Bilbo until right there that in order to convince Thorin of her unfitness, he would actually have to recount those terrible things said about him to his face. No matter how badly it hurt his heart, Bilbo supposed it couldn't be helped. "She said you were homely. Ugly, is the word she ought have used, for that was how she meant it. Going on about your beard and face, and all sorts of terrible things. They all were. It was horrid. I pray that you don't have me go into detail, for hearing it once was enough and I won't have those thoughts in your mind in my own voice. She cares not for your looks at all, is what I mean to say. Therefore, she is unfit."
Bilbo said his piece and nodded firmly, but Thorin's expression did not become what he hoped. He wanted Thorin to look insulted. Disgusted. Bilbo wanted an upset that was in some way equivalent to the upset Bilbo himself was feeling even remembering those words.
But Thorin just sighed, resigned. Resigned. After all he's done, after all he's been through, his sacrifices, his losses, his humiliations, Thorin would still face the matter of his own marriage and sigh, resigned?
"I see..." Thorin said in that awful tone. Resignation. Bilbo scorned the word. "That's all?"
"That's all?" Bilbo snapped. Yes, indeed, he snapped, for this was too much anger and tension for one hobbit to bear. "This woman is to be your wife, Thorin! Your majesty! And she spoke of c-c-consummating with you in the dark so that she would not have to look upon you! Yes, that is all! That is not just an inconvenient fault, Thorin, your majesty, that is insult! And I will not, as your friend, stand here and allow you to be insulted! I won't allow it!"
Thorin's face darkened. "Bilbo-"
"No!" he snapped again. "No! I cannot be the only one responsible for your happiness! I refuse! I refuse to be the only one to stop you from settling for less than you deserve! If you will not do so, and Balin will not do so, and no one else would, then I will! I will do so! You will not marry this woman, and we will send them all back their damn hills, and we will try again! I won't allow you to have anyone who does not love you!"
"Bilbo!" Thorin sniped back. "Calm down. There's no need to get angry. But there is a need for you to understand that it is my life to do with as I please. Erebor needs a consort. My desires are not more important than the needs of my people."
"I will not calm down! It is a life that you are squandering because you refuse to see your own worth!" Bilbo responded in kind. Yes, yes, he needed Thorin to yell at him. He needed Thorin's anger. The quiet, pitiful resignation would not be stood for. "Thorin, your majesty, you are a king! You slept in dirt for several months in order to reclaim your home, and I will be damned if I allow you to sleep in dirt for the rest of your married life because you don't think you deserve better!"
"You know nothing of this life," Thorin growled, bearing down on Bilbo. "You know nothing of these responsibilities. This has been my lot since the day I was born and I've accepted it."
"Well, I don't!"
"You weren't asked to," Thorin replied.
"Well, tough! Tough luck, that you've landed yourself with a hobbit who cares for you when it seems that no one else will! Tough indeed!" Bilbo exclaimed.
"You are not the only one who cares. You are just the only one who does not understand my duties. I am not entitled to a wife who thinks me pleasing. If such a dam exists in Middle Earth, then let Mahal bring her to me, but otherwise it is of no consequence to me," said Thorin.
Resignation, again! Oh, it was like pulling teeth!
"Well, it is of consequence to me! You deserve happiness, Thorin Oakenshield, your majesty, and I will be the one to find it for you if I must. If I am the only being on this earth who cares for it, then I will be, and I will find you the dam who will love you in the manner you deserve to be loved in," Bilbo said, finally. "But you will not find it in Gorrin, daughter of Golorin, and you will not find it in any of the rest of those snakes either. We will try again."
Thorin closed his eyes, and Bilbo thought he was rolling them politely behind his lids. Bilbo's done it plenty of times.
"This is a fruitless conversation. I've procured the bead already, and I am proposing to her at the feast this evening. That will be the end of it."
"Thorin, your majesty-"
"Please, do not call me that," Thorin sighed. It was not resigned, but pained.
"I...I'm sorry. Your majesty-"
"That. Stop calling me that."
"I-...your majesty?" Bilbo asked with a furrowed brow. "Are you not king?"
"I am king, but before that I would hope that I am your friend. My friends do not pledge fealty to me, and nor will you," said Thorin, looking down at his boots and holding his arms tighter around himself.
"...Alright, then. Thorin," Bilbo acceded. "I should hope with these newfound privileges as your friend, you would heed me when I say that a marriage to this woman would make you utterly miserable. I will not stand by and allow you to subject yourself to a lifetime of misery. It is far, far less than what you deserve, and I say that as your friend. A friend who cares for you very much."
"I told you, there is nothing more to say on the matter," Thorin griped. He pushed past Bilbo to his desk, clearly intending to hunch back over it and work himself into a stupor before tonight's feast. it angered Bilbo to no end. "You know nothing of what I deserve."
"I know plenty of what you deserve, thank you very much!" Bilbo declare. "Can I count your sins? No! No more than you can count mine, I should hope. But I know you. I know you more than...well, I know you more than you know yourself, evidently, for I can enumerate precisely what you deserve!"
"And what is that?"
"Dignity," Bilbo said at once. "Dignity. Respect. Fealty. Admiration. A home. A warm hearth. Family. Love. The least of these is happiness. If you deserve nothing else, than you deserve happiness!"
"There is no happiness for me in this!" Thorin finally bellowed. He slammed his hand on his desk and swept aside some signed papers.
It only frightened Bilbo a little bit. This was what he wanted, at last!
"Then you agree!" He responded in kind. "There will be no happiness for you if you proceed with this! Damn the bead, I'll cast it into the fire myself if I must! I will not accept your union to any being who does not dearly love you, for that is the least that you deserve, or I'm not your friend!"
"I do not understand why you even care!" Thorin decried.
"Because I love you!"
The air stood still, as what he cried reached both his ears and Thorin's. The line of Thorin's back stiffened. Bile reached up the back of Bilbo's throat, and his hands began to shake.
He's ruined it. He's ruined everything. No, no, no, a fool of a Took with a foolish, Tookish heart he was. Thorin would never look at him the same way again.
"I love you," he croaked out, both to see that the air still worked and to assure himself that he really had just said what he said. "So much that it hurts me. These past weeks have been a well of sorrow and shame for me."
In for the corn, in for the crop. If this was the last thing he ever said to Thorin's face, it would be the whole and complete truth. Then he would leave, and never speak a word of it again. Thorin had not said a word of anything himself. His fingers twitching on the surface of his desk were the only sign of life in him.
"You make my heart sing," Bilbo said softly, barely heard over the crackling of the fire that had grow to a full roar since he'd entered. Thorin cocked his head just barely, as if to listen. "And you are the most beautiful man I have ever known."
Thorin's shoulders tensed hard, like the words slapped him. Bilbo pushed on, lest he lose his nerve.
"Your face was sculpted by the hands of your creator, immaculately angular, perfectly proportioned. Not elvish in anyway, wherever that fool notion came from. There is nothing wrong with your nose, it is as beautiful as the rest of you. Your eyes are of a shade of blue so bright and beautiful that it is no wonder you were made a dwarf- it's a shade only found in sapphires, I'm certain. And your beard. It is beautiful, not in spite of it's length but because of it. Every time I look at it I am reminded of the strength you must have to carry the weight of this mountain on your shoulders for the span of a century. But even with its shearing it is thick, and rich, and cared for so particularly that a hobbit such as myself cannot even begin to grasp the excellence of it. And...and...oh, I just think you are unmatched in your strength. In your body, yes, but in your heart. Your mind. A terrible sickness took hold of you and you shook it off in a way none of your ancestors were ever able to manage. You are a testament to the strength and magnificence of your line, and the only thing that I would change in all of it would be that I were a dwarf as well, so that my appreciation might mean more to you. But even my being just a hobbit, I desperately need you to know that I see you, and I know you, and I love you all the more for it. I love you so much I nearly feel sick with it."
Bilbo swallowed. Thorin was still, letting Bilbo's words wash over him. Bilbo was trembling, in fear and anticipation and shame.
"That is why I cared so much about your choice. Why I have been working so, so hard over these past two weeks to pick you a dam whom I thought would be a good match for you. For if I cannot have you, I would make damn sure that you would be married to a woman who could bring you joy in every way that I cannot, me being what I am. And it is why I am begging you, Thorin, my king, my dearest and greatest love, the seed of my heart, do not settle for a dam who does not love you. I promise you that if there is a dam who loves you in even a fraction of the way that I do, it will be less than what you deserve, but if there is a dam in Middle Earth who can fit that criteria I will find her. I just need more time. Please."
Thorin, still bent over his desk, curled his hands into fists, but said nothing. Bilbo closed his eyes.
"Every word you said is true?" Thorin's voice at last came, grated and rough.
"Every word," Bilbo assured. "I'll leave Erebor as soon as I can. I promise. I do not wish to make you uncomfortable in your own kingdom, and I know for myself that I will not be able to be near you now that you know the truth. I just ask for-"
Thorin had spun away from the desk and stormed across the room faster than Bilbo could take a breath, and his mouth crushed right against his.
Bilbo's eyes blew wide, hands held aloft as he couldn't think of where to put them. Thorin had his eyes firmly closed and was pawing at Bilbo's arms, shoulders and back as if he couldn't think of where not to put them.
Thorin's lips moved against his, and it gave Bilbo the kick in the pants he needed to realize that this was real, and Thorin was real and kissing him and touching him and Bilbo was standing there doing nothing. He startled, then shut his eyes and threw his arms around Thorin's neck and kissed back hard.
They groaned in unison, Thorin's deeper and gruffer than Bilbo's, and both stumbled and staggered until Bilbo's back hit the wall next to the door.
Thorin's tongue swept across Bilbo's lower lip and Bilbo eagerly allowed it entrance. Never had he been kissed so deeply and thoroughly before, and he feared he might be doing a terrible job, but Thorin obviously wasn't complaining. Bilbo swept his hands up from Thorin's neck and into Thorin's hair, gripping at the scalp and running his other down the length to loosen it from the leather tie and let it fall around Thorin's head like a black velvet curtain. Thorin's hands, in turn, were traveling in opposite directions: one going up, knitting into Bilbo's long copper curls and holding his head in place, the other going down to crest over Bilbo's rear and down to his thigh to hoist Bilbo's leg up against his waist. Both made startled moans when Bilbo's front ground up against Thorin growing hardness, and Thorin pulled away from him at last so they could breathe. A strand of saliva connected their lips distractingly.
Bilbo stared up into Thorin's eyes, and was mesmerized by the way the firelight danced on the blue and made it gold.
Thorin was staring down at him, open-mouthed, as if he were a vein of mythril. He didn't say a word, to the point that Bilbo felt a little nervous.
He moved his hands down to Thorin's shoulders. "What's wrong? Are you alright there?"
"Azrimi ni biriz ra kibil," Thorin muttered.
"Er..."
Thorin blinked and snapped out of whatever stupor he'd fallen into in Bilbo's eyes.
"There will be no more dams," he bit out. His hand tightened in Bilbo's hair. "You are not leaving this mountain. You are not leaving me."
"Oh-" Bilbo found his breath stolen by another open-mouthed kiss, and his eyes were liable to roll back into his head. Reluctantly, he pushed gently back on Thorin's shoulder so he could take a deeper breath.
Thorin didn't mind in the slightest, for he latched onto Bilbo's neck just as easily as his lips.
"Oh, oh-" Bilbo's hands flew back to Thorin's scalp and pulled at the root of his hair. "I-Is this real? Are you real?"
"I should be asking you the same question," Thorin groaned between wet kisses at the column of Bilbo's neck. The hand in Bilbo's hair joined the other at his thighs, and Bilbo was suddenly hoisted further up the wall so that his front was grinding directly onto Thorin's. "Does this feel real to you?"
"Yes- oh yes, yes- I mean, n-no- oh sweet Yavanna," he whimpered. "Slow down, you brute, we were having a c-conversation!"
"Conversation's over," Thorin responded. He licked back at Bilbo's neck and just about drove the words out of his head.
"N-No, it's not!" He tried in vain to push at Thorin's head, but he wasn't trying very hard. "Oh- what about Gorrin? "
"I don't know her." Thorin's voice buzzed on his skin.
"Don't- oh, would you stop that! There will be plenty of time for that later!" Thorin pulled away at Bilbo's insistence, and they were both panting hard in the other's air space. Bilbo cleared his throat. "I mean...I hope so. I hope there'll be time later."
"There will be. As much as you want. As long as you'll have me." Thorin's voice took on a tone of near-pleading. As if he was about to try and convince Bilbo to stay. As if he even needed to ask. "You meant it? Every word, you said?"
"Every word," Bilbo assured. His grip in Thorin's hair had become gentle petting. "Lets go sit by the fire. This position is not conducive to an intelligent conversation on my part, unfortunately."
"It's not supposed to be." Thorin grinned- actually grinned -a bit impishly, and yes, the line of Durin all did share the same spark of mischief. Nevertheless, Thorin carried him off the wall like he was rehanging a painting and dropped them both on the couch, Bilbo in Thorin's lap.
"That's much better," Bilbo said. Only, it wasn't really, because now he was in Thorin Oakenshield's lap. Focus, focus foolish hobbit.
"You wanted to have a conversation?" Thorin said in his deliciously low voice. A voice he must only use because he knew how it sent such shivers down Bilbo's spine.
"I- yes, yes I did. About that dam you're going to propose to tonight! Honestly, Thorin!"
Thorin's hands that had fallen to Bilbo's waist tighten just on the side of painfully.
"I would never look at her again if it pleased you."
"I-...well..." Bilbo's face flashed hot. "That's wholly unnecessary. I just...suppose that's good to hear. The engagement is off then?"
"If I had known that I could have you, those dams would never have set foot in the mountain."
"If you had known..." Bilbo repeated. He swallowed at the implications. "How long?"
"All my life."
Bilbo rolled his eyes. "I don't mean be all esoteric and dwarfy. How long have you felt the same?"
"Since..." Thorin sighed. He closed his eyes. "Since..."
"I'll go first. When you walked through my door in the Shire, I thought you were the most beautiful creature I had ever laid eyes upon."
Thorin froze. His hands did as well. "Truly?" He asked in a small voice.
"Yes," Bilbo said. He could only wonder how many times in Thorin's life he'd been called beautiful. He wondered if he was the first. Selfishly, horribly selfishly, he hoped so. "And you?"
"Rivendell," Thorin responded much easier. "I just suddenly looked upon you, standing under the light of the moon, and I...I was never the same."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"But you told me that I had no place with the company and should have stayed behind. In the mountain." Bilbo's eyebrows furrowed. Thorin flinched as if struck.
"I was terrified. I saw you hanging there in the midst of the battle. After I already thought you and Fíli lost, I thought I was going to truly watch you die, and I refused to. I do not...emote, very well."
"Hm. Haven't noticed," Bilbo played with a strand of obsidian hair. He scrunched his face up and mimicked in a gravelly voice (for a hobbit), "'Didn't I tell you that you were a burden? That you had no place amongst us?' I honestly did not think that conversation was going to end with a hug. I thought you were going to push me off that mountain."
Thorin grimaced, clearly embarrassed, but said, "Never. I was much too far gone for you by then. When you stepped in front of the white warg I knew there would be no other. I would die with you, or I would die without you. No other."
It was Bilbo's chance to grimace. He shifted, and tucked his head neath Thorin's chin. Thorin's fingers threaded through his hair, and rubbed the soft strands against each other. Bilbo was perfectly happy, right where he was.
"You were hours away from marrying," he said.
"She would have meant nothing to me."
"Well, I don't think that's very fair to her. Or to you, more importantly."
"if I had known I could have had you-"
"You never asked."
Thorin said nothing to that.
"The worst I would have said was 'no'. Then you would have at least known."
"The worst you could have said was 'no'. The worst thing I would ever hear in my life would have been 'no'," Thorin said lowly. "I was a coward. Strangely, never in a thousand ages would I ever think myself worthy of deserving your touch, yet I was too afraid to be told 'no'."
"But I didn't," Bilbo reminded him.
Thorin sighed. He closed his eyes and pushed his nose into Bilbo's hair, and inhaled his smell to confirm that this was all happening in real life.
"You didn't. And Mahal has blessed me with a happiness I could never have earned in a hundred lifetimes."
"You do not need to earn happiness." Bilbo scrunched his nose. "I've already yelled at you for this, don't make me do it again. You deserve happiness."
"And you are my greatest happiness. Did you know that, ghivashelimê?" Thorin husked, leaning so close that Bilbo could count his eyelashes if he were so inclined.
"You really must stop using words I don't know, it makes me feel like a fool."
"Mmm," Thorin murmured against his lips. "Then I'll teach you."
"Back up you brute, or I'll bop you on the nose! I will!"
He didn't.