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The arrival of Princess Dís, daughter of Thráin, was a day of high ceremony. The gates of Erebor were thrown wide, and the mountain itself seemed to stand straighter as the iron-willed sister of the King marched into the Great Hall. She had spent decades holding the Blue Mountains together while her brother chased a dragon, and she expected to find a kingdom restored to its ancient, rigid dignity.
For the first few hours, she was satisfied. Thorin was regal, the gold was plentiful, and the masonry was spectacular.
"You have done well, Brother," Dís remarked as Thorin and Balin led her through the newly carved arches of the royal residential wing. "The discipline of the mountain has returned. I had worried that your time on the road might have... softened you."
Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but a sharp, shrill voice cut through the heavy silence of the corridor.
"IF I HAVE TO TELL YOU ONE MORE TIME, KÍLI DURIN, I SHALL TURN YOUR BOW INTO KINDLING!"
Dís froze, her hand flying to the hilt of her dagger. Thorin and Balin shared a look that could only be described as weary.
Around the corner, a small, golden-haired blur appeared. It was a Hobbit, his face flushed a vibrant shade of pink, and he was currently dragging the Prince of the Realm, a Dwarf nearly twice his size, by the ear.
"Ow! Ow, Bilbo! Mercy! It was just a taste!" Kíli was yelping, stumbling along as the Hobbit marched him toward the kitchen entrance.
"A taste? You ate an entire tray of seed-cakes meant for the trade delegation! You’re a menace, a vacuum, and a brat!" Bilbo barked, not even noticing the three royals standing in the shadows. He gave Kíli’s ear one final, sharp tug before pointing toward the door. "Now, go scrub the flour off the counter or so help me, I will tell Dwalin you need 'extra focus' on your footwork today!"
Kíli scampered off with a whimper, and Bilbo followed, muttering darkly about "greedy Dwarves and their bottomless stomachs."
Dís let out a roar of fury, her eyes flashing. "WHO IS THAT CREATURE? I will have his head for laying hands on a Prince!"
She moved to charge after them, but Thorin and Balin stepped in unison, blocking her path.
"Dís, stop," Thorin said, his voice strangely calm.
"Stop? He pulled Kíli’s ear! He spoke to him like a common servant!"
"He is our Hobbit," Balin added, his voice low and cautious. "And believe me, princess... if you were to try and fight him, the entire Company, us included, would likely take his side over yours. We would rather not have a civil war on your first day."
Dís stared at them, her jaw dropping. "You are under a spell. All of you."
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The following weeks were a slow-descent into madness for the Princess. She watched, horrified, as the social hierarchy of the House of Durin was systematically dismantled by a creature who stood three feet tall and wore floral waistcoats.
She saw Bilbo walk into a high-level council meeting and smack a map out of Thorin’s hand because he was obsessing over the border taxes and not listening to the council members.
"You’re being an idiot, Thorin," Bilbo had snapped in front of five Lords of the Iron Hills. "Your brain is made of granite and your stubbornness is a health hazard. Eat your sandwich and stop being a brat."
And Thorin... Thorin had simply sighed, looked at the sandwich, and eaten it.
Dís began to develop a twitch in her left eye. She watched from the shadows as the Hobbit treated the legendary warriors of the Quest like rowdy children. He yelled at Dwalin for tracking mud onto the rugs. He told Gloín his beard smelled like "stale tobacco and bad decisions." He treated the Princes like errand boys.
"Why do you permit this?" Dís demanded of her brother one evening in the solar. "He has zero respect for your station! He calls you a 'stubborn mule' to your face!"
Thorin looked up from his work, a soft, almost wistful smile on his face. "Respect is a heavy burden, Dís. Everyone in this mountain treats me like a King. Only Bilbo treats me like a person. It is... refreshing."
"It is an insult!" Dís hissed.
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The final straw came on a rainy Tuesday. Dís entered the private royal lounge, expecting to find her brother alone. Instead, she found him sitting on a low stool by the fire.
Bilbo was standing behind him.
The Hobbit’s sleeves were rolled up, and his hands were buried deep in Thorin’s hair. He was unbraiding the intricate, sacred knots of the Durin line, running his fingers through the dark locks with a casual, intimate ease.
To a Dwarf, the hair was sacred. It was a map of one’s history, and to let someone touch it, let alone unbind it, was a gesture reserved only for kin or a life-partner.
Dís let out a sound that was half-scream, half-sob. "GET YOUR HANDS OFF HIM!"
She lunged forward, her hands outstretched to tear the Hobbit away from her brother’s head. Thorin started to stand, but Bilbo didn't flinch. He didn't even drop the lock of hair he was holding.
Instead, Bilbo turned his head and leveled a glare at Dís that was so cold, so ancient, and so utterly "Tookish" that the Princess actually skidded to a halt.
"Sit down and shut up, Dís," Bilbo said, his voice like cracking ice.
"How dare you-"
"I will do exactly what I like with my husband’s hair," Bilbo snapped, returning his attention to a particularly stubborn knot near Thorin’s temple. "I have spent a year keeping this man alive, keeping him sane, and keeping him fed. If I want to braid a dandelion into his hair, I’ll do it. If you don't like the way I run my household, you can screw right off back to the Blue Mountains. I’m quite busy."
Dís gasped, turning to Thorin for support. "Brother! Did you hear him? He told me to screw off! Also husband!?”
Thorin, looking remarkably relaxed as Bilbo’s fingers massaged his scalp, didn't even open his eyes. "He’s right, you know. He is the Consort."
Bilbo ignored her entirely then, leaning toward the door and shouting at the top of his lungs.
"FÍLI! KÍLI! IF YOU DON'T STOP EATING THE COLD MEATS I SET OUT FOR THE GUARDS, I AM GOING TO PERSONALLY DRAG YOU TO THE TRAINING YARDS AND MAKE YOU DO SPARRING DRILLS WITH DWALIN UNTIL YOU CAN'T STAND! STUPID BLOODY NEPHEWS!"
From the hallway, there was a sound of panicked scrambling and the frantic clatter of a dropped plate.
Bilbo turned back to Thorin’s hair, muttering under his breath about "bearded locusts." Dís stood in the center of the room, vibrating with a mixture of shock and a strange, budding respect.
She looked at her brother, who looked more at peace than he had in fifty years. She looked at the Hobbit, who was currently scolding the King for leaning the wrong way.
"He really is terrifying," Dís whispered.
"Wait until he misses a meal," Thorin murmured. "Then you shall know true fear."