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Chapter Text

Thorin barely made it around the corner before a gust of flame shot through the corridor where he had just stood. Even then, the wave of heat that accompanied the fire hit him like a boulder. Next to him, Dwalin cursed and tightened his grip around his twin axes, little good as it would do.

Smaug had been very much alive when the company of thirteen arrived in Erebor on Durin's Day and opened the secret door. Very alive and very quick to notice the dwarves as they attempted to spot the Arkenstone in the ocean of coins and gems—and equally quick to try and kill them. Which was why they were running through Erebor’s corridors trying not to get roasted or caught by the dragon's teeth and claws.

Unlucky thirteen.

But Gandalf’s chosen burglar had not been in the Shire.

“What’s the plan?” Dwalin shouted over the sound of Smaug's rage.

“Not get killed!”

What else could Thorin say? If Smaug had any weak spot in his armour, Thorin had not been able to see it what with all the running away and trying not to die. Maybe shooting him in the eyes or joints would be an option but Kíli could not get a clean shot and Thorin didn’t want to risk his nephew by ordering him to stand still and aim. He remembered, somewhere between profound annoyance and panic, that his grandfather once gifted the Lord of Dale massive black arrows and wind lances for firing them, but those were probably lost in the ruins of that city. What he wouldn't give for one of those right now.

“Do you think he'll grow bored?” Thorin heard Fíli ask from somewhere behind him, his nephew’s voice forcefully calm. The question was followed by another burst of flame as Smaug roared and (from the sound of it) brought down a pillar.

“If he doesn't grill us, he'll bury us!” Thorin could count on one hand the times he'd heard Balin sound this shaken and cursed. If Balin had no plan, the situation was very dire indeed, though anyone could have guessed because they were running for their lives from a dragon.

“We could hide!”

Thorin was about to reply but they had to hurry once more. Smaug craned his long head around the corner and opened his maw for more flames. This time, Thorin could feel the fire lick up the bottom of his coat and hastily padded it out once they were safe again for the moment. “Thieves! Filthy dwarves! This kingdom is mine!” Smaug's voice echoed in the corridor like the rumbling of thunder or a cave-in.

“I don't think he will give up until we are dead or the mountain is a ruin”, Thorin hissed out between clenched teeth and gestured back to where said beast was currently wreaking havoc.

“If the armoury is accessible—”

“Nothing in there can kill a dragon! We're thirteen dwarves! And the Arkenstone was nowhere to be seen!”

“The way from Erebor to Laketown is out in the open, we can't flee there—”

“Move!”

The company split up in two directions as Smaug tore into the corridor and breathed flames. Thorin heard Bifur yell out, but a quick look to his left showed the dwarf alive and moving, with only a bit of his hair singed. Smaug had not seen which of the many turns they had taken, which afforded them a brief moment of respite.

“We are doomed“, Thorin said in between deep, desperate breaths, the knowledge and certainty setting heavy upon his shoulders. “I will buy you time. He wants me dead the most. If I can distract him, you can run—”

“No chance!” Dwalin growled out immediately. “I’m not going to leave you behind!”

“Dwalin—"

“Either we run together or we die together”, Bofur said with a grim expression.

Thorin looked around and found the same sentiment plain in each dwarf's face. “I cannot ask this of you.”

He had asked too much of them already. Coming here—coming up with this plan—had been foolish. Damn you Tharkûn, he thought, and cursed the wizard for planting the idea into his head in the first place, and for his inability to be there when needed. How often had he disappeared during the quest only to show up at the last moment? The trolls, the goblins, the skinchanger, but now—now he was not there. He’d been gone since that Mahal-forsaken forest. Their luck had finally run out.

Thorin looked at each of his companions and saw nothing but determination in their eyes. They had faced death countless times throughout their journey and every time, they had prevailed, as if Mahal himself was guiding them. If their Maker was watching them now, at least he would see that his children were willing to fight to the end.

“Never have there been more loyal and brave dwarves than those I see before me right now. I name each of you buhel, friend of all friends.” Some of the dwarves gasped. “And though no one but ourselves will know until we enter Mahal’s Halls, know that I am honoured to have counted you amongst my closest friends, as good as kin.”

“The honour was ours”, Balin said and bowed, then raised his weapon in salute. The others quickly followed suit. Once all had straightened up again, Thorin bowed too, ignoring Balin’s scandalised expression. They were about to face certain death—there was no place for court etiquettes anymore.

Behind them, Smaug roared and spewed flame into one of the corridors, charring the stone black. The dwarves who had been standing there seconds ago had barely escaped and came running up to the rest of them.

“There is a hall nearby. We shall run there and make our final stand.” Thorin met Dwalin’s eyes and nodded at his shield-brother for one last time before they would meet their Creator.

Dwalin nodded back and wrapped his fingers firmly around his axes. “We’ll give that snake some scars to remember us by.”

“Let’s see if we can loosen some of those scales!” Fíli said with all the bravado of a Durin, betrayed only by the slight quiver of his hand as he took up his sword. Behind him, Kíli notched an arrow, echoing his brother’s words of challenge.

Thorin looked at them and felt tears of anger and regret shoot into his eyes. I’m sorry, irakdashshatê.¹ You are far too young to die. I should have never let you come. Forgive me, Dís. Forgive me.

He took a deep breath, then called out: “Here! You witless worm! Come and get me!”

The reaction was immediate. Though it was only a matter of time until Smaug would have barged into their corridor and set it ablaze, hearing Thorin’s taunts told him where they were—and made him even angrier.

“Oakenshield!” the dragon roared and tore around the corner.

“Run!”

Thorin led the charge. They made it into the hall not even a second before the corridor was filled with flames and Bombur just barely escaped Smaug’s fangs as the beast snapped at him. The dwarves fanned out, forming a half circle around the dragon, and lifted their weapons.

“Baruk Khazâd!” Thorin shouted at the top of his lungs. “Khazâd ai-mênu!”

“Khama id-uzbad undu ‘urd!”² came the answer from his companions.

Smaug opened his maw and Thorin could see the heat gather in his throat. Kíli readied an arrow, intent on shooting it down the dragon’s gullet, and just as Thorin stormed up to the dragon, three things happened—

From outside the mountain, there came an ear-splitting roar.

Smaug’s head whipped around.

Kíli’s arrow hit him right in the eye.

All the dwarves froze. A shudder of sheer, unadulterated fear ran through Thorin’s body and locked his limbs mid-motion. Another roar and another loud noise, as of massive monuments being brought to ruin. The mountain shook to its very foundation and Thorin struggled to stay on his feet.

Smaug, barely taking note of the arrow stuck in his eye—barely taking note of the thirteen dwarves he had just been about to burn—turned and tore his way back through the corridor, bringing down chunks of chiselled and carved stone with his wings as he left them behind. Then, with a roar of his own, the red dragon took flight. Thorin heard a loud crash that shook the mountain once more.

Orcrist dropped from Thorin’s slackening grasp and fell to the ground with a clank. Horror not unlike that he had felt all those years ago when Smaug attacked Erebor wrapped around his heart and squeezed so tightly Thorin was almost surprised he did not die right there.

“Did you see? I hit him! I—”

Thorin turned his head just enough to see Fíli shush his brother. Meeting his nephew’s gaze, Thorin said with a shaking voice, “Mahal mahtansisi mâ.”³

Another dragon had come to Erebor.

------------

At some point in the minutes following Smaug’s departure, the dwarves had sat down on the cold hard floor and huddled together in family groups as they had done so often throughout their journey. Thorin had slumped down where he stood but was not alone for long, as his two nephews decided to join him. Even as deep in thought as Thorin had been, he still took the time to cup the back of their necks and bring their foreheads together, and shifted a little to make it easier for them to lean against him.

Though part of Thorin was enraged that the dragon had just decided to abandon them and stolen from him the chance to try and take revenge for all the lives lost to the thrice-damned worm, the other, much larger part was just glad to see everyone still alive. The question was only for how much longer that would be the case.

“Did anyone guess ‘second dragon’?” Nori broke the silence and looked over to Glóin, who shook his head. “Damn. Guess that means no one wins.”

“Did you seriously bet on what would happen once we got to Erebor?“ Dori asked with that ‘I’m disappointed‘-look he liked to bestow upon his younger brother. “What good does it do if we all die and there is no pay-out?”

“Ah, ah!” Glóin pulled out bags of coin from who knew where—how those had survived their tumultuous journey here Thorin didn’t even want to know. “Pay-out would have happened in Mahal’s Halls. Coin might be useless there but it’s the principle that counts. Though arguments could be made for the dissolution of all contracts and bets upon death.”

Before that debate could escalate, Thorin pointedly cleared his throat. “This is not the time for contractual debates and bet making.”

Glóin nodded his head in acquiescence and moved to give the bags back to their original owners, but Ori, of all people, piped up from where he was huddled together with his two brothers, furiously scribbling notes into his book—how that had survived Thorin also didn’t want to know. “An argument could be made for the simple transfer of your bet to this new dragon.” Dori gave him a look, probably for encouraging the others in their gambling.

There was much whispering then.

Thorin looked up to the ceiling and sighed. Things had definitely not gone to plan. What were the odds of a second dragon showing up just in time to steal their certain doom from them? What were the odds of there even being a second dragon to begin with? How had it known about the treasure? Why had it come only now when years upon years had passed? That the dragon was there to steal the treasure—the kingdom—from Smaug was certain.

Another rumble made the mountain quake. “They must be fighting still,” Balin observed, to murmurs of agreement from the others. “I wonder how long it will take.”

Immediately catching onto what Balin was saying, Thorin shook his head. “The treasury is not close enough to risk it. The fighting could end any second and the dwarf going there would be caught.”

“Unless they kill each other,” Dwalin said. “They could do our work for us.”

“Would a dragon even attack when it stands no chance?”

“They are vain and arrogant creatures.” Glóin nodded his head. “They think themselves invincible.”

“Well, Kíli proved them wrong on that front.” Fíli nudged his brother. “Shot him right in the eye, he did!”

“That I did!” Kíli paused. “But I was aiming for his throat—” Thorin stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Even so, you wounded the dragon when no one else had gotten anywhere close enough to do so. Your shot hit true.” He squeezed Kíli’s shoulder. “You did well.” Something inside of Thorin twinged painfully at the way Kili's face lit up at these simple words of praise. He'd always been too strict with the boys; praise had never come easy to him, but by Mahal, Thorin swore he would try to do better… if they survived the next hours.

A noise came from outside the mountain, a loud rumble or thundering followed by something that sounded like a pained screech, then a thump. The mountain shook.

Thorin strained his hearing and saw the others do the same, looking around with narrowed eyes and hands at the hilts of their weapons. The sudden silence was almost oppressive. Thorin could hear Kíli and Fíli breathing next to him, could hear the scratching of Ori’s pen on the paper and the rustling of clothes. But nothing more from the outside. That could only mean…

The dwarves shot to their feet and drew their weapons when something made the mountain tremble once again. They could hear the faint but distinct noise of large wings flapping before it became silent. Seeing Kíli open his mouth, Thorin made a sharp gesture and signed in Iglishmêk to stay quiet. They waited with bated breath but could not hear anything else.

‘Nori’, Thorin signed and once he had the thief’s attention, continued, ‘sneak as close as you can and try to find out what happened. At the first sight of anything dragon-like or other danger, return immediately.’

Nori gave a short nod and sneaked away.

As much as it pained Thorin to send one of his company away alone to get close to the dragon, they needed information. Had Smaug prevailed or did Erebor have a new dragon that called itself king? Was the dragon injured from their fight? Could they use that to their advantage?

It felt like hours before Nori returned, face grim, but apparently unharmed. He went to Thorin’s side and began signing, hands and fingers moving rapidly and fluidly. ‘I followed the signs of destruction all the way to the treasury.’ Thorin heard Dori's sharp intake of breath. ‘I risked a quick look. We got a new uninvited guest. There’s a dragon in there.’

‘Not Smaug, I take it.’

Nori shook his head. ‘This dragon looks a bit smaller but is still massive. They don’t look much alike, actually. Maybe different kinds of dragons, I don’t know. This one’s not red, but gold. Got all comfortable on the treasure. I couldn’t see any obvious injuries, but I didn’t see its underside.’

Thorin cursed quietly, then thanked Nori for the report and began formulating plans. Mahal had given them a second chance, but the question was for what—to try and fight this dragon in Smaug’s stead or to leave? Without the Arkenstone, none of the dwarf lords would come to their aid, not even Dáin. They could attempt to take the dragon unawares and ambush it in the treasury, in the hopes that its fight against Smaug had tired it out enough for the dwarves to stand a chance. This might be their best and only opening…

But then he looked at his nephews and wondered not for the first time whether it would be worth it, after all. Smaug was dead but not by their own hand. The revenge Thorin had hunted after, the burning desire to see Smaug fall by his sword and pay for all the death, destruction and suffering he had caused, would never find fulfilment. And besides, the new dragon was a complete unknown.

‘We will return to the secret door’, he finally signed, catching the other dwarves’ looks of surprise at his declaration. ‘We need information. Not only about this new dragon but also about Smaug’s whereabouts. If he isn’t dead but only fled, he might return one day.’

‘Word will spread fast’, Óin signed. ‘Smaug had not been seen for years. The portents said that chances are good and others would have seen it too. But once news spread that a new dragon has taken up residence in the mountain, it will take decades, if even that, until people will even think about trying to retake the mountain. We have an advantage now.’

‘There is no rush’, Balin agreed. ‘We can gather our strength. Prepare. Perhaps Tharkûn will arrive and can help us.’

Next to Thorin, Fíli and Kíli snorted. Thorin felt very much the same about ‘their’ wizard, especially after he disappeared on some special, secret errand before Mirkwood. Who knew if he was still alive or if he had not abandoned their quest altogether for something ‘the Wise’ deemed more important.

‘If we sent a raven to Dáin and the other lords and told them of what transpired, perhaps they might be swayed to our cause—’

‘They will not come’, Thorin interrupted Balin with a harsh gesture. ‘This quest is ours alone, that has not changed.’ He paused and looked at the other dwarves, then picked up Orcrist and sheathed it. ‘Let us see what has transpired outside the mountain.’

As quiet as thirteen dwarves could be, they traced their way back through the destroyed corridors, taking in the carnage Smaug had caused with grim expressions. Chunks of stone blocked their way on occasion, but no rock had ever been a true obstacle to a dwarf, and they climbed and clambered their way across, ever careful not to make too much noise. Thorin halted every now and then and listened, but there was no sign of that other dragon, not a single sound. Still, he’d rather not tarry long enough to find out, so he hurried his steps and led the company back the way they had come, slowing down only when they neared the treasury and the secret door. Though he was tempted to tell the others to go ahead and take a look at this new beast himself, he knew his nephews would want to come, too, and Dwalin would insist on accompanying him, so he resisted the urge and crouched low, carefully taking every single step as silently as he could. The secret door could not have come soon enough and the dwarves abandoned most of their caution to hurry outside into the fresh air. Thorin took the rear to safeguard their retreat and as such, heard the others curse before seeing for himself what had happened.

“Well”, Bofur said, “I don’t think we’ll have to worry about Smaug returning.”

Thorin pushed through the blockage of the other dwarves and stepped outside.

Only a short distance away from the front gates lay the corpse of Smaug the dragon. It looked like he had fallen from a great height. His wings were spread wide as if he had been killed mid-flight, tattered and ripped in places. His underside was covered in gems and gold for the most part, probably stolen from the treasury and meant as a layer of protective crust, but patches were missing and those were bloody. From so far away, Thorin could only guess that these were the marks of large and sharp claws, not unlike Smaug’s own. What seemed to have actually killed the dragon was a massive chunk of flesh missing from his chest right where the dragon’s heart likely lay. The kind of force needed to penetrate the gold crust, tear into the skin and cause enough damage to kill the beast was almost unfathomable. Wind lances the dwarves had crafted, yes, but those had to be manned by several people at once and were very, very difficult to aim. This had been done by another dragon, apparently smaller than Smaug—and still it had possessed the strength to bring Smaug down where an army of dwarves had failed.

Thorin tore his gaze from the corpse and looked around. The wasteland surrounding the mountain had already been desolate before, but if possible it looked even worse now. What spots of short grass had made its way through the ash and ruin over the years had now been set ablaze. Fires burned as far as Thorin could see, though the area around Laketown was strangely untouched. It seemed the dragons had stayed close to the mountain during their battle. Thorin took a few steps forward and sought with his eyes the sentinel statue they had climbed up, wincing at the damage that he saw. Large chunks were missing though miraculously, the path was mostly undamaged and stable. He did not even dare to try and imagine what the front gates must look like after Smaug’s initial attack and now the second dragon’s arrival. Perhaps that was what they had heard before Smaug took off, the golden dragon trying to tear its way inside. One invader replacing another.

“What should we call this dragon?“ Fíli asked out of the blue. All eyes immediately went to him.

“Actually, how did we know that Smaug is called Smaug?” Kíli continued. “Did he swoop down on Erebor shouting his name?”

Behind Thorin, Balin gave a long, deep sigh, likely bemoaning the fact that his history lessons apparently had not stuck. These are my heirs, Thorin thought and shook his head.

“He was known already before his attack on Erebor”, Balin lectured, with the intonation and airs of one who had already said this before. “They called him the last Great Dragon, far more destructive and dangerous than the cold-drakes of the north from whence he came, for those do not breathe fire and are lesser in stature. How his name became common knowledge before is unknown, but infamy, like fame and great deeds, has a way of spreading quickly and widely. Someone must have heard him say it or it was a name given to him which then all the people began to use.”

“So we could make up a name for this new one and that would be what it is known by?” How that was the lesson Kíli and Fíli took was a mystery to Thorin, but that was nothing new when it came to his nephews.

“It can’t be Khuzdul, obviously, though Kidzul ‘azâm⁴ does have a nice ring to it.”

“What about ‘Smaug’s Bane’?”, suggested Ori, pen poised to immediately commit to legend and song the name the company would agree upon. “In memory of Durin’s Bane.”

“It doesn’t fit the naming scheme of other dragons so far”, Dori disagreed.

Balin, turning to the two princes, asked, “Do you at least remember their names?” They gave Balin puppy eyes, but the older dwarf stood firm and looked at them until they caved.

“There’s Glaurung”, Fíli began, “from the tale of Túrin Turambar.”

“Scatha, though I think that was one of those cold drakes?”, Kíli continued. “Smaug, obviously. That really big one… you know, during the War of Wrath… what was its name? The big black one that destroyed a mountain when it went down.“

“Ancalagon”, Fíli said. “And it brought down three mountains, Kee, not just one. It must have been huge.”

Glad to see that they had at least memorised something from his lessons, Balin let them be for now and turned to Thorin. “If any of the drakes up north were given names by the people of the Grey Mountains, they were not passed down to us. Not even the one who killed Dáin I.”

“My grandfather only cursed the worm that slew his father”, Thorin said, “and would not speak of it much.”

“Ancalagon and Glaurung sound elvish”, Kíli said and if his voice did not hold the usual amount of hatred for anything related to elves, Thorin chose to ignore it, though he still remembered the looks his nephew had given that red-headed guard captain. “Scatha is probably from one of the Mannish tongues. Maybe Smaug too?”

“It doesn’t matter what that beast’s name is”, Dwalin interjected and went to Thorin’s side, who was once again staring at Smaug’s corpse as if it held the answers to all his questions and troubles. “What matters is deciding what we’re going to do now.”

“Wait”, Thorin replied automatically. “Wait and guard the secret door.” And try to come up with a plan.

At least, thanks to the arrival of this mysterious second dragon, they did not have to worry about others taking over Erebor anymore. And he doubted Azog and his orcs would try and get them here. Still, he’d rather be overly cautious than dead, so he set up a guard rotation to keep an eye out to all sides, the mountain corridor behind them being the exception. It was too narrow for the dragon to squeeze through and they’d hear it long before it would be visible. If worst came to pass and Azog (or any other new would-be invaders) showed up, they could retreat into the corridor and close the door behind them.

“Bombur”, he asked at last, “how long will our rations last?”

“A couple days”, Bombur replied. “More, if we stretch them thin.”

“Better not”, his brother piped up next to him. “If we do have to take on the dragon, we need to be at full strength.”

“But there is no way for us to get more once we run out. Hunting here is impossible. Kíli and Ori could try to bring down one of the birds flying around here, but that would not last us long.” Balin gestured back to the mountain, then to Laketown in the distance. “We cannot go back to replenish our supplies. They would not welcome us, especially not now that a second dragon has taken up residence in the mountain. And though some non-perishable food might have survived since Smaug’s attack, we’d have to risk going into the mountain and search for it.”

“Mirkwood is too far away, too”, Nori said, “not to mention that we should not risk that, either.”

Thorin frowned and turned to look out over the expanse of the desolation before them. Nothing grew there, nor would it for decades to come. The Long Lake held fish, but he did not want to risk any of the company making their way down there. Barely any birds, no game, nothing except—His gaze fell upon Smaug’s corpse once more and a thought struck him like an arrow to the chest. No, he thought. Only as a last resort.

Even if that would have some symbolic value.

“Normal portions for breakfast”, he finally said. “We’ve earned it. After that, a little less. If push comes to shove, we’ll only eat twice a day.” Maybe they’d come up with a plan before food ran out. Or maybe Gandalf would deign to show up, though Thorin doubted it.

Bombur began setting up a little campfire with the help of his brother, while their cousin sat down near them and began to whittle away at a small block of wood. Dori was mending some piece of cloth next to Ori who was scribbling furiously into his notebook. Nori stood facing towards Laketown as one of the first lookouts, Glóin being the second and looking in the other direction. Balin and Dwalin were deep in conversation, (hopefully) trying to formulate a plan, while Óin seemed to be going through their healing supplies. Thorin’s gaze sought out his nephews and was not surprised to see them holding some sort of discussion, Kíli gesticulating widely and Fíli interjecting with just as much enthusiasm. Knowing them, they were still trying to think of a name for the second dragon. Thorin hoped it would not live long enough for a name to need to be established.

He sat down on one of the rocks scattered in their vicinity and began sharpening his sword.

Chapter Text

Breakfast was a dreary, cheerless affair. Lunch was no better. As one guard rotation gave way to the next, a few of the dwarves fell asleep, the last days catching up to them. At some point, Fíli and Kíli ended their debate, with no results to show for it, and flopped down next to Thorin to sleep as well. He alternated between staring out into the distance and looking down at them, feeling both fondness and exasperation, but the former won by far. They had earned their rest.

Soon the hours blurred together, measured only by the stroke of his blade along the sharpening stone. The sun began its slow descent in the sky and some of the fires caused by the fight between the two dragons went out, the desolation getting darker and bleaker with each. Behind him, those of the company who were still awake were murmuring and whispering, though Glóin’s snoring made that unnecessary.

Shink.

Thorin was nowhere closer to a plan than he had been hours ago. Though the new dragon was a factor they could not have accounted for, ultimately it changed little. There was a dragon in the mountain, they had to find a way to get rid of it.

Shink.

Getting the Arkenstone would be just as difficult as it had been with Smaug in the treasury. But if they meant to take down the dragon—to take back the kingdom—they would need the armies that the Arkenstone could summon. None of the dwarf lords would call their subjects to arms and march to Erebor without it. Mahal-damned stone, Thorin thought and gritted his teeth, jerking the blade along the whetstone. If—when—Erebor was restored Thorin would demand the lords swear upon the line of Durin once more, not on some piece of rock, no matter its significance. None of Fíli’s descendants would have to worry about it ever again.

Shink.

Without the Arkenstone, they were on their own. Thirteen dwarves against a dragon. Smaller it may be than Smaug, but it had killed the red dragon, apparently without suffering any immediately life-threatening injuries, though it may hope to recover in the safety of the treasury. How fast did dragons heal? How much time did they have to take advantage of whatever harm Smaug had inflicted upon his opponent? None of the tales Thorin knew spoke of such a thing. Glaurung had died slowly, succumbing to the injuries caused by Túrin Turambar only after completing its nefarious scheme. There was no trail of blood leading into the mountain, nor did Nori mention seeing any such signs. Perhaps the golden dragon had surprised Smaug enough to gain the upper hand and kill him before its adversary could much harm.

Shink.

If the dragon was uninjured and only exhausted, their window for action was closed. Not for the first time since they left the mountain, Thorin wondered whether his decision to retreat had been the right one. Maybe they should have taken advantage of the situation and prepared an ambush for when the victor returned. Maybe they should have attacked right away.

Shink.

“Oh good, I had feared you’d already gone inside.”

Those of the company who had not fallen asleep jumped to their feet, weapons drawn, and whirled around to find Gandalf standing a few feet away from them. Bifur was cursing up a storm and Óin, the other watch, was signing to Thorin in quick Iglishmêk that Gandalf seemed to have appeared on the platform out of nowhere.

Thorin sheathed Orcrist and glowered at the wizard, but Gandalf seemed unimpressed, as always. “We were inside”, he growled out. “Smaug was already upon us when an unexpected foe arrived.”

Gandalf drew together his bushy eyebrows and peered down at Thorin. “That foe would not happen to be a dragon, somewhat smaller than Smaug, with gold-coloured scales?”

“Aye.” Glóin sounded just as suspicious as Thorin felt. “Though we only saw it after it slew Smaug and crawled into the treasury.”

“Did you—” Ori broke off with a yawn but was ready with pen and notebook. “—see it on your way here?”

“No.” Gandalf blew out a ring of smoke after puffing on his pipe and straightened up again. Then, much to Thorin’s surprise, he smiled. “Good, I had feared he would not come.”

“What?!” came loud exclamations from the other dwarves. All were awake now, even Thorin’s sister-sons, and before they could work themselves up into a rage Thorin quieted them with a command.

“Explain, Tharkûn.”

Finding himself under the intense stares of thirteen dwarves, Gandalf absent-mindedly chewed at the gnarled end of his pipe. “Now, that requires me to go back in time a little.”

“The short version.” At Balin’s sharp look, Thorin added, somewhat petulantly, “If you would.” Balin didn’t seem all too happy about that either, but Thorin was currently not in the mood for false niceties. He’d left the capability for that behind somewhere before their crossing of the Misty Mountains, if he’d ever had it at all. If one were to ask Dís or Balin, they’d answer that he never had patience for these things and he would readily agree with them. Their time in exile had not made things any better.

“Well.” Gandalf blew out another smoke ring. “The long and short of it is that the burglar I mentioned—”

“The one who wasn’t there”, Kíli interrupted.

Gandalf huffed and Fíli elbowed his brother in the side to make him shut up.

“Precisely. I had thought he would be, but he was not. It does not matter where he was. What matters is that the burglar I suggested as your number fourteen was not so much meant to actually do any burgling—” Thorin shouted a command and the others quieted down again with much grumbling and distrustful looks towards the wizard. “—but for a different task. One that it seems he has successfully fulfilled already.”

“Stop speaking in riddles! What do you know of this other dragon?!” A lesser dwarf would have already charged at the wizard with their weapon drawn but then, a lesser dwarf would not have gone on this journey in the first place and the line of Durin was made from stronger and more durable stuff. That did not mean Thorin was not close to truly losing his temper. By the way Balin subtly shifted closer and Dwalin glanced at him from the corner of his eyes, they must have been aware of that too, though Thorin would call Dwalin a hypocrite if he claimed to be less affected.

Gandalf gave Thorin a look he would have classified as ‘pouting’ had it come from his nephews, but the wizard chose to ignore him and continued at his own pace and leisure. “What I failed to mention is that this ‘burglar’ is perhaps the only creature in Middle-earth who could, in a way, ‘burgle’ back the kingdom for you.” Here, Gandalf paused, as if he’d expected words of protest from the dwarves, but all of them were silently staring at him in various states of anger and suspicion. Gandalf huffed out a cloud of smoke and went on. “’Burgle’ in a broader sense, of course. You see, the ‘burglar’ I had in mind is not, as his home in the Shire may indicate, a hobbit in the strictest sense. Only half the time, really. The other times he is not a hobbit but something else.”

A vein on Thorin’s forehead began to throb. He flexed his fingers, trying to resist the urge to draw Orcrist and make the wizard get on with it.

“What would this ‘something else’ be?” Balin asked, ever the seasoned politician and ever finely attuned to Thorin’s moods. “I have an idea, based on our current predicament, but what I am unable to understand is how…?”

It seemed like the wizard was pleased by Balin’s question as he looked down at the old dwarf with a twinkle in his eyes. “I very much believe that you are on the right track, dear Balin. As to how.” He straightened up again and smiled around his pipe. “Well, when this ‘burglar’ is not a hobbit, he happens to be—”

“A dragon”, Fíli interrupted with a sharp intake of breath and wide eyes. “The ‘burglar’ is the dragon.”

From the way Gandalf glowered down at Fíli, he was not at all happy about the surprise being taken from him. “Humph! Yes, quite right. I have known him for many years and he has always been both a hobbit and a dragon, even before hobbits were ‘discovered’, as it were, by Men, dwarves, and elves. Similar to Beorn and his ability to turn into a bear, but not the exact same thing. The details of ‘how’ are not so important and would take quite a while to explain but suffice it to say that I have counted him among my dearest friends and when we happened to meet in Bree, Thorin, my mind immediately went back to him. We had not seen each other in quite a while, mind you, but time passes by when one is not touched by death the way others are and I knew where he had decided to settle down, even if he has the habit of not always being there.”

Thorin knew someone else who had a ‘habit of not always being there’ when expected or needed, but wisely decided not to say anything, lest different words leave his mouth than the ones he placed on his tongue.

“All of which is to say”, Gandalf continued, apparently not aware of the way Thorin tried to set him on fire with his glare, “is that my intention was to ask this not-quite-hobbit for his aid as I knew finding the Arkenstone would be neigh impossible—” The wizard raised his voice to be heard over the clamour that arose at his words. “—so a different solution had to be found. Besides, there was another, more pressing, issue to take into consideration—”

Thorin sharply gestured the wizard to stop and then brought his hand down to press against his eyes in the hope of staving off a headache. “You mean to tell me“, he ground out, taking deep, measured breaths, “that you sent us on this quest to rid our kingdom of a dragon, only to invite another dragon to come here?!”

If Dís was here, she would have been proud of his self-control. Despite the fact that every fibre of his being wanted to throttle the damned wizard, Thorin held himself in check. As it was, only Balin seemed to truly appreciate the effort, though he continued inching closer and seemed to be unsuccessfully trying to get his brother to do the same with pointed looks and expressions that largely seemed to go over Dwalin’s head, angry as the warrior was.

“Even if you had been able to find the Arkenstone”, Gandalf went on, “you would have found that Smaug’s influence upon the mountain—or the treasure, rather—would not have ended with his death, no matter the number of dwarves you could have summoned with the stone. No, this not-quite-hobbit—”

“Drobbit”, Kíli interjected with a faux whisper, but Gandalf ignored him.

“—would also have taken care of that issue once he successfully got rid of Smaug himself. When a dragon claims something as their hoard, they place a sort of spell or curse upon it, the effect of which very much depends on the character of the dragon in question. Or rather, their… attitude towards the treasure. Smaug, no doubt, was a creature of pure greed and malice and so, that was the effect he had upon the gold. A dragon’s hold has a way of affecting the way others see it, too. In the case of Smaug, his greed would have caused others within the range of this ‘curse’ to desire his hoard for themselves. Whatever noble intentions this person or people might have had in the beginning, few would have been able to withstand the curse. Most would have fallen prey to it. They would have become just as greedy as Smaug was when he first attacked and would unwillingly and unwittingly share his obsession over his hoard.”

Thorin’s blood ran cold. Unbidden, memories of the last few days flashed before his mind’s eye. He’d always felt that pull towards Erebor deep within his bones even from hundreds of miles away; had always heard the call of his home, that siren-song. It had grown stronger the closer they got to Erebor, which he thought was only natural, as longing mixed with anticipation and hope. But after Mirkwood… Something else had joined the chorus or maybe it had always been there, an undertone to the main melody. Getting to the mountain had become an urge, only partially driven by his knowledge that Durin’s Day was close and that they had to hurry. When Kíli discovered the keyhole and they unlocked the door, this undertone, this voice, had taken the lead, almost completely drowning everything else out. Nothing had been more important than getting to the treasure. Until now, he had thought (or told himself) that it was because he wished to see if Smaug was still alive, to find the Arkenstone so he could summon the dwarven armies to the mountain, but now… Now he wasn’t so sure anymore.

What would have happened had Smaug not caught us?

Thorin could barely hear the others speak over the ringing in his ears. Had he fallen to the gold-sickness plaguing his line so quickly? Had it influenced his decision to go on this quest? How had he not realised it before?

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his rapidly spiralling thoughts back into the present. He followed the arm up to Dwalin’s face and gave his shield-brother a nod to indicate that he was alright. From the way Dwalin looked at him with a mixture of concern and shame in his eyes, Thorin thought he might not have been convincing in the slightest and wondered if anyone else had felt this pull too. Many of his companions seemed lost in thought but whether they were thinking about what Gandalf had said or were wallowing in memories, Thorin could not tell.

Gandalf cleared his throat and gazed down on Thorin with kindness in his eyes. “I could perhaps have dissolved Smaug’s hold myself, but that would have taken time and effort, the former of which I did not believe we have. You likely also wouldn’t have given me the time I needed before you entered the mountain. It could have taken days or weeks, but likely years. Smaug had plenty of time to fully let his curse seep into every single coin and object. But with the not-quite-hobbit here—” He paused and glowered at Kíli and Fíli and their giggling over the term ‘drobbit’. “—and Smaug dead, there is nothing in the way for him to claim the treasure instead—”

All the anger Thorin had felt before Gandalf’s revelation of the dragon's curse came back to him in an instance. “So let me get this straight, wizard”, Thorin said and tried taking deep breaths to calm down, but the fire burned hot in his veins. “Your plan was to hire a ‘burglar’ and let us believe him to be a simple hobbit, only for this ‘hobbit’ to reveal himself to secretly be a dragon, kill Smaug and then claim the treasure as his own and take up residence here?!?”

In his own opinion, he deserved a reward of some kind for staying so calm and not strangling the wizard with his own beard. Really, next time Dís decided to scold him for his temper, he’d tell her of this moment.

“Now, now, Thorin—”

But Gandalf’s words were drowned out by the angry yelling and cursing of thirteen dwarves—even Balin, who was far from his usually calm and composed self.

“Was this all a ruse? Did you plan on replacing Smaug with a friend of yours from the beginning when you found me in Bree? Did you never mean for us to retake our kingdom? A place of great strategic worth in the East you called it when I questioned your motives, but was any of that true? Answer me, wizard!” Thorin’s voice had steadily risen until he all but shouted the last few words, taking a step towards the Man and moving to draw Orcrist, his vision narrowing and sharpening in the way it did before battle. “You will explain yourself—”

“Enough!” Gandalf brought down his staff and drew himself up to his full height.

A shockwave, like that of a pebble being thrown into calm water, rippled through the dwarves and made each of them freeze and fall quiet. A rumble could be heard from above them and what light had fallen on them from the evening sun was extinguished, replaced by shadows that seemed to engulf all of them in near-darkness and to surround the wizard like otherworldly apparitions. Gandalf seemed to grow in size, towering over them almost like Beorn had and growing still, and in his eyes lay the power of a great being, far beyond the Mannish shell he had clothed himself in.

Then, from one moment to the next, the darkness dissipated, sunlight found them once more and Gandalf again became the unassuming wizard they were familiar with. Thorin took a step back and forced himself to let go of the hilt of his sword. The others did the same, each of them looking at the wizard with wary, shaken gazes.

Gandalf sniffed and took up his pipe again. "You will find Bilbo to be an agreeable addition to the mountain. And it's not like he will stay for long. It was never my plan to have him reside here forever, nor would he even have agreed to such a thing. No, a year at most, perhaps more if you deem it necessary and can convince him to stay. Just enough to dispel Smaug’s hold over the hoard and ensure no one tries to take it from you until your kin has arrived.” Gandalf leant down conspiratorially. “Do not tell him I said so, but think of him as a guard dog, there to protect the kingdom from unwanted attacks.”

“I will not—” Thorin's mind caught up with what Gandalf had just said. He came up short and stared. “Bilbo? The dragon's name is Bilbo?!” Next to him, Fíli patted Kíli on the back while the younger of the two complained under his breath.

Gandalf seemed almost amused. “Quite right. Bilbo Baggins. While he is not a Baggins by blood, he was practically adopted by them and the Tooks, even if the former often rue the decision made so many years ago—”

Thorin had no idea what the wizard was talking about and found himself more than irritated at this seemingly insignificant information. “What gives you the right to decide such a thing over our heads? You should have told me!”

The wizard raised one of his eyebrows. “You never would have agreed had you known. No, my idea was for you to get to know Bilbo first before you discovered his true nature. Well, half-true nature. Get to know the hobbit before learning about the dragon, if you will. A shame Bilbo was not in the Shire when I sought him out, but he enjoys his wandering and adventuring, even if it usually only takes him to Rivendell and Lothlórien these days.”

At the mention of the elvish realms, Thorin’s eye and sword hand twitched. First a hobbit who was actually a dragon and now the creature seemed to be an acquaintance, if not a friend, of elves? And of the Witch besides? “I want it gone immediately—”

Gandalf gave Thorin a look. “If that is truly what you wish, then we shall tell Bilbo and he will happily return to his armchair and books. I expected much protest and discussion before he even would have agreed to set out with us, but none such effort will be necessary to achieve the reverse.” The wizard shrugged. “I would caution you against it, however. Though Smaug is dead and Bilbo will likely have established a weak hold over the treasure already, it will take much longer for all of Smaug’s malice to be gone and for Bilbo to claim every single piece of gold as his. Were he to leave now, his claim would quickly dissipate and Smaug’s curse would linger, slowly corrupting each and every one of you and all the dwarves who come here. If the Men plan on rebuilding Dale, then they would be affected too and conflicts would inevitably arise. Not to mention that you’d be alone, thirteen dwarves against any would-be conquerors who, seeing the dragon depart, might want to take their chance at getting the gold for themselves. Laketown is near and her Master… well, I’m sure you already made his acquaintance. The front gate is destroyed and it will take much effort to repair it enough to withstand attacks or even a siege. Now, if said dragon were to stay, maybe fly overhead once or twice to make sure he has been seen by everyone in the vicinity, few would dare to try their luck. His presence in the mountain would also give you the chance to leave every now and then to purchase more supplies. Buy Manpower to help repair the gate, perhaps, though I’m sure Bilbo can be convinced to lend his aid. A dragon is stronger than thirteen dwarves, after all, and it will be a while until Dáin arrives from the east.”

Damn you wizard, Thorin thought with a glare and gritted teeth. Each argument Gandalf offered was sound—but that did not mean Thorin had to like it.

With a quick gesture in Iglishmêk, he asked Balin and Dwalin to join him and walked as far away from the rest of the company as possible, giving his nephews a look and nod to keep Gandalf occupied.

“He is right”, Balin said with a sigh. “Having the dragon here would be an advantage.”

“I don’t trust a single word he says”, Dwalin said and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Even if he knows and trusts this dragon as he claims, that doesn’t mean the dragon will ever leave. Tharkûn will disappear again sooner rather than later and then we’re back to square one with a dragon in the treasury.”

“If we could get the Arkenstone while Tharkûn is here …” Balin stroked his beard and hummed thoughtfully. “Then we could send for Dáin and the others, and we’d have an army here if the dragon decides to stay.”

“We’ll have to find it first.” Thorin let out some steam by kicking a small rock over the ledge and cursed. “My hope was that it would be close to the stairs or lie visible at the top of the pile where I had seen it last, but from my quick look before Smaug drove us out it was nowhere to be seen.”

Dwalin shook his head. “I didn’t see it either. Not that we had much time to look for it, but nothing caught my eye.”

“We don’t know if Smaug added to his hoard over the years or if we are solely dealing with the treasures of Erebor”, Balin said. “In both cases, there is far too much for us to look through. Taking inventory of everything will be an endeavour of months if not years. If Smaug recognised the Arkenstone’s significance, he might have hidden it well.”

“Dáin promised aid should we manage to kill Smaug on our own”, Thorin said. A wave of anger washed over him at the thought of not having been the one to deal the mortal blow, even if he was glad that all of them survived their encounter with the beast. “We don’t need the Arkenstone anymore, strictly speaking. Questions will arise sooner or later but a look at the treasury should be enough to silence them for a while. If Tharkûn deigns to stay until the first of Dáin’s caravans have arrived, maybe already some from the Blue Mountains, his presence should keep the dragon in check.”

“And then there will be more dwarves here to deal with it if necessary”, Dwalin agreed. “I don’t like the idea either, but it doesn’t seem like we have much of a choice. If this… Bilbo is as agreeable as Tharkûn claimed, his presence would be a great deterrent to any future attacks until the front gate’s been repaired and the mountain secure again.”

“We’ll have to give him some kind of reward for his help”, Balin mused out loud. At Dwalin’s incredulous look, the older dwarf gestured in the vague direction of Smaug’s corpse. “He did kill Smaug for us, even if we never actually hired him. And if things happen the way Tharkûn has said—that the dragon stays until we ask him to leave in a year or so—then we will owe him a great debt. Not to mention if he indeed assists in the reparation efforts…”

Thorin frowned but reluctantly had to agree. “Parts of the treasure. Far less than a fourteenth share, unless someone tells him of the contract that was meant for him, but still enough.”

Dwalin snorted. “Did you see how much gold was in there? You could give him his weight in gold and it wouldn’t put in much of a dent. I didn’t remember just how big the damn room is.”

In Thorin’s memories and dreams, it had both been far more and far less. When he had first seen it again after their long exile before Smaug was upon them, he’d been struck by the glittering and glimmering of numberless hills of gold, gems, jewellery, and other kinds of treasures, by the ocean of riches before him, and the knowledge that all of it was his, every single coin. But now? Now he wondered how he could not have seen how firmly Smaug’s curse had him in its grip.

Not just Smaug’s curse… but the gold-sickness too.

“I will not go back on my word or amend the contracts”, he said firmly. “Each of you will receive one fourteenth of the treasure, as was promised. It might take a while to count everything and to see if all of it came from Erebor, but I swear upon the honour of my line and on my honour as king, you will receive your due.”

“No one doubted that Thorin”, Balin said with far too knowing eyes. “But perhaps one fourteenth of everything is too much. None of us would be able to spend it in one lifetime and those of us with children would probably find the gold enough to last them a hundred generations.”

“It needs to be counted first. Some of it we will have to use for the dragon, that is true, and to pay back the Men of Laketown. We’ll need to find out if any of the line of Girion of Dale survived Smaug’s attack and if any of the riches in the mountain are rightfully theirs. Then there’s orders that were paid for but never delivered—” Thorin tactfully did not say why, but the other two already knew the reason. “—and the coin we’ll need for rebuilding Erebor, bringing our people home and purchasing food and everything else we require.”

“Even with all that, you probably will not see a difference. Not if you gave every single dwarf returning to the mountain as many bags of gold as they could carry.”

Though Balin had said this in a jesting tone, Thorin filed the idea away for later. “Someone will have to always be in the treasury to keep an eye on the dragon. Two people at the minimum, so that if something happens, they can call for aid. Glóin can start taking inventory and drawing up rough estimations of how much gold we’ll need to begin with, so three people. Ori, perhaps, to aid Glóin when he isn’t needed elsewhere. The rest of us can start on the front gate.” He gave Balin a look. “Let us hope the rookery survived the years. If none of the ravens are still here, getting into contact with Dáin will be much more difficult.”

“The Men of Laketown do not use them, nor do the elves, if they were even willing to aid us.”

Thorin made a noise of disgust. Dwalin echoed his sentiment. “Those tree-shaggers wouldn’t even lend us a pen if we asked.”

“Not even shade against the sun”, Thorin agreed sourly. “No, let us hope the ravens are still there or at least close enough to see that dwarves have returned to the mountain.”

He turned and walked back to the rest of the company, the corners of his lips twitching upwards for a moment as he saw Kíli and Fíli still bombarding Gandalf with questions about the ‘drobbit’. Thorin only caught parts of one such question, something about the conservation of mass when the ‘drobbit’ changed shapes, but before Gandalf could reply Thorin cut in. “Let us go see this… hobbit of yours, Tharkûn, and see if we find him as agreeable a guest as you claimed.”

For some unfathomable reason, Thorin’s words made the wizard smile. “Oh, certainly. He will be very offended that I was not there when he arrived.”

And so it was that twelve dwarves followed Gandalf the Grey down through the secret door, leaving Bombur behind as a guard, through the corridor and deeper into the mountain. Even now, getting closer to the treasury with each step, no noises came from that direction and for a moment, Thorin hoped that the dragon had left already or been wounded so grievously by Smaug that it had succumbed to its injuries, consequences be damned.

But then they turned and the corridor gave way to the enormous hall of the treasury and those thoughts were washed away by the sight that greeted him.

Amidst an ocean of gold that was no less breath-taking than it had been at Thorin’s first glance, but now no longer awakened the urge to hoard within him, lay a dragon. Just as Nori had described him—his scales shone and sparkled the same way the gold surrounding him did. He was smaller than Smaug, though still massive, towering over the dwarves and wizard even while lying there. Compacter and stouter too, from what Thorin could see. The spikes on his head were shorter, but still gleamed sharply where the light hit them, and the longest and biggest were slightly curved at the end. Like Smaug, he had two legs, though they were stubbier and shorter, and his wings seemed to have less span, too, but ended in sharp claws just the same. Nori’s estimation that the two dragons belonged to different sub-kinds was probably correct, but Thorin knew too little about them to be certain—he doubted, however, that Smaug had been able to change shape the way this hobbit-dragon could.

Said creature seemed to have heard them approach and was now lifting his head and turning towards them. When he saw Gandalf, the dragon opened his massive maw. Thorin’s hand immediately went to Orcrist’s hilt; the other dwarves drew their weapons as well and tried to get out of the way of what Thorin was certain would be a gust of flame—

Then Gandalf said, “Good evening, Bilbo”, and the dragon’s mouth snapped shut again with an audible click of teeth. Thorin signed to the company to stay put without letting the beast out of sight for even a second.

The dragon spluttered but quickly recovered from the interruption and snarled. “Don’t you dare ‘good evening-ing’ me, you troublesome wizard! How dare you! Entering my home without a by-your-leave and then nailing a note to the front door! Did you not see that I only just had it repainted? And then you left without a word to Hamfast or anyone else!”

He paused, as if to draw breath, and Gandalf seemed to take this as his opportunity to speak, but the dragon ploughed right over him before the wizard could even get out a single sound. “And the note! ‘Dear Bilbo, on a quest with thirteen dwarves to retake the Lonely Mountain from Smaug, would appreciate your assistance. – G.’ Do you know when I came back from Lothlórien? Not even three days ago! I accompanied Arwen back to Imladris, rested there for a few days—where I learned some rather fascinating information about your stay there a few months ago, let me tell you—and then made my way to the Shire where I was bombarded with reports of your presence. Only your glyph on the paper stopped everyone from stealing the note!” Thorin saw a spark of flame at the back of the dragon’s throat and tensed, ready to pull the rest of the company out of the literal line of fire, but the dragon seemed to catch himself first and grumbled. “’Retake the Lonely Mountain from Smaug’? You and thirteen dwarves by yourselves? What if I had not come, what would you have done—”

“We would all be dead”, Balin said without giving Gandalf the chance to reply and took a small step forward, effectively drawing the dragon’s attention to himself. Thorin signed sharply in Iglishmêk, but Balin ignored him. “For that we owe you our deepest gratitude, Master… Baggins, was it?”

For the first time since they entered, the dragon seemed to take note of the thirteen dwarves next to Gandalf. His head twitched backwards as if struck and he huffed out a bit of smoke through his nostrils, then craned his long neck to bring his eyes on a more even level to Balin’s with deliberate slowness. “Goodness me, you must excuse my rudeness. Baggins it is, yes. Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” The dragon nodded in imitation of a bow. “You must be the dwarves Gandalf mentioned in his note.”

Balin seemed little intimidated by the enormous head so close to him. He merely smiled and gave a bow of his own. “Balin, son of Fundin, at yours. This is my brother Dwalin”, he gestured over and, when Dwalin did not react, subtly elbowed him in the side. Dwalin looked murderous but gave a little nod of his head and said “At your service” through gritted teeth. If the dragon had noticed or took offense to that, he did not give any indication.

Dori caught on and continued, “I am Dori and these are my brothers Nori and Ori. At your service.” Then he bowed and Ori followed suit; Nori had to be ‘encouraged’ by his older brother with a hiss of his name.

“Glóin, son of Gróin, at your service,” Glóin said. “This is my brother Óin.” Even though Óin had lost his horn a while ago, he seemed to have heard enough to offer a gruff “At your service” of his own.

“Bofur, at your service! My brother Bombur is outside, guarding… the mountain.”

“Bifur, zai adshânzu.”

“You must excuse my cousin, Master Baggins”, Bofur said with a cheerful grin. “He lost his ability to speak Westron when he got that axe of his. He said ‘at your service’.” The dragon turned his head a little and seemed to look at the axe in question with an almost inquisitive rumble that echoed through the hall.

“Fíli—”

“—and Kíli—”

“—at your service!” They bowed completely in synch, which was far less impressive to someone like Thorin who had seen them practise ever since they were young.

“And this”, Balin said, after shooting Thorin very pointed looks that Thorin very pointedly ignored, “is our leader, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King of Durin’s Folk and rightful King under the Mountain.”

The dragon turned his head once more and gazed down, and Thorin saw his eyes for the first time. Golden they were, like Smaug’s, but not tinged with orange and red; instead, they were shot through with amber and shades of brown and seemed to have notes of green, grey and blue besides, depending on the light. Warm they were too, not fiery like Smaug’s, not full of malice, greed, and fury.

The sight of them made Thorin’s heart skip a beat. Heat shot through him, followed by a shiver that ran down his spine and seemed to soothe all the aches in his body.

Then his eyes went wide and his breath caught in his throat.

No. This could not be. This had to be a mistake, there was no way—

But deep within his chest, Thorin knew that this was not a mistake.

This dragon was his One.

------------

Thorin did not remember if he’d said anything to the dragon or what exactly happened after his horrifying revelation, nor did he remember following most of the company back outside the mountain, Bofur, Glóin, Ori (and consequently Dori) staying behind with Gandalf and their ‘guest’. That Kíli and Fíli had not stayed as well would surprise Thorin later, once he could think clearly again, but at that time everything passed by in a blur. One moment he looked into the eyes of the dragon his One, the next he was outside and heard Bifur catch up his cousin on what had transpired.

It was only when Balin sat down next to him that Thorin realised he must have sunk down on a rock and buried his face in his hands. “I believe congratulations are in order?”

Thorin mumbled, "Me gamaksu mat kakhfi ”,¹ and groaned in dismay.

Balin tutted at the profanity. “A dwarf finding their One or Ones outside our race is rare but not unheard of. That One being a dragon is… unusual, to be sure, but he defeated Smaug and from our short conversation he seems to be quite polite.” When Thorin just groaned again, Balin reached over and patted his back. “At least he is capable of changing shape? Though he did not offer to demonstrate and none of us asked to see, so we will have to take Tharkûn’s word when it comes to that.”

“Are we sure he did not enchant Thorin to think he’s his One?” Dwalin sat down next to the two of them. Thorin wasn’t surprised that his friend had been eavesdropping. “Dragons enchant through their eyes and words. That Túrin fellow’s tale proves that. Him and his sister got bewitched the moment they looked into Glaurung’s eyes. Being the One of the king would mean the dragon can stay in Erebor for as long as he wants and not have to worry about giving up his hoard.”

“It is not common knowledge that dwarves have Ones to begin with”, Balin reminded his brother. “Only the Ones outside our race themselves and buhû khazâd² know. There is no reason to suspect Master Baggins has any idea.”

“Tharkûn could be behind that”, Dwalin retorted. “No one knows how much he knows. More than he should at any rate. And Master Baggins could simply have wanted to make Thorin think there is some kind of connection. What’s that idea some of the Men have? Love at first sight?”

“We have no reason to suspect foul play, neither from Tharkûn nor Master Baggins—”

“One’s a damned wizard and the other’s a dragon, what more reason do you need?”

“Enough”, Thorin rasped out and finally straightened up. “There is no spell on me. My mind and heart are mine and mine alone. The dragon—Master Baggins is my One.”

Balin seemed pleased by that admittance, but Dwalin continued to look sceptical. “Better have Óin check you over anyway.”

“Óin is a healer, not a wizard”, Balin pointed out, “but if it would bring you peace, I see no reason not to let him if Thorin is willing.” The older dwarf paused and leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper. “What do you plan to do about it?”

Thorin opened his mouth to reply but found himself at a loss of words. What did he plan to do?

Immediately, he thought to reject the bond, refuse to let it grow and turn away from the path Mahal had chosen for him. It was rare, even more so than a dwarf finding their One or Ones among Men, hobbits, or, Mahal forbid, elves, but not impossible. Tragic for all that were involved, those fated to be together and their loved ones, and grievous beyond imagination. Each step that the dwarf took away from their One or Ones, it was said, was more painful than the last, agony that would never disappear, never fade, and would accompany the dwarf for the rest of their lives. People looked upon the ‘amukhâl³ with pity, distrust or fear, lest their decision affect those around them and doom their own relationships.

Why they rejected their Ones was different for every person. Some did it for the love of another, others because they were unhappy with the choice Mahal made for them. In some rare cases, they were pressured by others to deny their One or Ones. Most who had the chance to get to know their other half or halves accepted them sooner or later, for the refusal was a continuous act that had to be repeated each and every single day of their lives. Thorin had never met one of them himself, only those who had lost their Ones to Smaug or the Battle of Azanulbizar. He was torn between respect for the dwarves who stood by their decision no matter the consequences and bafflement than any would defy Mahal’s will, to never even give it a chance. He knew how much Balin would give to bring his One back.

But what other choices did he have? They knew nothing about this Master Baggins except for the fact that he was a dragon who could turn into a hobbit (or was it the other way around?), lived in the Shire and was friendly with the wizard and the elves of Lothlórien and Rivendell, which Thorin certainly did not count as a positive. He had killed Smaug, though whether he did it for his own gain or to help them as Gandalf claimed remained to be seen. And though it was not unusual for a dwarf to know nothing about their One or Ones upon their first meeting, they usually were not dragons.

Did he want to accept his One? Or did he want to live the rest of his life, however many decades he had left, with a gaping hole in his chest? With the knowledge that his One was far beyond his reach, far beyond his protection? The mere thought made him grit his teeth and frown.

“Nothing for now”, he finally said. “Securing the front gate takes priority over any and all matters of the heart. Perhaps then we will be able to gage how much... Master Baggins... can be trusted to stay true to his words.”

Dwalin continued to look sceptical but nodded, while Balin leant back and looked intently at Thorin as if he was trying to read his mind. “If you are sure”, he said. “I don’t know how much you remember about our conversation with Master Baggins after your ze’asakh,⁴ so allow me to summarise.” After Thorin gave his permission, Balin continued, “Master Baggins confirmed what Tharkûn already told us. Smaug’s hold lingers over the treasure but now that he is dead, Master Baggins will be able to override that hold with his own. He left that decision up to us. However, without him or Tharkûn, Smaug’s claim would last for decades, if not centuries, and poison the thoughts of every thinking being in its vicinity. Tharkûn is able to dispel it in Master Baggin’s stead, but, as you are aware, he claimed that it would take time and effort and would perhaps not be as effective as the other option.”

“Of course he’d say that”, Dwalin grumbled.

“When I asked what such a hold would entail and if it would affect us and our rebuilding efforts, Master Baggins claimed there would be no effects for us or anyone else. He said that he is already more wealthy than any hobbit needs to be, so he has no interest whatsoever in the treasure and does not desire it—which, as Tharkûn confirmed, would mean there would be no ‘curse’. He swore that he would not hinder us from taking things out of the treasury and using the gold however we please.”

“No interest in the treasure?” Thorin repeated, somewhat dumbfounded. No interest whatsoever from a dragon?

“We’d be fools to believe him”, Dwalin said. “He’s definitely lying about that.”

Balin made a noise of disagreement. “You saw his reaction when I told him we’d give him parts of the treasure as thanks for his aid. He vehemently disagreed and assured us no such thing would be necessary.”

“Another lie.”

“Then he would be an excellent liar”, Balin said.

“He’s a bloody dragon, of course he’s an excellent liar.”

“Mahal would never choose a greedy, treacherous creature as Thorin’s One.”

“Or maybe he did because he saw me true”, Thorin growled out, “and foretold how easily I would fall to the thrall of the gold.”

“Thorin—”

“No Balin, I did, and I know you saw it, too. It has called to me for years, for decades, and I never realised. I cannot even know whether the desire to reclaim Erebor was mine or if the gold lust was behind that. If Smaug had not been there—”

“Thorin”, Dwalin interrupted him and put a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “We all felt it. It called to me, too, when we left the forest and came to Laketown. The plan was never for all of us to go down to the treasury, yet all of us did because all of us wanted to see.”

“Do not forget that Smaug’s malice and greed affected us as well”, Balin said. “Maybe more so than the gold itself. I do not feel its pull anymore and I do not believe anyone else does either.” Dwalin rumbled affirmatively. “This is likely Master Baggins’ doing.”

“Until the hoard is his, then we’ll see his true colours”, Dwalin said. “If Tharkûn isn’t in on it too, then he’s been tricked by the dragon and playing right into his hands.”

“Say what you will about the Witch of Lothlórien, there is no way that anyone could trick her”, Balin pointed out.

“You’re saying it like that’s a good thing.”

“Of course not.” Balin shot his brother a look of reproach. “But I sincerely doubt anyone could fool her. It’s said she can read minds.”

“Maybe that’s been the plan the whole time. She could be in on it.”

“Next you’ll say Smaug is in on it too. Or me?”

Before the two could escalate their argument any further, Thorin said, “Continue please, Balin.” Headaches were rare among dwarves but by Mahal, Thorin’s temples were beginning to throb.

Proving just why he had been Thorin’s advisor and would be uryatu uzbad⁵ once Erebor was restored and Thorin crowned, Balin smoothly resumed recounting the conversation with Master Baggins as if nothing had happened. “He asked if he could be of service during the rebuilding efforts, without any of us bringing up that topic ourselves.” Dwalin snorted, but Balin ignored him. “I said we would let him know once we’ve come to a decision regarding the hoard, his stay in Erebor and what, if any, assistance he might provide. After that Tharkûn suggested that Master Baggins should fly overhead occasionally but stay clear of Laketown and Mirkwood, lest someone attack him. He seemed amendable to the idea but left that to us to decide, too. I thanked him again for killing Smaug and saving us, and then we took our leave.”

Thorin nodded and murmured his thanks for the summary. Balin just patted his arm with a light, amused smile. “Being distracted by ze’asakh is more than expected. Dwalin I believe ran into a wall. Why, I’ve seen dwarves who forgot how to breathe and walk when they first saw their One!”

“Not Balin, though. He didn’t even stutter or blink”, Dwalin said. As always when Balin’s One was alluded to or mentioned, the older dwarf’s smile turned fond but sad and his eyes spoke of melancholy. Dwalin brought their shoulders together in a gesture of comfort. One hundred seventy-one years had passed, but the love and grief were still fresh and would always be.

“Only because I remembered the report I was giving by heart”, Balin said and his face lit up as he remembered his own ze’asakh so long ago. “It was the fifth revision.”

Seeing Balin like this and remembering the many hours he’d sat by Dwalin’s side as his friend complained about a certain thief, the tales his sister and he had told Fíli and Kíli about their father, and the countless times on the road when Bombur and Glóin spoke of their families, Thorin wondered what it would be like to have a bond so strong, to love another as unconditionally and deeply, and be loved the same way in return. To have the second half of his soul there at his side, no matter what happened, no matter who he was.

No, he could never be an u’makh.⁶ Perhaps that, too, was part of the weakness of his blood—he was too selfish to refuse.

Thorin shook his head, stood up, and squeezed Balin’s shoulder with his hand. “Come, let us gather the rest of our company. We shall hold a vote.”

He sent Dwalin down to the treasury to gather Glóin, Ori, and Dori. Dragging the scribe away from Master Baggin’s tales proved almost too much a task even for the likes of Dwalin, but prevail he did and soon twelve dwarves were gathered outside in front of the secret door. Nori returned a moment later and gave Thorin a nod—Gandalf was still downstairs talking with the dragon.

“I will not decide alone if we permit Master Baggins to stay”, Thorin began. “This is a choice all of us have to make together. Not only whether he stays here and for how long, but also if we allow him to claim the treasure as his to rid us of Smaug’s curse. The matter of his reward for killing Smaug and any further assistance he might provide will also have to be decided, but that can wait, if we let him stay.”

“Completely getting rid of Smaug’s hold could take anywhere between nine months to a year, if not more”, Glóin said. “At least that is what Tharkûn and the dragon would estimate. Smaug’s been in the mountain for a long time and his malice has sunk deep into the gold. For the moment, Master Baggin’s presence is enough to neutralise the curse or so he said, but that’s only a short-term solution.” Glóin paused for a moment then said with downcast eyes, “The pull I felt when we came close to the mountain is gone. I felt no particular desire towards the treasure while I was down there, as prettily as everything glimmered and shone. Frankly, the dominant thought in my mind was that taking inventory is going to be a nightmare.”

“I did not feel it anymore either”, Ori admitted quietly.

Next to him Dori nodded, shame in his expression. “Ori was distracted by the dragon but ensuring his safety did not occupy my mind enough to fully take my attention away from the gold. Yet I felt no hunger or greed towards it, only astonishment at the size of the room and the amount of treasure in it.”

The other dwarves echoed the sentiment, though the brothers ‘Ur had been affected less strongly to begin with, likely because they were not of Durin’s line. But they had felt it too and now that… lust was gone.

“For that alone Master Baggins’ presence is a good thing”, Balin said. “If he truly can remove the curse completely then it would be a great boon.”

“Tharkûn said he could do it too”, his brother pointed out. “I say let him do it and send the dragon away. Or let him stay just long enough for them to work together.” He gave Thorin an apologetic look that thankfully no one else noticed.

“Not as thoroughly and not as well”, Bofur protested, “nor is he certain it would work and how long it would last.”

“Excuses”, Nori said. “Pretty flimsy ones at that, too. He’s a wizard. Surely there’s a spell.”

“He would have told us if there was”, Ori said, to general grumbles of distrust towards the wizard and his reliability. “I for one vote that we should let him stay.”

“’course you’d say that”, Nori teased. “First and most likely only chance to interrogate the lizard and squeeze him dry for information.”

Ori gave his brother a dirty look. “He was nothing but polite. He answered most of my questions and apologised for those that he couldn’t.”

“Or wouldn’t.” Nori likely would have continued had Dori not pointedly cleared his throat.

“I take it your vote will be ‘no’”, the oldest ‘Ri brother said. “My vote will be ‘yes’.” That honestly surprised Thorin. He would have thought that Dori wanted the dragon as far away from them as possible given how diligent (and overbearing) he usually was when it came to his siblings’ safety. “Not because I want to indulge Ori, so don’t even think about suggesting that, Nori, but because I have to agree with Ori’s assessment. Master Baggins was very polite. That is more than I can say for some of us here.”

“I vote ‘yes’, too”, Balin said. With all the poise of one used to that sort of thing, thanks to Thorin and Dwalin, he ignored the way the ‘Ri brothers were shooting daggers at each other with their eyes. “But I do not see why we have to decide definitively now.”

“How so?” Thorin asked.

“Why not vote instead on whether we want Master Baggins to stay here for now, with the option to change our minds later should he give us any reason to doubt he intends to stay true to his word?”

“And how would we get him to leave if he takes offense to that? Polite he may be, but he’s still a dragon.” Glóin frowned. “Should Tharkûn have left by then and Master Baggins prove uncooperative, we’ll have the Smaug situation all over.”

“But with more dwarves here”, Kíli said. “Dáin and however many soldiers he brings, plus the first caravans from the Blue Mountains.”

“All the might of Erebor stood no chance against Smaug”, Thorin reminded him. “What chance would we have against this dragon, with a kingdom in ruins and a fraction of the warriors we had then?”

“If that even comes to pass”, Bofur said. “I see no reason to be so pessimistic. My vote is ‘yes’. He sounded like a nice chap.”

Gesticulating wildly and nodding with just as much energy, Bifur said, “Just imagine the tree-shaggers’ faces when they see him!”

Thorin hummed thoughtfully and all eyes fell on him. “It would be advantageous to have a dragon here to deter all potential attackers. Azog is still out there. It’s only a matter of time until he arrives and then he will not be alone. The Master of Laketown is a greedy man and I do not doubt for a second that he would try and take the mountain for himself should the opportunity arise. If we send the drag—Master Baggins away, it would be us thirteen against the people of Esgaroth and the front gate is broken. Thranduil and his ilk would probably help them too.”

“Perhaps we should send Laketown word of our success”, Fíli suggested. Thorin raised an eyebrow and gestured for him to explain. “Let them know we are alive and have retaken the mountain, that the new dragon is our ally and that they should send an envoy or messenger so we can give them the gold that we promised.”

“With heartfelt thanks and assurances that we will immediately let them know if we find any of the treasure of Dale”, Kíli continued, face breaking out into a huge grin. “Great idea, Fee! Maybe ask Master Baggins to show himself so they know we’re not lying.” He nodded decisively. “I vote ‘yes’.”

“So do I”, Fíli said, grinning just as much.

“Seven for ‘yes’”, Balin observed with a small, satisfied smile. “One for no, though I can guess my brother’s vote, so make that two. Even if Óin, Glóin, Bombur, and Thorin—” Balin looked intently at him. “—vote ‘no’, it would be seven to six.”

“I do not like it and do not look forward to treating burns of this kind again, if the worst comes to pass”, Óin said once they caught him up through quick Iglishmêk, “but I agree with Thorin and Fíli. My vote is ‘yes’.”

“Mine is ‘no’, little good it will do”, Glóin grumbled.

“I vote ‘yes’”, Bombur said.

All eyes fell on Thorin once more. He felt himself swallow hard and avoided their gazes, directing his own outwards towards the desolation where Smaug’s corpse lay. Could he even think about this impartially, knowing that the dragon was his One? He remembered the words he had directed towards Gandalf when the wizard had first revealed his ‘burglar’s’ true identity. I want it gone immediately, he’d said. How angry he had been, knowing that yet another dragon stood between himself and reclaiming Erebor for his kin, how angry knowing that it had not been him who’d dealt Smaug the mortal blow.

His decision, no matter which way he’d go, did not matter anymore but he knew it would affect the way the rest of the company treated Master Baggins, maybe even how they would vote should they want to reconsider in the near future. Had they gathered before his ze’asakh, his first instinct might have been to say ‘no’. Perhaps he might even have spoken first and thus influenced the way the others would have voted. And now?

Now a part deep inside him constricted at the mere thought of sending the dragon away.

“I vote ‘yes’”, he finally said, turning his gaze back towards the others.

“Ten for ‘yes’, three for ‘no’.” Balin clapped his hands together, seemingly pleased by this development, though the exact reasons for that stayed his own (Thorin could guess). “Now that this decision has been made, let us vote next on whether we want Master Baggins to claim the treasure as his to remove Smaug’s curse.”

“We have no idea if his hold will be any better than Smaug’s”, Nori said and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Sure, he claims to have no desire for the treasure, but that’s easy enough to say. It was Smaug’s greed that made it… affect us so, right? So can he, I don’t know, influence us in other ways too?”

“He said we would not feel anything”, Balin replied. “He does not want the treasure, nor our reward for slaying Smaug or helping us, so since he feels… neutral towards it, his ‘hold’ over it would be too, if I understood him correctly.”

“Not that he makes us detest the gold”, Bofur joked. “Imagine that, dwarves who’d rather have nothing to do with gold at all.”

“I don’t think it is a conscious thing”, Ori said, “but rather done unconsciously by the dragon who claims a hoard. Their attitude towards the treasure sinks into everything it contains. If their feelings are strong enough, the ‘hold’ can start affecting nearby people. Smaug was so greedy and… obsessed with the treasure that it affected us too, maybe even the people of Esgaroth. Master Baggins seems to have little interest in gold for its own sake and said that he has enough to last him several hobbit lifetimes. From my conversation with him he found the artefacts interesting for their craftsmanship and the history behind them rather than their value. So if there aren’t any feelings he could pass onto his hoard, then there is no way for him to influence us, consciously or not. And Smaug sat on the gold for nearly two centuries while Master Baggins would stay a year and maybe even less, so there wouldn’t really be enough time for a ‘curse’ or similar to grow.”

The others looked thoughtful, some nodding along to Ori’s words, others stroking their beards as they listened and considered.

“Well”, Balin said after a few moments of silence, “let us vote. All in favour, raise your hand.”

Just as before, Ori, Dori, Bifur, Bofur, Kíli, Fíli, Balin, Óin, Bombur, and Thorin himself voted ‘yes’, but now Glóin did so as well with a shrug, murmuring something about not trusting wizards and rather having it done properly. Nori seemed to agree with his younger brother, though he and Dwalin still voted ‘no’.

“Will we need to provide Master Baggins food?” Bombur asked out of nowhere once everyone had lowered their hands again. “It is only… he is massive and rations are already low. If we have to feed him too, we will run out even more quickly.”

“Don’t hobbits eat six or seven meals a day?” Nori asked Dwalin who, as captain of the guard in Ered Luin, had interacted more with the Shire than any of the others, including those who’d gone there for trade.

“Something like that, aye”, he replied. “Never stayed there long enough to count. I wasn’t exactly invited over to tea.”

Images of Dwalin sitting in some hobbit’s house-hole, trying not to break the delicate teacup in his hands, came to Thorin’s mind. Only through years of experience did he manage to keep his face blank, but their many years of friendship had also given Dwalin a seventh sense⁷ when it came to such things. The warrior eyed Thorin critically as if he was trying to figure out what he was thinking.

“Did Master Baggins bring provisions?” Thorin turned to Balin, who was the sort of person to think of such things and all other contingencies besides.

“Not that I could see, nor did he mention any. It should not be difficult for him to procure food, however, since he is able to fly and thus can go hunting where we cannot. Perhaps he would even be willing to share with us.”

More things to consider for Master Baggin’s reward; Thorin hoped Glóin would keep track.

“Dragons are creatures of evil even if this dragon does not seem to be so”, Dori said. “Tharkûn and Beorn warned us not to eat anything from Mirkwood, neither plant nor animal, but maybe Master Baggins would be able to? In which case we’d have to gather our own food.”

“Tharkûn advised him not to fly too close to Mirkwood or Laketown for fear of getting attacked”, Balin pointed out. “I do not know what weapons they are wary of but from the sound of it, Master Baggins would not risk it.”

“Do dragons even need to eat?” Ori asked. He blushed a little as everyone stared at him, but continued, “It’s just, no one saw Smaug for years. He couldn’t have gone away to hunt and… not even the… remains… would have fed him this long.” The young scribe looked a little ill at the thought, as did some of the other dwarves.

“He probably slept for much of that time”, Balin mused, “but that does not help us in our current situation.”

“Laketown may sell us what provisions they can spare”, Thorin said, “though that will not be much. It will take time for Dáin to arrive. Master Baggins could fly east towards the Iron Hills and the dwarves there would not hesitate to attack him even if we sent word ahead. North are the Ered Mithrin which house cold-drakes and other monsters of ice but offer very little to eat. South are Gondor and Mordor, where he will find little welcome, and west is Mirkwood. If he flies around that accursed forest then he would find the lands of the horse-riders. Perhaps he could still his hunger on their mounts, but we’d thank him not for the meat when the Rohirrim follow him back to us. Lothlórien would feed him if he truly is friendly with the Witch but for us they’d have nothing to spare, nor would Rivendell beyond the Misty Mountains. I do not know how fast he can fly but anything longer than a few hours, maybe a day, would defeat the purpose of his presence here in Erebor.”

Thorin turned towards Bombur. “We’ll ask Master Baggins about his needs and take that into consideration. Then, I’d like you to get together with Glóin and draw up preliminary plans for how much gold you will need to last us until Dáin’s arrival, plus some extra in case he gets delayed. We’ll have to find a way to send word to Laketown about our payment for their help, so we may as well ask if they have any food to sell us.” He frowned. “Hopefully some of the ravens are still there. I do not want to have to send any of us outside the mountain—it would be easy for the Men to capture them. We need to send word to Dáin too.”

“Maybe the ravens saw us return”, Balin said.

“With any luck Ravenhill was not destroyed when Smaug attacked”, Thorin said. Luck had been on their side during the journey, even when things had seemed hopeless, but he had always been a pessimist. “Balin, you, Dwalin, and me will go take a look. In the meantime, I’d like Bombur and Glóin to get started on the plans for our provisions. Should the ravens not be there anymore, we’ll have to consider sending most of the company back to Laketown with only a few of us staying behind with Master Baggins and Tharkûn.”

Without ravens, getting any type of message to Dáin would be almost impossible. He couldn’t send someone by foot as it would take far too long, they had no ponies or rams, and while taking a boat along the Celduin would be an option, they’d have to abandon the vessel at the crossing with the River Carnen, which flowed south and not north to the Iron Hills.

“If the ravens are there”, he continued, “we’ll send Dáin a message as soon as possible, preferably with Master Baggins’ needs already taken into consideration alongside our own. Provisions, soldiers, and craftspeople for the first repairs and restoration efforts. Then a letter to the Blue Mountains so Dís can start organising the first caravans, alongside gold to pay for them.”

“Make sure to include some words about your well-being in there. You two as well.” Balin turned to Fíli and Kíli with a wink and a smile. “The Lady Dís will strangle you with your braids if you forget.”

Thorin and his nephews winced as one.

“I will have to write something for my wife and my little pebbles!” Bombur said.

“And my wife and wee lad!” Glóin all but shouted and made an aborted movement as if he was about to run off in search for paper, but then he seemed to remember their current situation and looked at Ori instead. “Did you manage to hold onto any parchment other than your notebook?”

“Yes!” Ori pulled out several stacks of paper that he must have hidden underneath his oversized clothing, though Thorin had no idea how they had survived the Misty Mountains and their barrel ride from Mirkwood. “And a few pens as well.”

Glóin, Bombur, Kíli, and Fíli immediately crowded around Ori, the two princes arguing loudly about who would write to their amad first. Thorin caught himself smiling fondly at the scene, but then remembered he would have to write her something too, which he was not looking forward to at all. What was he going to write?

Dear sister, my hare-brained idea, as you so eloquently put it, nearly got your sons killed eight times and only one of those can be attributed to Smaug.

Dear sister, everyone is still alive and only suffered minor injuries.

Dear sister, the burglar Tharkûn wanted us to meet in the Shire was actually a dragon in hobbit-disguise. It was him who killed Smaug, though Kíli managed to injure the worm before that. Mahal save me, the dragon—the hobbit—is my One.

Dear sister, I was not strong enough. The gold called to me and I fell without even realising it. I am no better than grandfather. Had Smaug not noticed us… I am so ashamed.

Glad to be able to put the issue off until they visited Ravenhill, if not longer, Thorin gestured Dwalin and Balin to follow him back into the secret corridor. Though his feet wanted to lead him into the treasury—for the gold or Master Baggins, he could not say—he purposefully went the opposite direction and let memory guide his legs. The three of them were silent, each taking in the sights around them. Thorin could almost hear the sound of footsteps other than their own echo through the corridors; could almost hear the laughter of children running afoot and dwarven voices both quiet and loud—a kingdom alive with people. Like it had been before Smaug, when Erebor was the greatest kingdom in all of Middle-earth and the pride of Durin’s folk. Like it would be again now that Smaug was dead. We owe Master Baggins a debt beyond imagining, Thorin thought, and will owe him even more if he aids us further.

Before his mind could drift towards the mûmak (or dragon) in the room (or mountain), Thorin firmly focused his thoughts on the task at hand. Some of the corridors had crumbled during Smaug’s assault or maybe during Master Baggins’ fight with him, but they managed to squeeze past and continued their trek towards the hill, avoiding debris and unstable ground whenever they encountered it, taking alternate routes when necessary, and steadily making their way upwards, sometimes having to jump across or climb where gaps or obstacles blocked their way. By the time they made it outside, Thorin’s mood had dropped and he cursed his ancestors for putting the ravens so far away. By the time they climbed the last few steps up the hill, Thorin had decided to relocate the roost come what may, even if he had to beg the ravens on his knees to agree. Provided any of the ravens were still there.

He could have sunk on the ground and sung Mahal’s praises when they were greeted by the croaking of a couple of ravens and the wild flapping of their wings. “Hail, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain!” An elderly raven croaked and flew over, landing on the arm that was offered to him. “And hail, Balin son of Fundin, Dwalin son of Fundin! I am Roäc, son of Carc, and though I was born a hundred and fifty-three years ago when Erebor had already fallen to the fell beast Smaug, well do I remember my father’s words and how highly he spoke of the line of Durin! But tell me, King Thorin, how come you are here when a dragon still lives in the mountain? Did you slay it?”

“Hail Roäc, son of Carc”, Thorin replied. “How glad I am to see you and your kin. As to the dragon…” He exchanged quick looks with Balin and Dwalin, then asked, “Do you know of Tharkûn, the grey wizard?”

“Aye, we know of him and his kind and that he has accompanied you for much of your journey, or so we’ve been told.”

“That is true. This… second dragon, the one with scales of gold, is here at his behest. It was the dragon that killed Smaug and he will remain here until Smaug’s curse over the treasure has been lifted.”

The ravens croaked and screeched, flapping about the broken tower, until Roäc gave a word of command and they fell silent once more, puffing up their feathers and blinking down at the three dwarves with their beady black eyes. “Far be it from us to question your decisions”, Roäc said with the kind of intonation of one who very much did just that, “but to trust a dragon seems unwise. Long have we waited here for the return of you and your kin, but the dragon poses a great risk to us.”

“From my conversation with the dragon—Master Baggins is his name—I believe he can be trusted. We will be cautious, of course, it would be foolish not to, but he seemed nice, polite and trustworthy.” Behind Balin, Dwalin snorted, but a quick glare from both his brother and Thorin kept him quiet. “If we inform him of your presence and tell him to be… careful not to do get too close to you, I am certain he will do just so.”

Roäc stared at them in silence for a few moments, then croaked, “My father always spoke highly of the dwarves of Erebor, so I will trust you on this matter. I cannot guarantee all my kin will be willing to return to the mountain knowing a dragon is close, but most will follow my call, that I am certain of.”

Thorin let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Roäc. Are any of the ravens here able to make the journey to Esgaroth, the Iron Hills, and the Blue Mountains?” Roäc turned his head and cawed out three names; the birds in question gave reply and flapped their wings. “I would like to ask the three of you to accompany us back to Erebor. We have urgent messages for my cousin Dáin, my sister Dís in Ered Luin, and the Master of Laketown.” Thorin paused and looked down to the old raven perched on his arm. “It might be in our best interest to relocate you somewhere closer to the mountain, at least until this tower and the surrounding path has been restored. That might also give some security to those of your kin that might be hesitant about returning, to be closer to my people once they arrive. We will have to decide on a specific place later, after the letters have been sent.”

Roäc looked around the ruins of Ravenhill and clacked his beak. “This has been the roost of my father and his fathers before him. I would not see it forget its purpose and history. But for the time being a… temporary relocation would be acceptable.”

“You honour us with your willingness to renew the bond between your kin and mine”, Thorin said and lifted his arm to make it easier for Roäc to fly back to his perch on the wall. “Little food we have to spare at the moment, but it is my hope that the people of Esgaroth will be able to help us and once my cousin Dáin has arrived, we will share with you, as my people have done in centuries past.”

The ravens cawed, repeating the word “food” over and over in excitement. Roäc gave Thorin a shrewd look. “Tell your dragon that we are not food, nor are any of our kin!” He listened to the cawing of his ravens and croaked to make them quiet down again. “There has not been much to eat in this desolation and we did we want to risk our lives flying to the city of Men, who see us as bad omens and bringers of luck, as if we were common crows!” The ravens croaked in indignation. “Mirkwood’s darkness has kept us away, though tidings have come to us of a shadow fleeing south. My father sung high praises of the little seed cakes the caretakers would bring us—I would very much like to have a taste myself!” The surrounding ravens cawed “cake! cake! cake!” until Roäc silenced them. “Tuc, Drig, and Fleti will accompany you back to the mountain. May their wings be swift and their tidings glad! The dwarves have returned to Erebor!”

Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin left the ravens to their celebratory croaks and caws, each carrying one of the three ravens on their shoulder, though the birds took flight several times when the terrain became more difficult and the dwarves had to jump or climb. It was with much better spirits than before that they returned to the other dwarves outside the secret door.

Glóin, Ori, and Bombur were nowhere to be seen, but Thorin assumed that they were in the treasury. The sight of the three birds made the others cheer loudly, the exception being Óin who simply said he was glad they would not have to starve. Thorin left the ravens in Dori’s care—with strict instructions to not let Fíli and Kíli bother them too much—before he and Balin went through the door again. Dwalin walked over to Nori and remained outside.

“I have the feeling Roäc knew about your connection to Master Baggins, but how that can be I do not know”, Balin commented once they were alone, making their way back to the treasury.

“I would rather not find out”, Thorin grumbled.

“Are you sure it is wise to do ‘nothing’ about it?”

Thorin gave a non-committal grunt in reply and stayed silent until they reached the treasury. It looked just like it did when they first entered after Smaug was killed; an ocean of coins and treasures uncountable. Master Baggins had not moved from his spot and was talking with Ori when they entered, pausing only to give them a polite nod and to say, “King Thorin, Master Balin”.

Thorin nodded back, staunchly ignoring the way hearing Master Baggins say his name made his body tingle pleasantly, and joined Bombur and Glóin who were bent over pieces of parchment deep in thought. “The ravens are still here”, he informed them once he had their attention. “If you can give me rough estimates of the food we need and the gold for the people of Laketown and the caravans, we can send all three messages at once.”

Glóin picked up one of the papers and inspected it. “Bombur did as you asked and talked to... Master Baggins about his dietary requirements. Apparently dragons can go without food for a very long time, especially if they conserve their energy. That is probably why Smaug had not been seen for a while, he was… hibernating. Master Baggins said the longest he could reasonably go without food is one or two months, up to six if absolutely necessary, but then he'd lack the strength to help us rebuild.” Glóin picked up another piece of paper. “Regarding the question whether he would hunt for his own food, Master Baggins indicated that his flight speed is not high enough to be able to reach a place where he could acquire food and be back in Erebor in a manner of hours, which was one of your caveats. Ori asked how fast he can fly and through some calculations based on Master Baggins’ descriptions we estimated 55 miles per hour, give or take. If his account can be believed, it took him seven hours to reach Rivendell from the Shire, where he took a rest, then another ten or so to get to Erebor, though he also took breaks in between.”

“And immediately after he arrived, he fought Smaug and won”, Balin said, sounding both amazed and slightly horrified. Thorin could relate to that—all of Erebor’s greatest warriors could not defeat Smaug, but a smaller dragon who must have been exhausted succeeded? If he hadn’t been so thankful that Smaug was dead, it almost would have felt like an insult. “That means we cannot rely on him to hunt for himself and us, at least not until Dáin and his reinforcements have arrived and Master Baggins can leave the mountain for more than a few hours.”

“We also checked the storerooms or rather those that we could reach and access”, Bombur said. “Some non-perishable food is still there and likely edible, but it is not much. Enough to last us a few days. With that plus the provisions we got in Laketown, a month or maybe two, if we really stretched ourselves thin.”

“Which we shouldn’t do.” Balin shook his head. “Not if we mean to start repairing the front gate and be in good enough shape to fight, should the elves and Men attack.”

“They’d be foolish to do so.” Thorin risked a quick glance towards the dragon, who was still in deep conversation with Ori. From what Thorin knew about dragon hearing, he likely could hear the four of them without any difficulty whatsoever. Unless he was so engrossed in his conversation with Ori that he wasn’t aware of their words, he was either listening or maybe politely pretending that he did not. “Has Master Baggins indicated whether he would help with the repairs?”

Glóin nodded. “Said something about knowing next to nothing about stonework and the like but would be willing to carry debris and lend his fire, if necessary.”

He handed over one of the papers and Thorin took a quick look but found nothing to criticise or change, so he passed it on to Balin for his approval. The advisor seemed satisfied by what he was seeing and rolled up the paper after he was done reading. “Thank you Bombur.” Thorin left him to his meal plans, turning to Glóin again. “Have you drawn up estimations for the gold we owe Laketown?”

“Aye.” Glóin gave Thorin a rundown of his calculations. “To be frank, it will take us years to count all the coin in here. We won’t be able to divert much of our attention to it because rebuilding takes precedence, so maybe even longer. I knew there would be a lot of it but by Mahal’s beard, is there a lot of gold in here.”

“Some of it almost certainly belongs to Dale.” Thorin very purposefully did not turn his head to take a look because even though he did not feel that pull anymore, he also didn’t want to risk it sneaking up on him again. Besides, that would require looking at Master Baggins and he wanted to avoid that as well. “Knowing just how short the memories of Men are and how much destruction Smaug caused, they probably won’t have any records left, so we’ll have to go coin by coin and look at the symbols on them. For the other treasures we’ll hopefully find some of the orders in the library or the guild halls. I want everything returned or brought to the people who they rightfully belong to.”

“Even if that means giving back some things to Thranduil?” Glóin asked. “Those stupid white gems of his. It’s probably too much to hope Smaug accidentally ate or broke them.”

Thorin grit his teeth. “Even Thranduil.”

“That’ll show him how a king ought to behave.” Glóin grinned. “Finding them won’t be easy anyway. He’ll have to wait, same as everyone else.”

“Do you think Master Baggins might be able to help with that? I do recall hearing tales of dragons being able to tell if even a single coin has been taken from their hoard.” Balin turned around and called out to the dragon before Thorin could even make a single noise of protest.

A shudder went through him as he found the dragon’s golden eyes looking their way and heard him speak, his voice shooting straight to Thorin’s heart. “Yes, Master Balin?”

“We were talking about the sheer size of the treasure”, Balin explained, “and I remembered that according to many legends, dragons are acutely aware of every single item in their hoard and would know if even the smallest thing was removed. Is that true? If so, it might help us take inventory of everything in here much quicker.”

The dragon rumbled in thought and gazed across the treasury. “That is true, yes. Smaug certainly would have been able to tell but that kind of… familiarity takes time to develop, even more so when another dragon’s claim still lies on the hoard. First I have to replace his claim with mine and that can take a year or more, as you know. While I will become more familiar with the treasure in the process, the kind of detail you spoke of would likely take more time.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking”, Ori piped up from where he was sitting at the edge of the stairs, probably far closer to the dragon than Dori would be comfortable with. “Do you have a hoard back in the Shire?”

The massive head turned and lowered until Master Baggins was closer to Ori’s height. “I don’t mind at all”, he said cheerfully. “What I would call ‘my hoard’ is much different from what you see here. I hoard… tales, I suppose. Tales, legends, stories, and information. But whereas Smaug—or any other dragon, really—would kill anyone trying to take a single coin, I discovered long ago that I enjoy sharing freely much more than keeping everything to myself.” The dragon sighed with an expression that reminded Thorin of all the times Glóin would reminisce of his wife and son. “I am quite proud of my little library at home, but I imagine it pales in comparison to that of Erebor, just like it is far outclassed by Elrond’s or the Lady Galadriel’s collection.”

What a strange thing to hoard, Thorin thought, looking just as perplexed as Balin, Bombur, and Glóin next to him, while Ori nodded as if it made perfect sense. “You would love the library here! Oh, I hope the books and scrolls survived Smaug’s attack, it would be a shame if some of them were destroyed. To think of the knowledge stored in those halls! I can’t wait to see it for myself. Perhaps the king would allow you to take a look? Most books are in Khuzdul, I imagine, but there ought to be some in Westron as well.”

Thorin suddenly found himself facing twin looks of hopeful excitement, one dwarven, one draconic, and somehow words made it out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Of course”, he heard himself say. “The corridors might be a bit too narrow for you to walk comfortably and the shelves in the library itself stand too close for you to walk through them, but parts of your body will probably fit through one of the doors and Ori can bring you books you can read.” Then his brain caught up with what he just said and he blushed. Next to him, Balin hid a smile behind his hand and disguised his chuckle with a cough.

Master Baggins seemed just as astonished as Thorin himself was and blinked down at him before breaking out into a bright draconic smile that revealed just a bit of razor-sharp teeth. “That is payment enough for me”, the dragon said, making a noise not unlike the purring of a cat. “Since you apparently will not accept that I don’t want anything in return for killing Smaug and helping you, I will take a tour through the kingdom and a visit to the library instead.”

Had Thorin been a lesser dwarf, his mouth might have dropped open, but he just about managed to keep it shut. Balin, Glóin, and Bombur’s faces held the same astonishment. “That is by far not enough!” Balin exclaimed. “You killed Smaug, you are willing to stay here for a year, if not more, to remove Smaug’s curse from the treasure and you will help us rebuild!”

Master Baggins glowered down at Balin and huffed. “Should it not be up to me to decide what reward I want?”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“Then it is settled”, the dragon said with finality.

From the way Balin spluttered in indignation, Thorin had the feeling it was very much not settled and intervened before the two could continue. “Perhaps we should discuss Master Baggins’ reward at a later time.” Balin conceded quickly enough and Master Baggins indicated his agreement with a nod. “Good. Let us go write and send those letters, Balin.”

He was tempted to sprint out of the treasury without a further look towards Master Baggins, practically feeling the way the thread that connected his heart to his One was trying to pull him closer, but he could already imagine the dressing down he would receive from Balin and did not want Master Baggins to think him rude. So he reluctantly turned his head and sought the dragon’s eyes, nodded his thanks and said his goodbyes, before running swiftly walking out the treasury.

Behind him, Balin began chuckling in earnest. “Are you sure you will be able to do ‘nothing’ about your bond?”

Thorin did not reply.

Chapter Text

Throughout the next few days, Thorin tried his hardest not to seek out his One and avoided the treasury as much as possible. His duties more often than not directed him to other parts of the mountain anyway—to check out how badly the front gates had been destroyed (catastrophically, according to Bofur, who Thorin had put in charge of the operation) and to see if any of the living quarters were habitable (some but not enough, though the royal quarters were mostly intact). He visited the ravens’ temporary housing a few times to converse with Roäc and to see for himself how more and more ravens returned, filling the tower with the flapping of their wings and a cacophony of cawing and croaking.

Whenever time permitted, he simply walked through the corridors and halls, remembering how things had been in his youth and how they would hopefully be once the caravans started arriving. If a few of his inspections or walks happened to lead him near the library, none would ever be the wiser, though Balin had a certain twinkle in the eye that made Thorin wonder just how much his advisor knew.

Tuc had returned from the Iron Hills with good news—Dáin would set out with reinforcements, provisions, and craftspeople as soon as possible. With a skill for imitation that was almost scary, the young raven perfectly reproduced his cousin’s incredulity at the news of a second dragon and how he was looking forward to seeing for himself whether Thorin had “finally lost it”, said with Dáin’s characteristically loud and booming laughter.

The message Fleti brought back from Laketown was less positive, but Thorin had not expected anything else from the Master—the offer to sell them what they could spare (at horrendous prices, Thorin suspected) was welcome either way. An envoy would come for the promised gold, carrying the Laketown Leftovers, as Nori had cheekily named them, and the authority to negotiate on the Master’s behalf. There was no mention nor questions about the second dragon, but Thorin doubted the Master cared much about that when there was the chance for gold. Had he always been this way? Thorin wondered every now and then when his thoughts did not invariably drift back to the dragon currently occupying their treasury. Or did Smaug’s curse make him so? From Thorin’s experiences with Men, it was likely a combination of both, but that didn’t mean he was looking forward to having to deal with him in the future on a regular basis. Hopefully some of the Men would re-settle Dale and choose a new leader.

Drig had not returned yet, but the distance to the Blue Mountains was greater than that to the Iron Hills, so Thorin wasn’t worried yet.

At this moment, none of the numerous projects going on in the mountain required his immediate attention so Thorin decided to wander towards the guild quarters and set out after informing Dwalin of his intended destination.

There seemed to be a disconnect between his mind and feet, however, and somehow he found himself walking through the corridors leading towards the treasury. Once he realised where he was going, Thorin stopped and shook his head, mumbling a quiet curse. Nothing for now, he’d said when Balin asked him what he planned on doing about his bond with the dragon, which basically amounted to ignore the problem for as long as possible. A tactic favoured by the men of Durin’s line when it came to personal matters, or at least according to Dís who loved to tease and bully him relentlessly about it.

Nothing for now turned out to be much more difficult than he would have expected. But then, had he not grown up with countless tales, poems, and songs about this very thing, about the relentless pull of a soul bond and the almost overwhelming urge to be close, to never let one’s kurdel¹ out of sight? The akmâthu Durin ra zabdûnahu² had always been his favourite and the song he would spend the most hours practising on his harp when he’d been young and full of hope. How often had he dreamed of meeting his One? How often had he imagined what courting gifts he would give them, what marriage beads he would forge and engrave? Now his One was here, within reach, and he did his best to avoid them.

“Why must you test me so, Mahal? Do you enjoy watching me suffer? Are you laughing at my misery?” He asked into the empty corridor and listened to the way his voice echoed. “Why did you have to choose a dragon for my One?”

The stone walls that surrounded him did not reply.

Growling, Thorin continued walking, though ‘storming’ would be closer to the truth.

The walk towards the guild halls was supposed to be a solitary endeavour, perfect for retrospection and musing, though Thorin’s nephews would have called it ‘brooding’ instead.

Supposed to be solitary, but it was not. Far away from his guard post in the treasury stood Kíli, humming a little song that ended rather abruptly when he spotted his uncle. Thorin raised both of his eyebrows and halted in front of him. “I thought I made it clear that I do not want Master Baggins alone in the treasury. Yet I find you up here, Kíli, even though you are supposed to be on guard duty.”

He was not able to read minds, not like the Witch of Lothlórien supposedly could, but his nephew’s face was like an open book to him. Kíli opened his mouth but Thorin went on. “Don’t think I am lecturing you because you are my nephew—I will be talking to Bofur right after I am done with you.” Kíli immediately closed his mouth again with a sullen expression. “Granted, from here you would still be able to hear the dragon if he left, but we’re not close enough to hear him move around inside the treasury and not even the best archer in all of Arda can see through walls.”

Kíli looked down at his own feet to avoid his uncle’s gaze, just as he always used to do when he was younger. “Tharkûn showed up to ask Master Baggins how things are in the Shire. Somehow Master Baggins took offense to that and started berating Tharkûn, then as his tirade reached the point of his return from the elves, he suddenly stopped, looked at me and asked loud enough for Bofur to hear if we would be so kind as to give them ten minutes or so alone.”

“So you two decided that complying would be a good idea?”

“Bofur came into the treasury—”

Holding up a hand, Thorin groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose with his other. “There’s a reason I ordered one guard to be inside the treasury and one outside. If the dragon decided to attack one of you, the other could run away—”

“—and call for help, yes I know.” Kíli shifted from one foot to the other nervously. “You haven’t been down there for guard duty yet. If you had, you would know how… nice Master Baggins is. And before you say anything, yes, it could all be an act, but…” Kíli raised his eyes again and gave a little shrug. “Bofur and I agreed to step outside but within earshot, not that we planned on letting the other two know that. But Master Baggins either must know Iglishmêk or he’s really good at reading expressions, because he gave us a shrewd look, said something about the conversation being private and ‘terribly boring for anyone besides Gandalf’ and him, somehow managed to sneak in a reminder about draconic hearing without stating so outright and thanked us for being so accommodating. I don’t know about you, but when a wizard and a dragon look at you like that, I don’t think anyone would dare staying nearby.”

Fair enough, Thorin thought, but that did not mean he had to like it.

Some of the company had tried to find out just how good Master Baggins’ hearing was, but the work on the front gates, surveying the most damaged areas of the mountain, and going about other more important business took up most of their time. Much better than dwarven hearing at any rate, which usually only meant that they made sure to stay on the other side of the mountain whenever they had matters to discuss that they wanted to keep secret from the dragon—now Thorin wished they had discovered the dragon’s auditory range, so he could sneak as close as possible and try to eavesdrop without risk of detection.

Thorin shot Kíli a look. “While I can understand that, you should not have agreed at all. We have no idea what they’re talking about right now. They could be planning how to get rid of us for all we know! It doesn’t matter if you think he is nice—” Nor did it matter that he was Thorin’s One. “—he still is a dragon lying atop countless treasures!” Before Kíli could begin protesting or apologising, Thorin put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good that you two split up to cover both directions Tharkûn or Master Baggins could take to leave. Go to Bofur and come back here to wait for my return.”

“No offense, uncle, but shouldn’t you fetch Nori instead if you mean to sneak up on them? You’re not exactly… sneaky.”

“You said Master Baggins was… talking agitatedly.” Once Kíli nodded in affirmation, Thorin continued. “My hope is that he is still berating the wizard for whatever ill he took offense to. If they are focused on their conversation instead of their surroundings, they might not hear my approach. How long ago did you two exit the treasury?”

Keeping track of time deep inside the mountain without any aid was a skill every dwarf learned from a very early age. The two princes had been no exception, so when Kíli replied, “Four minutes forty seconds”, Thorin had no cause to question his count. He squeezed his nephew’s shoulder, then let go and left for the treasury.

It did not take long for a voice to be carried over to him by the surrounding stone. There was no doubt to whom it belonged—the sound alone was enough to send shivers down Thorin’s spine the way only his kurdel could.

Thorin involuntarily paused but quickly forced himself to continue walking, slowing down and taking each step deliberately so as to make as little noise as possible. Not that it was necessary—the closer he got, the louder the dragon became and then, finally, Thorin was able to understand what Master Baggins was saying.

“—not even warn them about me?!”

Crouching low, Thorin very carefully walked nearer until he could pick up Gandalf’s words as well.

“My dear Bilbo, you know just as well as I do that they never would have agreed to let you come.”

“For a good reason!”

Thorin halted, both because he was now able to eavesdrop easily and because Master Baggins’ exclamation had taken him by surprise.

“In case you haven’t noticed it yet, I’m a dragon!” That, too, took Thorin by surprise, though for other reasons. Before he could wonder about that non sequitur, Master Baggins continued. “A dragon brought fire and ruin upon them and forced them into a long exile, Gandalf! A dragon like me!”

“Bilbo, you’re nothing like Smaug—”

“But they don’t know that!”

There was a deep, primeval rumble to Master Baggin’s voice—an underlying tone of anger that should have made Thorin turn around and get to safety, but instead froze him on the spot. He could not tell whether it were the memories of Smaug’s attack flashing before his mind’s eye that shook him to the core or the fact that someone who was not a dwarf seemed to care about the trauma that Thorin’s people went through all those years ago. The irony that a dragon of all creatures was the one to speak so fiercely on their behalf was not lost on him.

“The elves have created many poems, songs, and tales about both their encounters with dragons and those of the Men, Túrin chief among them, but they never sang any about the dwarven lives that were lost to my kindred! In the first Age, Azaghâl, Lord of Belegost, and his warriors fought Glaurung and lost, though they wounded that wretched worm. King Thorin’s great-grandfather Dáin I and his grandfather’s brother Frór were killed by cold-drakes, as were many of their subjects before they fled the Grey Mountains!”

The dragon paused but for a moment and raised his voice even more, which Thorin had not thought was possible. “And now you, who is supposed to be the dwarves’ ally, did not tell them about the fact that you sent another dragon here when the very thing they had come to do was slay a dragon and win back their home!”

Though Thorin could not see either Master Baggins nor Gandalf, he could imagine the wizard’s expression very well based solely on his tone. “Now Bilbo—”

“No!” The ground beneath Thorin’s feet did not tremble, though he very much felt like it should, so loud and deep had the dragon’s roar been. “Do you have any idea what my arrival must have done to King Thorin and his companions? They do their best to hide it, but I can tell my presence scares them. They only have your word and mine that I mean them no harm, but what weight do words carry when you are dealing with a representative of the very species that killed hundreds or thousands of your people! It would be akin to forcing a Balrog upon the survivors of Moria or sending wolves into the Shire! I do not care about ‘the greater good’ or whatever it is that you tell yourself to feel justified to do as you please. They’re living, breathing people, Gandalf, not chess pieces you get to manoeuvre around against their will!”

For what felt like hours, silence descended upon them. Thorin leaned heavily against the wall behind him and tried to banish the memories that assailed him, eyes squeezed shut and the scent of smoke and flame in his nostrils.

When the dragon spoke again, it was much more quietly, but that rumble was still there—a warning, perhaps, to tread lightly. “They could have attacked me, Gandalf, and it is a wonder they did not. I would not have hurt them, but if they had backed me into a corner and blocked all my ways to escape, I would have had no choice but to defend myself. Perhaps I would have tried to reason with them or shifted in the hope that it would dissuade them from killing me. Quite frankly, that this did not happen is a miracle. You made the dwarves confront their trauma in the worst way possible and unnecessarily put all of their lives at risk—you put my life at risk.”

Thorin took a deep breath and reminded himself that he, his kin, and his friends were in Erebor, safe and hale, and that Smaug was dead. Though he would never admit so out loud, hearing Master Baggins’ voice was comforting and brought Thorin out of the past back into the present, where the screams echoing in Thorin’s head were swiftly silenced by Gandalf saying, “You may not be Belladonna and Bungo’s son by blood, but you can lecture just as well as they could”, which made absolutely no sense to Thorin but drew a noise of amusement from the dragon.

“Don’t think mentioning them will get you out of this! You very well know that they would lecture you much more strongly than I just did.”

“That they would indeed.” Even from so far away, Thorin could hear the melancholy in Gandalf’s voice. “They would be proud that you came here to help the dwarves.”

Master Baggins made a noise not unlike a chuckle. “Belladonna would, but Bungo not so much—this has all the markings of an adventure. Though he likely would have approved in secret. He was a caring man.”

As the conversation about the two hobbits continued, Thorin stared at the wall opposite him and allowed himself a few minutes of just sitting there and listening to the voice of his One. He did not pay any attention to their actual words, only the sound.

Once the ten minutes were up, Thorin straightened up again, just in time for Kíli and Bofur’s return, and shot Bofur a look that promised a stern talking to at a later point.

Then, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, even if every step away from the treasury felt like torture.

--------------

Mahal was surely laughing his arse off as a few days later, somehow Thorin found himself in the very same spot again even though he had set out towards the market district this time.

How was it that his feet betrayed him so, again and again?

After what he witnessed last time, he had tried to avoid the treasury even more than before, not only because of the presence of the gold and the dragon (his One) there, but also because he did not know how to process the fact that a dragon had scolded Gandalf about keeping Master Baggins’ existence from them.

He wasn’t used to encountering pity and sympathy from a non-dwarf, nor had he ever before encountered an outsider who thought of the horrible things the dwarves of Erebor had gone through. Even more so when Thorin refused to even consider the fact that he, too, carried with him emotions other than anger and worry about his people.

It was with a frown and an abysmal mood that he gave up, continued on his way and finally turned the corner into the treasury—

Only to find it deserted.

Thorin almost slipped on the coins strewn about the stairs. He looked around, as if a dragon was capable of hiding in plain sight or right behind one of the pillars. Though maybe he was hiding under all the gold like Smaug had…? “Master Baggins?” He called out. “Are you here?”

Without a dragon in there, the treasury looked even bigger. Gold as far as the eye could see and then even farther; countless gems, artefacts, and objects of unfathomable worth and so much gold… Thorin bent down, picked up one of the coins and began trailing the intricate symbols with his finger. It had been far too long since he last saw the Ereborian mintage with its familiar carven face. Far too long since he’d last seen so much gold in one place, far too long since he’d last rested easy knowing there was enough wealth to feed all his people.

Thorin dropped the coin and looked out towards the gold. How sweetly it had sung to him when they first arrived, how much he had desired it. Nothing had mattered more than seeing the treasure and not even the knowledge that Smaug was still alive and hiding somewhere could have deterred him from that. Perhaps part of the reason why he avoided Master Baggins so much was the dragon’s temporary resting place, so close to the very thing that had corrupted his grandfather and had almost succeeded in doing the same to him. Or maybe, he quietly admitted to himself, the very fact that his One was a dragon of golden scales and eyes had scared him so much he would rather have denied himself the happiness of a soul bond than be confronted by the evidence of his failure and shame.

But since Master Baggins had killed Smaug and began claiming the hoard as his, the gold had fallen silent. It was nothing more than the wealth of Erebor—the wealth of his people, the wealth that would see the kingdom restored and bring his kin and subjects home. Prettily it glimmered alongside the gemstones and other treasures, but it did not fill him with the overwhelming urge to hoard it and call it his and his alone. Whether this change could be attributed to Master Baggins’ claiming of the hoard alone Thorin did not know, but he had the feeling that the fact that the dragon was his One greatly contributed, too. Gold taking the place of gold, he thought, and realised that he was smiling.

“Ah, I thought I’d heard someone”, came Nori’s voice from behind him. Thorin whirled around and blinked numbly at the thief, who grinned cheekily at him and pointed back into the corridor. “If you’re looking for the dragon, Bofur’s asked him to help at the gate. Left ten minutes ago or something like that. I didn’t count, I was busy staring at the wall.”

“Did you draw the short stick on guarding the treasury in his stead?” Thorin asked after wiping the smile off his face.

“Nah”, Nori replied. “All the others wanted to watch and ‘help’, so I volunteered.”

“Not in the mood to hear everyone argue over everything?”

“Something like that.” The thief leant against the wall and started playing around with one of his knives, something Dori had frequently and loudly chastised him for doing all the way from the Shire to Erebor. “Look. It’s not my business to question the king, being a lowly commoner and all—”

“You and your brothers are of Durin’s blood. Removed from the main line, yes, but of noble blood all the same.” Thorin paused. “Not that being a commoner is bad. Besides, I named you all buhel and I do not plan on revoking that just because Smaug did not kill us after all.”

Nori gave Thorin a long look, some unidentifiable emotion in his expression. Then he smirked. “So, as friend of all friends… are you sure about the dragon business?”

“Did you and Dwalin talk?”

“’Course we did. He didn’t betray your confidence, don’t worry. I tried everything to get him to fess up… well, not everything. Dori would have had my beard if I had tried that anywhere near poor Ori’s eyes and ears. I just don’t get it, is all. We came here to kill a dragon and when another shows up, we let him stay, plan to feed him and let him claim the treasure as his? Doesn’t make much sense to me.”

“Tharkûn vouches for him. Balin’s impressions have never led us wrong so far and from my own conversations with Master Baggins, he seems… genuine.”

Nori eyed him closely. “What conversations? You’ve been in the treasury what, two times? Three, if we’re counting now. First time you said nothing, second time you barely spoke to him and he’s not here now.” Thorin wondered who’d given the thief information about the second ‘conversation’, though the likelier explanation was that Nori had followed them down and listened. There was a reason Thorin was going to name him spy master once Dáin and the caravans arrived. “Balin’s a good judge of character that’s true, but I wouldn’t trust Tharkûn as far as I can throw him.” Coming from one of the ‘Ri brothers, that was saying something.

“If Master Baggins turns out to be… untrustworthy, we can always vote again.”

“And then what? Politely ask him to leave? Should have tried that with Smaug.” Nori used the tip of his knife to clean his fingernails. “I fully expected you to vote ‘no’, like Dwalin, Glóin, and I did. Of all of us, you’ve got the most reason to hate dragons. Balin’s decision surprised me too, mind you, given…” Nori gestured with the knife. “…you know. But it’s your kingdom and everything, so why allow the dragon to stay?” Thorin opened his mouth to answer, but Nori interrupted. “Don’t give me the whole ‘think of the advantages, Nori’-spiel. Sure, there are some, but the principle of the thing stays the same. Dragon in the mountain. Dragon should not be here, yet we let him stay.”

Thorin closed his mouth again with a click of teeth and stayed silent for several moments as all the arguments that had run through his head before the vote came back to him. In the end, all he said was, “He is kurdelê.”³

Nori jerked in surprise and cursed as the tip of his blade sliced open his finger. “Are you—are you serious?” Thorin just nodded and gave Nori a look that was as much a confirmation as a challenge. The other dwarf hastily wiped the blood off his blade and put it away, ignoring the cut on his finger. “Shit. That’s… that’s messed up. Does Dwalin know?”

“Yes. Balin, too.”

Nori whistled and leant back against the wall, affecting nonchalance. “…you sure about it?”

Thorin couldn’t help but snort. “That was more or less Dwalin’s reaction, too.”

“Well, every now and then my One gets a good idea.”

“At least you haven’t suggested that the dragon’s enchanted me with his eyes yet.”

The thought seemed to amuse Nori. “I’ll have to ask him if my eyes enchanted him back when we first met. That would explain why he ran face-first into a pillar instead of chasing me.”

“I thought it was a wall?”

“Nope.” Nori popped the ‘p’ and winked. “Only pillar in the whole hall and he managed to walk straight into it. I always knew I’m quite a sight but that was a first for me too.” He shook his head fondly. “Best part was when he finally caught me and—”

“I really don’t want to know.”

“Your loss.” Nori crossed his arms in front of his chest. “So. Master Baggins is your One. Makes sense you’d not want to send him away. What you going to do about it?”

“When Balin asked me the same question a few days ago, I answered ‘nothing’. But now…” Thorin gave a shrug. “…I think I’ll try to get a better idea of Master Baggins’ character before I make any further decisions.”

Nori hummed noncommittally. “Your call. I’ll continue keeping an eye on him anyway, if it’s all the same to you. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to our future consort.”

Thorin did not want to think about that at the moment, so he told Nori he would be going to the front gates and left.

Finding where the others were wasn’t all that difficult—Thorin walked in the general direction of the front gates, then followed the shouting and arguing. Among Men, there was a saying that too many cooks in the kitchen ruined a meal. For dwarves, it would be ‘the more dwarves are involved in a project, the greater the chance for a bloodbath’. The reconstruction of the front gates was no different, though Thorin was pleased to see that no one was bleeding when he finally joined them up on the balcony they’d chosen as their lookout. It seemed to have suffered minimal structural damage, as evidenced by the fact that it had not crumbled under the weight of eight dwarves and did not do so when Thorin stepped onto it either. The only ones missing were Nori, Bofur, Bifur, and Dwalin, but only Dwalin’s absence was surprising. He sought out Balin’s eyes and raised an eyebrow.

“My dear brother wanted to supervise from closer up”, Balin said with an amused smile and gestured towards the gates.

Thorin walked over to where his advisor was standing. “Mi Mahal”,⁴ he breathed out in astonishment and leaned over to get a better look.

It was not the front gates that made his eyes go wide and mouth fall open, even as destroyed they were. Nor was it the sight of Dwalin standing a few feet away with a sour expression and arms crossed in front of his chest. No, what surprised him so was the dragon currently dragging a massive boulder over to the side by a rope. It was the first time he saw Master Baggins standing up and though he truly was smaller than Smaug, he was still enormous. Bofur, Bifur, and even Dwalin looked ridiculously tiny in comparison.

And Mahal, how beautiful he was. In the light of the sun, the gold scales shone more brilliantly than even the rarest gem, more prettily than even the Arkenstone, and the way his eyes glimmered in a thousand hues of gold, amber, green, and blue when he turned his head just the right angle took Thorin’s breath away.

“Your kurdel is certainly a sight to see”, Balin murmured quietly so none of the others would overhear.

“Aye”, was all that Thorin managed to say.

The nine dwarves watched as Master Baggins dropped the end of the rope from his mouth and used the claws at the end of his front limbs to pull it off the boulder. Bofur said something to him that Thorin could not hear while Bifur went and retrieved the rope, walked over to another piece of broken-off stone and started wrapping the rope around it.

“This whole thing was Fíli’s idea, actually”, Balin told Thorin quietly. “Bofur and Bifur were talking about the different ways they could ‘make use of Master Baggins’ when Fíli suggested the rope.”

Thorin threw a look over to his nephews and hummed. “Good thinking.” He would have to remember to tell Fíli so later. “Though I doubt it will work for lifting things.”

“I think the current plan is for Master Baggins to grab the boulders with his hind claws and drop them from a low height.”

Not the most sophisticated method for barring the front gates, but better than nothing. “If Master Baggins plans on continuing to help out when reinforcements arrive, I imagine the stonemasons will be thankful for his strength.” Thorin very resolutely did not think about how a not so small part of him was very pleased by the idea of his One possibly being so involved in the reconstruction efforts.

“And his fire, if legends are true and dragonfire is hot enough to melt stone.”

Thorin found himself gazing down at the golden dragon with what he hoped to be a blank expression but likely wasn’t, judging by the amused look Balin gave him. “The gates would be sturdier if the boulders were fused instead of just being stacked on top of each other.”

Balin frowned. “So far neither the elves nor the Men seem to be planning an attack and neither the ravens nor Master Baggins saw any signs of orcs.”

For some reason, Thorin was a little put out by the fact that he had not been there to see Master Baggins fly. “I’d rather be safe than sorry”, he said and forced himself to look somewhere other than the dragon in question. “The elves know how to move unseen.”

“In small numbers, perhaps, but if they mean to attack despite Master Baggins’ presence they would require an army. That would be much harder to hide.”

Thorin said nothing and turned his head to look out across the desolation. “Roäc told me yesterday that some of the Men approached Smaug’s corpse but didn’t dare getting close. Are they that desperate for food or did they want to see whether they could pry loose some of his armour?” If the former was the case, he’d buy as little as possible from them, as he did not doubt for a second that the offered provisions would not be taken from the Master’s storerooms. Dwarves were sturdier than Men and could go for longer without food if necessary.

“At some point we will have to deal with the body”, Balin said. “Nori has made jokes about eating it, but I doubt the ‘meat’ is even edible. I’d ask Master Baggins but that seems… impolite.”

“Let it rot for all I care. A fitting end for a worm like him.”

“If it even rots.” Balin followed Thorin’s gaze. “And if it rots, what if the corpse poisons the soil that absorbs it? We’ll be troubled enough by the wasteland around us. Provisions will only get us so far. Should the Men stay in Laketown, unlikely as that seems, we will have to hope that they set up farms or worry about grain and food for our livestock. Provided anything will even grow here ever again.”

“Oh, Master Baggins said something about that!” Ori suddenly piped up, making both Thorin and Balin flinch in surprise. The scribe was oblivious to the reactions of the other two dwarves and began to frantically flip through his notebook. “Here! He said dragon ash, if utilised correctly, can serve as a fertiliser for the soil. The same is true for volcanic ash—apparently that is why the lands in Mordor are so green.”

Balin and Thorin shared a look. If that was true, they would owe Master Baggins even more than they already did. At this point, Thorin might as well gift him the whole library. “Thank you for sharing this information with us”, Thorin finally said and watched Ori blush in embarrassment before he scurried off again.

“Do you think Master Baggins would appreciate a statue in his honour?” Balin asked with an amused expression.

“Given his attitude towards the idea of a reward, I doubt it”, Thorin replied, though the idea was tempting.

Perhaps in the middle of the marketplace? Or right in the entrance hall, so everyone would see him immediately and know who had ultimately given the kingdom back to the dwarves?

He forced his thoughts back on track and looked towards the front gates again. Master Baggins had lain down and seemed to be talking to Bofur and Bifur. He had lowered his head to the ground so the two dwarves would not have to crane their necks so much and that simple gesture—the consideration for the comfort of others—made Thorin’s heart flutter in his chest.

Maybe Dwalin and Nori were right and the dragon was only acting, biding his time and trying to lull them into a false sense of security, but Thorin found that even harder to believe now than he did before.

“I don’t think I will be able to stick to my previous plan, Balin”, Thorin said to the older dwarf. “I find that the idea of doing ‘nothing’ does not appeal all that much to me anymore.”

Balin gave him a knowing look. “No, I didn’t think it would.”

Thorin watched with a small smile on his face as Master Baggins rose to his full height again and consciously wondered for the first time what the dragon looked like in his other skin.

------------

It took the rest of the day for Master Baggins to remove all boulders and broken pieces that were in the way and for him, Bofur, and Bifur to start stacking the biggest ones to block the way inside. Thorin had stayed to watch for as long as he could, long after most of the other dwarves had left, and only returned into the mountain when duty called in the form of a very bedraggled-looking raven announcing its return. Drig barely managed to hold onto Balin’s arm and blinked sleepily at the king and advisor as the two stepped away from the room the company had turned into their temporary base of operations.

“Is something amiss that you hurried back so hastily?” Thorin asked the raven after sharing a bit of cured meat with him. “Did something happen?”

“Nay”, the raven croaked. He tried shaking the water from his wings and likely would have fallen off Balin’s arm if said dwarf had not reacted so quickly and supported the bird’s weight with a hand. “Everything is well, King under the Mountain, and the Princess Dís has begun organising the first caravans.”

“Why fly through bad weather and without breaks, then?”

The raven clacked his beak and shifted a little, in a way that very much reminded Thorin of the many times he’d caught Fíli and Kíli after they did something they should not have. He almost seemed… embarrassed? “I wished to bring you the good news as soon as possible. This was my first long distance flight. I might have… miscalculated a little.” Drig cawed and fluttered his wings again, steadier now. “Your sister wanted me to let you know that your ‘sorry excuse for a letter’ did not please her and that she will be arriving with the first caravan. ‘And tell both my brother and my sons that I will ensure for myself that they are actually well and not just saying so to appease me.’”

Thorin winced and shared another piece of meat, watching the raven gobble it down greedily. He did not know what Fíli and Kíli had told their mother, but his own letter had been short and succinct. Dear Dís, he’d written, Smaug is dead and Erebor is ours once more. None of us suffered any serious injuries. I sent a letter to Dáin asking him for reinforcements and provisions. The raven brings you the gold you need for the first caravans and a list of items to take with you. Yours, Thorin. He’d briefly thought about mentioning the dragon in the mountain but ultimately decided against it, in the hopes of being able to soften the ‘blow’ in person… and tell her that said dragon was his One.

“Thank you for the news you bring”, he told the raven. “Have one of the others carry you back to the roost and take a long break.”

“I will be fine flying there, King Thorin, but I appreciate the offer.” Drig seemed to steel himself for the flight ahead of him, then took off and promptly almost flew straight into a wall before he caught himself. Thorin exchanged a look with Balin and shrugged. Roäc would probably scold the young bird better than any of them could.

“It will take a few months until the first caravans arrive”, Balin said once they could not hear the flapping of wings anymore. “Perhaps it would be wise to search for Thranduil’s gems and give them to him before the caravans reach Mirkwood.”

“To pay for safe passage, you mean.” Thorin could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. “The elf can wait until there aren’t any more pressing matters left and then a bit longer.”

“His goodwill or tolerance would make the journey through Mirkwood a lot easier.”

“The goodwill of Thranduil Oropherion cannot be relied upon”, Thorin spat, “nor can you trust any promise he makes.”

“We might have to rely on his goodwill or at least his willingness to trade with us in the near future”, Balin pointed out. “The provisions that Dáin, the Laketown envoy, and eventually the caravans bring here will not last long. The next few winters will be harsh. Until Dale is rebuilt or Laketown expanded our best chance for acquiring food is through trade with Mirkwood.”

“We will find a way that does not involve asking Thranduil for help.”

Balin gave him a doubtful look. “Let us hope Dáin arrives as soon as possible. Without him…”

Without him, they would starve.

“We’ll see how much the people of Laketown have to spare.” Thorin gave Balin a nod before turning and walking back into the room where the rest of the company was eating their evening meal.

Thorin waved off Bombur when the cook was about to pour some of the stew into a bowl and sought out his bedroll, finishing what little was left of the jerky in his pocket. Óin would likely not let him get away with not eating for much longer but until the healer sought him out for a lecture, Thorin would rather see the others get fed than eat for himself. It was the same thing he had done in Ered Luin for Dís and his nephews and he’d got very good at passing off his own portions to others without them noticing. Reclaiming Erebor was supposed to have put a stop to that, but reclaiming was not synonymous with rebuilding, the latter of which would take much more time. Until then, needs must, and a king must always put his subjects before himself.

Once done eating, Thorin lay down on his bedroll and closed his eyes, listening to the crackling of the fire, the sounds of spoons scraping over the surface of the bowls, and the quiet chatter of the rest of the company until he fell asleep.

------------

Soft…

…auburn curls tickled his nose as he nuzzled into them with a contented smile. The being in his arms chuckled against his throat and pressed a light kiss to the skin there. Thorin murmured something, the words holding no meaning, and tightened his grip.

There was a fire burning in the room, keeping the chill of the mountain away from their little nest, but the being in his arms was warm enough by himself, the flame of one shape slumbering under the skin of the other, and Thorin felt no need to pull up the blankets to cover them once more.

Whatever Thorin had said drew a melodic chuckle as clear as the ringing of crystal bells from his beloved. He shifted downwards to put his ear right over Thorin’s heart and made a rumbling sound that always reminded Thorin of a cat’s purr, even if saying so made the being in his arms puff up in indignation and protest. How fierce his heart of all hearts looked when he got worked up over something, how beautiful he was with his face flushed and his eyes showing the fire hidden behind this unassuming shape.

There were no tongues known to the free peoples of Middle-earth that were adequate to give shape to the things Thorin loved about his kurdel, no words that came even close.

Thorin leant down and kissed the top of his beloved’s head and nosed along the tip of one of his pointy ears. Whatever he said made his heart of hearts look up with a smile. Then, the being in his arms opened his mouth…

…and sang.

A hand on his shoulder pulled Thorin from his dreams. His eyes snapped open and his body tensed, ready to defend himself if necessary, but a quick look around the room showed that there were no invaders or attackers against whom he might have to take up arms. It was only Kíli, who straightened up, put a finger to his lips, and used his free hand to sign in Iglishmêk, mindful of the sleeping (and snoring) dwarves around them. As Thorin rose and followed Kíli outside, he took count, noting that Fíli, Dwalin, and Dori were missing, though it did not look like they had left in haste.

“The Men from Laketown are going to arrive soon”, Kíli quietly explained and led the way to the front gates. “Me and Fee were keeping an eye out when we saw them approach. Dwalin and Dori were guarding our room but left when I came to fetch you.”

Thorin wondered how early the Master had sent his envoy out if they were almost here now. It could not have been earlier than five or six in the morning and the journey from Esgaroth up to the mountain was not a short one. “The Master must be desperate for our gold”, he murmured.

“Or he wanted to know if the dragon’s eaten us yet, so he can get everything in the mountain for himself.”

Not an unreasonable idea. “Do you know Master Baggins’ whereabouts?”

“I’m going to get him next”, Kíli answered. “From what the others have told me he gets quite cranky, that should give the Men as good a scare as any.”

Thorin shot his nephew a look. “Try not to get roasted by a dragon for waking him.”

Kíli only laughed and ran past Thorin once they had reached the crossing that led to the secret door on one side and the treasury on the other. “See you in a minute!”

Torn between amusement and dread over the future of the kingdom with the two troublemakers he’d named as his heirs, Thorin turned into the corridor and walked up to the door. Fíli was waiting for him there, looking far more chipper than he normally did at this time of day. “They should be here in ten minutes”, he said to Thorin after wishing him a good morning. “Dwalin suggested meeting them in front of the gates and to let them wonder how we get in and out of the mountain. Kíli has gone to fetch Master Baggins?”

Thorin nodded and began the trek down to the gates. “How many are there?”

“Five. All of them carrying heavy bags from the looks of it.” Fíli grinned. “If those are the Laketown Leftovers, I’d hate to see what they consider proper reserves.”

“Those bags could be filled with trash to fool us”, Thorin said, remembering the many times Men had tried to trick him that way, as if he’d be foolish enough to accept payment without looking at it first. “Or rotten fish.”

“Well, if the Master wants to ensure Erebor will not deal with him in the future, that would be a sure way to do it.”

“Never underestimate the greed and arrogance of Men”, Thorin reminded him.

The Master would be exceptionally stupid if he sought to fool them like that, but Thorin had long ago given up the belief that the tall folk around him acted with honour and sincerity at the forefront of their minds. Most Men had seen a people smaller than them, struggling to make ends meet and trying not to starve, and decided to try and exploit, cheat, and trick them as much as they could. The Elves he did not even want to start thinking about.

Both of them fell silent and it was not long before they reached Dwalin and Dori. The former had his eyes firmly fixed somewhere in the distance and merely gave a grunt to acknowledge their presence but Dori, always proper, took the time to greet them both with far more decorum than required. “Dwalin thinks one of the Men might be Bard”, the white-haired dwarf said afterwards.

“That’s one Man who doesn’t think with his purse before giving his brain a shot at it”, Fíli said.

“He did smuggle us into Laketown for coin”, Thorin said to his nephew with a raised eyebrow. “Against the explicit orders of the Master of the town, no less.” Even if said Master was a greedy and vile man.

“But the promise of gold flowing from Erebor did not sway him”, Fíli pointed out. “He spoke out quite vocally against our quest.”

“That certainly did not endear him to me”, Dwalin growled out. Thorin silently agreed but put a hand on Dwalin’s shoulder.

“Let us see what Laketown is able to spare.”

Ten minutes later, the five Men came to a halt a good twenty feet away from them. The group was indeed led by Bard, whose expression was just as sour as it had been when Thorin last saw him. None of his compatriots seemed any happier to be here. From the way they kept looking around, Thorin figured they were—rightfully—scared of the dragon, perhaps even more so now that they were here and the dragon was nowhere to be seen.

“Hail, King Thorin”, Bard said, eying each of the four dwarves before dropping the sack he was carrying, the other Men following his lead. “The Master of Laketown—” Bard’s face darkened at the title. “—asked us to congratulate you on the success of your endeavours. We’re here for the promised payment and to trade what we have to… spare.”

The way the Man almost spat out the word ‘spare’ immediately set off alarms in Thorin’s head. “Hail Bard”, he called back with narrowed eyes. Had he been right and the Master was planning on trading away more than his people could afford to sell? If all five sacks were filled to the brim and everything was actually edible… Thorin glanced at the other dwarves from the corners of his eyes, finding them just as suspicious as himself. “Your arrival here is fortuitous, we were beginning to worry about our supplies.”

“I’d imagine so, with a dragon to keep fed”, Bard said, seemingly making no attempt to hide the disdain in his voice. “You came to Laketown talking of killing Smaug and now you house a second dragon. One might call that… odd.”

“Thing’s probably dead already”, another of the Men said. “Died from its injuries, I reckon.”

“I saw no injuries when it flew around two days ago”, a third hissed and hit the second in the side.

“You wouldn’t have seen anything from that distance”, the second hissed right back.

Bard rolled his eyes and looked up as if he was praying for strength… or lightning to hit the other Men. “The Master has asked us to check whether you are actually working together with the dragon”, he said to Thorin and ignored how two of his fellow Men tried to tell him to stay quiet. “Given that you’re standing here, alive, the answer should be obvious.”

“We and… the dragon have an understanding”, Thorin said, mindful about not revealing too much of Master Baggins and the exact nature of their understanding. It would have been too much to ask for Kíli and the dragon in question to appear right this second so they could leave that argument behind, but it was not so, so Thorin gestured towards the sacks. “We’d like to examine their contents first.”

“What, you don’t trust us?” The second man asked and made as if to move aggressively towards the dwarves, but Bard held him back.

“Go ahead”, Bard said with a long-suffering look Thorin could sympathise with.

“But only two of you”, the third Man said, distrust colouring his voice. That Thorin could unfortunately also sympathise with.

He signalled Dwalin to follow him and walked towards the Men. All but Bard stepped back, eying them with muscles tensed and stances that indicated that they would not hesitate to attack should Thorin and Dwalin try anything. What they hoped to accomplish without any visible weapons was anyone’s guess, though it would not be the first time Men thought dwarves would be easy to overtake just because they were smaller. Trusting Dwalin to have his back, Thorin bent down and pulled open one of the sacks, the scent of fish immediately assaulting his nose. He lifted his gaze and looked at Bard, raising an eyebrow. That the fish were freshly caught he could tell by himself, but he wanted to hear what the Man would say.

“Today’s and yesterday’s catch”, Bard said. “All of it.”

All of it. Given that the inhabitants of Laketown most likely relied on fish for their daily sustenance, that already told Thorin a lot about whose provisions they were currently looking at. Certainly not the Master’s.

He hummed, not deigning to give any other response just yet, and opened the second sack. Breads, mostly, and little satchels of what turned out to be grain. Gifts or wares brought to Laketown from Mirkwood, then, and though a not so small part of Thorin was tempted to refuse any handovers from Thranduil’s realm on principle, he was not that proud (unlike a certain other so-called king). He noted that all the satchels looked different, some of them having little stitches here and there for decoration, even initials, though none of them matched what he thought he remembered being the Master’s name. Taken from the people, Thorin thought, or confiscated rather.

The third and fourth sacks held different kinds of cheese, dried bits of meat, cram and other pieces of food meant to last for a long time. Thorin looked up at Bard again, but this time the Man said nothing, staring back silently with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Finally, Thorin inspected the last sack, which seemed to contain all the foodstuff that didn’t fit into any of the other categories. At least they didn’t throw everything together haphazardly, or we’d be eating bread soaked with fish juices, Thorin thought. He straightened back up, gave Dwalin a signal and returned to Dori and Fíli.

Bard looked on silently, his eyes dark and his lips thin.

“Tell me, Bard…”, Thorin began, ignoring the four other Men. Lackeys of the Master, most likely, or simple fools hoping to win his favour. “Is there any food left in Laketown or did you bring everything up here?”

“Are you complaining that it’s not enough?” Man number three asked angrily.

“We were expecting a lot less”, Thorin replied, keeping his focus on Bard. “Some of us jokingly called them Laketown Leftovers but to me this looks less like leftovers and more like someone made every citizen of Esgaroth empty their larders inside out.”

“Your eyes do not deceive you”, Bard said. “The Master is very generous to his… friends.”

“It’s easy enough to be generous when you’re not the one at risk of starvation”, Fíli spoke up next to Thorin and frowned. “And even easier when you care little for anything besides gold.”

“How dare you mock the Master’s generosity like that!” Man number two shouted and pulled out a rusty little knife. Immediately, the four dwarves drew their own weapons, but the Man did not get far before Bard pulled him back by his shirt.

“He’s not here to hear you sing his praises, Arnald”, Bard said sharply to the other Man. “You are a fool if you think you’ll share in his stores.”

Arnald first eyed Bard, then the dwarves, for a few moments before he put away his knife again. “He’ll hear of this Bard, don’t think he won’t. He will not put up with your disrespect much longer, just you see.”

“If your Master thinks of us as friends, then you can tell him the feeling is very much not mutual”, Thorin interfered before a fight could break out between the two factions. “I do not want to be considered a friend to people like him, who would starve their subjects only to fill their coffers with gold!”

“That’s rich coming from a dwarf—”

“Be quiet, Ingar, you know he speaks true”, Bard growled out and made a sharp gesture towards the sacks. “Did you even think about how many people will go hungry in the next few days because of this scheme? How many have already gone hungry because the Master refuses to distribute the aid that comes from Mirkwood fairly? He keeps most for himself and gives the people the rest—just enough for them not to starve, but never enough to fill their stomachs! Those are the true ‘Laketown Leftovers’! And now the promise of gold makes him give even that away!”

“Enough!” Thorin bellowed and the two Men fell silent, turning back towards him with reddened faces and heavy breaths. “I will not leave the people of Laketown to starve, for I know the pain first-hand and would not wish it upon my greatest enemy. Long did we wander through Middle-earth after Smaug attacked and for each mile we walked, countless dwarves fell victim to the hunger that eats you from the inside. And though none but our own kin aided us then—took in our injured, sick  and old—and shared what they had, I will not do the same onto you, who were not alive then and do not deserve to suffer only to satiate their leader’s greed.”

Behind his back, he signed to Fíli in Iglishmêk, instructing him to run and bring their empty bags. Fíli immediately took off, disappearing around the corner. The Men looked after him curiously, but the vague direction alone would not help them find the secret door. All the same, he would add a third person to the watches just in case.

“As I said, we were expecting a lot less and so prepared meal plans that should last us until my cousin Dáin arrives with reinforcements.” Arnald and Ingar paled at the mention of more dwarves coming and Thorin hoped they would inform their Master the moment they returned to Laketown. “I will not buy any more than that from you. Still, I can imagine your Master’s reaction should you return with your bags half full and less coin than he hoped to swindle from us, so I will pay the price for everything.”

The five Men gaped at him as if Thorin had suddenly grown a second head.

“Why would you do that?” Bard asked, just as shocked but also suspicious.

“I know what it is like to starve”, Thorin repeated. “I know what it is like to count each bite and wonder when you will next get to eat again. I know what it is like to stealthily add your own food to your kins’ plates even though your own stomach has been empty for days. I would spare your people that knowledge if I can. Besides…” He turned his head and looked towards the ruins of Dale. “I have the hope that your people and mine will peacefully live side by side again soon, to share in each other’s wealth and prosperity. The dwarves of  Erebor of old depended on the Men of Dale, just like your ancestors depended on mine. I remember the streets of Dale filled with life and laughter, the markets crowded and the people glad. I would do my best to have it be so once more.”

“You remember…?” Bard trailed off in wonder and followed his gaze, looking thoughtful.

“Dale’s a ruin”, the fourth Man said, though her eyes too were turned in that direction. “It would take a lot of coin to repair it.”

“And the Master would not allow those working on restoring it to return to Laketown”, Bard added. “They would have to camp out in the open and winter is coming closer.”

“Some of the gold in the treasury was likely taken from Dale”, Thorin said. “We have not had the time yet to even start sorting through the treasure, but Smaug most certainly did not leave the riches in Dale behind.” Or the corpses, but he kept that part to himself. “Say, did any of the line of Lord Girion survive Smaug’s attack?”

“Aye”, the fifth Man said and turned to look at Bard.

Thorin followed their gaze and narrowed his eyes, searching for resemblances. He’d seen Lord Girion many times before Smaug’s attack, but it had been over one and a half centuries. Many of the Men looked similar to him besides, but… “You have his eyes and nose”, he finally said. Bard stared at Thorin in open confusion. “If you grew out your beard… yes, it is clear to me now. Generations have passed for your people, but for mine they have not. I remember your ancestor, he was a good man.”

Bard snorted derisively. “But not a good shot. He fired arrow after arrow from his wind lance, but none killed the beast and almost all of Dale perished in Smaug’s flames.”

“It is not wise to try to atone for the sins of one’s father or father’s fathers”, Thorin said. “Lord Girion did what he could for his people.” Bard looked doubtful; Thorin understood much better than the Man might have thought.

It was almost like looking into a distorted mirror of himself, seeing his own fears and insecurities reflected back to him. I am not like my grandfather, Thorin told himself, but the words rang hollow. Yet I fell to the gold-sickness all the same and did not even realise.

“The treasure of Dale is yours, Bard”, Thorin said carefully, watching the Man’s eyes go wide. “If you were to try and rebuild Dale, I’m sure we could come to some kind of… understanding.”

Bard and two of the Men looked very interested, while the other two, Arnald and Ingar as they had been called, glared daggers across the distance between the two camps and grumbled to themselves. Thorin chose to ignore them, though he signalled Dwalin and Dori to watch them closely lest they try something.

“What kind of understanding do you have in mind?” Bard asked cautiously.

“Even after my cousin has arrived from the east there will be more rooms than dwarves. Not even the arrival of the first few caravans of my people in a few months’ time will change that. If you are worried about having to sleep in the ruined houses of Dale, I think we’d be able to find shelter for those of you who wish to rebuild the city. Provisions we would likely not be able to spare, but you would have our aid in clearing the rubble away and in preparing the fields for harvest. Given the close relationship between your people and Thranduil’s realm—” Thorin did not quite manage to keep the venom out of his voice saying that, but if Bard cared he did not let it show. “—the elves would probably provide seeds and food until you can grow your own.”

“You would give us shelter?” Bard asked. Some of the suspicion had vanished from his voice and he had taken a couple steps closer to the dwarves, but Thorin could not tell if he’d done so consciously or not.

“Aye”, Thorin said. “The mountain is large. Not many rooms survived Smaug’s attack unscathed, but until more of my kin arrive in the coming months and years, there will be plenty to spare.” Not all who had fled from Erebor were still alive and Thorin doubted all survivors and heirs would want to return to their ancestral home. They’d have to search the library for records and match homes with their previous owners, but there would still be more than enough empty rooms. If Dale was rebuilt, it would greatly benefit Erebor in the future.

Bard looked stunned and exchanged glances with the two other Men. “That... that would be...” He trailed off and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “I will have to talk to the others first but if you speak true...”

“Just you wait until the Master hears of your plans for betrayal!” Ingar spat on the ground in front of his feet. “He’ll banish you from Laketown, make no mistake.”

“About time if you ask me”, Arnald scoffed. “You always acted so high and mighty just because of who your ancestors were. You’re not any better than the rest of us!”

Thorin wisely retained from saying just what he thought of the two but could not help giving them a scathing look. Bard’s ancestry made things regarding Dale's wealth and his hopes for the city to be rebuilt much easier, but Thorin would not have offered shelter and aid if he had not been convinced of Bard’s character. The Man cared for his people, much more than the so-called Master of Laketown, and whatever else Thorin had thought of Bard’s opinion of their quest did not outweigh that. “Once my nephew has returned with our bags, we will take from the sacks what we need.”

“Coin first”, Arnald said. “The promised gold plus the payment. Don’t think we’ll let you get away with anything, you—”

The ground began to shake and the Man fell silent, looking around in growing panic. Thorin had a very good idea who was walking towards them and sent a silent thanks to Mahal for the excellent timing. He turned his head and couldn’t keep the smugness out of his expression at the sight.

“I hope we did not keep you waiting for long”, Kíli's voice came from next to the dragon. It would have been easy for Master Baggins to outpace Thorin’s nephew, but he walked slowly, allowing Kíli to keep up with him without having to jog or sprint with the heavy chest he was carrying. “Our esteemed friend here is not fond of early mornings. I had to collect your gold first, too.” Then Kíli looked at his uncle and winked. “Look who we picked up on our way here!” Thorin only noticed Fíli now, walking on the dragon’s other side with a grin and carrying a couple of the company’s bags as Thorin had instructed him.

There was something very pleasing about the sight of his heirs walking side by side with his One. Thorin pushed the thought aside for now and turned his attention back to the Men. All five had gone pale and stepped back, staring at the dragon with horror and fear. They had never seen Smaug from up close, Thorin assumed, and even if they were aware of the size difference between the two dragons, the one coming to a halt a few feet behind Thorin, Dwalin, and Dori was huge all the same, towering over them just as easily as he did with the company. Kíli cleared the distance between him and the rest of the dwarves, Fíli following suit, and put down the chest with a heavy thunk. “Feel free to count the coin, but if it’s all the same to you do that after we’ve finished the rest of this business. There’s a lot of it in there.”

Thorin sighed and gave his nephew a reprimanding look even if he shared the sentiment. Hesitantly, as if she was expecting Master Baggins to attack her the moment she moved, the woman approached, bent down and opened the chest, eyes going comically wide at the sight of all the gold inside of it. Some dwarven merchants and bankers would have been able to calculate exactly how much coin was in there with a single glance, but Thorin trusted Kíli to not have put in too little. He reached over to give Kíli’s shoulder a squeeze, conveying his thanks through a look, then turned to Fíli. “Half of everything except the flour, grain, jerky, and preserved fish. For those only a third and nothing of the little cakes and other baked sweets. Dori will help you. Dwalin, make sure the Men don’t try anything while Fíli and Dori transfer everything over.” With Master Baggins right behind them, Thorin and Kíli would be safe by themselves.

As the three dwarves approached, Arnald took half a step forward and opened his mouth, likely to repeat the demand for gold first, but Master Baggins must have made some kind of movement behind them as the Man froze, going even paler than before and starting to tremble. Thorin risked a quick glance back and saw Master Baggins with his teeth bared and crouched low, tail swishing back and forth not unlike that of a cat’s seconds before the animal pounced. Something about that thought—the comparison of a dragon and a cat—struck a chord, but Thorin didn’t know why, so he simply watched Master Baggins relax again with one last growl in the Men’s direction.

Maybe Master Baggins would be willing to lend his assistance in meetings with the nobles once they arrived? Not all of them were that bad, but just the thought of having to deal with some of the more... entitled ones made Thorin want to ban them from the mountain just to spare himself the trouble. They’d never realised (or accepted) that he wasn’t like his grandfather at the height of his sickness—couldn’t be bribed or flattered with expensive gifts and presents of gold.

Thorin very resolutely did not think about the fact that Master Baggins, as kurdelu uzbad,⁵ would have to attend most meetings anyway. He had meant it yesterday when he told himself he did not want to deal with that topic just yet.

“It would be in your best interest not to make any sudden movements”, Kíli called out cheekily. “As I said, he is not a morning person.” Thorin thought that his nephew had far too much fun with the whole situation but given Thorin’s amusement over the Men’s reactions he couldn’t exactly blame him.

“Does your... guest... have a name?” Bard asked, eying the dragon with all the wariness a being of such a size deserved.

Thorin opened his mouth to reply but then closed it again. Did Master Baggins want the Men to know who he was or would he rather be known by an alias outside the company? Only one person could answer these questions, so Thorin turned once more and looked at the dragon.

“Bilbo Baggins”, the dragon rumbled out with a toothy smile. From the way the Men flinched back—one of them was only prevented from running away by the arm of another—and stared, they did not interpret it as a friendly expression… or they had not known dragons could talk. “And you would be?” He eyed each of the Men individually.

Bard recovered first. “Bard”, he replied, shakily nodding his head in a greeting.

“Halla”, the one Thorin had dubbed ‘Man four’ said, followed by ‘Man number five’, who was apparently called Egil. Arnald and Ingar stayed silent, their eyes wide as saucers and skin so pale it looked like all blood had been sucked from their veins. When neither was forthcoming with their names, Master Baggins sniffed in disdain.

“It is nice to meet you”, the dragon said to the three who’d introduced themselves and bobbed his head in greeting.

By then Fíli, Dori and Dwalin had finished transferring what food the dwarves would take from the people of Laketown and returned to Thorin and Kíli with the bags slung over their shoulders. Bard gave them a long look, then seemed to accept that they truly did not mean to take more and closed the five sacks with the remaining provisions again. “Are you happy with the coin, Arnald, Ingar?” He asked the two Men with a tone of voice that made no secret of his low opinion of the two, an assessment Thorin and apparently Halla as well as Egil shared.

Arnald gulped and tore his eyes from the dragon down to the chest of gold. “A-aye”, he stuttered. “E-everything s-seems to be i-in order.”

“Good.” Fíli smiled brightly. “Pleasure doing business with you.” He had the ‘polite but leave already’-tone down perfectly, certainly much better than what Thorin would have managed.

“Let us know your decision regarding Dale, Bard”, Thorin said to the Man, who nodded and said “We will” before bending down and shouldering one of the sacks. Ingar and Arnald had to be prodded by the others before they picked theirs up again. Then the five began their journey back to Laketown, where Arnald and Ingar would likely immediately report to the Master what they had seen and how much coin they’d brought back.

“Good riddance”, Dwalin growled once they were out of hearing range.

From behind them came a rumble as Master Baggins shook his head. “At least some of them were polite”, he said matter-of-factly and shook himself. “I think it would only be proper to see them home safely.” With that, the dragon spread his wings and, after making sure the five dwarves were far enough away, took off. The whoosh of the wind as he flew upwards was enough to make them stumble and it was only Dwalin’s steadying grip on Thorin’s arm that prevented him from falling, busy as he was staring after the dragon with awe.

Yesterday in the light of the sun he had already been a sight but up in the air, with the rays of Laurelin’s last fruit illuminating him from above and his wings spread wide, he was a marvel to behold.

“Careful lad”, Dwalin mumbled next to him, “or your lower jaw will fall off.”

Thorin forced himself to look away from the dragon who was now gliding lazily above them and turned to his shield-brother with a sour glare. “I’ll be sure to remind you of that the next time Nori hits bullseye with all his daggers again.”

Dwalin dropped his grin and glowered, but Thorin had never been intimidated by him and didn’t plan on starting with that anytime soon.

“That was fun”, Kíli said cheerfully, breaking the contest of wills that had gone on between the two of them. “Did you see how scared they were, Fee? I almost feared that one Man would piss himself!”

Thorin and Dwalin shared a look and Thorin silently bemoaned, once more, that this was one of his heirs.

“I’m glad he didn’t, even if their reaction to that would have been funny. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, however, especially in the face of a being such as Master Baggins.” Thorin quietly thanked Mahal for giving at least one of them some common sense. “What was that about Dale, Uncle?”

“Bard descends from Lord Girion, the last ruler of Dale”, Thorin said. “I offered him our support if he wishes to rebuild the city and move some of the Men there.”

“Here’s hoping they are going to be more like Bard or his friends and not like the other two”, Dori said, distaste audible in his voice. “If I have your leave, Thorin, I will bring Bombur the bags with food. Our shift ought to have ended by now, if my sense of time does not betray me.” After Thorin nodded his assent, the other dwarf picked up the bags as if they weighed nothing and walked in the direction of the secret door.

“We really have to get around to repairing the gate”, Thorin said to the remaining three. “I’d like to keep this entrance a secret, only known by the members of our company and Dís.” Speaking of the door, Thorin was suddenly struck by a thought and looked at his nephews suspiciously. “How exactly did Master Baggins get through it anyway? He is far too large to fit and with the front gates barred, the only exits are down in the mines, if I recall correctly.”

“Same way he got out the other times”, Kíli replied with a grin that immediately raised Thorin’s hackles. “He changed forms.”

“What?!” Had Kíli seen it? Did he know what the hobbit hidden inside the dragon looked like? Thorin wanted to shake his nephew until he told him everything, but Kíli already continued talking without any further encouragement.

“I didn’t see it, mind you, because he made me wait outside around the corner and threatened to burn me if I looked. I heard him mutter something about needing new clothes, but he’s got good hearing and I didn’t want to risk taking a peek. Then he must have turned back into a dragon because he was very much not a hobbit when I was allowed to look again.”

“Shame”, Fíli said. “I know some of the others have bets running on what he looks like.”

Of course they do, Thorin thought. If there was anything to gamble on then the company would bet on it and if there wasn’t, they’d find something quickly enough. He vaguely recalled Nori trying to get some of the other dwarves to bet on how many trees they would have to pass while travelling through Mirkwood, as if any of them would ever have the chance of actually counting them.

Not that he was not also very curious about what the dragon looked like in his other form. Would his eyes be golden too, like those of his dragon skin, or a different, less conspicuous colour? Did he have curly hair, like many of the hobbits Thorin had seen? What colour was it? Was it soft? Would it be long enough for braids?

Thorin was glad the other three weren’t looking his direction at the moment and were watching Master Baggins up in the air instead, as otherwise they would have seen him blush because of the direction his thoughts had drifted off to. There was no guarantee Master Baggins would even like him and here he was already thinking about courtship braids! It was good that Dís was not here; she would have known immediately what he was thinking, an ability she seemed to have inherited from their mother (Mukhuh akhal tamkhihiya ni dûmu Mahal)⁶.

Stop behaving like a dwarf at the cusp of his majority, he told himself firmly, but that was easier said than done when the second half of his soul was (more or less) within his reach!

“So irak'adad,” Fíli said out of nowhere and nudged Thorin with his elbow, drawing Thorin’s mind back to the present. “Kee and I were wondering—”

That kind of tone from any of his nephews was never a good sign. Kíli stopped on Thorin’s other side and grinned cheekily. “—when’s the wedding?”

“Mahal rum mahtansisi e”,⁷ Thorin sighed, but his words were drowned out by Dwalin’s roaring laughter.

------------

Somehow, Thorin managed to escape Dwalin’s amused looks as well as the probing questions and teasing comments from his nephews and fled back into the mountain where he immediately returned to the company’s rooms. Dori had already gone to sleep by the time he arrived, but everyone else was awake, eating their breakfast with excited chatter about the food from Laketown.

Bombur and Ori seemed to be making a list of what they had and comparing that to Bombur’s meal plans for the next few weeks in between bites of dried cheese and pieces of bread dipped into a pulp of berries, though the ‘Ur brother paused when he saw Thorin arrive and handed him a plate despite Thorin’s protests that he was fine. He could all but feel Óin’s eyes on him as he sat on his own bedroll and figured that the healer must have noticed that Thorin had not eaten yesterday—or someone had betrayed him and shared that knowledge with the older dwarf. The food was welcome, anyway, especially the berries sweetened as they were with honey, and Thorin took the time to eat with care, savouring each bite and watching the members of his company get ready for the day.

Bofur, Bifur, and Balin were bent over what looked like a crude sketch of the front gates, likely discussing what would need to be done. Nori seemed to have finished his breakfast first, as he brought the empty bowl over to the fire in the centre of the room, put it down and patted Glóin’s shoulder on the way out, the other redhead following after him with half a loaf of bread in his mouth. The next two on guard rotation, Thorin thought and, remembering that he had wanted to send a third person along, caught Ori’s attention and asked him to follow after his brother and Glóin once he and Bombur were done with the plans. Kíli, Fíli, and Dwalin entered just a few minutes after Ori left and eagerly took the bowls from Bombur’s hands. Thorin’s nephews plopped down next to him but thankfully did not continue their teasing and questioning, while Dwalin wolfed down his food then immediately rolled over and went to sleep, to Balin’s obvious amusement.

“What’s the plan for today?” Kíli asked into the room, swallowing down his food only when Thorin gave him a look for speaking with his mouth full.

“Bif’ and I will be drawing up proper plans for the gates”, Bofur replied without looking up from the parchment in front of him. “The boulder barricade will do for now but herding everyone through the secret tunnel will be a pain in the arse once Dáin and his people arrive.”

“I’d like to keep the secret door a secret”, Thorin repeated for the sake of those who had not been outside with him, “known only to us and Dís.”

“Even more important then that we get to work on the gates”, Bofur quipped. “We probably won’t need Bilbo until later in the day—”

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked, taking Kíli’s poke to the side for the reproach that it was and swallowing before continuing. “Did he offer you the use of his first name?” Irrational jealousy flooded through Thorin’s veins, though he did his best to swallow that down, too.

“Aye.” It was Bifur who answered instead of his cousin. “Bofur and me offered first, then he insisted on us calling him ‘Bilbo’ in return.”

“Much easier that is”, Bofur said. “Imagine having to shout ‘Master So-and-so’ during a cave-in. By the time you’re done going through their whole genealogy the poor lasd⁸ would be buried under rocks already.” Bofur shook his head and pointed out something in the sketch to Bifur. “As I was saying, we probably won’t need Bilbo until later today, got to make a few more sketches first and see what tools we can recover from the halls of the ufluk ‘abban.⁹ If not, we’ll have to make do with what we have.”

“Has anyone been down to the forges?” Fíli asked. “If any of them survived Smaug’s attack we could heat them up and forge what tools we need.”

“That would take weeks”, Balin pointed out. “They’ve been cold for so long, we’d have to draw heat directly from the centre of the mountain and that will take time and effort, if the pipes and passages weren’t destroyed or damaged.”

“Couldn’t Master Baggins just heat them up with his fire?” Kíli asked.

The dwarves blinked at each other.

“That… might work.” Balin cleared his throat in embarrassment. “I seem to have forgotten that our resident dragon can breathe fire.”

“Good idea, Kíli”, Thorin murmured and watched as his nephew straightened up and beamed at the compliment. “Was he still flying when you entered the mountain?”

“Aye”, Fíli replied. “Drifted off a bit, too, but still well clear of Laketown and Mirkwood.”

“Someone can go and ask him once he’s landed and returned to the mountain again”, Thorin said. We need to find a way to communicate with him while he is up in the air. Quietly, he told his nephews, “You two should go to sleep. You’ve had last watch” and just glared at them until they stopped whining and relented. Breakfast done, the two stacked their bowls and huddled together, whispering until Thorin pointedly nudged their sleeping rolls with his foot as he stood up to return the dishes to Bombur.

“Walk me through your plans”, he ordered Bifur and Bombur as he sat down again next to them and Balin. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”

Chapter Text

The someone who had to go and ask Master Baggins about the forges turned out to be Thorin himself, though he would vehemently deny taking advantage of the situation in order to find a good excuse to seek Master Baggins out in the treasury. He probably wasn’t fooling anyone but himself, given that Balin, Dwalin, Nori, and (somehow) his two nephews seemed to know, but if anyone asked why he volunteered to speak to the dragon about the forges, he’d have a reason other than finally getting his act together and deciding to exchange more than a couple of words with his One. If that last sentence sounded suspiciously like Dís in his mind, only Thorin would ever know and he certainly wasn’t planning on ever telling her that.

Catching himself humming a melody that was at once familiar and unfamiliar, Thorin made his way down from the front gates—whence he’d followed Bofur, Bifur, and Balin after their breakfast to get a better idea of the plans for the gates—to the treasury, nervousness increasing with every single step.

He had heard enough about soul bonds between dwarves and non-dwarves to know that even though a vast majority of them resulted in happy relationships, there were some (albeit few) that ended with heartbreak. To be the One of a dwarf, to be the object of their all-encompassing love and devotion, was sometimes more than a non-dwarf could bear. Unlike Mahal’s children, Men were able to love more than once—and to fall out of love again. Dwarven soulmates quarrelled too, of course, but always in the knowledge that no matter what happened, they would find their way back to each other. Very, very rare were the cases where not even the knowledge of their bond could make two dwarves reconcile.

What if Master Baggins wanted nothing to do with him? And how to even begin to explain what a One was? How to put into words the profound, intensive connection between a dwarf and their One with all its ups and downs?

Thorin was acutely aware of his own flaws and how they would affect the person he loved—how his temper, his possessiveness, his jealousy, were more likely to drive someone away from him than make them want to spend the rest of their life with him. In some way, it would have been better—kinder—had his One been a dwarf, though the mere thought of being thankful for his kurdel being tied to him forever so he could not simply walk away left a sour taste in Thorin’s mouth.

But he also knew that even if Master Baggins was not interested or fell out of love with him at some point in the future—if he ever even would come to love Thorin in the first place—he would not be able to sleep easy without his One at his side or, at the very least, somewhere Thorin would know him to be safe. Should Master Baggins return to his armchair and books, as Gandalf had put it days ago, it would tear Thorin apart from within, but he’d be safe there, far away from any who would want to harm him because he was Thorin’s One.

For as long as that information is kept secret, and then… Then he’d be too far away for Thorin to come to his aid.

Thorin stopped walking with a long, drawn-out sigh. There was little use in trying to cut the gemstone before even mining it. Until he could ascertain whether Master Baggins would even be open to the idea, it made no sense to worry about it. Easier said than done, Thorin thought as he leant against a wall and let his head fall back with a thud. He was many things, but patient certainly wasn’t one of them. Confronting Master Baggins and confessing everything, however, would do more harm than good and probably scare the dragon away forever, if Thorin’s grumpy demeanour didn’t do that first.

Biting down a frustrated growl, Thorin continued his trek down to the treasury, trying—and failing—to keep his thoughts from spiralling any further. His footsteps echoed around him, a rhythm of stomp, stomp, stomp that immediately got on his nerves and made him grit his teeth.

Then, just as he started to contemplate turning around and postponing this conversation again, the melody he had been humming earlier came back to his mind and with it tendrils of warmth that pushed away the darkness in his head. Where had he heard it before? He couldn’t recall, though something told him that he should. He’d never played it on his harp nor heard it sung by his parents when he was young and had begged them for lullabies every night just to fall asleep to the sound of their voices. Not from Dís either, back when Fíli and then Kíli had been at the same age. The rhythm didn’t match the usual tempo and beat of work or drinking songs. It was possible he’d heard it during his many stays in villages and towns of Men, but something told him that wasn’t it either. Asking any of the other dwarves if they knew it was theoretically an option, but the idea didn’t sit quite right with him.

Thorin continued humming as he went down, finding his mood greatly improved, and began making tentative plans for his three courting gifts. He’d have to find out more about his One first, but already he had some vague ideas, based on Master Baggins’ interest in the library.

As the One of a dwarf noble who had not rejected the bond publicly, Master Baggins had the right to start learning Khuzdul, though proper teaching was usually expected to start only after the three khajjum amrâl¹ had been exchanged and accepted, at which point only the wedding stood in the way of the One officially becoming khuzd urasgânu ashhân,² receiving the legal status of a dwarf. Though for as long as dwarves had made records there have been arguments about whether the fact that Mahal chose a non-dwarf to be the second half of one of his children should be enough for them to be declared a dwarf urasgânu kurdu.³

Given that Thorin was the king, however, he felt he could bend the rules a little. If Master Baggins was even interested in a courtship to begin with, but even that thought didn’t manage to put a damper on Thorin’s mood.

“—but he turned at the last second and I hit his eye instead.”

Thorin paused. That was Kíli’s voice, carried through the corridor to him by its echo. What was he doing down there?

“That was you?” asked Master Baggins shortly after.

“Aye”, he heard Kíli say and not even the distance could mask the pride in his nephew’s tone. “Got him right in the pupil, I think.”

“You did”, Master Baggins confirmed. Thorin’s feet continued walking without any conscious input, carrying him closer to the one Mahal had designed as his other half. “I didn’t notice at first but eventually I realised he couldn’t see me properly when I came at him from the right, where your arrow was still stuck in his eye. That gave me a much-needed advantage.”

Thorin heard Kíli laugh. “How does Kíli ‘Bane of the Dragon’s Eye’ sound?”

“It’s a bit of a mouthful”, the dragon replied. “I never understood this need for titles when a name serves just as well.”

“You’d think so, but it would get downright confusing to say ‘Thorin’ without specifying which one you mean. The son of Uncle Thorin’s cousin Dáin is named Thorin as well, you see, and titles are much easier than getting into the numbers. Uncle Thorin is called Oakenshield because he used a large oak branch to defend himself when he fought against Azog the Defiler. Dáin’s son is called Stonehelm because an orc knocked off his helmet during one of the first battles he participated in and Thorin couldn’t find it again so instead he picked up a rock, smashed it until it had a sort of hole in it, and put it on.”

“Oh my.” Thorin could tell that Master Baggins was unsure whether to find the idea amusing or horrifying. “It’s much less complicated in the Shire because of our family names.”

“I think Thar—Gandalf tried explaining that at some point? Something about you having been adopted by the Bagginses and the Tooks?”

The dragon’s rumbling chuckle echoed through the corridor, reached Thorin, and made his heart skip a beat. “If there is one thing hobbits love more than food, pipeweed, and parties, it is creating family trees that go back all the way to the time when the three hobbit clans settled there.”

“Hobbits have clans?” Kíli asked, just as surprised as Thorin.

“Indeed”, Master Baggins replied. “There were three clans—or breeds, I suppose—of hobbits before they migrated from their original home to what would become the Shire. The Stoors, the Fallohides, and the Harfoots. The Stoors were a folk of fishermen, larger in stature than other kinds of hobbits and capable of growing facial hair, which is rare among hobbit-kind. Descendants from this clan largely live in the Eastfarthing, Buckland and Bree. The Fallohides were tall, like the Stoors, but slender and lived near Mirkwood when it was still the Greenwood. They were hunters and more friendly to non-hobbits than others and got their name from the fairness of their skin and hair. It was two Fallohide brothers, Marcho and Blanco, who petitioned King Argleb II of Arthedain for permission to settle in an empty place of land they had found. The Bolgers, Brandybucks, and Tooks—from whose family the Thains usually come—tend to have the most Fallohide blood among hobbits. Finally, the Harfoots, it is said, were friendly with the dwarves of the Misty Mountains and were the first of the hobbit clans to wander. Smaller they were than the Stoors and Fallohides, very nimble, and preferred living in holes dug into hills, a custom from which today’s smials are derived. Back when the Shire was founded, they were more numerous than the other two clans, so most of the hobbits living today have more Harfoot in them than Stoor or Fallohide.”

Thorin stopped walking and blinked a couple of times. This was similar enough to the dwarven clans, but all the names Master Baggins had just recited almost made his head spin. Seven clans of dwarves there were, but the hobbits’ system of three branching into many seemed more complicated.

“So the Tooks are… Fallohides… and the Baggins… Harfoots?” Kíli asked in confusion.

“The three clans have intermingled so much at this point, most of the forty-nine or so families or sub-clans that exist nowadays have a bit of all three in them, but yes, the Tooks have quite a lot Fallohide blood, which likely explains their bold, inquisitive nature and adventurous spirit.”

“Forty-nine families? And they all have their own family names?” Thorin could understand Kíli’s incredulity very well since he was just as flabbergasted.

“Oh yes, and when two members of different families marry, it is not unheard of for them to create a new family by hyphenating their last names. Let’s see… There’s the Bagginses, by whom I was unofficially adopted, even if some rue the fact now. Then there are the Banks, Boffins, Bolgers, Bracegirdles, Brandybucks, Brockhouses, Browns, Brownlocks, Bunces, Burrows, Chubbs, Chubb-Baggins, Clayhangers, Cottons, Diggles, Fairbairns, Gamgees, Gammidges, Gamwiches, Goldworthies, Goodbodies, Goodchilds, Goodenoughs, Goolds, Greenhands, Grubbs, Haywards, Headstrongs, Hornblowers, Lightfoots, Longholes, Mugworts, Noakes, North-tooks, Oldbucks, Proudfoots, Puddifoots, Ropers, Rumbles, Sackvilles, Sackville-Bagginses, Sandheavers, Sandymans, Smallburrows, Tooks, Tunnellies, Twofoots, and Whitfoots.”

Thorin’s ears were ringing. By Mahal, so many names and you were apparently expected to remember all of them? And to know who was related to whom no matter how distant the relation? As a child he’d been annoyed at having to recite his own ancestry all the way back to Durin the First, but at least no one had made him do the same for all the off branches!

“When you say ‘adopted’”, Kíli asked after several moments of stunned silence, “do you mean you were born to another of those families and the Bagginses and Tooks adopted you? Why did no one from your original family take you in? Was it because you’re also a dragon?”

Thorin winced at the tactlessness of his nephew, but thankfully Master Baggins did not seem to take offense. “I was not born in the Shire”, he said not unkindly, but there was something in his voice that gave Thorin pause. “I was a dragon for many, many years before I was a hobbit. I only came to the Shire a few hundred years ago. Before that I lived in Imladris—Rivendell—and Lothlórien and before that… well. Somewhere else.”

Mahal must have been listening because Kíli, by some miracle, did not ask where that ‘somewhere else’ had been, a question Thorin felt Master Baggins would not answer based solely on the way he’d said it. Instead, Kíli asked, “Is the ruler of the Golden Woods really a witch?”, which was only marginally better.

Master Baggins made another amused rumbling sound. “The Lady Galadriel reigns with her husband, Lord Celeborn. She is of the house of Finarfin and powerful beyond compare among both the Úmanyar and her Noldorin kin, but not a witch.” Thorin imagined Kíli must have pulled a face or given some kind of indication that he had no idea what Master Baggins just said, a fact that would probably result in one of Balin’s looks of disappointment if he ever knew. Friends with the elves the dwarves of Erebor had never been, but knowledgeable about their history they were all the same, at least the basics.

“Like dwarves and hobbits, the elves have clans, in a way. Those who beheld the light of the two trees of Valinor are called the Light Elves and they are the Vanyar, Noldor, some of the Teleri, and the first king of the Sindar, King Thingol, whose wife was Melian, a Maia. Those who did not journey to Valinor are called Úmanyar, ‘those not of Aman’, or the Dark Elves. Technically both terms refer to the same people but they are commonly used for different groups of elves. Among the former are the Sindar and the Nandor. King Thranduil’s father, Oropher, was a Sinda and was chosen by the Silvan elves of the Greenwood as their lord.”

Thorin grit his teeth at the mention of Thranduil and could barely hear Kíli speak over the rushing of blood in his ears. “Silvan elves?”

“Part of the Nandor. They make up the ‘common’ people of Lothlórien and Mirkwood, if you will. In the history of the Greenwood as written by the Sindar, their culture before Oropher’s arrival was described as… ‘rude and rustic’.”

“Is there any way to tell apart who is ‘Sindar’ and who is ‘Silvan’?”

Thorin frowned. Kíli must have some kind of reason for asking such a question—it certainly was not scholastic interest—but Thorin couldn’t figure out what that could be.

“Parentage, I would think”, Master Baggins replied. “Their customs and manner of speech have become so merged at this point, it would be impossible to tell otherwise. Though I believe the Silvan elves outnumber the Sindar by far. If I had to guess, only their lords and those holding high offices are Sindar.”

“I see”, Kíli said, in a tone of voice that immediately made Thorin suspicious. Strangely, but thankfully, Kíli changed the topic, coming up with more and more ridiculous titles for himself, one longer than the last.

Deciding that he had eavesdropped long enough, Thorin continued walking, rounding the corner and entering the treasury just as Kíli suggested ‘He who blinded Smaug in one eye’ and Master Baggins chuckled.

Would that sound ever stop sending shivers down Thorin’s spine?

“Kíli”, he greeted with what he hoped to be nonchalance. “Master Baggins.” He nodded politely towards the dragon, then immediately looked away before the golden-eyed gaze could make him blush. “Are you still trying to give yourself a title, nephew? Usually, those are chosen by others, not yourself.”

“I know, but it doesn’t mean I can’t try to nudge things along.” Kíli puffed up in pride. “Apparently the fact that I hit one of Smaug’s eyes made it easier for Bilbo to defeat him, so I feel like I deserve a title.”

Both of Thorin’s eyebrows shot up. “Bilbo?” Since when did his nephew call the dragon Bilbo? How could it be that more and more members of the company were offered the use of Master Baggins’ first name when Thorin was not? He resolutely ignored the easy answer that they actually spent time with Thorin’s One whereas he had done his best to avoid him until now.

“Your two nephews”, Master Baggins said with an intonation Thorin was intimately familiar with, “somehow heard Boggins instead of Baggins and kept using the wrong name even after I corrected them. Eventually I told them to call me Bilbo in the hopes that they would at least get that right.”

Thorin gave Kíli a long look. Kíli just grinned. “Bilbo is much easier to say than Boggins—”

“Baggins”, the dragon corrected immediately.

“—and besides.” Thorin narrowed his eyes but Kíli continued. “Bilbo is going to stay here for a while, so at some point we’re going to get familiar anyway, won’t we?”

Mahal’s beard, someone save me from the meddling of my nephews, Thorin thought and resisted the urge to put his face in his hands. At least Master Baggins didn’t seem to catch what was going on, merely looking at the two dwarves with those golden eyes of his, in which there were no signs of suspicion to be seen.

“Of course”, Thorin forced himself to say with as plain a tone as possible, but he could not quite manage to affect the uncaring attitude he had been going for. “Even if Master Baggins seemingly only offered because you kept butchering his family name.”

“Maybe Bilbo should get a new one that’s easier for us dwarves to pronounce.”

If Kíli kept on talking like that, Thorin would banish him from the treasury—and maybe the library (not that he expected his nephew to spend much time there to begin with), front gates, and forges too, just to make sure. Alternatively, he’d tell Dwalin to put him through a very rigorous training course and Balin to redo all history lessons so Kíli would not even have the time to make such ill-disguised comments. Making sure Master Baggins would not see, Thorin signed to Kíli to ‘stop’, but Kíli made a show of pointedly looking elsewhere.

“I would like to have a word with Master Baggins.” When Kíli did not take the hint even after Thorin accentuated it with a gesture, he added, “alone.”

“Far be it for me to prevent you from having a conversation with our esteemed guest”, Kíli droned and walked past his uncle, taking the time to give him a little grin and wink on the way out. “Bye, Bilbo!”

“Goodbye, Kíli”, the dragon said and watched together with Thorin as Kíli went around the corner. Then Master Baggins shook his head. “Your nephews remind me of fauntlings in the Shire. Troublemakers all of them, never more than an impulse and bad idea away from a prank.”

“Fauntlings?”

“Hobbit children. Technically only until they reach their tweens, but they don’t grow out of their mischief until they turn thirty-three. That’s when hobbits come of age.”

“How long does a hobbit usually live for?” From what Thorin remembered, Men were considered adults around the age of sixteen and tended to live only somewhere between sixty and eighty years, depending on their health and life, a number that always made Thorin wonder what it was like, to age so quickly and die so young. If hobbits came of age at almost double the age as Men, did they live 160 years?

“Most hobbits live up to a hundred years”, Master Baggins replied, not catching the way Thorin mouthed the number to himself. Had he not heard Master Baggins say he had only moved to the Shire a few hundred years ago, he would have begun to worry, remembering the tales that spoke of dwarves whose Ones had died decades ago and left them behind to linger in Middle-earth accompanied by grief for the rest of their days—though that happened to dwarven Ones too. “However, the oldest living hobbit reached one hundred and thirty years and is fittingly known by the name ‘Old Took’.”

“One hundred and thirty…” Thorin shook his head in astonishment. “A dwarf of that age is expected to live for at least a hundred years more, though many perish before they reach two hundred. Those of the line of Durin can live even longer than that.”

Master Baggins rumbled in what Thorin thought might have been interest and brought his head down closer to dwarven eye level. “Durin, I believe, was the first dwarf Aulë woke?”

“Mahal”, Thorin said. “The elves may call him ‘Aulë’ but to us he is Mahal, our Maker.”

“Mahal then”, Master Baggins corrected with a toothy smile.

Thorin found himself returning that smile automatically. “Yes, Durin was the oldest of the Seven Fathers of the Dwarves, who became the heads of the seven dwarf clans. Durin woke first and alone in Gundabad from whence he wandered, naming the nameless hills and dells, until he reached Kheled-zâram, the Mirrormere by the Misty Mountains. There he founded Khazad-dûm that the elves have since named Moria.”

“And those of the line of Durin descend from him directly?”

Thorin nodded. “The House of Durin traces their ancestry all the way back to Durin the First, also known as Durin the Deathless, for we believe he will return to lead us. Six times he has reawakened so far and he shall do so once more before the end of times.”

Master Baggins made a noise that reminded Thorin of the inquisitive mrrp of a cat, only deeper. “Master Balin introduced you as ‘King of Durin’s Folk’ when we met for the first time. I assume this does not only make you king of those belonging to Durin’s house, but means something else too?”

“The King of Durin’s folk is also the king of all the dwarves”, Thorin replied, “as Durin was lord of all the dwarves, he who was the first to awake.”

“I hope it is alright for me to ask these questions, though if it was not, you would probably tell me so.” Thorin inclined his head in agreement, his smile widening. “You said ‘Durin woke first and alone’. Was this not the case with the other six ‘Fathers of the Dwarves’?”

Thorin paused. It would be easy to simply say that the other ‘uddêl⁴ had awoken from their slumber at the side of their spouses, those Mahal had created as their second halves, and not mention the concept of Ones. But then, this was almost the perfect opportunity to introduce the idea, see Master Baggins’ reaction and gently probe how he’d feel about it…

“Seven were the Fathers of the Dwarves”, he began, hoping that Master Baggins would not be able to tell just how nervous Thorin was. Could dragons hear heartbeats from a distance? Could Master Baggins hear how Thorin’s heart sped up and threatened to burst free from his chest? Could he smell his anxiety? “Seven they were, for seven clans, but only Durin woke alone. Seven fathers of fathers but six mudtêl, heart of hearts.”

Master Baggins made that inquisitive noise again and looked at Thorin with such intensity and curiosity that Thorin had to swallow hard and search for words. “Durin was alone, for Mahal had formed him before he realised that his children should have spouses just like Mahal himself and most of the other zadad⁵ do. Only two of the Valar walk alone—Usahu and Manakh-khashûna, known to the elves as Ulmo and Nienna—as does Ushnakh, the Betrayer Morgoth, who knows not how to love. Mahal wanted to give his children companions who would love them as dearly as Kamnûna loves him and whom they would love as fiercely as Mahal loves his wife. So for each of the six remaining Fathers, he formed a spouse to stand by their side for all their lives, two halves of one whole, though there are also relationships of three or more. We call them mudtêl, hearts of hearts, but in Westron it would be ‘Ones’. Not all dwarves have them, as some are married to their Craft, but most of us do.”

Master Baggins remained silent, staring at Thorin with those golden eyes of his. Thorin stood frozen, not able to move even a single muscle, though thankfully he had not been robbed of the ability to breathe, as little as it did to combat the tightness in his chest.

Finally, after what felt like hours but could not have been more than a minute, Master Baggins spoke, voice as quiet as a dragon could make it in a hall where the gold barely dampened or swallowed any noise. “You know, your nephew and I had been talking for a while before you entered the treasury.”

Here the dragon paused and Thorin somehow managed to nod to indicate that he was listening, hard as it was over the ringing in his ears.

“Before you arrived, I told Kíli of the three hobbit clans that settled the Shire at the beginning of the Third Age and the families that now live there, as well as the different clans of elves.”

In the state Thorin was in, he couldn’t muster much indignation at the mention of the pointy-eared tree-shaggers and swallowed hard once more. “I see…” He said, hoping that Master Baggins could not tell that he had known that already.

“Before that impromptu history lesson”, Master Baggins continued, “we had a most peculiar conversation. I would not have thought of it much by itself—Kíli and his brother seem to be just as curious as fauntlings are if they aren’t causing any mischief—but after what you just said…”

A wave of pure, unadulterated horror ran down Thorin’s spine.

Master Baggins, seemingly unaware of how close Thorin was to fainting or having a heart attack (both exceedingly rare things for a dwarf to experience), went on mercilessly. “Your nephew asked me some questions about hobbits. In particular, he stopped me when I was describing a Shire wedding and wanted to know if we were like elves and Men when it came to love and finding life partners. Can hobbits fall in love with whomever they wished, however often they liked, and could they fall out of love again? I explained to him that it did not work quite like that for Men and elves—the latter of which typically love but once and then forever, even if one has passed on to the Halls of Mandos or sails west—but he was firm in not letting me go on and on as I did before and quite insistent on knowing how it was with hobbits. ‘Well’, I told him, ‘for hobbits there are different kinds of love, as I believe there are among the other races of Arda, except perhaps for the orcs and goblins—familial love, the love friends feel for each other, and so forth. Regarding romantic love’, I said, ‘hobbits differentiate between two kinds. There is infatuation, usually a fleeting and short-lived sort of love, as innocent and light as the young hobbits who go around the Shire feeling like they could walk over clouds and not fall through them. It is not at all uncommon to see hobbits just shy of maturity walk hand in hand with another, steal light kisses when they think no one is looking and speak of marrying as soon as they are adults, no matter what their families say.’”

Here Master Baggins chuckled and shook his head fondly. “In some cases, these promises actually do come true, but more often than not the hobbits in question part amicably once their infatuation with each other has passed, some to jump right into the next. We call this ‘spring fever’, though it is no illness of course. ‘What about the second kind?’, your nephew interrupted somewhat impatiently then, so I continued. ‘In the second type, hobbits are like elves and many of the Men, for a hobbit who falls truly and deeply in love with another or several others will love them and them alone for the rest of their mortal lives and in Yavanna’s green pastures after that. Exceptions happen, naturally, especially if one of the hobbits turns out to be a bad character or something tragic happens to tear them apart, but I have witnessed this only a handful of times since I’ve come to stay in the Shire.’ For love of this kind is like planting a tree, a saying goes, once it takes root nothing will willingly part it from its chosen patch.”

The dragon rumbled and tilted his head a little, giving Thorin a look that seemed to strip him bare and lay open his innermost thoughts. “Your nephew fell silent for a few moments before he asked me whether I had ever heard of what Men call ‘love at first sight’ and wanted to know if that was a thing that happened to hobbits too. ‘Of course’, I said. ‘Why, that is how my dear departed friends Belladonna Took and Bungo Baggins fell in love! They had seen each other around the Shire before, but never spoke to one another, as the Bagginses did not and still do not like the Tooks all that much—far too adventurous, bold, and improper for their tastes. It so happened that a few days before Bungo’s coming of age, they passed each other on the road and Bungo, ever the gentlehobbit, paused to greet Belladonna with a ‘Good morning, Miss Took’, and looked into her eyes. Belladonna would later describe the feeling that washed over her then to me thusly: ‘It was like finally coming home from a long adventure and knowing your home and loved ones would be where you left them, glad to have you back but never demanding that you will not set out again’. Bungo said it felt like ‘sinking down into your favourite armchair with a cup of tea and a slice of your favourite cake’. No matter how much Bungo’s family protested—and protest they did, by the Green Lady!—he would not be swayed. ‘She is the one for me’, he’d tell them every time they tried to make him see reason as they put it, until they finally caved. They wed barely a year after Belladonna came of age.’ A beautiful ceremony, the best wedding I ever attended, though I am biased, of course.”

She is the one for me.

“Something about that”, Master Baggins said, “seemed to strike a chord with your nephew. He jumped up to his feet and exclaimed, ‘So hobbits have ones as well!’ and I wondered at the happiness these words seemed to bring him. And now you spoke of dwarven ‘Ones’, chosen for you by your Maker, and emphasised the word in just the same way…”

Thorin was going to murder Kíli with his bare hands.

“I pride myself on being quite good at riddles and finding clues, you know”, the dragon said, each word hitting Thorin like a punch to the gut, “so I cannot help but put two and two together. Kíli’s questions about hobbit relationships, his apparent excitement over the way Bungo and Belladonna fell in love, Bungo’s words, and now your tale of the Seven Fathers of Dwarves and their ‘Ones’…” Master Baggins’ eyes went wide for a second and Thorin thought, this is the moment he realises that he is my One, the moment he will look at me and find me lacking—

Then Master Baggins interrupted his rapidly spiralling thoughts and said, “Now, my initial thought was that maybe, Kíli was asking on behalf of one of the other dwarves, if not for himself, and you telling me about dwarven Ones was meant to… prepare me… for that revelation.”

What.

Thorin gained back just enough control over his own body to blink in astonishment. On behalf of another dwarf? If not for Kíli himself?! The mere thought of Master Baggins getting things so wrong was horrifying enough that Thorin was about reveal everything, confess that it was him, not Kíli or anyone else, and ask if the dragon had feelings for another dwarf. Jealousy reared its ugly head and made Thorin’s mouth taste like ash, ash and blood and fire, anger swelling in his chest—

“But I don’t think you would be so nervous then, were it another, even if that dwarf was your nephew”, Master Baggins said, carefully choosing each word, then pausing. His eyes flickered to the side and he dug his claws into the gold underneath him. “Your heart is beating much faster than it should, if compared to that of the other dwarves. It did so when we first met too, come to think of it, though… not when you entered the treasury with the others, no. Only when… when your eyes met mine. You looked shocked then and said not a word…” Master Baggins trailed off and Thorin could practically see him put together the puzzle pieces. He was able to pinpoint the exact moment the dragon realised it, for his eyes went wide once more and his whole body froze, all except for his tail which swished anxiously from side to side.

Thorin steeled himself but even that was not enough. Master Baggins’ next words almost made him faint right on the spot. “It’s you.” The dragon exhaled sharply. “You—I—I’m your One?”

What else could Thorin do but nod? Nod and wait for the judgement to be passed?

Master Baggins said nothing for a while and Thorin stood unmoving, unable to break away from the golden eyes that stared at him with a thousand emotions flashing through them so rapidly that trying to follow them nearly made him dizzy.

Finally, finally, Master Baggins spoke again. “If you don’t mind me asking… What did… What did it feel like?”

That was not the first thing Thorin had expected to hear. A rejection, kind but firm, yes, but not questions. “Um”, he said, cleared his throat and tried again. “We… we call it ze’asakh, first sight. Most recognise their Ones the first time they look into their eyes, the efsêkheledu amrâb… the mirror of the soul.” Thorin looked away and blushed. “It… the world around me ceased to exist. The others, Tharkûn—Gandalf, the treasury, it all went away as my sight narrowed until only I remained and… you. Your eyes. They held me in their spell and I could not think. My heart recognised its second half and leapt in joy, and warmth spread through my body, gentle and soothing, until I felt none of the hurts and aches that I acquired over the last few months anymore. Then I came back to myself or rather, the world came back to me and I realised what… what had just happened.”

“Oh”, Master Baggins said, voice full of...

Wonder?

Oh...

Oh...?

Oh...!

“Do you...” Thorin nervously licked his lips and tried to find words. How grand Durin's confession to his One had been when he first beheld her, after Mahal crafted her for him after the awakening of the six other ‘uddêl and their spouses! How romantic the speeches of the dwarves Thorin had heard and read about so much as a child! How easily words had come to them! How could he even try and do things justice when he stumbled over his own tongue? “Is there perhaps a chance that you... may feel... similarly, Master Baggins?”

The dragon averted his gaze for a moment, inhaled, exhaled, then looked back at Thorin and met his eyes again. “I think I… finally... understand what Bungo and Belladonna described to me for I experienced it myself, beholding for the first time the King of Durin’s folk…” His tail stopped swishing and curled around his hind legs instead. “I think, given the current topic of our conversation, you should call me Bilbo… if you wish.”

“Bilbo”, Thorin repeated and the name was sweeter than the sweetest mead he had ever tasted, sweeter even than strawberries dipped in honey and cream. He mouthed it again and broke into a bright, wide smile, feeling the temptation to laugh and shout and proclaim to all of Arda that Bilbo Baggins was his kurdel, his heart of hearts and treasure of treasures. “Only if you call me Thorin”, he added and lifted his arm to—what exactly he didn’t know. Reach up to Master Baggins’—Bilbo’s—snout, the only thing he’d reasonably be able to touch? Physical contact—exchanges of intimacy—were an integral part of dwarven courtship, but Thorin knew nothing about hobbit customs except that they were somewhat stuck-up and fussy creatures, always going on about what was proper, polite, and acceptable. Dragon customs were even more foreign to him, if they had any. So Thorin lowered his arm again and tried to hide his embarrassment and nervousness, though the way he stumbled over his words likely did not do him any favours in this regard. “I would like to... I would like to court you, if you’d let me.”

The dragon made an inquisitive rumbling noise and brought his head closer to where Thorin stood. “What would that… entail?”

“Dwarven courtship is simple”, Thorin began, the urge to touch him only stronger now that Bilbo had come nearer. “A dwarf asks another or several others for permission to court them. If they say yes, the dwarf gives them a courtship bead crafted by the dwarf’s own hand, which, with its accompanying braid, signals that these individuals are courting. Over the course of the next few months or years, the dwarf and their intended or intendeds exchange the three khajjum amrâl or courtship gifts. These are meant to show the dwarf’s affection and devotion to their love or loves, and to prove to the other or others that the dwarf knows what they would appreciate and treasure the most. After all courtship gifts have been accepted, shahan, the wedding, follows.” Thorin lowered his gaze and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “With the wealth of Erebor returned to the hands of Durin's folk, I can craft you a bead and courtship gifts that are worthy of you. It will take time, however, as I will be needed for the reconstruction efforts, welcoming my cousin and his reinforcements, and the caravans in a few months’ time, not to mention all the other duties that will fall to me. I hope to be able to work on them in my spare time and it is not unusual for time to pass between the acceptance of courtship and the presenting of the khajjam,⁶ even if I find myself eager to complete them as soon as possible.”

“You said ‘exchange’ the... kajum amrâl. Once I accept—"

Once, not if. Thorin wanted to sing in joy.

“—the courtship, I would be expected to give you three gifts of my own?"

“Normally”, Thorin replied, “but you have already given me a gift beyond compare. You took down Smaug, the worm who drove me and my people into a long, arduous exile, and gave me back my kingdom. You are the reason my kin will be able to come home again after more than one hundred years. No one in their right mind would expect you to give me more than that.”

“But if I, well... if I wanted to, are there any... rules? Expectations? Can it be anything?”

“If it is an object that could reasonably be crafted by your own hand, then it is considered very bad etiquette to have someone else create it in your stead or to buy it. There are exceptions, however, such as heirlooms or things of exceptional worth. For example, to give your intended an object made from mithril, rarest and most precious of metals, would be a… kingly gift.” There ought to be items made from mithril somewhere in the treasury, Thorin thought, an idea forming in his mind. If he could find one that would fit his One's personality, interests, or any of his two shapes...

“The gifts can be intangible things, too, or abstract ideas”, he continued. Like gifting your beloved the permission to learn Khuzdul before many would consider traditional and unrestricted access to the library, but Thorin would not give that away just yet. “Your gift of Erebor to me and my people would be considered such.”

Though it was difficult to interpret the expressions of a dragon and translate it into those Thorin would be more familiar with, he thought that Bilbo looked slightly overwhelmed but also determined and thoughtful. “Hobbit courtship is both simpler and more complicated”, he said. “Gifts are exchanged, too, but of a different kind. Flower bouquets, little trinkets that reminded you of your intended, homecooked meals, that sort of thing. But it is tradition to give them as many flowers as they have in their garden or more which, depending on the person in question, can number well above a hundred if not even more. Not all at once, of course, but if you manage to do that, it’s seen as even grander a gift. The idea is to show them that they will find a beautiful, bountiful garden with you.”

Thorin blinked a couple of times in astonishment. “Well above a hundred?” Where would he even get flowers here to begin with? Laketown had none or very few, he'd never offer his One something taken from Mirkwood, and the lands around Erebor were a bleak, barren desolation where nothing grew. Had Dís set out already? Could he ask her to pass through the Shire, count how many flowers were in Bilbo's garden and bring along enough on her journey east? Would flowers even last that long?

Bilbo made an amused sound. “And not just any flowers will do, mind you. Flowers have meanings and sending your intended the wrong message can have dire consequences. I once saw a lass chase another girl through Hobbiton and try to hit her with a bouquet that apparently insulted the receiver quite badly.”

"Flowers have... meanings?" That was news to him. Gems did too, in a way, but the language was by far not as elaborate as the one Bilbo had just described. Given that most flowers looked identical to him and probably the majority of other dwarves as well, asking Dís to bring him some seemed like a very bad idea. “I would honour your people’s customs and give you all the flowers in Arda if I could, but there are none around us. Nothing will grow for years if not more. Though I recall Ori saying something about draconic ash being a great fertiliser?”

Bilbo nodded his head. “Oh yes, it’s the same principle as volcanic ash. It has always fascinated me how something so… destructive could help bring forth new life.”

“If you were… willing to lend us some of your ash… The dwarves of Erebor did not grow much, as we bought most of the things we needed from the Men of Dale, but we had fields of grain for our own food and that of our livestock. The Men of Dale would likely greatly appreciate the aid if you were to offer it.”

“Gladly”, Bilbo said instantly. “When I first arrived here I did not have much time to look at the lands around the mountain, but when I took flight a few days later the sight I was greeted with saddened me. For hobbits, to behold land so… wounded… is painful and horrifying. They—we—are the children of Yavanna, though legends are not clear whether she created us or became our patron only later. We are the children of the Green Lady all the same and love and care for all that is part of her domain, all that is green and grows. The Desolation is… I would like to help the land heal.”

“The people of Erebor and Dale would forever be in your debt”, Thorin said then added, with a smile, “not that we aren’t already. You will be lauded as a hero by all dwarves, present and future. Songs will be sung about id-Kidzuluslukhu Azsâlul’abad, the Golden Dragon of the Lonely Mountain; tapestries will be woven, statues crafted, poems written, among a dozen other ways of honouring your name.” Perhaps he would commission a piece or two, to carry with him around the mountain…

Bilbo looked stunned. “Oh no, that’s not—I don’t—”

“Even if I were to order my subjects not to do so”, Thorin said kindly, “they would not listen. Every dwarfling would be able to tell you the tales of our greatest heroes, no matter how much time has passed since their deeds. Yours will be among them, no matter how much you protest. Oakenshield I’ve been named and that title will be remembered through all the ages to come. There is nothing short of gaining a new one that would change that.” Not that Thorin would actually try to stop his people from celebrating what Bilbo had done for them.

“As long as I don’t have to hear any of those songs or see those pieces of art”, Bilbo said and turned his head just enough to be able to hide his snout under one of his wings, a gesture Thorin likened to a dwarf burying their face in their hands out of embarrassment. “Goodness, I’d never stop blushing. Well, unless I never changed shape. Dragons cannot blush.”

Speaking of… Thorin tried to will away the redness of his cheeks but it did not heed his command. Likely, it only got worse as he asked shyly, “Would you… would you permit me to see… see your hobbit skin?”

“I would”, Bilbo replied immediately, “but I… can’t.”

Thorin frowned. “Why not? Kíli said you… shifted to exit the mountain, so why—?” He paused. “Do you fear any of us would do you harm? I would defend and protect you were it necessary, but I trust all members of the company with my life.”

“It’s not… that. Not entirely, at least.”

“Then… if you fear I would not find you… pleasing to behold, do not fret, for I know Mahal had a hand in your creation and he knows my heart better than I do—”

“It’s not… that either.” Bilbo let his head sink on the pile of gold in front of him with a thud that made some of the coins slide down in little waves. “It’s… You see, clothes don’t… when I shift… since I left Rivendell… that is to say…” He looked around nervously then dropped his voice to barely more than a whisper. “Were I to shift… now, I would be… quite… naked.”

Thorin blinked once. Twice.

“Clothes don’t change with me, I’m afraid”, Bilbo began to explain and Thorin had the feeling that if dragons were capable of blushing, Bilbo’s face would be just as red as Thorin’s own. “Gandalf theorises it might perhaps be different with things that are… more firmly attached to me, but neither hobbits nor elves have piercings or wear beads in their hair, so I’ve never had the… um… incentive to try that out. In Rivendell and Lothlórien they always have clothing handy for me and a place where I can change shape and dress or undress.”

“I see…” Inside of Thorin, different emotions fought for control, among them jealousy over the fact that at some point, the elves—probably even Gandalf—had seen his One naked and the very much improper impulse to ask Bilbo to shift anyway, just so he could finally see his other skin, or offer his cloak and tunic for the moment, if only to see his One in the colours of his line.

But he swallowed those thoughts down and suggested instead, “If you have some idea about the proportions necessary for making you clothes, then Dori could sew you new ones? He’s a very good tailor. I’ve offered him the position of the head of the aslâsu unkâk, the tailors’ guild. He could create clothes for you so you can… shift. Two sets, at least, in case you do not have the time to undress before you need to turn into a dragon again. Temporary clothing, I mean. I do not know how much fabric we have at the moment and what Dori could even use for this purpose, but—” He realised that he was babbling and closed his mouth before more words could escape.

“That would be… greatly appreciated.” Bilbo sighed in relief. “I will have to pay him for the work at a later time, if that would be acceptable—”

“Nonsense”, Thorin interrupted. “You helped us reclaim our home and defeated Smaug. You shall have to pay and want for nothing here.”

Bilbo spluttered in protest. “I told you the reward I’d accept, as ridiculous as that idea still is. I will ask Dori for his price and will pay him. Both for the labour and the materials.”

Thorin shook his head, caught between exasperation and amusement. “He will not accept any payment from you, mark my words, but you are welcome to try.”

“I will, you mark my words.”

Mahal certainly chose the right One for me, Thorin thought with a large smile, just as stubborn as me, it seems. He foresaw many, many arguments in their future. “I’ll tell Dori about your request. Knowing him, he’ll want to get to work right away, so he will probably come down here the moment I finish speaking with him.”

“Oh, do let him know it’s nothing urgent”, Bilbo said, which Thorin very much disagreed with. “Surely he’s needed for more important tasks than making silly old me clothes.”

“Perhaps”, Thorin said evasively, “but mainly for his strength. He and his brothers are exceptionally strong, you see, which makes carrying heavy objects to and fro easier and quicker. But since you have offered your help, he won’t be needed just as much since you can carry things in his stead.”

Bilbo looked at him as if he did not believe Thorin was telling the truth, but inclined his head in agreement. “That’s… acceptable.”

“I will talk to him immediately, then”, Thorin said, even if the idea of leaving so soon again filled him with not a little amount of reluctance. If it was up to him, he’d never part from Bilbo’s side again, not now that—“You never answered my question, Bilbo.”

“Huh?” Bilbo seemed to go through what they had said so far and made that delightful little rumbling noise again once he remembered. “Yes, you may court me, you silly dwarf.”

Thorin’s answering smile could have rivalled the brightness of Laurelin’s last fruit.

------------

“Well, what did Bilbo say?” Fíli asked his uncle as Thorin entered the company’s rooms after returning from the treasury, trying his hardest (and probably failing) to hide his happiness about what had just transpired down there.

“Say to what?” Thorin gave his nephew a look of suspicion. Had Kíli eavesdropped and heard? But if he had, they would already know that Bilbo had said yes, unless Kíli had not already told his brother…?

“The forges”, Fíli replied and raised his eyebrow, looking very much like his mother in that moment. “You know, the ‘reason’ you went down to talk to him in the first place?” The way Fíli said this made it abundantly clear that he did not think that had been Thorin’s sole or main motivation.

“…I forgot to ask him”, Thorin admitted somewhat sheepishly.

“Oh?” Fíli’s other eyebrow rose as well. “You were down there quite a while. What did you talk about?” Though Fíli tried his best to mask the mischief in his voice and expression, the way the corners of his lips twitched upwards betrayed him.

“Where is your brother?” Thorin asked instead of answering, which made Fíli’s eyes only sparkle more. “I need to have a… word with him.”

Chase him through Erebor and hang him from the battlements by his braids, more like.

“I haven’t seen him since he returned from the treasury”, Balin said, sitting on his bedroll with parchments in his lap and a lit pipe in his hand. “He left immediately after speaking to Fíli.”

If Kíli believes hiding will save him from my ire, he is sorely mistaken, Thorin thought and narrowed his eyes at his nephew, wondering how long he’d have to press him until he revealed Kíli’s whereabouts. Fíli calmly returned the gaze, giving absolutely nothing away.

“Should you ‘discover’ where your brother is”, Thorin said to him, in a tone of voice that made clear that he did not believe Fíli one bit, “then let him know I want to talk to him. Is everyone else on guard duty or working at the front gates?” After receiving affirmative replies from the two other dwarves in the room, Thorin continued, “I have an announcement to make.”

“Oh?” Balin asked with a very knowing smile.

Fíli seemed to have caught on too judging from his grin, or perhaps Kíli had indeed heard enough of Thorin and Bilbo’s conversation. “It must be something big if you want everyone to hear. Something about our resident dragon perhaps?”

As before, Thorin ignored his question with a glower, though Fíli did not seem to feel chastised at all. “Go ‘find’ your brother.” He and Balin exchanged a look as Fíli ran out of the room barely trying to contain his glee. “My heirs”, he said to his advisor with a long sigh.

Balin merely chuckled. “So you have decided not to do ‘nothing’ after all?”

“Aye”, Thorin replied. “Master Baggins has permitted me to court him.”

The older dwarf’s eyes softened. “The call of one’s kurdel is difficult to ignore for long.” He stood up and squeezed Thorin’s shoulder as he passed by him. “Come, let us join the others. Announcements like this should not be delayed.”

Thorin and Balin walked silently through the mountain and stopped only to pick up the three dwarves on guard duty. As Balin and Fíli had said, the other members of the company were outside in front of the gates. They’d begun working on restoring them but seemed to have ignored the heaviest pieces for now, likely left for Bilbo to carry over and secure. Dragonfire will come in very, very handy, Thorin thought as he eyed the rubble and chunks of stone the dragon had dragged aside yesterday, it will make the repairs easier and quicker. If he barely managed to keep the pride he felt for his One’s past and future contributions out of his thoughts, the others were none the wiser, putting aside their tools and gathering around Thorin as he called for a meeting. With the same kind of uncanny timing that they already had as young children, Fíli and Kíli showed up not long after. Unwilling to cause a scene and delay his announcement, Thorin ignored his younger nephew for now and turned to the others.

“My sister will not be here for months”, he began, “and though Dáin will arrive in a few weeks, it is only right that you, whom I named buhêl,⁷ should be the first to hear.”

Those of the company who did not know already exchanged confused looks, trying to see if any of them had an idea what Thorin was going to say. Those who did—Balin, Dwalin, Nori, Fíli, and Kíli—looked at Thorin with a wide range of expressions. His nephews were grinning, though Kíli hid somewhat behind his brother as Thorin caught his eye and quietly promised him retribution. Balin gave Thorin an encouraging nod, Dwalin just watched on, meeting Thorin’s gaze with little reaction, and next to him, Nori stood with his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face.

Thorin took a deep breath. “Kurdelê makhahmi”,⁸ he proclaimed. A hush went through the company. “Mahal mahada e. Hu Bilbo Baggins mahkhajama e.”⁹

For a moment, all were silent. Then, Dwalin brought his fist to his chest, bowed his head and said, “May Mahal guide your steps as you begin your journey together.” Thorin looked at him in surprise. He had expected protest or words of caution from his friend just like the ones he had spoken when Thorin first realised his connection to the dragon, words which seemingly would not come.

“May He look upon you and your heart and smile down at you”, Nori continued. The thief winked as Thorin raised an eyebrow at him.

“May He bless you with many days to come, filled with nothing but contentment and joy”, Glóin said. Thorin found it impossible to read his face, though the fact that he had spoken the blessing at all was an indication in itself.

“May He protect you with His shield and lend you the strength of His arm and axe, so you may defend your One from all harm that may befall him.” There was a melancholy note to Balin’s voice, but his smile was bright and genuine, and in his eyes lay only happiness.

“May He lend some of the heat of His forge to your One”, Fíli said.

Kíli continued seamlessly, “So he may rain fire down upon those who would seek to take you away from him.”

That was not part of the traditional ceremony. The two of them must have come up with the blessing on their own, though judging by Ori’s poor attempts at hiding a smile and a blush, the young scribe must have had a hand in this too, though how they had managed to pull that off without Ori figuring things out (or the young ‘Ri was a better actor than Thorin thought) was a mystery to him.

If the others were bothered by the break from protocol, they did not show it. “Bilbo Baggins, kurdelû Thorin Oakenshield, madimi ”,¹⁰ the twelve dwarves intoned together. The ancient words sent a shiver through Thorin’s body that went down all the way to his bones. “Id-Kidzuluslukhu uzbad mashmakhi.”¹¹

Somehow, hearing it in Khuzdul—saying it in the tongue their Maker had created for them, that touched each of his children on a level Westron could never reach—made everything feel more real. Thorin swallowed hard, but the lump stuck in his throat would not go away. “Bilbo Baggins has allowed me to court him”, he said and around him the dwarves cheered, even those who had been against the dragon’s presence in Erebor. “No beads have been exchanged as of yet, but I will craft them as soon as time permits and the forges have been relit.”

“For which you will have to ask Bilbo about reheating them first”, Fíli pointed out, grinning when Thorin glared at him.

“Didn’t he go down to the treasury to do that earlier today?” Bombur asked, though the barely hidden laughter in his eyes suggested he knew the solution to that riddle already.

“Have you thought about the khajjum amrâl yet?” Ori lifted his eyes only briefly from his notebook, but his pen continued scratching onto the parchment even without their guidance. “Oh, I’ll have to ask him about hobbit courting traditions! And weddings!”

“It would only be right to include some of them”, Dori said thoughtfully, likely already picturing the ceremony in his head.

“Do you think Bilbo will give Thorin gifts in return?” Bofur asked his brother and cousin. Bombur shrugged while Bifur (quite reasonably, in Thorin’s opinion) said nothing could top killing Smaug. For some reason, Glóin got involved in that argument while Óin stood next to them and shook his head when suggestions for a new bet were raised.

“We should probably appoint a guard or two to keep an eye on him”, Dwalin told his brother and his One. “He’s a dragon, true enough, that should deter most people, but once Dáin’s lot arrive there’s the risk of them trying something funny even if it’s only to ‘free’ Erebor from this dragon too.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Dwalin gave Nori a dry look. “Evading work, as usual.” The two began arguing loudly, which Balin watched with an amused expression.

Thorin called for silence, but it took a few more seconds before everyone stopped talking. “I have some ideas for the courtship gifts, yes”, he told Ori, then had to shout atkât again when everyone wanted to know what those were. “First, however, I have a question for Dori.” Said dwarf stepped forward and inclined his head. “Bilbo mentioned that he would like clothes so that he may change shape and turn into a hobbit. If you have fabric that isn’t needed elsewhere, would you be willing to make him two outfits that he could use until we have access to better material?”

“Of course”, Dori replied immediately. “If he can tell me his measurements, I will get to work right away. I managed to hold onto enough fabric for that, but it’s seen much better days.” At that he frowned heavily. “Far from appropriate for the clothes of the king’s One but it will have to do for now.”

Thorin reached out to grasp Dori’s arm in thanks. “Best ask him for his measurements and requests before he is needed here.” He paused. “If you happen to have anything in blue…”

Dori was too proper to laugh at this request, but his lips twitched upward all the same. “As it happens, I do have some blue fabric I could use. Not the proper Durin blue, but something that should be close enough for the time being.”

Thanking the other dwarf once more, Thorin sought out his nephews and jerked his head to the side. When they did not immediately break away from the rest of the group, Thorin emphasised his order with Iglishmêk, which got them walking.

Once they were far enough away, Thorin glared at Kíli with his best look of disapproval. “Bilbo told me that you asked him about hobbit relationships—”

“Nothing wrong with being interested in other peoples’ cultures”, Fíli interrupted, most likely in the hope of weakening Thorin’s anger. “Especially if your uncle’s One comes from one of them.”

Thorin briefly transferred his glower to Fíli before turning back to the younger of the two. “More specifically, about their concept of love. And if they believe in ‘love at first sight’ like Men do. He told me you were particularly excited about the phrase ‘the one for me’.”

Kíli shrank away from Thorin’s look but stood his ground, which Thorin, in any other situation, would have approved of. “He spoke truly.”

“Not that Kíli wanted to imply that Bilbo would lie to you—”

“Enough!” Thorin took a moment to take deep breaths and lower his voice again. “I know what you were trying to do, Kíli, and on some level I appreciate it, as it brought Bilbo on the right track and forced my hand. But this could have gone very, very wrong. You hinted at secrets that we do not permit outsiders to know—” He lifted his hand when the two began to protest and waited until they fell quiet again. “—and for all intents and purposes, until I officially acknowledged him as my One, that’s what he was. You’ve known this since you could barely walk, not to mention speak! It did not matter that he is my One—it did not matter that you suspected he is my One. More importantly, you decided to meddle in things that are none of your business!”

“But Uncle—” Kíli interrupted and ignored his brother’s attempts to stop him. “You’ve known he was your One from the moment you met and decided not to do anything about it for days! You always put duty and responsibility first and neglect yourself in the process. Do you think we never noticed you gave us all your food? That you got us presents even if that meant you could not afford to eat or buy new clothes, even though your old ones had holes and were threadbare? Amad noticed, Fee noticed, and I noticed! Forgive me for thinking you would put your own needs aside as you have always done! I could not stand by and watch you yearn but not do anything about it anymore!”

Stunned, Thorin could do nothing but gape at his nephew, finding himself truly at loss for words. He’d always thought Fíli and Kíli never noticed but perhaps he should have reevaluated once they got older and began to understand that things in Ered Luin were not ideal. Dís had certainly known and berated him for it often, always telling him to hand over some of his duties to her, to take a break and take care of himself for once. But how could he have done that? How could he take a break when so many things needed his attention, when they barely had enough gold to feed themselves? Dís and the boys—all of the refugees from Erebor—had needed him to be strong, to lead them, to provide for them, to listen and try and fix things. Even after their situation had stabilised somewhat, there had still been so many things to do, so many issues to address, so many duties to juggle all at once, and Thorin had never slowed down enough to even take a breath.

Your shoulders are broad and your head big, Dís had always told him, but not even you can shoulder everything on your own.

Why will you not let me help you?

Why do you insist on doing everything by yourself?

Thorin could never give Dís an answer to these questions because he would never speak the reasons out aloud.

Because I did not stop grandfather before he brought the dragon down upon us.

Because I could do nothing when Smaug drove us from our home.

Because I blame myself for every death that happened after we fled.

Because grandfather was killed by Azog and I was powerless to save him.

Because father disappeared and I did not find him.

He’d never wanted Fíli and Kíli to realise how many sacrifices he had made to give them even a fraction of the life they deserved. To hear that they had known all along...

Thorin pulled both of his nephews closer. One after the other, he gently brought his forehead against theirs, then wrapped his arms around both of them. “I’m sorry for yelling at you”, he said quietly, “and I’m sorry for not telling you enough how proud I am of you two. I cannot say I appreciate the hints you gave Bilbo and I shudder to think what your next moves would have been, but I also cannot claim it did not help.”

Before his nephews could get any wrong ideas, Thorin added with a growl, “That does not mean, however, that I won’t ask Dwalin for some extra training for you and Balin for some history and court lessons, seeing as you do not seem to remember much from them.”

Both groaned and started to protest, but Thorin just glared at them until they slunk away, complaining loudly to anyone who would listen. Thorin shook his head with a light smile and was not surprised to see Dwalin approach him. “I did not expect you to say the words.”

“Dragon’s not that bad, once you get to know him.” The way Dwalin pulled a face as he said that made him look as if the mere idea gave him a stomach-ache. “Anyone who could prattle on about hobbit children’s toys can’t be an evil monster.”

Dwalin had always had a weak spot for children, so that assessment did not surprise Thorin at all.

“Besides, he seems to make you happy. Nori and I will continue to keep an eye on him, no offense, but...” Dwalin trailed off with a shrug and an expression that begged Thorin to change the topic.

So he did. “I’ve promised my nephews some extra training lessons—”

Chapter Text

Having a dragon at your side certainly made heating up the forges again rather easy. Once the dwarves had explained to Bilbo what was needed, he readily agreed to help and followed them to the forges to lend them his fire. Seeing from up close how Bilbo’s throat and belly lit up in hues of red, orange, and yellow before he exhaled scorching hot flames had done something to Thorin he could not quite identify, though the undertones of pride and amazement were familiar to him by now.

With the forges working again, repairing the gates had become easier too and they had made good progress in the last few days. Not enough to call the gates restored completely yet, but they were at a point where they did not need the secret door to exit and enter the mountain, which all of them—including Bilbo—appreciated. The front gates would not hold long against a dedicated invading force with a battering ram or a creature of the size of a dragon, though the likelihood of that was close to zero. None of the dragons of the first age were alive, Bilbo had said with a faint note of melancholy in his voice. Smaug had claimed to be the last of the great dragons of old, but that title would forever belong to Bilbo now after the red worm’s death. A good thing in Thorin’s opinion, though part of him wondered whether Bilbo felt lonely being the last of his kind, just as Beorn did—perhaps Thorin would be able to introduce the two. If everything went well, Bilbo would never be truly alone either way, surrounded by hundreds of dwarves and, more importantly, the members of the company and their families.

Thorin held up the unfinished bead he was working on with a pair of tongs and inspected it closely.

Whenever he wasn’t needed elsewhere—at the gate to help with the repairs, in the treasury to assist Glóin with setting aside the gold they’d need in the coming months and sorting out what belonged to Dale, in what was left of the training grounds to watch Dwalin put Kíli and Fíli through the wringer or in the company’s rooms receiving reports and going through documents—Thorin could be found either where Bilbo was or, as was the case now, in the forge working on the courtship beads.

Dori was close to finishing Bilbo’s clothes which meant it would not be long until Thorin’s One could finally shift into his hobbit form. It had also been long enough for a sense of trust between the company and dragon, which surprised Thorin little—Bilbo was nothing if not likeable and the dwarves that had come with him on his mad quest were all good and honourable dwarves, whom he trusted implicitly. Had Bilbo not been comfortable being around them in his hobbit form, Thorin would have waited as long as that would take, though every day would have been the most horrible of tortures.

Conversing with Bilbo in his dragon skin was all well and good, but Thorin wanted more. To hold Bilbo’s hand, to pull him close, to have him in his arms, to hold and kiss him. And he wondered, too, what Bilbo would look like, as seemingly everyone in the company except for Dori (who never participated in bets) did. What colour would his hair be? Would his eyes stay the same? The idea of a hobbit with a dragon’s eyes was strange, but no stranger than a hobbit who could turn into a dragon at will. Anyone who would dare to try and attack him would quickly realise their mistake, though they’d have to get through Dwalin and Nori first, the latter of whom seemed to have made it his mission to try and sneak up on the dragon, something he had not managed yet much to his annoyance and everyone else’s amusement.

Dáin and his people would arrive any day now—Bilbo had seen a large group of people approaching from the east the last time he had taken to the sky, some of whom had been riding goats and rams. As much as Thorin was looking forward to his cousin’s arrival, low as their provisions were getting, it also meant strangers in his halls and with them, the chance for conflict. The company had accepted Bilbo and welcomed him into their ranks, but Thorin was not naïve enough to think there wouldn’t be any problems with Bilbo’s presence in the mountain, One of the king or not.

Not to mention there had not been any news from Bard in Laketown, nor a single sight of the elves, which could only mean they were planning something. Balin’s take on the elves’ conspicuous lack of action was different from Thorin’s own, as his advisor wondered whether the fact that no one had seen Gandalf since the day Bilbo scolded him had anything to do with it. Thorin doubted the elven king could be swayed by anyone’s counsel, not even that of a wizard, but they had guards looking out towards the Mirkwood and for now there was nothing else they could do. Maybe Bilbo’s frequent flights around the mountain would be enough to keep the elves away, but Thorin didn’t think they’d be so lucky.

Thorin lowered the bead again and continued hammering it into shape. If he wanted to be done by the time Dori finished with Bilbo’s clothes, he would have to hurry, but he’d rather finish a little late than present Bilbo with sub-quality work. His own courting bead was done already and in a little satchel that Thorin carried around wherever he went, removing it only for baths (thank Mahal the communal bathing pools were accessible and the pipes had not been destroyed, he didn’t want to think about the stench in their rooms otherwise). Even then he kept it close and within sight.

In ages past it had been tradition among the dwarves of Durin’s folk to craft their courtship beads from mithril, but nowadays, with no new veins and Khazad-dûm likely lost to them forever, only the marriage beads were made from it. Thorin had chosen silver, which the line of Durin had long favoured over gold, and carved the traditional symbols into it, adding only a rose in honour of hobbit courtship customs. The marriage beads would be more elaborate, decorated with precious gems and intricate carvings, but there would be more than enough time for those once Dáin and the caravans from Ered Luin arrived.

Thorin put away his hammer and picked the bead up again with the tongs. He’d always been overly critical of himself, but he was pleased with what he saw and leaned over to put the bead into the fire for a last time. Distracted as he was, he did not notice someone had entered the forge until a voice, familiar but somewhat different, came from behind him. “Goodness, I always forget how much bigger everything looks as a hobbit.”

Thorin startled so badly, the tongs slipped from his grip and he had to reach right into the flames to catch the bead before it could fall into the embers. He cursed in Khuzdul and placed the bead, glowing bright yellow from the heat, back on his anvil. The moment he let go, two smaller, softer hands took hold of the hand he’d carried the bead in and turned it over.

“Are you hurt? Do I have to call Óin? I’m so sorry, I did not mean to surprise you. Well yes, I did, but not like this!” Seemingly only realising then that they were still holding onto Thorin’s hand, the person made as if to let go, but Thorin quickly grasped the two hands and encircled them with his own.

He knew that voice—it was lighter now than it had been the last time Thorin had heard it, but unmistakably still the same. Thorin turned his head and followed the hands up with his eyes to arms clad in blue fabric, along the shoulders and the neck, until he could finally look at his One’s face.

Warm brown eyes filled with concern met his own, the normal, round pupils widening as the tips of the hobbit’s ears (barely visible thanks to his curly, short amber hair) and his beardless cheeks turned pink. He wore a sort of vest made from blue fabric that somehow was fitted perfectly around his shoulders and arms, a dark tunic in dwarven style and a pair of trousers that did not look like they had been made with a hobbit in mind, rolled up at the bottom almost all the way up to the shins and doing nothing to hide the large naked feet. What hair the hobbit lacked in the face he had on the top of his feet, as curly as that on his head but miraculously less messy.

Thorin forced his eyes up again and found that the hobbit’s blush had deepened, colouring his cheeks in a delightful shade. “Dwarven hands are made to withstand the heat of the forge.” Thorin turned over Bilbo’s hands so he could entwine their fingers. “Not so well as those of a dragon, I reckon, but enough that I will suffer no injuries.”

“Oh.” Bilbo cleared his throat and averted his gaze in embarrassment. “I didn’t know that. Obviously. I wouldn’t have presumed to touch—”

With a chuckle, Thorin released one of Bilbo’s hands to free an arm and wrapped it around his One to pull him closer, Bilbo’s body following the tug instinctually. “How small you are”, Thorin wondered, unaware he’d said that out loud until Bilbo gave him an affronted look.

“I’m of an average height for hobbits, I’ll have you know. It’s everyone else who is too bloody tall.”

Bilbo’s head was the perfect height for Thorin to rest his chin atop the amber curls which he promptly did, letting go of Bilbo’s other hand so he could properly wrap both arms around him. Bilbo made a noise an ordinary person would not be able to make, somewhere between a rumble and a purr. “I thought Dori said he wouldn’t be done until tomorrow?” Thorin asked. Not that he was complaining.

“Somehow Ori managed to hold onto an extra pair of trousers.” From the way Bilbo said it, he was just as astonished as Thorin himself. “I don’t even want to ask how he pulled that of. Really, I’ve been alive for a very long time, but I can’t think of many journeys that were more ill-fated than yours. How you even made it through the Misty Mountains is a miracle.”

“I wouldn’t call our journey ‘ill-fated’. After all, everyone is alive, no one is injured, Smaug is dead, and I found you.”

“If Gandalf stopped dropping by unannounced and started telling people well in advance, you would have met me much earlier.”

“But then you would have been there for our ‘ill-fated journey’.” Thorin shook his head and tightened his embrace. “No, I don’t think I would have been able to go through with the quest if I had to worry about your well-being in addition to everyone else’s. My nephews already gave me more grey hairs than necessary.”

Bilbo hummed and Thorin could hear the smile in his voice as he asked, “Was it the incident with the trolls? Or the stone-giants? The goblins? The wargs and orcs hunting you all the way here? The spiders? The elves of Mirkwood? Your barrel escape? Or your encounter with Smaug?”

“Not all of us can fly in the air and avoid all obstacles.”

“True enough.” Bilbo laughed, a sound so lovely to Thorin’s ears that he wished for a poet’s tongue and gift for words to be able to properly describe it. The hobbit leaned back as much as he could, ignoring Thorin’s grumbling for removing his headrest, and looked up at him with a cheeky grin. “Well?”

Thorin raised his eyebrows. “Well what?”

“Do you—how did you put it?—‘find me pleasing to behold’?”

Thankful for his beard which would hide most of his blush, Thorin blinked down at Bilbo owlishly and replied, “Mahal knows my heart better than myself and has blessed me with a One more radiant than even the most precious gemstones in all of Arda. Not even the Last Fruit of Laurelin the Golden, carried aloft by Razdûna¹ in Mahal’s barge, could rival his brilliance and not even Telperion the White’s Last Fruit, the moon, shines as prettily as him.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to stare and blink. Then Thorin could watch as his face and the tips of his ears went red again and his pupils widened until the brown of his eyes was barely visible anymore. “T-that was… um… very beautiful.”

Thorin ducked his head, pleased by Bilbo’s reaction. He pulled his One close again and gathered the courage to kiss Bilbo’s forehead. “I spoke only truly.”

“If you say so”, Bilbo murmured against Thorin’s neck, sending shivers down his spine as Bilbo’s breath ghosted over Thorin’s skin. “I, for one, find you far lovelier.”

“Among dwarves you would find yourself quite alone in that opinion”, Thorin said, more amused than offended at the thought.

Bilbo snorted and lightly shook his head. “I already knew you lot don’t have much common sense when I learned you don’t eat many vegetables, but that just proves it.”

“What’s wrong with not eating vegetables? Most of them don’t taste good.”

The noise Bilbo made might well have been described as personally insulted. “Be careful not to say that to any other hobbit than myself. They would chase you out of the Shire with their pitchforks and shovels and ban you for life.”

“Good thing I’m not planning on talking about cooking when I go to the Shire, then.” Thorin chuckled. “If I do end up offending any of your family members or friends you’ll have to fight off the rabid hordes and protect me.”

Bilbo hummed in agreement. “I don’t think you’ll actually find the time to go to the Shire in the next few years.”

“I will have to at some point, though. If our courtship goes well—” Thorin couldn’t imagine it not ending in marriage, but he wasn’t about to tempt fate like that. “—you’ll have to move here permanently, unless you mean to only grace me with your company occasionally, flying to and fro, or to make me abdicate and come with you.”

“And subject your people to Fíli’s rule with so soon?” Bilbo teased. “I’d prefer not to get thrown out of the Shire alongside you at any rate, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“You wound me”, Thorin teased right back. “I know how to behave myself perfectly well.”

“Listening to Balin’s stories you would not think so.”

“Slander and lies.”

“So you didn’t try to jump over a table and strangle a noble by her beard braids over what Balin called ‘a minor dispute’? He told me you had to be restrained by Dwalin but continued cursing quite vehemently in Khuzdul.”

It said something about Thorin’s life and temper that this had happened more than once. “Just you wait until the nobles start arriving. You’ll want to strangle most of them too once they open their mouths.”

Bilbo laughed. “Oh, I would bet they have nothing on some hobbits I’ve known. Instead of reacting aggressively, however, we prefer to do things more… peacefully and subtly. Passive aggressiveness and polite but sharp words are the weapons a hobbit wields when dealing with rude relatives.”

Thorin did not find that hard to believe from his own past experiences trying to sell tools at the Shire markets. Even the most innocuous comment could feel like it contained layers of subtext and hidden jabs that Thorin had no way of knowing or figuring out, though most had been more than happy to haggle not so politely over prices.

“Besides”, Bilbo continued cheerfully, “if they bother me too much, I’ll set their beards on fire.”

The mere thought and the images those words conjured in Thorin’s mind made him choke on his own breath. Perhaps it should have horrified him more than it did (which would be close to not at all), but there were a handful of nobles he would love to see that happen to. “Don’t let Balin hear you say that”, he finally got out once his coughing subsided again. “He probably hopes that you will have a calming effect on me.”

“From what I’ve heard, that will likely be the case. You don’t have to worry about me actually setting people on fire. If I burned everyone who got on my nerves throughout my long life, there would be more desolations than the one surrounding your mountain.”

“Our mountain.” Thorin loosened his grip on Bilbo and took a step back, meeting the hobbit’s eyes. “One day it will be, I mean. In some way it already is. Provided you don’t actually want me to abdicate or plan on visiting me from the Shire in case you go back after all.” He’d tried to keep the anxieties underlying his words out of his voice, but something must have come through.

Bilbo’s gaze softened and he bridged the distance between them again, returning Thorin’s look with a warm smile. “You know, I do miss my armchair and my books, and can’t quite imagine living inside a mountain where the only green things to be found are gemstones and things that have been dyed. But furniture can be transported and even though the mountain is large, it does not take all that long to go outside. One day the desolation will be green again and then I can bury my toes in good, rich soil.” Bilbo reached out and put his hand on Thorin’s arm, the warmth seeping through the fabric of Thorin’s tunic and down into his skin. “So far you have not given me any reason to want to end the courtship and I don’t foresee that happening. If anything, there is a bigger risk of you wanting to end it than me.”

“Why would I ever do that?” Thorin covered Bilbo’s hand with his own. “You are my One, my heart of all hearts. There is no force in Arda or beyond that could ever make me leave your side again but yourself.”

The edges of Bilbo’s smile turned sad. “You know me as the hobbit standing in front of you, be it in this skin or my other. But before I was Bilbo Baggins of the Shire or Lhûgeg² and Mallen³ in Rivendell and Lothlórien, I was a dragon. I will not sully these halls with the sounds of the tongue that I first spoke, darker even than the foul speech devised by Sauron in the Second Age, but I was known as ‘Golden Death’ and death I brought those my masters unleashed me upon. A servant of evil I may no longer be and I have turned from the darkness that brought me into this world, but it does not undo the things I have done. If you knew—”

Thorin turned Bilbo’s hand over and brought their fingers together again. “If I knew, it would change nothing.” Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, no doubt, but Thorin didn’t give him the chance. “You, Bilbo Baggins, are my One. Mahal created you as my second half, with all your faults, with all the things you’ve done in the past. ‘Golden Death’ you may once have been, knowing nothing but the darkness that begot you, but the hobbit standing in front of me is Bilbo Baggins and whatever else he might be called by the elves.”

“I do not think your Maker would appreciate you saying he had a hand in the creation of a dragon.” Bilbo’s eyes glittered from unshed tears, but the sadness had vanished from his face, replaced by what Thorin thought could have been astonishment and hope.

“He must have had a hand in it, at the very least, because you are everything I could have hoped for.” He pulled Bilbo close and brought their foreheads together. “The circumstances of your birth are not your fault and neither are the years of your life that you served those who created you, not knowing any differently. However you found your way into the light, the fact that you did is what counts.”

“I think it would be more appropriate to say the light found me. During the last battle I fought as a servant of evil, I was grievously wounded and lay dying when a group of elves, led by the Lady Galadriel, came upon me. I expected them to kill me, enemy that I was, but instead… instead she showed me mercy. Me, a creature of evil, who had never shown or been shown kindness before, to whom ‘mercy’ was a thing unknown. I wonder what she saw in me then and what made her choose pity—did she foresee what would happen here thousands of years later?”

“Perhaps she did foresee all of this”, Thorin said, even though the thought unnerved him greatly, as everything connected to the Lady of the Golden Woods did (he did not think it right to continue referring to her as ‘the Witch’ after learning of what she had done, even in the privacy of his mind). “I must… thank… her then, for saving you, as otherwise I would never have met you.” Bilbo did not seem to take offense to Thorin’s intonation and the fact that he’d pulled a face at the idea of thanking an elf, even if said elf was not one of Thranduil’s lot and had been, from what he remembered, a kind of dwarf-friend in ages past.

For a few moments, neither of them said anything. They stood forehead to forehead, eyes closed, and Thorin relished the fact that his One was here in Erebor with him and had not rejected him, but was willing to give him—them—a chance. Thorin sent a silent prayer to Mahal and thanked him for this gift, for keeping his One safe through all the years and for leading him here to the mountain. Then, he gave into the impulse to lower his head and brushed his lips over Bilbo’s cheek, giving the hobbit ample time to pull away or refuse, but Bilbo simply turned his head instead so their lips met for a brief, soft kiss.

Though the selfish, greedy part of Thorin’s mind wanted more, to crowd the hobbit against the anvil and deepen their kiss, he forced himself to pull away again after a heartbeat and was delighted to see Bilbo’s cheeks pink and his pupils wide again. “In the Shire this would have been a mild scandal”, the hobbit said with a mischievous smile, “but very much expected. Hobbits that court are usually chaperoned and permitted only fleeting touches, certainly no intimacies.”

“That sounds horrible.” Thorin pulled Bilbo close again and wrapped his arms around his waist, Bilbo’s own winding around him in return. “Dwarves who are not... intimate, as you call it, would cause much whispering and gossiping.”

“Oh, if the hobbits that are courting are not caught kissing behind the bushes at least once the scandal would be much worse.”

Thorin shook his head. “Your customs are... strange. Or at least they seem very strange to me.”

Bilbo laughed lightly against Thorin’s chest. “So they did to me, when I first arrived! I knew only the ways of the elves and let me tell you, no person has ever stirred up more tongue-waggling and caused more tea parties ever since.”

Though Thorin didn’t understand exactly what Bilbo meant with ‘causing tea parties’, he caught the idea behind it quickly and likened it to dwarves sitting together in the tavern after a day of work, drinking ale and gossiping loudly. Only it seemed hobbits were more careful about keeping their gossiping secret.

“What were you making before I rudely interrupted you?” Bilbo asked after a few more minutes of comfortable, companionable quiet spent in each other’s arms. “I only saw that you nearly dropped it into the fire and that it was glowing hot.”

Thorin reluctantly released Bilbo from his embrace and turned to pick up the bead. It had no decorations yet, but it was fine work, so he did not hesitate to drop it into his One’s hand, even if the way Bilbo brought it up and inspected it from up close gave him no small amount of anxiety.

“It is very finely done”, Bilbo praised and returned the bead to Thorin again. “You certainly know how to work silver to its fullest.”

“You can tell what metal it is?” Whenever Thorin had worked with silver in the past, doing commissions for Mannish nobles and the occasional hobbit, more often than not they had regarded him with suspicion and asked how they could be certain he had not substituted iron or used only a silver sheen to trick them. Consequently, he had assumed that almost all Men and hobbits knew next to nothing about metals (which was true enough) and were perhaps incapable of seeing and feeling the difference.

Bilbo gave him a look. “I’m a dragon, dear, of course I can tell.”

The pet name made Thorin blush, something Bilbo seemed delighted by if his slight smile was any indication. “Of course”, Thorin parroted and put the bead aside so he could tug Bilbo close again. “My own bead is done so once I’ve finished engraving yours, I can give it to you and make our courtship official.”

“All members of your company know already. To me that’s official enough.” Bilbo scrutinised Thorin closely. “Unless it is not them you are worried about, but your cousin and his dwarves.”

Thorin opened his mouth to deny Bilbo’s allegation but closed it again once he saw the knowing gleam in the hobbit’s eyes. “Perhaps”, was what he settled on with a sour expression. “Seeing the courtship bead would… offer you some protection.”

“Are you worried someone might take offense to my presence here?”

“Immensely”, Thorin admitted immediately. “Some of the company protested your stay here and you’re the reason all of us were still alive to argue about it. Were our roles reversed and Dáin told me that a dragon came to rescue him and his dwarves, resides in his mountain and is his ally, I would be suspicious too. None of Dáin’s people know you. They just learned from their lord that they would march to Erebor’s aid but not to worry about the resident dragon because he is friendly. It would be naïve to think none of them might get wrong ideas.”

Instead of teasing Thorin about his insecurities, Bilbo tiptoed so he could kiss his cheek, the gesture of comfort draining some of Thorin’s tension out of his body. “I am very hard to kill, Thorin, even when I look like a helpless hobbit.”

“I’m not worried about someone attacking you and you being unable to defend yourself. I’m worried about someone using more nefarious means. Dragon you may be, but an arrow shot from the shadows would kill you all the same. Poison, a knife in the dark—”

Bilbo cut off Thorin’s ramblings with another kiss, this time to the corner of Thorin’s mouth. “Is that why Dwalin and Nori keep following me around whenever I leave the treasury?” He gave a wry smile. “Nori is rather annoyed that I keep noticing him. Perhaps a Man or dwarf would not know he is there, but to a hobbit his footsteps are loud. Even more so for a hobbit who also happens to be a dragon.”

“And Dwalin?”

“Oh, he makes no attempts to hide his presence, not that I think he even could if he tried. He gives me a wide berth but insists on walking in front of me, as if anyone could have snuck into the mountain.”

“Now that the gates are repaired, keeping track of who is in the mountain and who is not will become much more difficult.” Thorin tried to shake off the mental images of endless assassination attempts. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to stay in your dragon form outside the royal quarters.”

“Royal quarters?”

“Where the company has set up shop, so to speak. Sooner or later we will have to assign rooms, especially once everyone’s families have arrived, but those will be in the royal quarters as well. I thought about turning the room we are currently using into a sort of communal space for all of us.”

“That sounds lovely.” Bilbo smiled almost wistfully. “Would it not make more sense for them to see me as I am now? To attack an actual dragon is different from attacking someone smaller and weaker than yourself.”

Thorin frowned and ran a hand along Bilbo’s spine, picturing how easy it would be to stab him in the back or to shoot an arrow from a distance, and comparing that to the difficulty of wounding a dragon. “Your scales would offer you protection only metal armour can give you.”

“And how will you protect yourself, lacking scales?”

“When you first met me, I was wearing armour. I will do so again once Dáin and his people arrive.”

“Even in the forge?” Bilbo nudged Thorin’s side and somehow, despite the fact that Thorin held him in his arms, managed to evade the retaliatory counter strike. “I am not well-versed in dwarven fashion but to me it looks like you are wearing a simple tunic with its sleeves rolled up.”

“Can you imagine how hot it would be here under a suit of armour? No dwarf has ever died from a heatstroke, but I’d rather not find out if it’s possible.”

“Me neither.” Bilbo moved his hands as if to nudge Thorin in the sides again and Thorin tensed, anticipating the attack, but Bilbo merely settled them at Thorin’s hips. Bilbo’s innocent smile would fool no one. “But then I do not feel heat like you do.”

“Oh?”

“I am a creature of fire. I do not sweat, nor do I ever overheat. Not even the flames of Orodruin could harm me—I would probably find them quite comfortable, actually, and relaxing. In addition, at least me and my… brethren… heal in flames.”

Thorin furrowed his eyebrows and looked at his One quizzically. “Heal in flames? So if you are injured…”

“Hopping into a fire would heal me. Not instantaneously, mind you, but faster than if left alone. I’d offer to demonstrate but I’m not in need of healing at the moment.”

“Does it heal anything?” Already Thorin was trying to think of a way to have fires large enough to fit Bilbo’s dragon shape on every level of Erebor or at the very least everywhere he imagined Bilbo to pass through. They’d have to be guarded, or else they would be the perfect spot for an ambush, and would need to be fed continuously. Perhaps pipes would do the trick—

“Physical injuries like cuts, stab, piercing or bite wounds, broken bones and similar, yes. Illnesses or poisoning, no. I was mortally wounded when Lady Galadriel found me and had built fires to heal me, as dragonfire does not work.” Bilbo chuckled. “Could you imagine? Two dragons fighting each other and each breathing fire on themselves to heal. No, a dragon’s flames do not work.”

How strange the magic that lets Bilbo change forms and allows dragons to fly and breathe fire is, Thorin thought, but he had dealt enough with a certain wizard to not try and understand just how it actually worked. “That is… very good to know.”

“So you see—” Bilbo gave Thorin a pointed look. “—you should not be worried about my safety, but rather I should worry about yours. You cannot change shape to gain nigh impenetrable scales, nor can you lie down in fire and heal.”

“Knowing Balin and Dwalin, neither will allow me to ever be by myself once Dáin has arrived. Dwalin as the ushmaru uzbad, guardian of the king, though I’d rather have him watch you than me, and Balin because he worries too much. My grandfather—” Thorin took a second to deal with the onslaught of emotions those simple two words still brought him. “—was always surrounded by his personal guard whenever he left the safety of the royal quarters, though he often… demanded to be left alone.” Towards the end, not even Thráin and Thorin had been permitted inside the treasury. “I will always worry about the safety of those who are dear to me. Now that I have finally found you, I will not permit anything or anyone to harm you.”

Bilbo leant his head against Thorin’s chest, near his heart. “It takes more than a few dwarves to kill a dragon.”

Given the fact that Thorin had been one of a few dwarves trying to even injure a dragon, he could only agree with that sentiment. But still… “If we find armour that would fit you… would you agree to wear it outside the royal quarters and when you are not in your dragon skin?”

Bilbo pulled a face. “I’ve never worn armour before in my life. It always looked very, very uncomfortable and restrictive to me.”

“But it would protect you well.”

“Until I change shape without having the time to undress first. I’m sure dwarven metalwork can withstand many things but not a hobbit turning into a dragon.”

“With the right armour you wouldn’t even need to change shape in the first place”, Thorin pointed out. Seeing how opposed Bilbo seemed to the idea, he suggested, “Let me see what is left in the armoury and the treasury. Perhaps a light chainmail, forged with the proportions of a dwarven child in mind, would fit you well enough to protect you, but without restricting you too much.”

Bilbo did not look all that happy but conceded to the point with a nod. Thorin leant down and kissed the top of his head in thanks.

He could not tell for how many more minutes they just stood there, Bilbo a warm and comforting presence in Thorin’s arms, before a loud bellow came from outside the forge. “Overly curious dwarves incoming!”

Instinctively, Thorin pulled Bilbo behind him and reached down to his belt from which Orcrist’s sheath usually hang before he remembered that he’d left the sword in the company’s rooms. Not that he actually needed it right now, given that it had been Bofur who shouted, but a weapon by his side always made him feel better.

A moment later, seven dwarves came bursting into the forge.

“I tried to keep them away”, Balin said as he trailed behind the others at a more leisurely pace together with Dori, Dwalin and Óin, Nori popping into the room a moment later with a smirk on his face, “but everyone very urgently wanted to know what Master Baggins looks like as a hobbit.”

Said hobbit patted Thorin’s arm and stepped around him. Then, with a grin and a flourish, he bowed his head and said, “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”

Faster than Thorin could react, Kíli pulled Bilbo towards him and knocked their foreheads together loud enough for the sound to almost drown out the roaring of the forge. The dwarves fell silent in shock.

Thorin pushed his nephew away into Fíli and, supporting Bilbo’s head with both hands, gently guided him backwards out of reach, all the while asking frantically, “Are you alright? Bunnel?”⁴

He heard Fíli scold his brother through angry hisses, reminding him of the fact that other races did not have heads as sturdy as their own, but his attention was on his One, who looked dazed, but still was conscious.

“Careful lad”, Óin shouted as he made his way through the crowd of dwarves and came to stand next to Bilbo and Thorin. “Can you hear me?”

For a second, Bilbo did not react. Then, just as Kíli began to apologise loudly and lament that he’d forgotten, the hobbit swallowed hard and said, “Oh my.”

“Bilbo!” Thorin dropped his hands as Óin commanded with a gesture in Iglishmêk and settled them on Bilbo’s shoulders instead.

Óin leaned in closely and looked Bilbo in the eye. “You with us, lad?”

Bilbo nodded very, very carefully. “I think you might have cracked my skull, had I been a normal hobbit.” Kíli cried out in dismay and had to be gently shushed by his older brother.

“No slurred speech, pupils are normal-sized and his eyes follow motion—” The healer moved as if to punch Bilbo and it was only Thorin’s ample experience getting checked out for head injuries that made him not flinch back or pull Bilbo out of harm’s way. “—reflexes are normal.”

“I’m so sorry Uncle Bilbo!” Kíli said as Óin stepped away again, apparently satisfied that his patient would be alright. “I thought you’d be just as sturdy in this form as in your dragon form! I didn’t think!”

“Nothing new there”, his brother teased.

“It’s alright, Kíli.” Bilbo’s chipper tone did not only calm Kíli down again, but Thorin and the rest of the company too. “Even in my hobbit skin my body is sturdier than those of the… usual representatives of my race. But maybe try to be a bit more… reserved… next time?”

“I promise!” Kíli still seemed a little shaken and Thorin could see the guilt in his eyes, but the fact that Bilbo was fine (or at least acted like he was) had visibly soothed his nephew’s nerves. “It is strange to look down to you after staring up for so long!”

That was all the encouragement the others needed to crowd close again. Over shouts of “He’s so small!” and Bilbo’s outraged insistence that he was “average-sized for a hobbit, thank you very much!”, Thorin could see pouches of gold being passed around by almost all the dwarves and hear disappointed exclamations from those who’d bet on the wrong things, as well as exuberant laughter and teasing comments from those who’d bet right.

He wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist from behind and allowed himself an indulgent smile as he watched his company—his friends—and One laugh and joke around.

Chapter Text

It was with not a small amount of nervousness that Thorin, flanked on both sides by the rest of the company, watched as the army of dwarves walked or rode the way up to the front gates. They’d stood here for more than an hour by now, called outside by Nori’s exclamation that the dwarves of the Iron Hills had finally arrived. While Thorin could honestly say he looked forward to seeing his cousin again—and to welcome the much-needed reinforcements with their provisions and the materials they brought with them—he was also filled with trepidation.

Now that Bilbo had been provided with (temporary) clothes, it was rare to see him in his dragon form unless he was helping out somewhere or flying. For today, though, he and Thorin had eventually decided that being seen as a dragon first, then as a hobbit, was probably the best idea. Let them see how massive he was, how sharp his teeth and claws were—then let them meet the hobbit, so they would know the risks. Thorin hoped that would keep most of Dáin’s dwarves from trying anything stupid, but he’d asked Dwalin and Nori to stay at Bilbo’s side anyway and hoped that declaring the dragon to be his One would be enough to keep him safe. Most dwarves accepted a dwarf’s One no matter who or what they were, trusting Mahal’s judgement and decisions, but most was not all. If Dáin got along with Bilbo, that would likely persuade many of his people to at least try to accept him in the mountain but Thorin would rather be safe (overly cautious, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Bilbo quipped in his head) than sorry.

As it was, Bilbo was hiding and waiting for Thorin’s signal to show himself. A bit dramatic, perhaps, but it would certainly make an impression.

Once the dwarves of the Iron Hills were close enough for Thorin to make out faces, he searched the ranks for his cousin. It did not take long to spot him, riding up front on his boar. Dáin must have seen him too and spurred on his mount, lifting his hammer up high. He shouted something and seconds later, the wind carried over his exclamation of “Iraknadad!”¹ By then, Dáin was nearly in front of them already.

“Look at you!” Dáin brought his boar to a hold and jumped off only to immediately bridge the distance between himself and Thorin. “Not a wisp of hair burned off!” Thankfully, Dáin removed his helmet, which he haphazardly threw aside, before knocking their foreheads together.

Balin had argued incessantly that Thorin should wear the Raven Crown when greeting Dáin, but Thorin just as vehemently refused. He would not wear a crown until all his people had returned to Erebor and the kingdom was restored—only then would he allow the coronation to take place, but with a new crown, one that would not forever remind him of the man his grandfather had become in the last few years of his life. The last bit he’d not told his advisor yet, but Thorin would not be swayed, no matter what Balin said.

The crown would only have got in the way of his cousin’s greeting, anyway, so Thorin felt even more justified.

“The worm certainly tried”, Thorin said and smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you, cousin. You and your people are sorely needed.”

“I can see that!” Dáin looked at the statues next to the front gates and the rubble the company and Bilbo had moved to the side. “A wonder the mountain’s still standing, if two dragons fought over it!” Dáin gave Thorin a shrewd look. “Now, I’m not seeing any dragon besides the corpse in the distance—”

Right, we should probably do something about that soon.

“—so maybe you did lose your mind after all!”

“The second dragon is real enough”, Balin said.

“Aye.” Dwalin crossed his arms in front of his chest as if he dared Dáin to call him mad too.

Wisely, Dáin did not. “Well, where is it? In your letter you said it’s an ally, however you accomplished that, but—” The sunlight must have caught Thorin’s beads just right or maybe it was simply the angle, but Thorin’s cousin froze mid-sentence and stared at the braid dangling by Thorin’s right temple. “By Mahal! Is that—”

A better opportunity would likely not present itself, so Thorin raised his voice to be heard both by the dwarves from the Iron Hills, who had now reached them, and the dragon lying in wait. “Dáin Ironfoot, son of Náin, Lord of the Iron Hills, I welcome you and your people and thank you for coming to our aid! Erebor finally belongs to Durin’s Folk once more! It is only thanks to our unexpected ally that we stand before you and that the mountain has been reclaimed. Allow me to introduce—”

A large shadow fell over the gathered dwarves. Dáin’s soldiers shouted in alarm and drew their weapons amidst frantic commands and exclamations of horror. Dáin, too, lifted his warhammer, little good it would do him in the face of the being that flew circles above their heads.

Thorin looked up even though he knew what—or rather, who—was flying over them and did not even try to supress the smile tugging on his lips. Bilbo was just as breath-taking up in the air than he’d been the first time Thorin had seen him, glimmering gold and amber. Some of Dáin’s soldiers picked up their spears and readied themselves, but Thorin loudly called “Mahitdinî!”² and they froze, caught somewhere between terror and confusion. Dáin stared at Thorin as if he had truly lost his mind but repeated the command.

Finally, Bilbo’s circles grew smaller until he landed with a thud. The goats and rams stomped with their front hooves or reared back and likely would have run away had they not been extensively trained. Soldiers yelled and cursed; spears were readied again; warriors raised their shields—and Thorin grinned.

“—Allow me to introduce Bilbo Baggins, Kidzuluslukhu ra unsasu Azsâlul’abad,³ Slayer of Smaug—” Thorin took a deep breath. “—and kurdelê.”⁴

Everyone fell silent instantly. Dáin’s soldiers stared at the dragon who had settled down by the company’s side, then at Thorin and back again. Dáin himself was looking once more at Thorin’s courtship bead, mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

Then he began to laugh.

Dáin’s laughter had always been a loud, boisterous thing and this was no exception. The blanket of silence lying on everyone else—company included—only made it boom all the more, so that Thorin wondered whether the people of Laketown could hear it too. Dáin was bent over with his hands on his knees and was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes, some of them running down into his beard. Every now and then his cousin took a second to gasp for air then continued and looked like he would keel over any moment, his whole upper body shaking.

Thorin walked over to him and put a hand on Dáin’s back to steady him. He exchanged looks with Balin and Dwalin and communicated silently with them through facial expressions until Dwalin joined Thorin at Dáin’s side. Together they began to lead him into the mountain, followed closely by some, but not all, of the company. Balin stayed behind and began addressing the dwarves of the Iron Hills, instructing them where they could house their mounts for now until the stables were repaired and to whom they could turn regarding the goods they carried. Bombur, as the company’s cook (and future head of the aslâsu ublâg⁵ once Thorin got around to making it official), took charge of the dwarves carrying provisions while Bofur and Bifur directed the stonemasons, miners, and craftspeople of similar fields, as well as a large portion of the warriors who would not be needed to stand guard. As the company had discussed beforehand, Dori assumed command over the domestic staff, few as they were. Normally Dwalin would have stayed to assess the soldiers and, after long conversations with Dáin, decide where each of them would go, but for now Balin asked a large group of them to guard the front gates and the rest to see where they would be needed most urgently. Likely, that would be all around the mountain to start repairing the damage Smaug and time had done to the halls.

The five others accompanied Thorin and Dwalin as they led a still-laughing Dáin through the entrance hall and down to the treasury. There had been some discussions on whether to show Dáin his rooms first or to go straight to the treasury to secure it again, but Glóin had pointed out that Bilbo would not be there to guard it if they went through with Thorin’s scheme, so the second option won.

Bilbo would join them later again, but Thorin had asked (begged) him to always be within sight of at least one member of the company, so he probably was staying with Balin and the others for now.

The moment the dwarves entered the treasury, Dáin stopped laughing. He stood between Thorin and Dwalin with wide eyes and an expression that Thorin would describe as dumbfounded, even more so than when he’d noticed Thorin’s courtship braid. Thorin watched him closely for any sign of gold-sickness, that sick gleam that had been in his grandfather’s eyes (and then his own, though he had not seen it), but Dáin merely looked shocked, so Thorin gave the others a signal that Dáin did not notice.

“Mi Mahal”⁶, Dáin finally got out after a few more moments and shook himself. “You could give every dwarf of the Iron Hills a bucket full of gold and you wouldn’t see the difference.”

“Some of it probably belongs to Dale or the descendants of the last Lord of Dale.” Still, Thorin had not quite got over the sheer size of the treasure either.

“That may be so but that’s still a lot of coin.”

“More than enough to repay you and your people for your aid.” Before Dáin could protest, Thorin nodded to Glóin and took a step back so the red-haired dwarf could stand next to Dáin and show him their calculations on a piece of parchment. Dáin’s eyes went even wider than before. “You said it yourself—you could give every dwarf of the Iron Hills their own bucket of gold and it wouldn’t even put in a dent.”

“Aye, I said that.” Dáin shook his head in astonishment but could probably tell Thorin would not budge, so he let the issue drop for now. “Good thing you’ve got a dragon to guard it. I’d like to think my people are honourable but a sight like that might tempt some of them.” He looked at each of the members of the company before settling his eyes on Thorin once more. “You called this… Bilbo Baggins… your One. I assume you’re sure about that.”

Behind Dáin’s back, Dwalin gave Thorin a smug look which Thorin answered with a rude gesture in Iglishmêk. “As sure as you were when you saw Sólvá for the first time.”

Dáin nodded gravely, then broke into giggles. “Mahal has a wicked sense of humour, that’s for sure.” He patted Thorin on the back. “I’ll tell my people to be nice to your dragon, don’t you worry. Any who do try to come after him will probably receive their lesson straight from the source anyway, ha ha!”

“Thank you, cousin.”

“Ach, don’t mention it.” Dáin turned once more to look at the treasure, shaking his head as if he could still not really believe it. “No wonder Smaug wanted a piece of this if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“He wanted it really badly”, Kíli piped up with a sly smirk. “So much in fact he put a curse on it.”

Dáin jumped back and whipped his head around, first to Kíli then to Thorin and back to the prince again. “A curse?”

Thorin rolled his eyes as Fíli picked up where his brother had left off. “When a dragon claims something as their hoard, they leave an imprint of their own feelings towards it behind. With enough time, that impression sinks deep into the treasure and can start affecting all thinking beings around them.”

“Smaug was greedy—very greedy”, Kíli continued, voice low, “and his hold on the treasure reflected that. It would have corrupted every dwarf and Man in the vicinity, maybe the elves of Mirkwood too. They would have craved the treasure, just as Smaug craved it.”

“Would have obsessed over it and would have wanted to make it theirs and theirs alone.”

Kíli suddenly grinned. “Good thing Uncle Bilbo’s here!”

“Another dragon can get rid of the hold by claiming the hoard as their own.” Fíli, too, smiled widely. “Uncle Bilbo’s doing that even now, outside the mountain!”

Dáin glanced at Thorin from the corner of his eyes and raised an eyebrow. Thorin nodded in confirmation.

“As long as I’m in the vicinity, it doesn’t really matter where exactly I am.”

The dwarves whirled around to find Dori and Bilbo, a hobbit once more, standing at the entrance to the treasury. Dori disappeared again now that Bilbo was safe with the others.

Dáin, not knowing of Bilbo’s ability to change shape just yet, looked very baffled at the sight of what, to him, must have been a most peculiar creature. Thorin left his cousin’s side and pulled Bilbo into his arms once he was close enough, pressing a kiss to the honey-coloured curls he’d come to love so much over the last few days, just as he did everything else about his One. Behind him, Dáin spluttered and whispered (or as much as Dáin II Ironfoot could whisper) to the other dwarves. “By Mahal’s forges, what is going on?”

“Dáin, meet, for the second time today, my One, Bilbo Baggins.” Thorin took Bilbo’s hand and led him over, trying very hard not to laugh at the blatant confusion in his cousin’s face. “The Golden Dragon of the Lonely Mountain when he is not busy being the Hobbit of the Lonely Mountain instead.”

“A pleasure”, Bilbo said and bowed as well as he could with Thorin’s arm around his waist. “Thorin and the others told me much about you but I have to admit, I did not believe them when they said you ride a boar.”

“That I do. His name’s Hulw…”⁷ Dáin seemed dazed as he stared at the hobbit in front of him, much to Kíli’s, Fíli’s, Dwalin’s, and Thorin’s amusement, even if Thorin himself tried not to show it. “You’re a… hobbit?”

“Most of the time. When I’m not a hobbit, I’m a dragon.”

Dáin continued staring. “A hobbit that can turn into a dragon… or a dragon that can turn into a hobbit…” His eyes drifted up to Thorin’s right temple, where the courtship bead hang. Then, he said with a grin breaking out across his face, “Mahal must have been drunk when he made the two of you!” and began to laugh again.

Not the worst reaction and certainly not the one Thorin had expected, but if Dáin was good at anything (besides fighting and ruling the Iron Hills with an iron hand… and foot) then it was finding humour in almost everything no matter what. “Just wait until I tell my Thorin that! He won’t believe me, that’s for sure.” Dáin wiped the tears from his eyes. “Had a bit of hero worship going on you see, Master Baggins, always going on about Thorin this, Thorin that—should have seen it coming, really, with that name. Ran around with a piece of oak as a wee lad and called it his shield. He’s grown out of that phase by now, thankfully, but I still like to tease him about it every now and then. Imagine, I’d have to worry about him running off north to find himself a dragon!” Dáin laughed again.

Last Thorin had seen the ‘other’ Thorin, the boy had been much younger than he was now at seventy-five years of age and indeed somewhat… awestruck whenever they spoke. Kind of like Fíli and Kíli when they were little pebbles, though much more awkward.

“Call me Bilbo, please. You are Thorin’s cousin, after all, so that makes us family in some way.”

“Ach, if that cousin of mine does not muck up your courtship, then you will be soon enough! Us Durins aren’t known for our patience. Though I reckon you’ll want to wait for Dís’ arrival in a few months?” At Thorin’s nod, Dáin gave him an almost pitying look. “Knowing you, you probably didn’t tell her about this either, huh? Good thing I was planning on staying until she arrives anyway! That’s going to be a right laugh.”

More like a massacre, Thorin thought with a frown but said nothing.

“Speaking of courtship, if you don’t mind me saying so, Bilbo, I noticed you’re not wearing any beads or braids. Your hair’s too short for most of them, you don’t have a beard and the hair on your feet’s too fine and short, so I can see why that’d be the case.” Dáin gave Thorin a pointed look. “Some might interpret that wrongly if you catch my drift. Not just regarding the courtship, but other things too.”

“Thorin made me a lovely bead.” Bilbo reached into the pockets of his vest and pulled out a little pouch, which Thorin knew held the bead. “The one time we tried braiding my hair, Thorin managed to do the courtship braid—” Rather badly, in Thorin’s opinion, but Bilbo’s hair was just a bit too short and too curly. “—but I don’t want to risk losing the bead when I change shape.”

Dáin nodded as if that made perfect sense even though Bilbo had not mentioned his clothing problem. “Might be a good idea to wear it when you’re in this… shape, all the same. Most of my dwarves won’t try anything, I reckon, but there are a few white coals in every stack. You teach him how to do it himself yet, cousin?”

“He tried.” Bilbo laughed self-deprecatingly. “I know how to braid breads and pies, but doing your own hair is much more difficult.”

“You’ve got thin, nimble fingers.” Dáin peeked down at Bilbo’s hands as if to emphasise his words. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out quickly.” As he straightened up again, Dáin caught Thorin’s eyes and winked. “I’m sure Thorin’s taken advantage of those fingers already!”

As some of the members of the company broke into laughter and smiles, Thorin felt his face redden and glowered at his cousin, who seemed little affected and continued grinning. Bilbo blushed as well and mumbled something about the “crudeness of dwarves”.

“Get used to it, laddie. We dwarves got our heads stuck firmly in the gutter. If they’re not stuck somewhere else, that is.” Dáin cackled loudly. “I better go see if my people got settled alright. Can’t have them hide from the job we’ve come to do!” He exchanged brief goodbyes with the other members of the company, then walked over to Thorin and Bilbo. First he knocked his forehead against Thorin’s, the resulting thud loud enough to make Bilbo flinch back a little, then leaned down to do the same with Bilbo, only much, much more gently. “I hope your cook’s got a feast planned for today, cousin! Occasions such as these should be celebrated with good food and a lot of ale!” With those words Dáin Ironfoot walked out of the treasury, his laughter echoing long after he was gone.

Thorin gazed down at his One and raised an eyebrow. Bilbo, looking torn between amusement and some other emotion Thorin couldn’t identify, met his eyes and chuckled. “Your cousin is certainly quite the character.”

“Don’t I know it”, Thorin mumbled before pulling Bilbo close to him again. “Come, I’ll show you how to do the mababnulzantu amrâl⁸ again.”

------------

With the arrival of Dáin and his dwarves, life returned to Erebor’s halls. Wherever Thorin went, there were dwarves restoring the mountain, systematically going from hall to hall and district to district to see where the most work would be needed. The majority of their rebuilding efforts were concentrated on the living quarters in preparation for the caravans that would arrive in a few months’ time. Ravens flew back and forth from Erebor to the first batch of travellers led by Dís, who kept Thorin up to speed with their progress.

Other areas also needed work, particularly those close to the surface and the front gates where Smaug had broken through. Repairs on the gates were going well and much faster than it had when just the thirteen of them and a dragon were working on it.

Bilbo had become such a fixture in the restoration that the majority of Dáin’s people stopped flinching and reaching for their weapons whenever the golden dragon showed up to help. What would take hours of preparation and execution as well as a large number of dwarves was significantly quicker with Bilbo there to pull heavy objects, stabilise the construction work, and lend his fire. As per their agreement, Bilbo was never alone with the dwarves of the Iron Hills and was usually accompanied by Nori or Dwalin as well as whoever was working in the area Bilbo was going to, even if he liked to remind Thorin that it probably wasn’t necessary. He seemed to only put up with it to humour Thorin, which was perfectly fine with him since it meant that his One would be protected. Not that anyone had tried anything yet.

Those working in areas where Bilbo did not or could not help tended to give him a very wide berth and froze when the dragon walked past with rapidly-beating hearts and smelling of fear (according to Bilbo himself). When Thorin jokingly asked Bilbo what he smelled like, his One had given such an unexpected answer Thorin had stared, blushed a deep red, and pulled the hobbit closer for a long, deep kiss that left both of them breathless and flustered.

“You smell of the dirt beneath my feet”, Bilbo had murmured softly. “The scent of soil and roots that bury themselves deep in the stone. You smell like the smoke coming from a fire, like metal that is melting. You smell like herbs that grow only in the protection of caves, hidden from view. You smell like... home. And like me.”

Dwalin had given him a leering look after Bilbo had left again and made some joke about needing a chaperone like hobbit tradition dictated, to which Thorin had responded by flipping his friend off.

If anyone needed a chaperone, it certainly wasn’t Thorin, but some of Dáin's dwarves—or rather, they needed someone who would make sure they wouldn't try anything funny when encountering Bilbo in his hobbit form.

Whereas most of the dwarves tried to stay well away from the dragon unless they had to get close and work right next to him, Bilbo’s hobbit form was a whole different matter. It invited more attention and curiosity than Thorin was comfortable with, though he knew his worries and discomfort were largely the result of his own possessiveness.

The hobbit was a rarity, not just because of his nature, but also as a representative of a species few had ever seen or even heard of. He was both smaller and frailer than dwarves, did not have a beard but curly short hair, pointed ears, and large furred feet that were always naked despite the coolness of the stone floor. No braids besides the mababnulzantu amrâl,⁸ though Thorin planned on adding as many as he could get away with once the curls grew long enough for it. One for killing Smaug and thus giving the mountain back to Durin’s folk as well as exacting revenge for all the lives lost after the worm’s attack; one for agreeing to stay here for several months, so far away from home, to help them rebuild and to remove Smaug’s curse from the treasure. And finally, once their courtship was over, a braid to mark him as yasthûnu khulz, husband of a man, and zabadyusth ‘urdêkul, Consort of Erebor.

It certainly didn’t help that Bilbo was always so cheerful and polite, pausing to speak to the workers and offer encouragements as well as comments such as “what a wonderful job you’ve been doing!” or “goodness me, you work so fast!”. In the face of such earnest compliments and Bilbo’s bright smiles, it was only a matter of time until he’d won over most of Dáin’s dwarves much to Thorin’s relief and simultaneous annoyance.

If his own work—consisting primarily of supervision and going over documents and plans for the projects going on around the mountain—tended to somehow lead him wherever Bilbo was, that was a complete coincidence, no matter what the rest of the company might insinuate with grins and comments that thankfully seemed to go over Bilbo’s head. Bilbo, for one, was always very happy to see Thorin and would, if time and duty permitted, take him by the arm and introduce him to whomever he had just talked with. Said individuals knew better than to comment on Thorin’s glowers and frowns behind Bilbo’s back, though Thorin sometimes got the feeling they were more amused than truly threatened. As long as they didn’t try anything he didn’t mind either way.

More often than not, when Bilbo wasn’t helping out with repairs, talking to the new arrivals from the Iron Hills, walking around with Thorin or joining Bombur in the kitchen, he could be found in the library with Ori and, occasionally, Balin.

Now that it wasn’t just the fourteen of them, the others could turn towards less urgent tasks than repairing the front gates or restoring as many of the living quarters as they could before the caravan’s arrival. For Balin that meant acting as Thorin’s advisor just as before, while his brother alternated between protecting Bilbo or Thorin and assessing the warriors Dáin had brought along, deciding what posts to assign them to. Óin had taken charge of the few healers that were here and had to deal with mostly minor medical issues and only the rare serious injury resulting from construction work. Glóin spent much time in the treasury together with a handful of Dáin’s most trusted dwarves and tried to tackle the almost impossible task of taking inventory, aided every now and then by Bilbo whose knowledge of the treasure grew as days and weeks went by and his hold over the hoard increased. Fíli, in his role as the heir of the kingdom, was often at Thorin’s side, observing and making decisions—and where Fíli went Kíli would follow most of the time. Dori and the domestic staff were preparing the rooms that were deemed inhabitable, cleaning the worst of the rubble and dust that had accumulated, mending clothes and fabrics, and making bandages, blankets, sheets, and other things the people of the mountain would need. Nori, like Dwalin, protected Bilbo or Thorin, albeit much more covertly and secretly. When he wasn’t doing that, he would keep an eye and ear out, eavesdropping, spying and gathering information he would then report to Thorin, Dáin, or Balin. Bifur and Bofur were overseeing the reconstruction efforts, while Bombur reigned over the kitchens and the stockrooms.

Since Thorin could not find Bilbo in any of the aforementioned spots, he directed his steps towards the library. Ori would likely have slept in there if Dori and Nori let him and had to be pried away from his scrolls and books with loud protests. His primary task was to find records of the previous inhabitants of the mountain and to compare that to the names of those that were accompanying Dís. If possible, they would place all that were still alive or their descendants into their old apartments, provided they were in good enough condition by the time of their arrival. Not all of the people of Erebor would return and new dwarves would come as well, so that would have to be taken into account. Ori was diligent and thorough, but the library was vast and some shelves had collapsed or fallen over, so his work was often slowed down or brought to a halt. It was fortunate that Bilbo loved spending time in the library as well, since he could use the privacy there to change shape, carry the rubble away, and lift shelves to recover the books underneath. Thorin trusted Ori not to sneak close and try to take a look.

He deliberately kept a slow and regular pace lest anyone see just how nervous he was. Though he needed no reason to seek out his One, this was a special occasion—he would present the first khajamu amrâl⁹ to Bilbo and hoped he would accept it. Technically, in a way, Bilbo was already using the gift—there were sections of the library that were off limits to non-dwarves and among them, shelves that not even a khuzd urasgânu ashhân¹⁰ was supposed to be in. Thorin would likely lobby to see that restriction lifted, but anticipated an uphill battle with some of the more traditional and conservative nobles that would one day make up his council.

Bilbo could not read or understand Khuzdul yet besides the few words that had been explained to him thus far, but if he accepted Thorin’s gift nothing stood in the way of him beginning his lessons. Ifhe accepted. The courtship had gone exceptionally well but Thorin was a consummate pessimist and expected the hobbit to realise any moment that he was making a mistake, unlikely as Bilbo’s behaviour made that seem.

Thorin entered the library and did not have to search for Ori and his One for long; their hushed conversation was loud in the otherwise silent halls. He found them by the desks of the uzrâb,¹¹ two rows of tables carved from stone where the scribes used to work before Smaug’s attack. Ori occupied three adjacent tables by himself, each nearly overladen with scrolls, books, and pieces of parchment, while Bilbo only needed one. Thorin did not know what he was working on, but from what he gathered there were records and books in Westron and a few in the elvish tongues, so maybe he was going through those to help Ori in his search for the housing records—or he was simply reading for pleasure and to enlarge his actual hoard.

Ori did not seem to have noticed Thorin’s arrival, but Bilbo most certainly had, even if he didn’t look up from the pages in front of him until Thorin stopped next to his desk. “Hello dear.” Bilbo gave Thorin one of his bright, almost blinding smiles which, together with the pet name, made Thorin blush a little. Giving into the impulse, Thorin leant down and kissed him softly. “If you came to steal me away again, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until I’m done with this, if that’s alright.”

Thorin looked at the book in front of Bilbo. From what he could gather after skimming over the pages, it detailed the techniques and tools used by the ubjâth¹² that grew and harvested Erebor’s grains, a topic that Thorin found so utterly uninteresting that his eyes glazed over after just three sentences. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to draw you away from your reading. I just want to give you something, then I’ll leave you to it again.”

“Oh?” Bilbo faced him properly and regarded him curiously. Thorin noticed that it got quiet all of a sudden, though it took him a moment to realise that he’d heard the frantic scratching of Ori’s pen on paper until now.

“Bilbo Baggins, khajamu amrâlê zê’ birâfbisi astû.” Knowing Bilbo would not understand, he translated quietly, “I present to you my first courtship gift.” More loudly, he continued, “I gift you two things, though the first is a gift you would receive anyway once we finish our courtship and you agree to marry me. After the wedding, you would be considered a dwarf by marriage—though your status as my One already makes you a dwarf by heart—and you will be permitted to learn more than a few conversational bits of Khuzdul. As king, I have the right to grant you this permission already now. Should you accept this gift but refuse to marry me, you would still be able to continue your lessons, as long as you swear to never share our language with outsiders, be it spoken or written. Secondly, I gift you unlimited access to the library, including parts and writings that are usually off limits to all non-dwarves.” Behind them, Ori gasped and dropped his pen. “Khajamu amrâlê birasakini? Do you accept my gift?”

Bilbo opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. If Thorin had not seen Bilbo’s face and not known him enough to read his expressions, he would have started to panic, but Bilbo looked very excited. Much to Thorin’s amusement, he held up a finger as if to say ‘wait for a moment, please’ and turned to Ori. “Are there any words I’m expected to say in response?”

“There are three ways you can react”, Ori told Bilbo after receiving Thorin’s silent permission. “Accepting it, rejecting it politely or rejecting it firmly. If you accept, you say khajamzu birâkini or ‘I accept your gift’ in Westron. If you refuse but do not intend for this rejection to end the courtship, you say akhmini astû, ini khajamzu ma birâkini or ‘I thank you, but I do not accept your gift’. If you refuse and take the gift as such a grave insult that you want to end the courtship over it, you say khajamzu nê birâkini or ‘I will never accept your gift’.”

Bilbo made Ori repeat the three sentences again before turning back to Thorin. He cleared his throat and haltingly said, “Kajamzu birakini.” Seemingly unsatisfied with his own pronunciation, he tried again, “Khajamzu birâkini.”

He could have butchered the Khuzdul completely and Thorin would have been just as happy as he was now, but it touched him to see Bilbo try and get it right. He leaned down and caught his One’s lips in another, longer kiss which he only ended once the need for breath became overwhelming. “I’m glad you approve, bunnel.” At Bilbo’s curious expression, he translated, “Treasure of all treasures”, and was delighted to see Bilbo’s already flushed face turn even redder. “Any of the company and Dáin’s dwarves can teach you, but I would suggest not asking my nephews for help. They will likely teach you the wrong translations as a prank.”

“That is something I can definitely see them doing.” Bilbo chuckled.

“If you want, I can teach you”, Ori offered. “We spend a lot of time together in the library already and since you know many of the Angerthas,¹³ teaching you how to write and read will likely not take much time at all.”

“Thank you, Ori.” Bilbo furrowed his brows a little in concentration, which Thorin found exceptionally adorable. “Akhmini astû?” He struggled a little with the breathy consonants, which was not surprising at all given the fact that they did not exist in the elvish tongues or Westron. “In return, depending on how well I do, I can help you with the records once I’ve learned enough to understand what they are saying.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I expect nothing in return, though help would indeed be appreciated. Whoever sorted the scrolls and books before us ought to be exiled if they’re still alive.” Realising what he had just said, Ori ducked his head in embarrassment, but Thorin chuckled and waved off the scribe’s apologies.

“I’ll leave you to it then. I’ll see you for tonight’s dinner?” At Bilbo’s affirmative nod, Thorin leant down once more, kissed his One again and said, “Goodbye, sulkhalukhê.”

As Thorin walked out of the library, he heard Bilbo ask what sulkhalukhê meant and picked up his pace. He did not want to be within shouting range when Bilbo learnt that the word translated to ‘my tiny dragon’, though he imagined he’d get to hear all about it during dinner.

------------

Every morning and evening, the thirteen dwarves of Thorin’s company plus Bilbo and Dáin gathered in what used to be the company’s sleeping place and base of operations, but had now become a sort of common room, located conveniently in the centre of the chambers Thorin had given each of them in the royal quarters—the exception being Bilbo, who tended to sleep in the treasury in his dragon form but had rooms assigned to him as well (coincidentally, those Thorin’s grandmother had used before her death). If at all possible, every one of them tried to make it to these shared meals and, barring emergencies or distractions, so far everyone had indeed shown up more or less punctually.

Dáin and his people had brought more than enough food for a feast on the day of their arrival and for all the dwarves and the dragon for months to come. Much of it was imperishable food—breads, hardy cheeses, dried meat, and an assortment of mushrooms—but they had also taken plenty of other things with them, like grain, eggs (and a few chickens), flour, pies, sausages and, of course, ale. As the person currently in charge of the provisions, Bombur had created a meal plan that would see them fed for months, even longer, after Dís and the caravans would arrive with more food.

So far, they had eaten whatever was available which, more often than not, meant bread, cheese, and jerky. Whenever possible, Thorin weaselled at least a spoonful of fruit or berry jam from Bombur’s stores as a little treat, much to the cook’s amusement and with none the wiser… except perhaps Nori, Dwalin, and Balin. Maybe Bilbo too, if he noticed the taste when they kissed, but he never commented on it so Thorin assumed he would keep the secret.

Therefore, the fact that Thorin (and the other dwarves) received a beautifully-penned letter a few days after Thorin had given Bilbo the first courtship gift, asking them to bring a big appetite with them to tonight’s dinner was very unusual. More so when Thorin reached the bottom and found Bilbo’s name signed in both Westron and Khuzdul letters with great flourish. Even more so when a few members of the company, Thorin included, sought out the hobbit to pry information from him and found Ori alone in the library, no dragon at the construction sites and the kitchens barred even to the king. “He told me he has to prepare for dinner tonight”, was all Ori said when pressed for information with a mischievous smile on his lips. “He asked if he could have the kitchen to himself for a few hours”, was Bombur’s explanation. “Today’s dinner for the rest of the mountain is all finished anyway so I said sure.” When asked if he had any clue what Bilbo was making, Bombur just shrugged and denied all knowledge, though he’d never been a particularly good liar. Kíli and Fíli had the idea to steal the meal plan and provisions list and see if they could find any unexplainable deductions from the latter, but Bombur chased them from his room with a large spoon.

Uncharacteristically, everyone (except for Bilbo, Nori, and Bombur) arrived very, very early. All of them sat around the table long before their usual time with no late arrivals and speculated loudly about the content of Bilbo’s invitation.

Dear friends, he had written,

it is with great pleasure that I invite you to a special meal for tonight’s dinner. It will be a far cry from the kind of feast I could have presented you with in the Shire, but I hope that it will suffice to still your hunger all the same. Please bring empty stomachs and big appetites. Azun/Yours, Bilbo Baggins.

“Any idea why today, of all days?” Dori asked the group.

“What day is it anyway? I lost track.”

Bifur looked at his cousin and shrugged. “Akhlathnurt?”

“No, I think Tuesday was two days ago.”

“It is, in fact, Wednesday”, Balin told the two ‘Urs with an amused expression. “I don’t think the day per se is the important factor but rather, the fact that it is only a few days after Thorin presented him with his first courtship gift.”

Bilbo and Thorin had informed the others the day Bilbo accepted the gift, which had made dinner an even more boisterous affair than it usually was. Each of them had taken the time to teach Bilbo some words in Khuzdul at the table, ranging from henaf ‘knife’ and khâga ‘cheese’ to nîd!¹⁴ followed by a loaf of bread (hamad) thrown his way and alfâtasran, which Fíli claimed meant ‘dragon’ but actually translated to ‘butterfly’. Not the two princes’ best idea for a prank especially since Bilbo already knew what dragon meant—or rather, that the word ‘dragon’ had to be some part of Kidzuluslukhu ‘Golden Dragon’.

“Besides”, he’d told them, “your tongue has changed little since I first heard it spoken and it does not take much to figure that ‘uslukh’ means dragon when people point up at you and shout that.”

As always when the topic of his past came up, Bilbo changed the subject with a pained expression; that time, he’d asked what ‘prankster’ would be (undan).

“Do you think this could be part of his own first gift?” Ori suggested. “From what he told me, cooking meals for each other is an important part of hobbit courtship.”

Thorin nodded his head in agreement. “I figured the same. He wouldn’t listen when I told him I needed nothing more from him than his love.” Next to him, Kíli made a gagging noise but stopped when Thorin kicked him lightly under the table. “What could ever top killing Smaug and giving us back our home?”

“He’s as stubborn as you are”, Balin commented, voice somewhere between approval and exasperation.

“I told him he doesn’t have to pay me for his clothes, but he wouldn’t listen, either.” Dori shook his head. “To ask to pay me for work with such inferior fabrics! Once the caravans arrive and trade resumes, I will be making him clothes better suited to his station.”

“Which he’ll want to pay you for again”, Fíli teased.

“Those will be a gift”, Dori sniffed. “I will not see a single coin for them.”

Knowing just how stubborn Bilbo could be, Thorin half expected his One to break into Dori’s rooms and leave behind the gold as payment whether Dori liked it or not.

“What do you think he made you, uncle? Hopefully there’ll be enough for all of us.”

“Uncle Bilbo wouldn’t have written to everyone to come hungry if he only meant to feed uncle Thorin, Kee.”

“From what I’ve heard of hobbit cooking, I’d be happy with just the scraps”, Bofur said cheerfully. “I remember a fellow miner dedicate a love song to the apple pies some hobbit lass sold at the market when he was completely pissed.”

“Dáin and his people brought no apples, nor did we get any from Laketown.”

“Apples are a rarity for us in the Iron Hills”, Dáin said, nodding. “Especially since Dale fell.”

Before everyone could continue speculating and making themselves even hungrier in the process, the sound of footsteps could be heard from outside and a moment later, the door was opened. The twelve dwarves watched as Bilbo, carrying a covered tray almost as wide as the span of his arms, entered, followed closely by Bombur and Nori, each carrying a smaller tray. “I hope we did not let you wait for long”, the hobbit said from behind the metal covering.

The three placed down the trays, the big one and one of the smaller ones in the centre and one in front of Thorin. Kíli and Fíli tried to sneakily lift the covering to take a look, but Bilbo hit their fingers with a whack of the rolled-up border of his apron without looking. “I’m sure you must have questions about my invitation, so allow me a brief explanation before we eat.” Bilbo stopped at the head of the table while Nori and Bombur took their seats besides their family members. “In the Shire, when a couple or several people are courting, it is tradition to cook them and their families an elaborate meal to show that they can provide for their beloved or beloveds. Cooking is a very important thing to hobbits, up there with gardening skills and respectability. Thorin has declared the members of the company that joined him on his quest as buhêl which Ori told me means that he considers all of you as close as family. Dáin is family, so the only one missing is Thorin’s sister Dís who will only arrive in a few months’ time. I’ll host another gathering then.”

Bilbo paused for a moment then began distributing plates and cutlery. “In the Shire, this would have been a meal with several courses—soups, salads, meat, fish and vegetable dishes, and desserts. Here, given our current situation and the need to watch our provisions closely, I can only offer you one dish. Once trade has been re-established, I’ll show you a proper hobbit feast, but until then—” He leaned over and lifted the covering off the central tray. Immediately, the trapped steam rose from the dish, closely followed by a smell that made Thorin’s mouth water.

It looked like a pie, with an intricately woven crust of dough. A large piece was missing, revealing a filling of what looked like meat, onions, and potatoes. For some reason, Thorin thought he could smell ale, but none had been passed around yet.

“Mahal, this looks amazing!” Glóin said. Like the rest of the dwarves, he was eying the pie like it took all his self-control not to leap at it.

“Smells amazing too!” Fíli agreed loudly, as did the others.

Bilbo smiled proudly, obviously pleased by the compliments, but said nothing as he uncovered the second tray, revealing some kind of sauce. He walked over to Thorin then and took the empty seat to his right. Under the curious looks of the other dwarves, he uncovered the tray in front of Thorin in a way that gave Thorin the first glance. The slice that was missing from the pie was on a plate, covered in a sauce that looked different from the other one. Thorin leant down and inhaled deeply, trying to figure out what it was. It smelled sweet—not as sweet as strawberries or jam, but definitely sweet; a bit tart, too, but not overwhelmingly.

“I hope you’ll enjoy!” Bilbo clapped his hands, which seemed to be all the signal the others needed to grapple for a slice of pie.

Thankful for his own, Thorin cut into it and raised the fork to his mouth but paused when he noticed Bilbo watching him closely. “I didn’t know I would have an audience”, Thorin teased with a small smile. “Careful, you might make me self-conscious about my eating manners.”

“From what I’ve seen, I didn’t even know you lot have eating manners”, Bilbo teased right back.

“We do. They are just far less stuffy than those I’ve observed from Men and elves.” Thorin finally put the fork into his mouth and chewed.

Flavour exploded on his tongue. Meat, herbs, potatoes, onions, and ale, first, followed by the sweetness and tartness of the sauce before the two parts became one very, very tasty whole. Thorin was aware that he had made some kind of highly inappropriate noise based on Bilbo’s blush and the chuckles of the surrounding dwarves, but it was soon drowned out by similar sounds from the others as they too had their first bites.

“This is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted”, Thorin said to Bilbo once he had swallowed and leaned over to kiss the corner of the hobbit’s mouth.

“Thank you.” Bilbo was beaming and his eyes were sparkling, almost glowing gold. “I had no strawberries”, he said quietly so no one would overhear—not that anyone was listening to them, busy as they were devouring the pie like hungry wargs, “but I hope it is still sweet enough for your taste.”

“It’s perfect.” Thorin cupped one of Bilbo’s cheeks with his hand and gave his One a long kiss. “Just like you.”

Bilbo blushed a deep pink. “Nonsense.”

Thorin made a noise of disagreement but said nothing as he leaned in for another kiss—

“Not while we’re eating, uncle!”

Bilbo’s pie was far too precious to be wasted, so Thorin threw his empty cup in Kíli’s direction instead. Judging from the exaggerated ‘ow’, he must have hit the intended target.

“To Bilbo!” He heard Dáin say and turned to find all the other dwarves with their cups raised in a toast. Knowing his cousin, the cheeky bastard did this now because Thorin had just thrown away his own cup. “And the King under the Mountain!”

“To Bilbo and the King!”

Thorin pulled Bilbo closer, as much as was possible without dragging the hobbit into his lap, and watched as the thirteen dwarves around them cheered, ate, and drank.

This is what I fought for, he thought with a wide smile, to see my kin and kith happy again.

Bilbo’s arrival and the revelation that the dragon-hobbit was his One had been unexpected, but very much welcome.

“Amralizu”, he murmured towards said hobbit. When Bilbo asked him quickly what that meant, Thorin said, “I’ll tell you later” and kissed the top of his head.

------------

A few days after their special dinner, Thorin was unceremoniously torn from his dreams by loud shouting and a hand firmly shaking him awake.

Immediately, he reached for Orcrist at his side and jumped to his feet, alert and ready to fight. Kíli was the one who had woken him up, face uncharacteristically serious. Before Thorin could demand an explanation, his nephew said, “Someone tried to steal from the treasury. He’s been apprehended and Dwalin had him put into the dungeons.”

“Bilbo?” Together, the two dwarves stormed out of Thorin’s room, outside of which stood a worried-looking Fíli, and hurried down to the treasury.

“Uninjured. From what we’ve gathered, he noticed the thief long before he could get anywhere close to him.”

“The thief?”

Kíli’s sombre expression was replaced by a smirk. “I’m sure his eyebrows and the part of his beard he lost will grow back.” At Thorin’s frown, he elaborated. “Uncle Bilbo showed him why his kind are called fire drakes.”

Slightly amused despite the situation, Thorin greeted Balin as the advisor came running from his own room and listened as Kíli explained to him what he had just told Thorin. This was repeated each time another dwarf caught up to the group until all of them except for Dwalin and Nori were there.

With the pace Thorin had set, they reached the treasury in no time. He found the two missing members of his company there already, as well as a large number of guards, Dáin, and Bilbo, the massive golden dragon towering over them all.

Immediately, Thorin ran over to his One, almost slipping on the gold coins under his feet, and all but slammed into the dragon’s front. “Bilbo! Are you alright?”

Bilbo lowered his massive head and gently nudged Thorin’s torso with it until Thorin began petting him. “I’m fine, dear. He got nowhere near me.”

Thorin rested his forehead against Bilbo’s snout and closed his eyes, murmuring a quiet prayer of thanks to Mahal. The company had seen just how difficult—how impossible—it was to try and fight a dragon in close quarters such as these, but Bilbo could have been injured nonetheless. “What happened?” He asked and lifted his head again but kept his hands on Bilbo’s scales.

“I was sleeping when I heard unfamiliar footsteps approaching”, Bilbo began to explain. “The guard rotation does not change until early in the morning and though my internal clock has been slow to adjust to the lack of sunshine in the mountain, I could tell that not enough time had passed for that to be the source of the noise. I kept my eyes closed and listened. How he made it past the guards I do not know, but a few moments later someone ‘sneaked’ into the treasury.” It was plain what Bilbo thought of the thief’s sneaking abilities. “I acted like I was sleeping even as he walked down the steps. I heard the sound of coins being shoved into a fabric container and finally revealed that I was awake. The dwarf dropped his bag and seemed torn between running and fighting—had he gone with the former I would merely have called for someone to chase him, but he pulled out a large knife and made as if to run at me, so I… well. I spit out a little bit of fire in warning. Only it caught his beard and his eyebrows got burnt off. The noise and screaming must have alerted the guards and Dwalin. They came running, saw the thief roll around trying to put out the fire, and apprehended him.”

He seemed almost horrified that he had caught the thief with his fire, as if said dwarf had not been about to attack him! Thorin could only shake his head in astonishment and looked back over his shoulder towards Dwalin, Dáin, and the guards. The rest of the company was making their way across the gold to Bilbo’s side as well. “Who is he?”

“His name is Althjof”, Dáin replied after a brief conversation with the guards. “He is the son of one of the minor nobles in my council. Goldsmith by trade, if I remember right, but not a particularly good one. Mainly kept afloat by his lashar rather than talent or skill.” One of the guards stepped closer to Dáin and whispered something to him that made Dáin frown. “He apparently received a letter from them by raven a few days ago, if reports can be trusted.”

“Lashar is the term we use for a parent who is neither male nor female”, Thorin explained to Bilbo in a whisper. Then he raised his voice again. “Nori?” If anyone knew about the mountain’s temporary residents and their secrets, it would be the future subjel, head of the spies that were in the crown’s employ and kept an eye on things from the shadows.

“Officially, the only ravens going to the Iron Hills and back are Dáin’s and yours.” Nori shrugged. “Unofficially, a couple more make the occasional trip, easy to miss in the dense traffic up in the rookery. Nothing of note, from what I can tell, but I don’t have the capacity to screen the messages before they leave Erebor.” The yet went unsaid. “If his lashar is involved, I’ll find out soon enough. Dwalin sent some guards to seize all his belongings, I’ll go take a look. If he’s smart, he destroyed the letter, but he can’t be all too bright if he decided to try and steal from a dragon.”

Thorin nodded and Nori disappeared around the corner. If the ‘Ri decided to take a quick detour and question the thief before Thorin arrived, none would know or tell.

“Did you say his name is Althjof?” Bilbo asked out of a sudden. When Dáin confirmed this, the dragon sighed and shook his head, forcing Thorin to stop petting him for a moment. When Thorin didn’t immediately continue, Bilbo rumbled and nudged him carefully. Thorin snorted in amusement but hastened to obey. “I know him. Things happened so quickly I did not recognise him when he charged at me. We’ve talked a few times when I passed by the section of the mountain that he worked in. He was always polite even though my dragon form made him immensely nervous at first and he warmed up to my presence a bit quicker than some of the others. Dragons can smell deceit or at least tell that something is amiss, but none of the dwarves—not even him—made me suspicious. But I didn’t see him in the last couple of days, so if he planned to break into the treasury only then…”

“It’s possible that his lashar gave him the go-ahead and he was lying low to prepare.” Thorin kissed Bilbo’s snout and reluctantly let go of him. “Balin, send a letter to Althjof’s parent and inform them of what has transpired. Pick the quickest raven and promise them the tastiest treats for flying as fast as they can. Dwalin, Dáin, we’re going to the dungeons. Afterwards I’ll be moving my sleeping roll down here for the foreseeable future. Who knows if any other dwarves plan similar things and will take advantage of what has happened tonight.”

“Thorin, that’s not—”

“I’ll sleep down here, too”, Fíli declared and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Me too!” Kíli nudged his brother’s side. “We’ll make a Durin sleepover out of it.”

“It will be too cold for you down here”, Bilbo exclaimed.

“You are plenty warm”, Thorin assured him. “You’re like a furnace. Knowing my nephews, they’ll stick to you and me like a magnet anyway.”

“If you three are sleeping down here, then I will as well.” Thorin raised an eyebrow at Dwalin, who glared back at him. “I’m the head of the royal guards. If the royals want to freeze their arses off sleeping on top of gold, then I’m there to make sure you’re protected.”

Somehow, by the time Thorin, Dáin, and Dwalin left the treasury, the rest of the company had decided to sleep there too despite Bilbo’s protests. Kíli and Fíli had wasted no time throwing themselves at the dragon and snuggling into his side, followed closely by Ori, who at least had the decency to ask first and settled by Bilbo’s head to continue their Khuzdul lessons. Dori and Glóin left to go fetch everyone’s sleeping rolls, Bombur went to get a late-night snack for the group, and the rest talked to the guards or sat down close to the dragon, too.

“How well do you know Althjof’s lashar?” Thorin asked Dáin once they turned around the corner and headed to the dungeons.

“As well as I know the other minor nobles on my council. They’re involved in the guild of the gold smiths, same as their son. Neither a traditionalist nor a progressive in terms of votes. Pretty unremarkable, never attracted my attention for the wrong things.”

“So not exactly someone who would conspire to steal from the treasury.”

“Could be that they wanted to get richer no matter the risk.” Dáin shrugged. “Keeping their son in business costs some coin—they could have hoped to recover some of that investment.”

Thorin looked at his cousin from the corner of his eyes. “You don’t sound like you think that likely.”

“I don’t”, Dáin agreed. “Mind you, I’ve never interacted with Althjof myself so I can’t speak for the son, but from my dealings with his lashar during council sessions they didn’t strike me as someone who’d try something like that.”

“We’ll see.”

So far, the dungeons had not been needed, so there were no guards stationed at the entrance to greet and lead them through. The thief had been thrown into the very first cell, outside of which stood Nori, playing with his knife. At Thorin’s, Dáin’s, and Dwalin’s arrival, he pushed himself off the wall and met them halfway. “He didn’t destroy any of his letters from his lashar”, he informed them quietly. “The two of them could have put on a good show in case Althjof got caught, of course, but the last letter from the Iron Hills quite plainly begs him not to do anything stupid. Seems like his lashar suspected Althjof would try to steal from the treasure and tried to dissuade him.”

Since the two parties were Dáin’s subjects, Thorin turned to his cousin and waited to hear his opinion. It was only the fact that Bilbo was unharmed that allowed him to stay relatively calm, even if the anger still thrummed under his skin waiting to be let out.

“Did you talk to him yet?” Dáin asked Nori, who shook his head.

“Made a show out of reading his letters where he could see, though. That made him sink into himself, looked close to tears, too. Could be a good actor but my bet’s on the parent not being involved beyond warning their son of not doing it.”

“Then we’ll inform Althjof’s lashar of their son’s crimes—attempted theft and trying to attack the king’s kurdel—and let them know that you will lay judgement upon him, since the crimes happened in your mountain and were against your One.”

“What would your judgement be, cousin?”

Dáin gave Thorin a long look. “Thrór would have executed him for trying to steal from the kingdom and even though you have not been officially crowned king, you act and are regarded as such, by virtue of your lineage and your deeds. While you and Bilbo are not married yet, you’ve officially declared Bilbo to be your One, which means that Althjof tried or intended to attack the king’s One, a crime punishable by death.”

“Bilbo would likely argue that he didn’t really intend to attack him”, Thorin said dryly. “They barely have any crimes in the Shire, from what he told me. The worst thing their law enforcers deal with are fauntlings stealing pies and mushrooms. Trying to do something—” such as attempting to steal a dear friend’s spoons despite the fact that the current owner of those was a dragon “—is treated differently than actually going through with it.” Dwarvish law treated the matter of intent and ‘success’ the same way, but that was where the similarities ended.

“Do you think Smaug’s curse could have anything to do with it?” Nori asked, lowering his voice even more. “No one struck me as particularly… greedy, but I can’t keep a constant eye on everyone.”

“Last time I talked to Bilbo about it”, while carefully avoiding the mûmak in the room of Thorin’s own gold-sickness, “he said that his own claim has completely suppressed Smaug’s by now, though were he to leave right now his own would fade within a few months and the ‘curse’ would come back.”

“So it couldn’t have been that.” Dáin stroked through his beard thoughtfully. “No matter what I think it’s your decision, cousin.”

Thorin glared at him. “Right now, everything within me wants to run him through with my sword for daring to attack my One, however much that might have been the desperate act of a dwarf caught trying to steal from a dragon. I know that my grandfather would have him executed for either of his crimes, even before he… succumbed to the sickness of our line.” He let his gaze drift off his cousin and into the distance. “The last thing we need so early in our reclamation of the mountain is a public execution. I could banish him or have him escorted back to the Iron Hills to make him your problem, but we need every single dwarf if we’re to prepare the mountain for the caravans. That rules out keeping him locked up here too, as we’d have to put guards here to keep an eye on him.”

“Men apparently cut off a thief’s ears or hands when someone’s caught stealing”, Dwalin suggested. “Hands would make him unable to work but what’s the loss of an ear for a gold smith, eh?”

Thorin was tempted for a moment but dismissed the idea with a shake of his head. “If nothing bad happens to the caravans on their journey, Dís and the first wave of dwarves will be here in two or three months. Until then, Althjof will be put to work under close supervision. Dáin, select three of your people to act as his jailors. We’ll shear his beard and hair short as a mark of his crimes but hurt him no further. Once the caravans are here, he’ll accompany you back to the Iron Hills and you can do with him whatever you want.”

“Best make the shearing public, cousin. Have his crimes read out so everyone knows what he did and then mete out the punishment.”

Thorin nodded in agreement. “If our interrogation reveals anything that could change our mind for the better or worse, we might have to reconsider, particularly when it comes to his lashar’s involvement.”

With the agreement of the three other dwarves, Thorin strode over to the cell, unlocked it, and entered, Dáin, Dwalin, and Nori following close behind him.

------------

It was an hour later that Thorin, Nori, and Dwalin returned to the treasury, Dáin splitting from them to go “sleep in a proper bed, you lunatics”. Althjof’s interrogation had only confirmed Nori’s assessment—his lashar Ulof had tried to dissuade him from stealing from the treasury, but Althjof had not listened, wanting to repay Ulof for the many times they gave him coin to stay afloat. He apparently figured that the dragon couldn’t really be that scary or dangerous with how friendly Bilbo was. Althjof accepted his punishment with tearful thanks and solemn promises of never acting out again and did not protest when Thorin informed him that he would stay in his cell for the rest of the night until the three dwarves chosen by Dáin would come and fetch him in the morning.

The whole thing had left Thorin exhausted, so he was glad to finally return to the treasury and hopefully find some sleep despite the cold and his remaining fear of the gold-sickness’ return.

The guards in front of the treasury greeted them with silent salutes and let them pass wordlessly. Thorin paused on the precipice of the ocean of coins and couldn’t help but grin at the sight that greeted him.

As they had so loudly proclaimed an hour ago, all the members of the company had decided to sleep in the treasury by Bilbo’s side, most wrapped in blankets. Only Thorin’s nephews had not thought to do so but Bilbo seemed to have taken pity on them, letting them use one of his wings instead. All were asleep—as evidenced by their snoring and lack of response to Thorin’s, Dwalin's, and Nori’s arrival—and huddled around the dragon in search for warmth.

With a fond shake of his head, Thorin tried to make his way over to them without waking anyone up, Nori and Dwalin following right after him, the former light on his feet and the latter very much not. Unsurprisingly, Thorin found one of Bilbo’s large golden eyes watching them once they made it, but thankfully no one else had awoken. Mindful of the sleeping dwarves around them, Bilbo merely tilted his head a little in question, to which Thorin replied by patting his snout reassuringly. “Lashar not involved. Work under supervision”, he said as quietly as he could.

Bilbo nodded and nudged him gently with his snout towards the side where Fíli and Kíli lay snoring. Thorin kissed his head, murmured “sleep well, bunnel”, and then joined his two nephews under Bilbo’s wing which was comfortable and, more importantly, very warm. Within seconds, the two had snuggled up to him, one on each side. Bilbo lowered his wing again with an amused rumbling sound, a gentle vibration that Thorin felt, lying as he was pressed to his flank, and that reminded him of the soothing purrs of a cat.

Sleepy and warm, surrounded by his family and close friends, it did not take long for Thorin to fall asleep with a contented smile on his face.

Chapter Text

“We really should have seen that one coming”, Dwalin said from his position next to Thorin, arms crossed in front of his chest and expression dark. The two of them watched the small elven army—led by King Thranduil on his elk and, to the surprise of all of them, Gandalf on a horse—marching up towards the mountain.

They had been spotted almost immediately after leaving Mirkwood and were closely tracked as they set up their tents right next to Laketown, stayed there for a day, and then made their way towards Erebor in the company of a group of Men—adults, children, and the elderly. None of the ravens had dared flying closer to see if Bard was among them, but once the procession got close enough they could spot the black-haired man walking next to Thranduil and Gandalf with his three children.

“You offered him aid and shelter and how does he respond? He shows up with the elves.”

“Even with the Men their numbers are far too small to attack the mountain”, Balin pointed out, standing on Thorin’s other side. Most members of the company and Dáin were up on the balcony that oversaw the path up to Erebor as well. Beneath them, dwarven soldiers waited behind the gates, ready to strike if necessary. “That’s not accounting for Bilbo either.”

“Perhaps this is meant to be a parley. Or a threat.”

“Let them come.” Dáin lifted his war hammer. “I’m itching for a fight!”

“A peaceful solution would be best.” Balin gave Dáin a reproachful look. “Even if we shall never engage in trade with the Mirkwood elves ever again, we at least need his cooperation if we want the caravans to pass by his kingdom instead of taking the long way around.”

“He would have no right to stop them.”

“That didn’t prevent him from seizing us and taking us prisoners”, Thorin growled out, to general agreement from the rest of the company. “We’ll listen to what he has to say. Likely demands for those thrice-damned gems of his. Have you had any luck finding them yet, Glóin?”

“We haven’t even had the time to start looking for them.”

“What a shame.” Thorin’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “He’ll have to wait until we have nothing better to do.” Which would take many years and then some.

“If that is all we would need to buy his goodwill—”

“We’ve had this conversation before, Balin, and my mind has not changed.” The advisor looked far from happy but conceded with a nod and expression that told Thorin they would continue this conversation later in private. “Kíli, ready your bow. Should they threaten us, we’ll answer in kind.”

“Perhaps having Bilbo here would be wise?” Fíli suggested. “The sight of a dragon ought to make them more… agreeable.”

Thorin shook his head. “Our numbers should be enough to deter them for now. He was busy assisting with one of the restoration projects when I left him and I’m loath to pull him away for something like this. If his presence becomes necessary, I’ll send one of us to fetch him.”

The dwarves fell silent and watched as the elves and Men came closer and closer until they halted a good distance away from the gates, but within hearing range. “Hail, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain!” Gandalf called up when neither Thranduil, Bard, nor Thorin spoke for several moments.

“Gandalf.” Thorin hoped that the wizard’s sight was good enough to tell that Thorin was glaring down at him. “First you disappear without my leave and a single word of notice, then you return at the head of what one may charitably call an envoy but could also be seen as a threat.”

“We are not here to threaten you, Thorin.” Gandalf dismounted and took a few steps forward, leaning on his staff.

“How else am I to take the arrival of a small elven army at my gates?”

“An escort.” Bard said something to his children that Thorin couldn’t hear and joined Gandalf. If Thorin’s eyes did not deceive him, he looked exasperated. “The Master would not let those of us wishing to rebuild Dale leave and threatened us and our children. Few are loyal to him, but many people did not want to anger him, so we were outnumbered. Only the arrival of the elves forced him to release us. They insisted on coming with us up here and would hear no word against it.”

“I had wondered about your silence.” Thorin took a quick headcount of the Men that had come with Bard and the elves. “My offer to you still stands, despite the… company you are currently in. There are enough rooms to house all of you while you begin your work on Dale.”

A weight seemed to fall off Bard’s shoulders. “Thank you.”

“How generous of you”, came Thranduil’s voice from behind Gandalf and Bard. The elf-king rode forward on his elk, only a small contingent of his soldiers following him. Among them, Thorin realised, were his son Legolas and the captain of his guard, that red-headed she-elf Kíli had been so interested in. Thorin looked at his nephew from the corner of his eyes and found him staring at her.

“Unlike you, I am willing to help people in need of aid and honour the promises I made in the past.” Balin touched Thorin’s arm below the railing, but Thorin shook him off. “You might be willing to break oaths and promises but I am a man of my word!”

“Now, now, we did not come to fight—”

Thranduil cut Gandalf off with a sneer. “What worth has the word of one such as you? Your grandfather broke any contract that he wished with no care for the consequences of his actions, only to enrich himself. Did you not swear to kill the dragon Smaug and regain your kingdom and the treasures lying within? And yet you let another dragon stay.”

“I’d rather have a thousand dragons in the mountain than you in front of my gates!”

“The beast is much like yourself, is it not? A greedy creature seeking only to increase its hoard, to amass more and more gold. I can see why you would find such a monster a kindred spirit.”

Had there not been a steep fall in front of him, Thorin would likely have jumped over the railing and drawn his sword. As it was, he had to be held back by Dwalin and Balin from attempting to do just that anyway. “How dare you! I see only one monster and that is you! You who turned your back to us when we needed your aid! Abrâfu shaikmashâz!”¹

Through the red haze overlaying his vision, Thorin saw Ori run off, though he noted this only distantly, struggling against Dwalin’s and Balin’s hold until he managed to regain control of his temper. The two brothers only released him once he stopped. “You will show him respect”, Thorin spat towards Thranduil. “He killed Smaug, has rid us of the worm’s curse, and has been of greater help than you and your elves ever were!”

Thranduil’s face darkened. “Do you even know what creature you invited into your midst? What foul thing prowls through your halls and thirsts after your gold? It lies in wait, plays with your mind, lulls you into a false sense of security until the trap is sprung. All your armies were useless against Smaug—what hope do you have now, with a fraction of the strength you had then? You will never get rid of the dragon now that it is here.” The elf gave Thorin a haughty, arrogant look that made the dwarf want to jump down and strangle him. “It will strike as certainly as the wind blows and the sun rises, and then all you fought for will have been for naught.”

“I did not come here to listen to you two trade insults and accusations, especially when those are completely unfounded.” Gandalf turned back towards Thranduil. Whatever his expression was, it made the elf’s own turn sour. “We have talked about this before, Thranduil, and I will say it again: Bilbo is trustworthy. There are more important things to talk about, matters that concern all those gathered here be they elf, Man, dwarf, or hobbit. An army—”

“I hope I haven’t arrived too late”, came a voice from behind Thorin, the sound of which immediately drained all anger and tension from his body. “Ori told me that guests have arrived.” Thorin turned around and found Bilbo making his way to the front of the balcony past the others, chipper and happy as always, but something about the look in his eyes set alarm bells off in Thorin’s head. When Bilbo came to stand between him and Dwalin, Thorin pulled him gently to his side and kissed the top of his head with a murmured greeting that Bilbo returned just as quietly before the hobbit looked down over the railing. “Hello, Gandalf. I did wonder where you ran off to. And Bard! It is nice to see you again.”

The Man stared up at them with a confused expression and Thorin realised he had no idea who—or what—had just addressed him so familiarly. The one time the Man had seen Bilbo, it had been as a dragon. Deciding to take pity on him, Thorin explained, “Bard, this is my intended, Bilbo Baggins. When you last met him, he was a dragon.”

Bard’s mouth fell open a little. “You must be—”

“Thorin speaks truly”, Gandalf interrupted. “Bilbo is a skin-changer. Sometimes he is a huge golden dragon, sometimes he is a hobbit. You may have heard of the ‘halflings’ of the northwest who live in holes in the ground.”

“There was only one halfling in the Shire and he is not fond of that term”, Bilbo called down with a huff. Gandalf merely raised one of his bushy eyebrows and smiled indulgently.

“So you…” Bard looked back to the rest of his people, who seemed just as confused and surprised as him. “That sounds imposs—”

“Can you breathe fire?” asked Bard’s youngest child and ran over to her father. “Can I see? Please, Da, can I see?”

“Tilda, come back here!” Bard’s other two children hurried to her and pulled the youngest back despite her protests. Her pouting and complaining as she returned with them to the rest of the Men reminded Thorin so much of the time when Fíli and Kíli were her age (or the equivalent, rather) that he couldn’t help but smile.

“I hope I did not frighten you terribly when we first met. It was why I showed up, admittedly, but I assure you that I am no threat to you or your kin if you do not intend to cause harm to the dwarves of this mountain.” There was a sharp undertone to Bilbo’s otherwise perfectly cheerful voice, not exactly a rumble but something that spoke of the dragon hidden inside the unassuming hobbit form.

Atop his elk, Thranduil made a contemptuous noise but said nothing, letting his expression speak for him.

Bilbo, as if he had not noticed Thranduil until now (Thorin hoped the elf-king took offence to that), directed his attention to him. “Hello, King Thranduil”, Bilbo called down, sounding like he always did, but Thorin could hear the underlying anxiety in his voice and wondered about its cause. Bilbo understood the dwarves’ hatred of the elves but did not share it, always speaking positively about Rivendell’s and Lothlórien’s inhabitants, their respective leaders in particular—though now that Thorin thought about it, he had never mentioned Thranduil at all except that one time he told Kíli about the difference between the Sindar and the Silvan elves. “It has been a while.”

If possible, the elven king’s expression turned even colder than it had already been. “Gurth Mallen.² Not long enough for my taste.”

Thorin did not need to understand Elvish to know that Thranduil had said something insulting from the way Bilbo reacted—he tensed in Thorin’s hold and clenched his hands into fists behind the railing so the elves would not see, but his smile did not even falter for a second. “It is Bilbo Baggins now.”

“Which he knows.” Gandalf shot Thranduil another look of what Thorin thought to be reproach, but the elf-king did not seem to care.

“Just because Elrond Peredhel³ and the Lady of Lórien have decided to ignore the foul deeds he committed does not mean that I am willing to do the same.” For a second, it was almost as if Thorin could see through the illusion that hid the marred flesh of the left side of Thranduil’s face. “He should have been executed as the rest of his kin was for the countless lives he took and the scars he left on Arda. Did he tell you of his past, Thorin Oakenshield? Did he tell you how many people—including dwarves—he killed? How much destruction he has caused? He and his brethren were the attack dogs of the first Dark Lord and they obeyed his every word with glee.” The last word Thranduil hissed so maliciously that it seemed to distort and twist his face.

Bilbo flinched backwards as if struck and lowered his head, a faint tremble in his limbs that Thorin only detected because of his arm around Bilbo’s waist. He pulled his One closer and kissed Bilbo’s forehead. When his siblings or nephews had been younger, Thorin had often sung to them when they were upset but he would not do so in a situation like this where everyone would hear so instead, he whispered reassurances and promises of love no matter what in both Westron and Khuzdul against Bilbo’s skin and rubbed his back in what he hoped to be a soothing manner.

“He is right”, Bilbo grit out between clenched teeth. He lifted his head again and looked at Thorin with golden, draconic eyes and sharp teeth bared in a self-deprecating smile. “If you knew—”

“I told you this before and I will tell you again and again until you believe me. It would not change my mind. If anything, I would feel awe and respect for you. You were born into darkness but found your way into the light against all odds. Even if you were a creature of pure, unchanging evil, which I do not believe for one second, the hobbit standing in front of me now is the kindest being I have met in my life. You abandoned your home and came to our aid, risked your life to fight Smaug even though your flight here would have left you exhausted, and agreed to stay here to help and remove Smaug’s curse.” Thorin leaned down for a quick kiss, for a moment forgetting everything around them, the elves and Men and whatever army Gandalf had tried to talk about before Bilbo’s arrival. “Amralizu, Bilbo Baggins. All of you, past and present and, if you are willing, future.”

Thankful that Bilbo had his back turned to the people in front of the gates, Thorin reached up to wipe away the tears that ran down Bilbo’s cheeks, thumbs brushing over quivering, but upturned lips. “I love you too”, Bilbo said quietly. Thorin blushed upon realising that he had been understood. “Ori translated it for me. There is no such concept or phrase in the language that would be considered my mother tongue and given the tumultuous relationship of the dwarves and elves, I will not repeat those words in the tongue that I spoke for millennia after that.”

“Sindarin?” Thorin guessed, touched by Bilbo’s concern. “My lessons were long ago and I was never a good student, but I think it would be something with… mêln?”

“Gi melin.” Bilbo laughed, but it did not seem to be aimed at Thorin’s mistake—joyful, rather, and relieved. “Melin tye, in the speech of the High Elves.”

“Gi… melin”, Thorin repeated, managing not to pull a face, then kissed Bilbo again. They broke apart only when Balin cleared his throat and lightly nudged Thorin’s side. It was then that he realised that the others had formed a barrier around him and Bilbo, shielding them from the gazes below them. Once he gave them a signal, they stepped aside again and Thorin turned his attention back to their ‘guests’. Even then, he kept Bilbo close, resting his chin on those soft amber curls as he glared down at the elf king and his entourage for daring to upset his One so. “You mentioned an army, Gandalf. Explain.”

The wizard seemed thankful for the opening and immediately took it after shooting Thranduil another look. “A legion of orcs march on the mountain, led by Azog the Defiler. They can only have one goal—to end the line of Durin once and for all.”

“How far away are they?” Thorin unconsciously tightened his embrace around Bilbo. “How many?”

“Close.” Gandalf’s face was grim. “Too many to face them all by yourself, Thorin, even with Dáin and his dwarves here.” The wizard turned and leaned on his staff again as he took in the warriors Thranduil had brought with him as well as the Men from Laketown. “Too many for each of you to take on alone—but not so many that your strength combined could not stop them.”

“I’d rather shave my beard than—”

“As if we’d fight side by side with this treacherous woodsprite—”

“Leave the dwarves to their doom—”

“We need to warn the others—”

“You will all fall if you do not—”

Despite all the shouting, everyone fell silent when Bilbo cleared his throat. “Now, unless you saw another army than the one I saw, that problem has been taken care of already.”

Never before had Thorin seen Gandalf the Grey speechless but there he stood, bushy eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

“Whatever do you mean, Bilbo?” Thorin asked when the wizard did not say anything after several moments.

Bilbo shifted from one foot to the other and shrugged a little. “I saw them two days ago when I went on a little… flying holiday. Now that Dáin and his dwarves are here, I can stay away for a bit longer than before. I was looking for game to hunt when I spotted a large number of orcs emerging from somewhere in the Mirkwood.” Thorin was happy to note that Thranduil pursed his lips like he was pouting. “They could have been headed somewhere other than the mountain, I suppose, but I thought it prudent to take care of them then and not wait to see where they are going. I cannot be certain I got all of them, of course, but the ‘army’ you spoke of has shrunk drastically in size, unless they increased their numbers again somehow.”

All elves, Men, dwarves, and wizards present looked up, over, or down to the dragon-in-hobbit-skin and marvelled (or balked) at the casual way he had just spoken about taking on an orc army all by himself.

“Did you…” Thorin tried to get his thoughts into order again and to will away the blush that coloured his cheeks red. Something about the idea appealed to him very much in ways he was not ready to think about further in his current company. “…is Azog…?”

The hobbit wriggled free of Thorin’s embrace just enough to be able to turn and look at him. “At the front of the army rode a large, white orc atop an equally large, white warg. Next to him was another of his breed. I was close enough to see that the leader had a metallic arm.” Thorin’s breath caught in his throat. “Though I cannot say for certain how many orcs escaped the flames, I saw Azog the Defiler and his spawn burn. They fell—orc and warg—and their charred corpses were trampled by their underlings as they tried to flee from my fire. The white orc is no more.”

Thorin’s knees buckled under him. He would have sunk to the floor had Dwalin and Nori not reacted as quickly as they did and supported his weight. Bilbo’s hands cupped Thorin’s cheeks and even though he stood right in front of him, Thorin could barely make out his features, so blurry had his vision become from tears and the sheer shock. The hobbit called to him through the ringing in Thorin’s ears, but Thorin could not understand what he was saying; all he heard in his head was ‘the white orc is no more’, repeating over and over again.

The white orc is no more.

Azog the Defiler and his spawn were dead.

No longer would they hunt the line of Durin, no longer would they pose a threat to Thorin, his nephews, and all their descendants. His grandfather’s death had been repaid in kind. The shadow that had loomed over Thorin and his family since the Battle of Azanulbizar was forever gone.

“Hubunsu khama id-kayal Durinul”⁴, Thorin gasped out. “Khazâd zakaragôn hikhthuzul imn azu la’ id-kâmin maksat zajalaburutaku.”⁵

He heard a deep, dwarven voice speak quietly and caught a few words as the ringing in his ears subsided. “…until the world is remade.” Balin. That had been Balin. He was… translating?

Thorin blinked rapidly and waited for his vision to clear again. Bilbo’s thumbs gently wiped away the tears that had escaped and smiled. “Thank you”, Thorin rasped and swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“Of course”, was all Bilbo said in reply before he leant over, kissed Thorin’s forehead and dropped his hands from Thorin’s face to his shoulders.

It took a few more moments until Thorin felt steady enough to signal Dwalin and Nori to let him go and composed enough to turn his attention back to the people below them. He was not ashamed of his reaction so he made no effort to disguise or downplay it, but he found only sympathy anyway in the eyes of the grey wizard and Bard, who must have been told about the significance of Azog’s death. The elf-king’s face was a blank mask, as always, but there was no mockery there and he said nothing which Thorin was almost thankful for.

“Some orcs will likely have escaped.” Gandalf looked at each of the leaders that were present. “And more could join them—orcs and other servants of the dark. It would be wise of the four of you to at least come to an understanding regarding the safety of your kingdoms.”

“The mountain is secure. The people of Laketown that have joined Bard can find shelter and safety within it.” Thorin nodded towards Man, who responded in kind.

“But what about the others?” asked Bard’s oldest daughter—Sigrid, if Thorin remembered right—and joined her father up front with her two siblings. “They’re vulnerable down there!”

“The main body of the elven army is still stationed next to the town, so let them protect the Master and his lot.”

Most of those who stayed behind were likely not the Master’s allies but rather those who did not want to risk earning his ire and banishment. Had Bilbo not encountered the army before it could reach Erebor, Thorin might have considered allowing all of them inside, but the elves should be able to handle a few war parties and surviving stragglers on their own.

Thranduil did not look happy about Thorin’s suggestion but also could not deny his warriors’ aid so easily now without losing face among the Men.

“Laketown has an advantageous position.” Thranduil’s guard captain stepped up to her liege but addressed Sigrid, as if trying to ease the girl’s fear. “If the bridge can be drawn up, it is effectively impossible to reach the town without boats, which orcs are not in the habit of carrying with them on raids. If it cannot be cut off from Laketown easily, destroying it for now may be the best option. For us elves hitting an orc on the shore would be an easy feat. Their leader is dead which means their forces will be disorganised and thus easier to take care of.”

Thranduil looked at the she-elf with barely hidden distaste but inclined his head slightly in agreement. From the corner of his eyes, Thorin could see Kíli’s grip on his bow tighten enough to paint his knuckles white, but all the tension seemed to drain from him as the guard captain looked up to the dwarves and happened to meet his gaze, though Thorin wasn’t so sure if ‘happened’ was the accurate word for it. Something was going on here, something Thorin would get behind once the elves were gone again. He had an inkling of an idea—or a steadily growing fear, rather—and silently prayed to Mahal that he was wrong.

Sigrid gave the guard captain a bright, relieved smile and thanked her to which the elf, pompous as the rest of her kind, responded by bowing a little and smiling back. Kíli sighed wistfully, the sound loud enough to reach Thorin’s ears. Mahal preserve me, he thought and glared up at the sky as a poor substitute for his nephew’s head, please let Fíli’s One or Ones at least be normal—though with his luck, their Maker was probably laughing at the three of them from inside his Halls.

“Now that that’s taken care of”, Balin said from next to Thorin, “we could let Bard and the rest of the Men into the mountain and show them their sleeping quarters, don’t you think?”

“Once the elves are gone again.” Thorin couldn’t cross his arms in front of his chest like he wanted to without letting go of Bilbo, so he settled for glowering at the elf-king instead. “Unless you did not merely come here as an escort after all.”

Whereas Thorin’s glare ran hot, Thranduil’s was as cold as ice. “You know what I came for.”

“I do.” Thorin did not even try to keep the venom out of his next words. “Your memory must be failing you, o great king, if you remember me agreeing to the bargain you offered me when I was your prisoner. Even if I knew where your precious gems were in the treasury, they would be the very last thing to leave the mountain.”

“They were paid for”, Thranduil hissed. “You have no right to keep them.”

“Just as you had no right to detain us!”

“You are just like your grandfather—”

“King Thranduil”, Bilbo interrupted before the conversation could escalate even more. “I do not know if you ever set foot into the treasury—”

“Over my dead body”, Thorin growled, which earned him what he thought was supposed to be a light kick from his hobbit but was actually closer to being hit by an iron-shod pony. Thorin somehow managed to stay on his feet and disguise his wince, but by Mahal, hobbit feet were tough.

“—because if you did, you would know how impossible it is to find anything in there. I have been here for a while now and my claim on the treasure is deep enough to give you an estimation of the sheer size of it. Take this with a grain of salt, naturally, and only as a very, very rough guess, but I’d say there are, more or less, twenty-one million nine hundred ninety thousand gallons of gold, gems, artefacts, and similar objects. If all of it was a single block of gold, I’d put its weight around 1.9 million tonnes. But it is, in fact, not a single block, but a veritable ocean. Your gems, in whatever vessel they’ve been stored, could be right at the bottom.” Here Bilbo paused to let his words sink in.

“Mahal”, Thorin heard some of the other dwarves mutter, a sentiment he very much shared. To see the treasury was one thing but to hear it put into units that his mind could make sense of was a completely different matter.

Even Thranduil and his elves looked stunned. “The chest would be at the top”, the elf-king said, but to Thorin’s ears he sounded uncertain about that.

“Smaug likely shifted the treasure around quite a lot over the years. He would have known exactly where everything was down to the last coin, but my claim is not strong and thorough enough for that yet.” Thorin could not see Bilbo’s face but judging from his tone his expression was likely kinder than Thranduil deserved. “Once it is, I’m sure finding your gems will not take long.”

The look Thranduil gave Bilbo was less hostile than before and more like he’d bitten into something incredibly sour. If it was up to Thorin, he’d have to grovel and beg before the gems exchanged hands. ‘I’m patient’, Thranduil had told Thorin before sending him back to his cell, ‘I can wait’—we’ll see who is more patient, Thorin thought and had to fight off a smirk.

There seemed to be history between the elf-king and Bilbo—history of the bad kind. One day Bilbo would hopefully be comfortable telling him about his past—not because Thorin desperately wanted to know, but simply for the reason that he wanted to take away Bilbo’s fear that Thorin would leave or hate him if he knew. A Man, elf, or hobbit could maybe have abandoned their loved ones over something like this—something they had absolutely no control over and for which they had shown genuine remorse—but a dwarf would never, or at least Thorin thought none could. For whatever hurt Thranduil had caused his One, for the things he said before and after Bilbo’s arrival, for what he’d done to the dwarves, the gems would only find their way to their rightful owner when Thorin felt like it (realistically, never, but Balin would insist long before that).

“Right, now that that is taken care of”, Thorin said, sounding just as impatient as he felt, “you and your envoy can finally leave.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Are you that scared of an attack from us that you would deny the Men entry while we are here?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you to take advantage of another people’s needs to fulfil your own desires.”

The elf-king opened his mouth for what would have been another jab or insult but Bilbo spoke right over him. “I, for one, would appreciate it if you did not try to attack the mountain anytime soon. I’d rather not rip these clothes to shreds unless I have to, I only have two sets and this is one of them. Washing them is enough of a nightmare already… At any rate, thank you very much for escorting Bard and the other Men here, I’m sure you’ll be able to take care of whatever orcs try to attack Laketown, have a nice trip back, good morning!” With that, Bilbo turned in Thorin’s arms, tiptoed to give him a quick kiss and strode off, muttering something about finally getting back to work and “hopefully the others didn’t mind waiting so long, how dreadfully impolite”.

“You heard him.” Fíli leaned over the railing to look at Thranduil with a wide grin. “Good morning!”

“Yes, good morning!” His brother repeated just as enthusiastically and even gave the guard captain a little wave. Thorin very much wanted to bang his head against a wall.

Thranduil did not deign to say anything to either Bilbo or Thorin’s nephews. Instead, he shot Thorin a look of utter distaste, said something to the other elves in Sindarin, and directed his elk to turn around and ride towards Laketown. The soldiers, as one, followed their king in neat lines of synchronised walking—show-offs—but the prince and guard captain lingered for a few more seconds as the she-elf looked at Kíli and nodded in goodbye before allowing Legolas to pull her away.

Only Gandalf and the Men stayed behind. “To think I should have lived to be goodmorninged by Belladonna Took's dearest friend, as if I was selling buttons at the door.” The wizard said, shook his head, and then gave a small smile. “She would be very proud, very proud indeed!” He chuckled before also taking his leave to do whatever wizards did when not being a nuisance to everyone else.

Once Thorin felt the elves were far enough away, he instructed Dwalin and Dáin to call off the warriors and Balin, Dori, and Fíli to show the Men their living quarters. When Balin asked why he did not do so himself, Thorin gave Kíli a pointed look that had his nephew reflexively try to hide behind his brother. One by one, the other dwarves returned to whatever task they were working on before the elves’ arrival, leaving only Thorin and Kíli behind on the balcony.

“I know what you’re going to say”, Thorin’s nephew said the moment they were alone, straightened up and jutted out his chin in defiance. “She is kurdelê.⁶ I knew from the moment she stepped in front of my cell in Thranduil’s palace and Mahal could not have chosen a better person as my second half. I will not refuse her or our bond, no matter what you say. If that means you will disown me, so be it. I’d rather live with her in exile than deny that she is my One.”

“Akhal, irakdashat,⁷ peace.” Thorin walked over to him and looked into Kíli’s eyes, finding determination in them but also fear. “Does she know?”

Kíli opened and closed his mouth several times before finally replying. “No. I have not spoken to her since we escaped from Mirkwood. But I hope—” He paused. “I think she would not be… completely opposed to the idea. When we talked… it felt like she was drawn to me just like I was to her. She kept the stone I gave her, at least until we left… and the way she smiled at me…”

“She is captain of Thranduil’s guard. The times she leaves the forest will be few and then she will likely not go further than Laketown. How do you plan to talk to her? How do you plan to court her? Would you be able to deal with the distance between you or would you want to bring her here? If so, in what position?”

“You…” Kíli swallowed hard, something akin to hope in his expression. “You’re not…?”

Thorin put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, pulling him closer with his other to bring their foreheads together for a moment. “Mahal makes no mistakes no matter how strange his decisions may seem to us. If this elf is your One, then I would welcome her into the mountain and silence all those speaking ill of her.” Kíli looked close to tears, then, and a heavy weight seemed to fall off his shoulders. He sacked forward and Thorin took him into his arms, cupping the back of his head like he had so often done when Kíli and Fíli were younger. “It would be hypocritical of me to deny you your One because she is an elf when mine is a dragon.”

“Drobbit.” Kíli drew back and grinned. “He’s neither dragon nor hobbit but both, so drobbit it is.”

“Should your union with the elf result in children, I’ll be sure to call them dwelves.”

The words had their desired effect—Kíli’s face immediately went red like a ruby. He spluttered and offered fragments of protest, never finishing one and jumping right into the next. Thorin couldn’t help but grin and patted his nephew’s shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll have to find a way to contact her first, anyway, but I’m sure you and Fíli have already been concocting a dozen half-chiselled plans.”

“Right, yes, of course.” As the two of them left the balcony and entered the mountain, Kíli asked, “Do you think I could bribe any of the ravens to fly to Laketown?”

------------

It was a couple hours later, after leaving Kíli and Fíli to their negotiation attempts with the ravens, checking in with Bard and his people as well as the most important construction projects, that Thorin found the time to look for his second khajamu amrâl.⁸ Seeing Bilbo up there on the balcony with nothing but his ordinary clothes, which would do absolutely nothing to protect him from an elven arrow, had reminded Thorin that he wanted to check the armoury and treasury for any kind of armour that would fit his One without restricting him too much. Dragon scales would protect him better than any kind of metal could, but for the many times Bilbo was in his hobbit form, protection of any kind would be better than none.

Unfortunately, there was nothing in the armoury that would fit. Dáin’s dwarves had thankfully arrived with their own armour so those pieces that were still useable would go to the dwarves of Erebor once they arrived. A few would need to be repaired first, but the vast majority needed only a polish thanks to the excellence of dwarven craftsmanship. Nothing in the size of a hobbit, though, not even armour made for dwarves who had recently become battle-ready. The guild halls of the talukh 'azghshamâr⁹ were no more productive and while Thorin theoretically could craft something for Bilbo himself like any other dwarf, he was a silver-smith, foremost, and nothing short of the best would do for his One—which meant mithril.

Thorin directed his steps to the treasury and entered after greeting the guards with a nod. Bilbo wasn’t here so Thorin had more than enough time to at least survey the treasure and see if anything suitable lay at the top. By now, the sight of the gold did not arouse any emotions in him anymore except for awe at its size and annoyance at how cold and uncomfortable it was. How Bilbo—or any dragon—could sleep on it without blankets and sleeping rolls he did not know, but they ran so hot and were so large they probably didn’t even feel it.

He made his way across the ocean of coins and looked around. Glóin and the dwarves helping him had made some progress at least in bringing order into the chaos. There were large stacks of gold on one side, heaps of gems and other kinds of treasures, clearly separated because they had been counted and accounted for. It was next to nothing compared to the tonnes of gold but certainly more than they had started with. How anyone could see the riches and desire even more was unfathomable, unless gold lust, dragon-sickness, or simple greed played a role.

Thorin bent down and picked up some kind of goblet to inspect it more closely. Beautiful, as most things made by dwarven hands were, decorated with elaborate angular engravings and rubies that accentuated the gold perfectly. Second Age work, from what Thorin could tell, but he did not recognise the insignia on the bottom which would have told him exactly who made this piece. He put it down again and continued on, alternating between examining things that struck his fancy and searching for anything that would fit Bilbo and be a suitable gift.

Whenever he saw something that must have been made by Men or bore the signs of Dale, he put them into his pockets to give to Bard or memorised where they were approximately if the items were too big for him to carry easily. Bard is going to be a rich man, Thorin thought and frowned. Much richer than the Master. There was a nonzero chance that the Master would seek to enrich himself some way or the other, though with the treasures of Dale lying secure in the mountain that would be neigh impossible.

The glimmer of something that was brighter than silver but of a similar colour caught his attention. He’d found quite a few objects made from mithril, including, much to Thorin’s sorrow, marriage and courtship beads. Smaug must have collected them from the corpses before he… well. These Thorin had put into his pockets as well, to be identified and given to the spouses that had survived Smaug’s attack and were still alive or any relatives and descendants. If there were none, they would be brought to the dûmu marâd, the Halls of the Dead, with all due honours.

The shimmering he had seen now, however, was of a different kind—larger than anything he had found before. Getting there proved somewhat of a challenge because the item was on top of what Thorin would classify as a mountain of gold coins, but thankfully it was stable enough to climb.

“Would you look at that”, he said out loud and bent down to pick up a chain-mail shirt made from mithril. Very, very finely made, light as cloth but stronger even than steel, and created with the proportions of an elven child. Old, perhaps from the First Age or even earlier, before relations between the two races worsened and were broken irreparably.

There was, perhaps, hope for polite indifference or even something more between the dwarves of Erebor and Buzrâburmubizar¹⁰, given Bilbo’s obvious love for Lord Elrond and his family, maybe even the Lady Galadriel to whom Thorin owed a debt for bringing his One out of the darkness and showing him mercy. It would be a good idea to put Bilbo in charge of visiting elven dignitaries to the mountain, as long as those weren’t from the Mirkwood. Those could be barred forever from the mountain for all that Thorin cared with one notable difference, provided his nephew managed to get into contact and woe her first.

The shirt might be a bit too long for a hobbit, but that meant parts of Bilbo’s legs would also be protected. A kingly gift, Thorin thought with a smile, remembering his own words, and began to climb down the gold mountain. He would give his beloved the gift during tonight’s dinner, which the two of them would take separately from the company. For privacy, he’d said when questioned by the others, which they somehow had taken the wrong way. While most of them leered or made dirty jokes, his nephews had fled from the room with noises of disgust. Thorin had not meant privacy of that kind, but he also wouldn’t be opposed to a bit of that, if Bilbo was amenable to the idea.

First however, he would have to take the beads to Ori for identification, then hand over the coins and treasures from Dale to Bard and his people. Maybe they already had the chance to take a look at the ruins so first plans for its reconstruction could be drawn up along with rough time and financial estimations. The latter should pose absolutely no problem—Bard was going to be a very, very rich man.

Perhaps it would be wise to store Dale’s wealth somewhere in the treasury where they could be found easily but would still be protected either from the Master and his lackeys or dishonest Men in the mountain. That much gold would tempt almost anyone, be they Man, elf, hobbit, or dwarf. Ultimately, as long as it would not put the inhabitants of the mountain into danger or risk Erebor’s security, what Bard chose to do with Dale’s treasures was completely up to him, even if Thorin had more than a few ideas on how it would be spent best. Bard had seemed open to suggestions, so maybe he would welcome the dwarves’ council—time would tell. It took more than a good character and strong morals to be a ruler. Thorin had the lessons of his childhood, the company as well as Dáin and his advisors to help him—Bard had none of those.

Once the caravans are here some of us will be able to help the Men out, Thorin thought as he crossed the ocean of gold on his way back the entrance. They certainly won’t lack the coin to pay for the labour.

With any luck, Bilbo would be in the library with Ori so he could give his One a kiss before getting back to work.

------------

“Are you sure you don’t want any ale?” Thorin eyed Bilbo’s cup critically as he took a swig from his tankard. “I don’t think tea goes well with mutton.”

“I disagree.” Bilbo smiled at him from across the table and sipped daintily at his cup. They were sitting in Thorin’s receiving room, having carried their plates and drinking vessels over to much teasing and barely-concealed innuendos from the others. “It fits the herbs Bombur and the cooks used very well.” The hobbit laughed when Thorin pulled a face. He’d never been a fan of tea, particularly the kinds Óin used as medicine. “I still believe you just haven’t tried the right flavour, milk, and sugar combination yet.”

“Sugar was rare in the Blue Mountains. There were a thousand things it was better used for than leaf water.” Bilbo was far too civilised to throw food at him, but the look he gave Thorin had the same effect—namely, making him chuckle. “That also goes for honey and whatever other sweeteners we had.”

“I’m sure I can be persuaded to fly to the Shire every now and then to get sugar and other goods until trade has been re-established.”

“Not until we made you some kind of armour for your underside. That you came out of your fight with Smaug almost completely unscathed is still nothing short of a miracle.”

Sometimes, when nightmares plagued Thorin’s sleep, he dreamed of different outcomes. Bilbo, bleeding out in the treasury while Thorin and company camped outside the mountain. Bilbo, heavily injured and posing too tempting a target for the thirteen dwarves to ignore. Those were the worst dreams—they always ended in Thorin and Bilbo’s eyes meeting just as the gold of the dragon’s eyes went dull and all life seeped out of him, in Thorin realising that the dragon they just killed was—had been—his One. More than once he had woken up crying and with beads of sweat running down his face, though thankfully those dreams had left him alone since he started sleeping next to Bilbo in the treasury (the doors to the treasury could not be repaired fast enough in his opinion).

“I took him unawares.” Bilbo shrugged. “Kíli’s arrow effectively made him blind to everything approaching from the right. Once I realised that and saw where a scale had been knocked loose near his chest, chipping away at the gold and gems protecting him was rather easy. I could dip in and out of his reach and sight before he realised I was there—my smaller size also helped.”

“Still.” Thorin reached across the table and took one of Bilbo’s hands. “Maybe a simple plate of steel, easy enough to remove, but strong enough to protect you from attacks from below.”

“I’d have to take it off before shifting, stow it somewhere safe, put it on by myself after turning into a dragon again—unless any of the hobbits would be willing to assist me—and repeat that ad nauseam.”

“If you had a… crust, like Smaug, made from molten gold and gems, would that shift with you?”

Bilbo shrugged again. “Possibly. I still haven’t tested whether beads would stay attached to me while changing shape. It seems reasonable that a plate of steel would do the same, though I imagine it would simply fall off.”

“That should be easy to test. A simple iron bead braided into your hair, you take the courtship bead off just in case, and then you shift into a dragon and back again.”

“That’s easy enough for you to say, but you can’t imagine how embarrassing it is to always call to the guards outside the room to make sure no one looks inside for the couple of seconds it takes me to shift and get dressed! Not to mention when I’m needed somewhere spontaneously and have to find a private spot to get undressed.”

Thorin would very much like to not have to kill anyone for seeing his One naked, so he appreciated the effort Bilbo put into avoiding just that. “Is that also how you did it in Rivendell and Lothlórien?”

“Yes and no. There were locations all throughout the two kingdoms that Elrond and Galadriel designated as safe spots, so to speak. Elves have very good hearing though not as good as that of dragons, so they could tell I was there from far enough away.” Bilbo gave Thorin a dry look. “They also were used to me so there was no risk of anyone trying to take a peek.”

“If you have names, I’ll see that they are talked to sternly.” Very sternly.

“It’s died down quite a lot, so don’t worry. I can hear them approach and ‘sneak’ closer before they are anywhere near me, so I can wait or duck behind a pillar to hide.” Bilbo squeezed Thorin’s hand before letting go to continue eating.

“Since we were already talking about protection…” Thorin stood up and left the room for a moment to fetch his second gift from the bedroom. He hid it behind his back as he returned, walked up to Bilbo, and waited until the hobbit had turned to him with a curious expression. “Bilbo Baggins, khajamu amrâlê nû’ birâfbisi astû.”¹¹ He revealed the mithril shirt and offered it to his One.

Bilbo’s Khuzdul lessons were going exceedingly well, according to Ori who proclaimed the hobbit to be a natural. ‘Of course he would be!’ Glóin had said then. ‘He’s khuzd urasgânu kurdu¹² after all!’ Likely, Bilbo would still remember the words and their meaning from Thorin’s first gift if he couldn’t translate them himself.

“What is this?” Bilbo reached out and took the shirt from Thorin, spreading it out fully and running his fingers over the chain links. “Mithril… you would give me something so precious?”

“Nothing is more precious to me than you.” Thorin covered Bilbo’s hands with his own. “Khajamu amrâlê birasakini?”¹³

“Khajamzu birâkini”¹⁴, Bilbo answered immediately and leaned up to give Thorin a long kiss.

“I’m glad.” Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s hands. “Next time you want to join me when dealing with our enemies in your hobbit form, please wear it. Actually, I would appreciate it if you wore it everywhere, but I’ll take what I can get.”

“And risk it getting torn apart when I change shape?” Bilbo shook his head. “Besides, as little as I like him, Thranduil was not here as your enemy and neither were Gandalf or the Men.”

Thorin hesitated before carefully saying, “It seemed like you and Thranduil knew each other.”

“That we do.” Bilbo freed his hands from Thorin’s in order to reverently put aside the mithril shirt, then entwined their fingers.

“From what he said I had the feeling he…” Unsure how to put it, Thorin left the sentence open-ended, allowing Bilbo to say as much or as little as he was comfortable with.

For a few moments, that was nothing and Thorin was just about to change the topic when Bilbo haltingly and quietly began, “Not everyone is happy with my continued existence. There were many elven leaders who demanded that Galadriel hand me over for proper justice after she found and nursed me back to health, though none dared go against her when she refused, not even the other High Lords of the Noldor. Before Galadriel and her husband became Lady and Lord of Lothlórien, I dwelt with them for a long while and the elves there slowly got used to my presence. It took centuries until I left their side and then I only dared to go to Rivendell, since I had become very good friends with Elrond, and would spend many years there, healing and learning how to live a life free from the domination of my former masters. When Thranduil became king of the elves of the Greenwood after his father’s death, he made it no secret that he thought I should be killed for the things I did. He is not alone in that—the leader of Gandalf’s order, the wizard Men call Saruman and the elves Curunír, shares his opinion. Apparently, it is a topic that has been raised in front of the White Council, of which Thranduil is not a member, numerous times.” Bilbo’s lips twitched up in a self-deprecating smile. “Thranduil has, of course, a good reason to dislike dragons.”

“His scars.”

“He showed them to me once, back when he still left the Greenwood every now and then. I was in Rivendell, as I usually was before I moved to the Shire. Elrond and Thranduil were having what for elves would be considered a heated argument about me. Thranduil questioned how Elrond could dare to house a dragon and treat him as a member of his family, after all the things I’ve done. Elrond defended me and Thranduil took offense to that. ‘Beasts such as the one you permit to walk through your halls did this to me’, he said and dropped his illusion for me and Elrond to see, though Elrond had already known. ‘They killed countless of our people, including children, and they did so happily and eagerly. They are greedy, treacherous creatures motivated only by their hunger for gold and their thirst for malice. Your dragon is no exception. It should be killed.’”

“What did Elrond reply?”

Bilbo’s smile and gaze softened. “He said, ‘Mallen is neither a beast nor a creature. He is my dear friend and I would trust him with my life just as I trust him with my children.’ Thranduil did not like that answer at all. He rose, spat ‘be it on your conscience’ and left. I don’t think he ever returned to Rivendell again.” His eyes shone from the tears that leaked from them and ran down his cheeks.

Thorin let go of Bilbo’s hands and cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears. “Yet despite his words and mine you still fear I would abandon you if I knew.”

“You would, too, if our roles were reversed.” Bilbo closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “Arwen—Elrond’s daughter—tells me similar things almost every time she sees me, as if she can read my mind and delve into its darkest corners with nothing but a glance. You have given me no reason to think you are speaking false or lightly, and yet…”

“And yet you doubt”, Thorin finished for him.

“And yet I doubt.” Bilbo opened his eyes again and they were golden, with slit pupils instead of round ones.

If he expected Thorin to flinch away from him, he was mistaken. Thorin leaned forward, instead, brought their foreheads together, and just listened to Bilbo’s breathing for a few moments before speaking again. “Prior to my grandfather’s sickness, he was a good man. I think the death of my sigin’amad¹⁵ marked the beginning of his downward spiral. He began to spend more and more time in the treasury, to the point that adad had to take over many of his duties. He barely slept, barely ate, and would cling to every single coin like it was all he had left. Adad, namad, Frerin, and I could only watch helplessly as he declined day by day. Soon he banned everyone from the treasury, including us. He raised taxes, refused to part with commissions even when they were already paid for, and dismissed everyone from the council who tried to make him see sense. One of his closest advisors who had been at his side since his youth—a dwarf by the name of Mina—got banished from the mountain together with their husband, children, and children’s children—for trying to reason with him. I wish I knew what happened to them. They were not exiled, but only because adad intervened on their behalf, which meant that they could find refuge in any of the other dwarven kingdoms but I doubt any would have welcomed them. I often wonder if I could have done more.”

“Thorin…” Bilbo took one of Thorin’s hands into his own. “You were so young—”

“That doesn’t matter. I saw the sickness take hold of my grandfather’s mind and could not get through to him. I could not prevent him from insulting the nobles, from being taken advantage of by the sycophants and liars, from all but spitting upon the commoners, and from destroying almost all the trade and business deals we had with other kingdoms. And then Smaug came and—” Thorin broke off as memories of that horrible day flashed through his mind. He hissed out a sharp breath and clutched his free hand into a fist. “—and Thranduil’s warning came true. It was my grandfather’s greed that brought the worm upon us. It was the sickness of my line that cost us our home, killed countless dwarves, forced us into exile, and made my grandfather decide to try and retake Khazad-dûm. I always thought to myself that one day Erebor would be ours again and I swore that I would not follow in my grandfather’s footsteps. That I would never succumb to the call of the gold. And yet I did. It took hold of me long before we arrived here on Durin’s Day and I never realised. Had Smaug not been there…” He swallowed down a wet gasp, squeezed his eyes shut, and bit down hard on his lower lip in the hope of fighting off the tears, tasting blood amid the bitterness and anger, but it was for naught—the tears still escaped.

A hand cupped Thorin’s neck and pulled him down until he was sinking onto the floor and into the arms of his One. The hobbit’s weight settled onto Thorin’s lap and against his chest, and he began to gently comb through Thorin’s hair while he—

While he sang.

Softly, barely above a whisper, but the melody resonated with Thorin in a way he had not felt since he learned his nakhrâm¹⁶ as a young child. It struck a chord deep within him and blew away all the dark thoughts plaguing his mind. He clung to the hobbit as he sang of red fire upon the hearth, and tree and flower and leaf and grass, and it was like a fraction of the tension and misery was siphoned from him with each teardrop.

He knew not how much time passed—though Bilbo was still singing, Thorin thought the hobbit had begun his song anew—before Thorin was able to lift his head from Bilbo’s shoulder again. He blinked until his vision cleared and listened as Bilbo finished his song, softly humming. The hand still cupping the back of Thorin’s neck dropped down to his shoulder along with Bilbo’s other. “None of this was your fault, Thorin. Not your grandfather’s sickness, not Smaug’s attack, not the Battle of Azanulbizar and certainly not the fact that Smaug’s curse affected you. From what I have heard from the others regarding your grandfather’s sickness, not even Smaug’s attack could tear him away from the gold. You had to drag him out of the treasury and he fought you every step—that was without a dragon’s curse lying on the treasure. You and the others broke free the moment Smaug revealed himself and attacked you.”

Before Thorin could remind him that it had caught him long before they even reached Laketown, Bilbo already continued. “Even if you did feel the effects of your line’s sickness, that does not mean you are weak.”

“I was arrogant. I thought I was strong enough that I would never feel it, I thought I was stronger than my grandfather, and yet—”

“Thorin Oakenshield!” Thorin closed his mouth with a click of teeth. “Getting sick says nothing about you, your strength, or your character! It is not a moral failing!” Bilbo shook Thorin by the shoulders as if to emphasise his words and looked at him intently, unblinking, breathing heavily, his face flushed and golden draconic eyes red and puffy from crying.

For what felt like hours but probably was closer to a few minutes, neither of them said anything and they just stared at each other. Then, Thorin smiled and pulled Bilbo closer until they were chest to chest. “This is not how I envisioned the first time you sit in my lap to go.”

Seemingly only realising then how intimate their current position was, Bilbo moved back and tried to slide off again, blushing a deep red, but Thorin put his hands on Bilbo’s lower back and kept him in place. The hobbit’s flush deepened and slit pupils widened into circles as he nervously averted his gaze. “Goodness, look at us. We’re sitting on the floor and our food’s gone cold. If people in the Shire knew, they would refuse me entry until the end of time.”

Thorin knew just how seriously hobbits took these things and chuckled. “Mutton tastes good both hot and cold.” He leaned forward to kiss Bilbo’s cheek and waited for the hobbit to turn his head again so he could capture his lips in a proper kiss. “Since our food is cold anyway, what do you say about doing what your song suggested? What was the last line again?”

Bilbo looked at him in confusion until he realised what Thorin meant. The hobbit began to laugh and had to wrap his arms and legs around Thorin as he stood and carried him into his bedroom. “Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, and then to bed! And then to bed!”

Chapter Text

All of the current inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain—be they dwarf, Man, or hobbit—were gathered outside the front gates. In between them they had left free a large corridor, at the end of which stood Thorin, flanked on both sides by his heirs, Dáin, and the rest of the company. As much as he wanted to have Bilbo by his side as the (hopefully) future Consort, there was one big problem—Dís still did not know about his existence.

When Thorin had admitted as much during yesterday’s dinner, he had been met with silence and incredulous looks which soon turned pitying, exasperated, or amused. Bilbo had pronounced him a colossal idiot while Kíli and Fíli sang “amad will kill you” until Thorin jumped off his chair and chased them out of the room to the sound of dwarven (and hobbit) laughter.

“It’s easy to miss a hobbit in a crowd of dwarves”, Bilbo had told him later in Thorin’s chambers. “It would be best if you told her right after her arrival or she will learn about my presence quickly enough through other means. Green Lady be willing, you can introduce me at luncheon.”

“If Dís doesn’t have me for lunch”, Thorin had sighed, which had made Bilbo chuckle and pat his arm in sympathy. Apparently, Belladonna Baggins née Took was very similar to Dís in some respects.

With the distance between the caravans and Erebor getting smaller and smaller, the trepidation inside Thorin grew. He most definitely should have told his sister, he had realised that months ago, but he did not want to admit he kept a secret weeks into their letter exchange and by the time he had begun to question his decision it was already too late to fess up without causing an even bigger commotion. It would be best to tell her in person, somewhere private, where he would hopefully convince her of Bilbo’s trustworthiness and carefully get her used to the idea of not just a dragon in the mountain but that dragon being her brother’s One. She would be angry, of that there was no doubt. Balin and Dwalin loved to tease Thorin about his short temper but once she got pushed past her limits, Dís’ fury ran hotter than the fires of Mount Doom. There would be much shouting, though hopefully no bloodshed.

Fíli had not taken to hiding knives and daggers all over his body out of nowhere.

“I can see amad!” Kíli’s voice pulled Thorin out of his memories and back into the present.

He did not have his nephew’s sharp eyesight, but he found her easily enough, riding at the front of the caravan surrounded by armed and armoured dwarves. From Glóin’s shout of “Róa, my love!” and Bombur’s exclamation of “Jóvór!”, Thorin assumed that they must have spotted their spouses.

It did not take long for the caravan to reach them. The moment Dís and her guards approached the first row of people, the dwarves began to cheer and call out “idmi”¹ and “khazud Azsâlul'abad tannikîn!”² While the Men did not know the words, they understood the sentiment behind them easily enough, having heard and learnt much of the dwarves’ life in exile and wish to return home, and so they joined the celebrations—even Bard smiled and clapped.

But none were louder than the members of Thorin’s company.

The caravan came to a halt a few feet away from them. Dís slid off her pony and pulled back the hood of her cloak. Time had changed her little since Thorin had last seen her. She had the same raven-black hair that Thorin did, but still not shot through with silver yet. Her eyes, brown just like Kíli’s, and many of her facial features were similar to those of their amad while Thorin came more after their father, but Dís had the Durin nose and the same hard lines and angles. Her beard and hair were long and expertly braided; the beads that marked her as the Princess of Durin’s folk, mother of Thorin’s heirs, master jewelsmith, nuttûna³ and many more things glimmered in the sun.

Dís’ eyes briefly flickered up to the top of Thorin’s head, likely noting his lack of crown—Balin had been ready to tear his own beard out in frustration, but a Durin could not be moved against his will—and almost clinically brushed over the courtship braid and bead at his right temple before meeting Thorin’s own. Only because he knew her so well did he catch the way she had paused at the sight of the mababnulzantu amrâl⁴ and he knew she would demand an explanation as soon as they were alone.

Before that, however, there was ceremony to follow.

“Hail King Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King of Durin’s Folk”, Dís called out and immediately all fell silent. Normally, this would be done in Khuzdul, but they had decided to speak Westron instead, on behalf of the children who were not fluent in their Maker’s tongue yet and so the Men in the mountain too would understand.

“Who are you and what is your purpose here?” Thorin saw some of the Men exchange confused looks, but they had the decency not to interrupt.

“I am Dís, daughter of Thráin, son of Thrór, Princess of Durin's Folk.” Once Thorin had hailed her, she continued. “We are the dwarves of Erebor. Long was our journey here—we travelled through cities and forests, over mountains and under open sky, and now we stand before you, King under the Mountain, and ask you for a boon.”

“Speak, Princess Dís, and tell me what you would have of me.”

“Open your gates for us, King under the Mountain, and grant us permission to return to the halls that were once our home.”

Thorin raised his voice. “Great is my joy to see you here, dwarves of Erebor. One hundred and seventy-one years have passed since the great worm Smaug attacked and we had to flee for our lives. We lived in exile, but always we remembered our mountain home and hoped that we would one day be able to reclaim it. That day is finally upon us! After all this time, the mountain is ours once more!” Around him, all broke into cheers. Thorin waited for the excitement to die down a little before he continued. “What right would I have to refuse you entry? King under the Mountain I may be, but you are the dwarves of Erebor and this is your home! I welcome each and every one of you—survivors of Smaug’s attack, descendants, and dwarves that hail from different mountains!”

The jubilations that followed his words could likely be heard all the way down in Laketown.

Kíli and Fíli ran to their mother and nearly tackled her to the ground. Glóin went to hug and kiss his wife and son, and Bombur soon had his arms full with all five of his children and his spouse. Thorin looked around, took in his people who had come, and thought of all the dwarves that would follow them in the months and years to come. He was not ashamed of the tears that were running down his cheeks, nor did he try to hide them. His eyes sought Bilbo until he found him somewhat hidden behind one of the statues next to the front gate, watching the celebration with a warm smile that spoke of his happiness about the dwarves’ return. Once Bilbo noticed Thorin’s gaze, he signed ‘lovely speech’ in Iglishmêk. Then, cheeky menace that he was, Bilbo winked, signed ‘good luck’ and took advantage of the fact that the gates had been opened after Thorin’s announcement to disappear before Dís could see him.

Sighing, Thorin turned around and made his way over to where Dís and his nephews were standing still in an embrace. From the sound of it, the two were currently telling their mother about their stay in Rivendell much to Dís’ amusement and exasperation.

“I hope your journey from Laketown to the mountain was uneventful, Dís.” Once Fíli and Kíli let go of their mother, Thorin pulled his sister close and brought their foreheads together. “It is good to finally have you here, namad⁵.”

“Nadad. Akhmini Mahal⁶, it is good to finally see for myself that the three of you are actually alright.” Without any sign of warning, Dís hit Thorin’s shoulder hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “That’s for all the hare-brained decisions the lot of you made! My sons have only told me about your journey up to Rivendell and already I want to strangle you! What were you thinking?!”

Thorin’s lips twitched upwards. “Perhaps you should wait until you have heard everything before strangling me.”

“Don’t encourage her! If you strangle him then I’ll be king! I don’t want that and I don’t think anyone else wants that either!” Fíli turned the full force of his puppy eyes onto his mother but she had always been immune unlike Thorin himself. “Not for another century at the very least!”

“Can’t have you scare everyone away from the mountain when they’ve barely arrived”, Kíli teased, then ducked behind Dís to evade his brother’s fist.

“Mahal forbid I subject everyone to the two of you before they’re ready.” Dís exchanged an amused look with Thorin, then turned serious again. “You could have died so many times. You nearly did die so many times from what I’ve heard from the others since neither of you thought to tell me!”

Kíli and Fíli hemmed and hawed and avoided her fiery gaze. Thorin met it head on and inclined his head in acquiescence. “Our journey was no easy one. But we were successful.” He took his sister’s hands into his own. “Erebor is ours again, Dís. Our long years of exile are finally over. We are home at last.”

Dís took in the front gates and sentinel statues before her, then the mountain as a whole in all its magnitude and glory. “I barely remember it. I was but a child, just shy of ten years of age, and what I do remember is hazy and vague. But I remember the sound of hammers as the smiths struck their anvils, the ringing of the bells, the warmth of the fireplace in amad’s room, and the noise of many dwarves going about their business. I remember running through the royal quarters and playing hide and seek with you and Frerin, the echoes of our laughter following us through the corridors. And now we are back and soon there will be laughter again. Soon our people will come and fill the halls with their voices. Soon we will not have to worry about gold anymore, nor about food, because there will be enough for everyone.” She looked at Thorin again with tears in her eyes. “All because of you. You and my sons, and the brave ten dwarves that risked their lives again and again for what was then a foolish, reckless dream.”

“And Bil—” Fíli stopped and tried to look like he wasn’t panicking.

“He—he meant to say… ‘and bilisu amsâl’, his luck beryl!” Kíli winced and mouthed something to himself, which Thorin thought could have been ‘idiot’, once Dís was focusing on his brother again.

“Fíli’s lucky beryl.” Dís’ tone made it abundantly clear that she did not believe them one bit—not that anyone else, related or not, would have. “I did not know you had one, dashatê⁷. Can I see?”

Fíli and Kíli stared at each other fearfully. “Erm… you could… if I… erm… Smaug destroyed it!” Fíli gestured to Thorin behind Dís’ back, beseeching him to confirm his story.

“Yes! Smaug destroyed it.” Kíli nodded so wildly the beads in his hair clanked together.

Dís faced her sons again and even though Thorin could not see her expression, he could imagine it very well, having been its recipient more than once. “How did the dragon come into possession of your bilisu amsâl? Speaking of the dragon…” To Thorin’s horror, she turned right back around and regarded him cooly and with a calculating gleam. “…how exactly did the thirteen of you manage to kill him?”

Unlike his nephews, Thorin was not foolish enough to try and lie his way out of this, short-sighted as that would be. Instead, he returned his sister’s gaze and nodded towards the front gates. “We need to talk. Allow me to show you to your rooms first.”

Dís pointedly directed her eyes up to Thorin’s right temple, where the courtship bead and braid dangled. “Yes, I quite believe we do.” She looked back to her sons who had just thought themselves to be safe and froze once Dís’ attention was on them again. “I’m not done with the two of you. We’ll continue our conversation after your uncle and I had a little chat.”

“Do you think it’s too late to return to the Blue Mountains?” Thorin heard Kíli ask Fíli as their mother and Thorin entered the mountain.

------------

Their walk through the mountain to the royal quarters was spent in silence. While Thorin mulled over how to best explain things to her, Dís seemed to be taking in the sights—the corridors with their stone floors and stone walls, intricate carvings untouched by dragon flame and time; the halls they went through on their way that were, finally, after over a hundred and fifty years, filled with dwarves once more. They went past construction projects and small groups, a few on their way to Balin and Ori in the library to be assigned permanent or temporary living quarters, others looking around—some openly crying, others standing there in amazement and wonder, and still others reminiscing quietly or sharing their memories with their family or friends.

Before long, they reached the royal quarters. The chambers they had set aside for Dís were between those of Fíli, traditionally assigned to the firstborn of the king or heir, and Kíli. Bilbo had wanted to give her the rooms they assigned him and argued that he hadn’t even really used them so far, not knowing that they were those of the queen or consort. None of the others had told him about that, because Thorin had asked (ordered) them not to—it had been terribly presumptuous of him to make that decision before they even exchanged their first khajjum amrâl⁸ and by now so much time had passed that Thorin couldn’t tell Bilbo the truth without making things awkward. He was very well aware of the fact that this was a terrible habit to have, especially as king, and more so when one of those ‘it’s too late to tell them now’-secrets was the existence of your One and that One’s ability to turn into a dragon. If Dís didn’t strangle him with his own hair it would be a miracle.

“Did our own chambers survive Smaug’s attack?” Dís asked as she took a look around her receiving room and sat down on one of the couches.

Thorin took the chair opposite her. Maybe Dís would be dissuaded from killing him by the table between them, but she was a Durin—and that meant nothing could stand between her and her goals for long. “Fíli’s used to be adad’s and Kíli’s mine. This—” He gestured around. “—used to be amad’s. Your old rooms currently house Dáin, but after he leaves they will be yours again, unless you’d prefer to stay here until Fíli finds his One. What used to be Frerin’s receiving room has become the place where we meet for breakfast and dinner. I did not plan it that way—when Smaug was... dead… we chose a random room to sleep in—but I think he would have liked that.”

Dís smiled sadly. “Yes, I think he would have liked that very much.” The two of them fell quiet for a few moments and Thorin thought of his brother—always chipper, a troublemaker worse than Fíli and Kíli combined, the sun to Thorin’s night and Dís’ twilight, and so, so optimistic. Then Dís spoke up again. “How did the thirteen of you manage to kill Smaug, nadad?”

Thorin hesitated. “Something... unexpected happened.”

His sister raised an eyebrow, as much a signal to continue as it was a warning.

“Truthfully, even though Kíli blinded him in one eye, none of us killed him, nor did we even wound him. We stood facing the beast and were certain this battle would be our last…” He heard Dís’ sharp intake of breath. “But then an... ally we did not know arrived. The burglar Tharkûn wanted to hire in the Shire was—is—not a simple hobbit as he told us and I then told you. He is... well. He is a dragon and can change shape. It was him who killed Smaug and who agreed to stay to lift the curse that resulted from the worm’s greed, else it would have corrupted us and everyone else in the vicinity.”

Dís’ other eyebrow joined its sibling near her hairline. She blinked. “A dragon.”

“Aye. A dragon who is also a hobbit.”

“Here. In the mountain.” She did not say it out loud, but the question was implied.

“He is still here and will remain until all of Smaug's curse has been removed.” And hopefully after that.

Dís narrowed her eyes at him. “What will happen then? Do you expect him to just up and leave?”

“I’d rather not.” In for a copper coin, Thorin thought, in for a piece of silver… Steeling himself, he bravely went on. “Given that he is my One and I would prefer not to abdicate so soon.”

The temperature in the room dropped so low Thorin was surprised he could not see his own breath. Dís had gone completely still, almost like a statue, and was staring at him—no, she was staring at his mababnulzantu amrâl⁹.

What Thorin did next was either brave or foolish, or maybe both; he stood up, walked over to her, joined her on the couch, and turned his head so she could see the bead up close. He was quite proud of his work, especially the engravings—the usual runes (with that of Durin’s line most prominent), angular designs, and a rose.

If Dís wanted to strangle him, he had just made it much easier for her to get to him. If she merely wanted to slap him, the same was true.

Minutes passed in silence. Dís gave nothing away, posture stiff, gaze focused intently on the bead, face a blank mask that not even Thorin could look behind. Thorin’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest but outwardly, the only thing betraying his growing worry were his eyes.

Then, finally, his sister reached up and though Thorin braced himself, Dís did him no harm nor threaten it. Instead, she gently took the courtship braid and ran a finger over the engravings, pausing as she reached the flower in full bloom. “What is the dragon’s name?”

“Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins.”

“What is he like?”

That was certainly not what Thorin had expected her to say or ask. “Compassionate and kind, despite or maybe in part because of all the things that happened in his past, of which he has told me little, but I can guess much with a saddened heart. From what he told us, he had just only returned from a journey when he found Tharkûn’s note nailed to his door telling him of our quest. And yet, he barely hesitated before coming to our aid—without knowing anything about us except for the losses we suffered in the wake of Smaug’s attack all those years ago. He took on Smaug all by himself even though he is smaller, less protected, and was likely exhausted after flying here only with short breaks.”

In the beginning, suspicion, and trepidation had coloured his voice, but as he talked of his One and his personality, fondness crept into his tone and he found himself smiling warmly. “He has readily offered his assistance in the reconstruction efforts and agreed to stay here for the months or possibly years it could take to remove Smaug’s curse, even before I realised he was my One. Very friendly, usually cheerful, and polite, but also very good at delivering insults without his conversation partner realising. Equally good at being ‘passive aggressive’, which is apparently an art form among hobbits. Wickedly clever, quick-tongued, resourceful, curious, and intelligent. Do not make the mistake of underestimating him because of his size and chipper demeanour—he has a spine of mithril and fire running through his veins. He and I are evenly matched when it comes to stubbornness and I foresee many, many heated discussions in our future. I am quicker to anger, that is true, but once you truly get him going, he will deliver a tongue-lashing and lecture you without ever running out of steam. He truly is khuzd urasgânu kurdu¹⁰—Mahal must have had a hand in his making.”

Dís let go of Thorin’s braid. She waited until Thorin had turned to fully face her and looked him deep in the eyes for what felt like hours but was only a few moments in truth. “You love him.”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust him?”

“With my life.”

Dís regarded him closely, silent once more. Thorin did not know what she found in his eyes or expression but whatever it was, it must have pleased her for the mask of indifference fell off her face and she smiled softly at him. “I am glad for you, nadad.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “I did not expect you to react so… affably, namad.”

“Did you expect me to call you mad? To question whether the dragon truly is your One?”

Thorin hummed noncommittally in response. There was no need to tell her of Dwalin’s accusations—knowing his shield-brother, he’d do it all by himself sooner or later.

“Mahal’s blueprints are often incomprehensible to us at first, but his designs are always perfect and always beautiful. Mahal ma mahtashgami¹¹. If he made this dragon your One, then he did so with your happiness at heart. The way you spoke of your One, the way your face lit up as you described him to me… it reminded me so much of the time adad asked Víli the same questions.” She reached out and put a hand on Thorin’s arm. “Nadad, he may be a dragon, but he makes you smile.”

“Dís—”

“You deserve to be happy, Thorin. The dragon—this Bilbo Baggins—makes your face alight with joy and love, and that is all that is important to me.”

A weight Thorin had not known lay on him was taken off his shoulders. He let out a long breath and pulled his sister close, bringing his forehead to hers for a gentle tap. “Akhminruki astî¹², namad”, he rasped out. Thorin swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, almost overcome by the whirlwind of emotions his sister’s acceptance caused inside his mind, and leaned back again after several moments to look into his sister’s eyes once more.

Dís, too, leaned back. Then, from one second to the next, she hit him hard enough to probably leave a bruise behind. With a curse, Thorin moved away to try and get out of her reach, eying her warily as he rubbed the spot she had hit. “What was that for?”

Thorin’s sister gave him a long look. “Why did you leave all those things out of your letters?! You made no mention of a dragon, Smaug’s curse, finding your One, or starting your courtship! It wasn’t like you had no chance to do so!”

“I did not think it wise.” At Dís’ glare, Thorin elaborated. “Had I told you when I found out, you would have spent all of your journey from the Blue Mountains with that knowledge hanging over your head. Can you honestly tell me it would not have made things very tense? You would have been stewing on it for months. You said it was the way I spoke of Bilbo and how I looked when I did so—none of that would have come through in my letters.”

“And you thought confronting me with it right after I arrived, with little to no time to think on your revelation, would be better?” Dís shook her head in disbelief. “This conversation could have gone much, much differently, brother. I could have stormed off to confront your One, little good it would do. I could have treated him badly and with suspicion, and those who came with me would have followed suit! I could have invoked ashfâkh udu abalur uzbad¹³!”

There had been some whispers about invoking ashfâkh udu abalur uzbad when their grandfather fully succumbed to the gold-sickness, but those had always been in secret, contemplated in hushed conversations and furtive glances, and ended the moment Smaug descended upon the mountain. Had they gone through with it, it would have marked the first time in the Longbeards’ history that a member of the nobility had publicly and officially declared that they had doubts about the king’s ability to rule.

“But you did not.”

“No, I did not. Because I saw the love you have for him and knew Mahal truly chose him for you.” Dís sighed and folded her hands in her lap. “I want to meet him.”

“You can join us for lunch.”

“Are you planning on springing me on him without a word of warning, too?”

Thorin scowled. “It was his suggestion. Among hobbits, cooking for your intended’s family is an important step in courtship. He cooked for the company and Dáin and offered the meal to me as his khajamu amrâl zê’¹⁴. Back then he said he would cook for you once you arrive. You have arrived, so he’s prepared something.”

Dís looked interested at that (or hungry, it was hard to tell). “What was your first gift?”

“Permission to learn Khuzdul far before the traditionalists would think it proper, which he would explicitly be able to continue even if he ended the courtship before ashhân¹⁵. Unlimited access to the library with no restrictions.” At Dís’ curious expression, he explained, “Instead of riches Bilbo hoards knowledge. Stories, tales, myths, information. He spends most of his free time in the library with Ori, who I envision to become head of the aslâsu uzrâb¹⁶. No matter the topic or style, he will read anything he can get his hands on.”

“A dragon hoarding knowledge…” Dís looked no less astonished than Thorin had been when he first learnt of this. “Many of the nobles won’t be happy with either of those facts.”

“None of them joined us on our quest.” Thorin scowled in annoyance. “They intend on arriving here only when all the hard work is done. When the mountain is restored, trade has been re-established, and food no longer needs to be tightly rationed. Then they’ll expect to be waited on hand and foot and make all important decisions—to reap the benefits of the quest with none of the courage or selflessness of those who answered my call!”

Dís gave him a wry smile. “As always, then.”

“Yes, as always.” Thorin growled. “If they want to protest about me naming commoners leaders of the guilds, they can march right back to the Blue Mountains. The ‘Ri brothers will be officially added to Durin’s line and the ‘Urs will be elevated to nobles. I named each of them buhel¹⁷ and if anyone doesn’t like that they can—”

“Peace, nadad.” Dís laughed. “You won’t get any words of protest from me.”

Thorin deflated with a sigh. “I plan on pawning off as many of them to Bilbo as I can. Apparently entitled dwarven nobles have nothing on annoying hobbit relatives and he’s had centuries of dealing with those.”

“I’ll be glad to have someone else to help me deal with them when you refuse.” Dís leaned over again and regarded Thorin closely. “Hobbits do not live for centuries… but dragons do. How exactly did a dragon become a hobbit and live in the Shire? You alluded to things that happened in his past that saddened you… I do not wish to gossip or pry into things that are none of my business, but…”

Thorin averted his gaze and stared into the fire blazing in the hearth. “He has not told me much. Before he was a hobbit called Bilbo Baggins, he lived in Rivendell and the Golden Wood, where he was known by elvish names. Before that he was a dragon. He has… hinted at things that sound like his life was a dark time filled with nothing but suffering and pain. He keeps insisting that I would leave him if I knew and though I have told him countless times that nothing ever could make me change my mind, he still doesn’t believe me.”

“You did say he is as stubborn as you are.” Thorin glared at his sister, but she was unaffected and just glared back. “I know you, Thorin. You were always your worst critic and taskmaster. Always insisting on shouldering everything by yourself, to put your own needs last and everyone else’s first. You ran yourself ragged taking care of Fíli, Kíli, me, and all our people in Ered Luin. You never took breaks, you went without food to provide for everyone else, and you never let anyone help you!”

“A good king is a busy king—”

“That’s not true and you know it. A good king has to put the needs and the wellbeing of his people first, that much is true, but not to his own detriment!” Dís poked his chest with her index finger. “It is good for your subjects to see you toil at their side and to know that you do not enrich yourself or live in luxury while they struggle. But taking a break every now and then wouldn’t hurt!”

Despite the annoyance he felt at his sister’s words and the fact that they’ve had this exact conversation a thousand times already, Thorin couldn’t help but smile. “Bilbo forces me to take ‘luncheon’ breaks with him. Apparently my ‘insistence to run myself ragged’ is appalling.”

‘Hobbits are creatures of comfort, he had told Thorin. ‘Most eat six to seven meals per day and try to get away with doing as little work as possible in order to sit down with a cup of tea, a piece of pie, their pipe and their loved ones. Combine that with the fact that I am a dragon and I would get… supremely cranky if I was unable to enjoy a nice meal with my intended. Why, Lobelia once overstayed her not-so-welcome and made me miss luncheon—her umbrella suffered the consequences of that decision!’

“I could not tell whether he was joking or not and he can be incredibly insistent besides. Balin, the traitor, took Bilbo’s side and said it is my duty as king to ensure my One is happy and not at risk of setting things or people on fire.”

Dís chuckled. “I think Master Baggins and I shall get along splendidly.”

Only bad things will result from their meeting, Thorin thought as his face darkened in what would be called a pout had he been the type of person who did pout, which he was most definitely not.

“Honestly, it surprises me that you actually approached Master Baggins and asked to court him, nadad. Knowing you, I would have expected you to push that issue as far back as you can. Case in point, our current conversation.”

“Kíli forced my hand”, Thorin grumbled which made his sister laugh. “I wanted to introduce Bilbo to the idea slowly and carefully but Kíli hinted at it so much that Bilbo put one and one together.”

“That sounds like him.” Dís shook her head. “The two of them inherited the impulsiveness of our line.”

“But not our penchant for angering quickly.”

Dís’ smile took on a melancholy note. “No, they must have inherited their father’s mellow temperament.”

“Mukhuh akhal tamkhihi ni dûmu Mahal¹⁸”, Thorin said quietly.

Dís echoed his prayer and the two of them stayed silent for a moment before she spoke again. “Tell me honestly, brother, how often did you come close to dying on this quest? I know of the trolls and your flight from the orcs and wargs to Rivendell, but after…?”

Hoping to lessen the impact of what he was about to tell her, Thorin reached over and took his sister’s hand into his own. “Far too many times for my comfort, namad. More times than we expected when we set out from Ered Luin. There were stone-giants and goblins in the Misty Mountains. After we managed to escape, we were beset by orcs and wargs once more, led by none other than Azog the Defiler.”

Dís cursed. “He lives?”

“Not anymore. He was leading an army here, but Bilbo spotted them and attacked from above with fire and flame. We’ve had to deal with a few small war parties since, but those were nothing we couldn’t handle. Azog and his spawn fell, charred black and trampled by their followers as they fled from Bilbo.”

“Mi Mahal¹⁹”, Dís breathed out. “To think what could have happened, had your dragon not been here…”

“We most likely would not be having this conversation right now. It was only thanks to giant eagles arriving on the behest of Tharkûn that we survived our encounter with Azog. I was heavily injured in that battle. A skinchanger by the name of Beorn gave us shelter and provisions before we set out into Mirkwood. Giant spiders attacked and would have killed us, but of all things elves appeared and saved us. Only to take us prisoner and keep us in their dungeons for weeks!” Thorin spat out. “Our escape to Laketown was ripe with danger and incredibly reckless but we made it and from there, after replenishing our supplies, we set out to the mountain…”

“Where you faced Smaug and nearly died.” Dís shook her head and covered Thorin’s hands with her free one. “Mahal must have been watching you. To think how close you came to dying before ever making it here…”

“We were successful, namad, that is all that counts. The mountain is ours, repairs are well underway, and with the caravan’s arrival, there will be enough food and dwarfpower to complete our restoration efforts. It will take time and work, but in a few years, Erebor will be as great as it once was, maybe even grander.”

Dís smiled at him and leaned forward to bring their foreheads together once more. “With you as its king, a dragon as your consort, and your sister and company at your side, there is no doubt of that. History will remember you as Erebor’s greatest king.”

Somewhat abashed by those words, Thorin pulled her into an embrace. “I missed you, namad.”

“I missed you too, nadad. Ered Luin was not the same without you.”

Thorin closed his eyes and took comfort in his sister’s presence and touch.

Thank you, Mahal for guiding her steps, he thought, and for bringing her here safe and sound.

For a long, long time, neither of them moved or spoke, the crackling of the fire in the fireplace the only sound besides their breathing.

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A few hours later, the meeting Thorin had been dreading since Dís’ arrival finally took place.

“So this is the dragon”, were Dís’ first words upon seeing Bilbo, her eyes narrowed and gaze critical as she took in the hobbit in front of her. Bilbo, for his part, smiled warmly and allowed her to inspect him as one would a piece of jewellery before buying it, though his eyes betrayed how nervous he was, if one knew what to look for. “He looks more like a grocer than a dragon to me.”

Thorin winced.

“A poor grocer would I be, then, to want to set up shop here where nothing grows for miles and where only visiting elves and Men will appreciate my wares.” Bilbo rocked back and forth on his feet, hands behind his back. “Given the fact that the latter seem to think tomatoes are poisonous and the former would probably get thrown out by your brother before ever entering the mountain, I don’t have much hope for profit here.”

Dís tilted her head in the way a raven did before swooping down to kill an unwitting worm, then smiled warmly and reached out to clasp Bilbo’s hands with her own. “Welcome to the family, Master Baggins.”

“Bilbo, please.” The hobbit shot Thorin a confused look over his shoulder as Dís, gently but firmly, guided Bilbo to sit down next to her at the table.

Without his previous conversation with Dís fresh in his mind, Thorin would likely have been just as surprised by his sister’s easy acceptance of the dragon. Even with the knowledge, he was wary, sensing that something was amiss with that instinct a person developed as one of three siblings, especially when one of those had been a troublemaker like Frerin.

So it came to no surprise when Dís leaned closer to Bilbo conspiratorially and said in a faux-whisper, “Let me tell you about the time my brother got his head stuck in a large marmalade jar.”

Thorin groaned in dismay, sat down on the other side of the table, and reached for his tankard. Maybe Fíli and Kíli would let him accompany them back to the Blue Mountains where there would be no sister to tell his One about all the stupid things he’s ever done. But also no One, unless he could convince Bilbo to join him which he doubted he could—not until Bilbo had read everything in the library, which would take decades.

Nursing his ale, he listened with growing embarrassment and reddening cheeks as his sister told Bilbo of the time a much younger Thorin had decided to sneak into the kitchen, discovered a jar of marmalade, and decided it would be a good idea to take advantage of the fact that his head would fit through the opening to do just that—force his head inside to get every last lick. He’d been caught by one of the cooks who found him frantically trying to break the glass by running head-first into the wall because he couldn’t get out again.

“He was banned from the kitchen for a year after that, according to our father. So Thorin took to sneaking out to our grandmother’s garden and ate almost all the berries she grew. He thought no one knew about it, but everyone did because his hands and face were covered in berry juice. Most often it was red, as my brother loves little more than strawberries. Sigin’adad called him halwmurn for that reason.”

Face red as a ruby, Thorin scowled at his sister and One as they laughed, then hid his face behind his tankard. As much as he loved the sound of Bilbo’s laughter, he did not appreciate Dís sharing such stories with the hobbit and decided to put a stop to it before she could continue with those that were potentially much worse. “Ingenious our craftsmanship might be, bunnel, but I think it might be best to turn to our meal.”

The way Dís looked at him told Thorin that she knew what he was thinking and was enjoying his terror. Had the food not been cooked by Bilbo himself for a special occasion, Thorin would have thrown something at her to wipe that smirk off her face.

“I almost forgot!” Bilbo laughed again. “Imagine, a hobbit forgetting to eat! You will have to tell me more during tonight’s dinner, Princess Dís, if you are joining us, that is.”

As Bilbo got busy distributing bowls and spoons, Thorin glared at his sister across the table and signed dire warnings to her in Iglishmêk, which she seemed to find amusing. “Call me Dís. I am to be your namad after all, if my brother does not muck things up with your remaining two gifts.”

“Thorin already gave me his second courtship gift”, Bilbo corrected. He lifted his tunic a little to reveal the mithril underneath. The smirk dropped from Dís’ face, replaced by pure astonishment. Thorin couldn’t help but grin smugly. “He insists that I wear it whenever I am not in my dragon form, as if anyone was planning on attacking me.”

“Chances are good that someone will”, Dís said numbly, still staring at the shirt. “Not everyone will be happy with the way Thorin plans on running things, especially those hoping he will be as easily flattered and influenced as our grandfather at the height of his sickness. Nor will everyone be happy about a dragon in the mountain, King’s One or not. You would do well to always prepare for the worst.” She looked from the corner of her eyes. “My brother will always be accompanied by his personal guard for the same reason, as will Fíli and Kíli as his heirs.”

Bilbo murmured something about paranoid dwarves and setting beards on fire, a thought that still amused Thorin more than it probably should, then sat down again. “In the Shire, luncheon is a large meal, but not as big as dinner in the late afternoon. When I cooked for Thorin, the company, and Dáin, I told them that what I had presented them with was nothing compared to the feast I could have offered them in the Shire. This is also the case now. Once trade has been re-established, I shall rectify that. Until then—” Bilbo reached over and uncovered the tray he brought to Thorin’s room.

On it stood a large cauldron, filled with a kind of soup that faintly smelled of potatoes. There were bits of bacon strewn on top of it as well as small rings of something green and shredded cheese. Next to it on the tray lay a few bread rolls with seeds in the dough and more sprinkled on top.

“I hope you’ll enjoy it”, Bilbo said with a bright smile and took the ladle to fill Dís’ and Thorin’s bowls first, then his own.

“Your skill rivals that of our cooking guild, Bilbo. Of course we’ll enjoy it.” Thorin reached over the table to take his One’s hand in his own for a moment before releasing it again in order to snatch one of the bread rolls. He dunked it into his bowl, let it soak up some of the soup and bit into it heartily with a pleased hum. “Thank you, kurdelê. You spoil us.”

Bilbo blushed at the compliment.

Dís had watched Thorin take his bite with rapt attention. Then, she picked up her spoon, lowered it into the soup, and brought it to her mouth. “High praises from you, nadad’”, she teased. “Let us see if you are telling the truth.” With that, she ate her spoonful. Knowing his sister as well as he did, Thorin could tell she was surprised—perhaps she thought Thorin had exaggerated to shower his One with laudations. “This is very fine indeed, Bilbo.”

“Thank you, Dís.” The hobbit inclined his head, cheeks a beautiful pink and eyes sparkling in pride.

“Is this to be your khajamu amrâl nû’ ²⁰?” Dís asked after eating another spoonful and reaching for the bread. “Thorin told me the dinner you hosted for the others was your first.”

“Oh no, I have something else for him. I meant to give it to him after our meal, but I might as well fetch it now.” He excused himself from the table and went into his own chambers through the door connecting them with Thorin’s receiving room.

Dís watched him go and once he was out of sight, turned to face her brother with a raised eyebrow. “He is in sigin’amad’s rooms.”

“Aye.”

“Does he know?”

“No.”

Dís threw up her hands and narrowed her eyes at him. “Mi Mahal¹⁹, Thorin! You can’t keep running away from difficult conversations like this!”

Thorin defiantly took another bite from his breadroll and said nothing.

Likely, if Bilbo had not returned then hiding something behind his back, Dís would have given Thorin a dressing down. As it was, she shot daggers at him across the table and mouthed ‘ugrad’²¹ which Thorin pointedly ignored.

Just like Thorin had done when he offered Bilbo his second gift, Bilbo stopped next to Thorin’s chair and waited for him to put down his spoon and turn to fully face him. “Let’s see if I remember the correct words… Thorin Oakenshield, khajamu amrâlê nû’ birâf…bisi astû²¹.” Then he offered Thorin the object he’d hidden behind his back.

“It’s a… book?” Thorin took it from Bilbo and, after moving his bowl away, placed it carefully on the table.

Bound in old leather that somehow must have survived unscathed for one hundred and seventy-one years, the book’s front was decorated with a combination of angular and floral designs, which meant that it most certainly had not come from the library. Written in Khuzdul,  far softer than any dwarf could ever produce, stood Farinlugûb, akmâthlugûb²² ra atasâr udu Bilbo Baggins, Kidzuluslukhu Azsâlul’abad.

“You wrote me a book?”

Thorin carefully opened it and found the title repeated on the first page in Westron—'Stories, poems and drawings by Bilbo Baggins, Golden Dragon of the Lonely Mountain.’ Beneath that were lines in two different scripts. Thorin recognised one of them as the runes commonly used for writing Sindarin, from which the dwarves’ own writing derived, but the other he did not know, even though the symbols were similar to those of Westron. At the bottom of the page Bilbo had drawn the Lonely Mountain, its peaks overgrown with flowers and vines.

“I am known by many names in the Shire. Master Baggins, dear old Bilbo, sly serpent, Mad Baggins, draconic menace, tempter of children—but I believe I am best known as a storyteller.” Thorin briefly looked up from the parchment to see Bilbo smile fondly. “I love gardening, cooking, baking, and smoking as much as any hobbit, but there is little I find more joy in than telling stories. From what you and the others have told me, that would likely make it my tarbel, craft of all crafts.”

“To give your intended an object made from your Craft is a fine gift indeed.” Dís nodded in approval.

Thorin turned to the third page of the book. Half of it was taken up by a drawing of what appeared to be a hill with a large round green door and windows set into it. There was a bench in front and stone steps leading down to a stone path that presumably connected the house to the main road. A hobbit home, Thorin knew, like those he’d seen whenever travelling through the Shire. Bilbo’s home, perhaps.

Beneath the drawing, in beautifully-written Khuzdul, stood a few sentences that were likely repeated in Westron, Sindarin, and whatever language that other script belonged to, but Thorin only made it to the first word, ‘ni’, before someone kicked him underneath the table. Not a hobbit, so Thorin lifted his gaze off the page and glared at Dís. She jerked her head towards Thorin’s right… where Bilbo still stood and waited. Thankfully, as Thorin hastened to look at his One, the hobbit did not appear to be annoyed but amused. “Thorin Oakenshield, khajamu amrâlê birasakini²³?”

As if there had been even the slightest chance that Thorin would not! Closing the book again, Thorin turned sideways on his chair, put one hand on Bilbo’s hip and pulled him as close as possible without dragging him down into his lap. “Khajamzu birâkini²⁴, Bilbo Baggins.” Then he leaned up, Bilbo meeting him halfway, and kissed him.

Mindful of his sister’s presence, Thorin pulled back long before he wanted to and released Bilbo from his grip, allowing the hobbit to return to his chair and meal. After putting the book aside so it would not get full of breadcrumbs and was away from the soup, Thorin picked up another breadroll, let it soak up soup from his bowl, and bit into it hungrily. Unlike last time, the food was still warm, though Thorin would have eaten every last drop and every last crumble even if they had gone cold. “This must have taken you a lot of time and work.”

Bilbo hummed around his spoon. “Ori helped with the translations. I'd like to say my Khuzdul is conversational by now, but translating poems is much more difficult. Your language is fascinating. It is nothing like Westron or the elven tongues and bears no likeness to the native Mannish tongues either. It has some similarities to Adûnaic, the speech of the Númenóreans, which raises some fascinating questions. Many of its words, from what I've read, were constructed from the same three consonant structure as Khuzdul but used it in a completely different manner. I wonder if Elrond knows how that can be, given his close connection to the Dúnedain and the line of Elros. I never had much cause to speak that tongue in my very rare dealings with the Númenóreans and Westron has little in common with its ancestor anymore…"

Dís and Thorin stared at him blankly. Bilbo looked from brother to sister, took in their expressions, and chuckled. “My apologies, I did not mean to drift off into linguistic musings.”

Dís made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Don’t worry about it. It is just something neither Thorin nor I know much about. But say, you talked about dealings with the Númenóreans. I have to admit my knowledge of Mannish history is limited but didn’t it sink sometime in the Second Age? Thorin mentioned you have lived in the Shire for centuries… how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Númenor was destroyed in the Second Age, year 3319. As to how old I am, it is difficult to say, as I do not know the year of my… birth. I tend to say I am around the same age as Lord Elrond of Rivendell, give or take, who was born in the First Age, year 532, and is thus around 6450 years old.”

Thorin nearly choked on his bread. He’d know Bilbo was old—much older than himself—but to hear it translated into numbers put it into perspective even more. “Mi Mahal¹⁹, that’s…”

“A very long time”, Dís finished for him, looking just as astonished as Thorin felt. “Durin the First, King of all dwarves, was at least 2395 years old when he died. I knew that some elves have been born many ages ago but six thousand is, quite frankly, mind-boggling.”

Bilbo gestured wildly with his spoon. “If you think Elrond and I are old, it might interest you to hear that the Lady Galadriel is even older. She is more than 8300 years old, having been born before the Noldor returned to Middle-earth and before the two Trees of Valinor were destroyed. And Gandalf is even older than that.”

Thorin had to take several moments just to deal with that information. He’d never exactly considered himself an old dwarf, at least not yet, even though he had passed middle-age some while ago. Is this how Kíli and Fíli feel when we tease them for being barely of age? Thorin asked himself numbly. Out loud he said, “Compared to that, our lifespans must seem like the blink of an eye.”

Bilbo put down his spoon and reached over to put his hand on top of Thorin’s. “It might seem so but whereas blinking passes by unnoticed, the lives of my friends do not. I still mourn the deaths of Bandobras, Gerontius, Bungo, and Belladonna as if they happened yesterday.”

“I did not mean to imply…” Thorin turned over his hand and entwined his fingers with Bilbo’s. “I do not know if I would be able to deal with the knowledge that those I hold dear will pass long before me.”

Would he be able to love someone knowing they would die so much sooner than himself? Whose life was over as quickly as a heartbeat to one such as Bilbo? Thorin tried to imagine how it would feel but came up blank.

“It is not easy”, Bilbo confirmed with a sad smile. “But the joy and love are worth every second of heartbreak and grief.”

Thorin gave Bilbo’s hand one last squeeze before releasing it again. “You mentioned before that you picked up some words of Khuzdul during your life.” On the battlefield, but Thorin did not say so in his sister’s presence. “Have you ever been to one of the dwarf kingdoms?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I’ve seen some of them from above but never entered.” Thorin could guess why and gave his One a look of sympathy and pity. “Galadriel and Celeborn were frequent guests of the dwarves of Moria before it fell to the Balrog, but I never accompanied them. I wish I did but then…”

Neither Thorin nor Dís, who knew (or was able to guess) much less than Thorin, pressed him further. The two merely exchanged concerned glances and silently decided to drop the topic.

It did not take long for Bilbo’s spirits to soar high again. The three of them spent the rest of their luncheon with more light-hearted conversations, filled with chuckles, laughter, and far too many embarrassing stories from Thorin’s life, though he paid Dís back in kind.

Besides, the sound of Bilbo’s carefree laughter was worth it.

Once they were finished eating, Dís left with a promise to join Bilbo for tea after ‘talking’ to her sons. The hobbit left soon after her but not before giving Thorin a kiss that lingered long after he was gone.

Alone now, Thorin took advantage of the fact that his next meeting was still an hour away and pulled Bilbo’s book close. He opened it on page three where he had left off before. The first two sentences read:

Ni asrâj ni shamal zantulbasn kuyula. Zûrimumul, hu ma kasat zantulbasn banh, hu uslukh kasat…

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. He was not a normal hobbit, however, but a dragon…

Chapter Text

The sound of hammers, pickaxes, pulleys, cartwheels, and dwarven voices led Thorin’s footsteps as he made his way towards the construction site. Behind him, his guards kept a respectable distance but watched every crossing with their weapons at the ready.

Dwalin was not among them today—he was leading a large squad of soldiers west, where several marauding orc parties had come together under the leadership of an orc called Drazgud. If the rumours that had reached the Lonely Mountain could be trusted, said orc was larger than usual (though thankfully not the same colour as Azog and his spawn) and had willingly cut off his right hand to imitate the great Defiler who, it had to be pointed out, had lost his left hand to Thorin’s sword all those years ago.

With Dwalin and the warriors went Tauriel, liaison between the dwarves of Erebor and the elves of Mirkwood and, as of a couple of months ago, fiancée of Prince Kíli.

This revelation had been preceded by what felt like years of the two staring at each other from across the room, Kíli moping and pining all over the kingdom, and Tauriel somehow managing to be part of every single meeting that was held between Mirkwood and Erebor. If they thought they had been sneaky about it, they were sorely mistaken—everyone, from the participants of the meetings to the guards and servers could tell something was going on between the two. This included Legolas, as Thranduil had very wisely decided he would send his son to the mountain in his stead. The elven prince had soon come to exchange exasperated looks of his own with Thorin and/or Bilbo.

Frankly, if Tauriel had not taken initiative and approached Kíli one evening, Thorin would have had to resort to drastic measures, such as locking the two of them in a room or pulling Kíli over to her by his braids. Thank Mahal none of them had to deal with all the moping anymore, but Thorin didn’t know whe-ther the gazes full of love and admiration were much better.

Remembering the expression of pure horror on Thranduil’s face when he had visited the mountain on business both kings, Bard, and the Master of Laketown had to be present for and saw them together definitely made that worth it, though.

Dwalin, Tauriel, and the dwarven soldiers would meet up with a group of elves once they neared the orc encampment near Mirkwood, cooperation only made possible by Tauriel’s presence and the two races’ shared hatred of orcs. Bilbo could likely have dealt with them by himself, but by now the orcs were aware of his allegiance and would know to look up into the sky—Thorin did not want to find out what kind of ideas they had for dealing with a dragon, not when Bilbo’s underside was an attractive target for archers and spear-throwers. Sooner or later Thorin would manage to convince him of the need for added protection while in his dragon form but for now, Bilbo had promised to stay well above the range of any weapon whenever he went out flying.

Bilbo was equally unhappy about his own guards, but he had quickly learned that arguing about it brought him absolutely nowhere with Thorin, Dís, Dwalin, or any of the others. With so many dwarves in the mountain, both familiar and unknown, and more arriving constantly, it was no longer enough to always stay with a member of the company. Actual guards, trained and armed, had become a necessity. So far Thorin had not needed his own guards, but he was not naïve enough to think that would forever be the case. With the next few caravans would come dwarves who might not be as happy (or tolerant) of Thorin’s decisions or Bilbo’s and Tauriel’s presence in the mountain, among them some of Thorin’s least-liked nobles who had finally deigned to move mountains too.

A rumbling chuckle reached Thorin’s ears, bringing him out of his musings and a smile to his face. Months into the arrival of Dís’ caravan with the craftspeople, the majority of the most critical places—the residential areas, the guild halls, the market, and the healing halls—had been restored, though improve-ments of an artistic kind would be done at a later point, once the other, more urgent proverbial fires had been put out. This included restoring the gates to the treasury, making the mines accessible again, and repairing the other parts of the mountain that were still in need of it.

The presence of a being as large as Bilbo—one who could breathe fire, to boot—was a great aid. It was only natural that most of the labourers and warriors that helped out were quickly becoming enamou-red with the hobbit even when he was less hobbit and more dragon. By now, the terror and fear had truly worn off for the most part. Respect and a healthy amount of cautiousness remained, but it was hard to stay afraid of a creature who was always delighted to see you, remembered the names of everyone he interacted with and their families (a skill absolutely crucial for surviving in the Shire, apparently), and could make even the grouchiest of grouches smile. That honour did not belong to Thorin, as much as his family and friends liked to tease him.

Currently, Bilbo was lending his height and strength to one of the projects taking place near the entrances to the mines, which was why Thorin was on his way there to pick his One up for a trip outside the mountain. There was no greenery yet, as none of the inhabitants had the time (or skill) to turn towards the task of helping the land recover, but spring was neigh. Temperatures had already risen, the sky had become brighter and clearer, and the trees that were visible in the distance were slowly regaining their colours—all signs and sights Thorin knew Bilbo would appreciate.

The view that greeted Thorin as he rounded the corner would have been comical before he had met his One. Surrounded by craftspeople was Kidzuluslukhu Azsâlul’abad, the Golden Dragon of the Lonely Mountain, keeping a large wooden structure in place while the dwarves around him strategically placed load-bearing pillars to stabilise the tunnel. From what Bofur (who was still in charge of all constructions) had told Thorin, the tunnel that was used before Smaug’s attack had collapsed so thoroughly that it was easier to dig a new one next to it—safer too, since they had no idea how much of the stone above the old one had become destabilised and was at risk of coming down at any moment.

Thorin stepped aside to let a cartwheel filled with dirt through and gave its driver a respectful nod when she stopped and bowed to him before continuing on her way. Dwarves were working side by side with the dragon, some even darting through his front limbs instead of going all the way around him, and all the while Bilbo kept up pleasant chatter that had most smiling and talking to what, months ago, had likely been their worst nightmare.

Bilbo is already the consort in all but name, Thorin thought, smile widening.

As soon as Bilbo was able to let go of the piece he had been holding in place, Thorin walked up to him, nodding to all the dwarves that bowed or hailed him. “I’ve come to steal you away, bunnel, if Fláim will let you go.”

“As if I could hold a dragon here against his will!” said dwarf, the current foreman, shouted back from where he was helping secure one of the beams. “Besides, half of my crew would mutiny and the others would stage a rescue!” The crew confirmed that with various exclamations.

The head of the dragon came down as close to eye level as was possible without lying on the ground. Thorin immediately pressed a kiss between Bilbo’s nostrils, drawing a rumbling purr from his One. “Hello to you too, dear”, the dragon said dryly. “Give me a minute and I’ll be yours.”

“You already are”, Thorin mumbled against Bilbo’s scales, which earned him another pleased rumble before Bilbo withdrew and walked to one side of the hall where a sort of miniature room had been created by putting two panels against the wall. Its opening was big enough for Bilbo to walk inside, though he very much was still visible above the ‘walls’. Was this where he changed shape…?

Thorin was admittedly very curious to see just how it actually worked, but also polite enough to not follow Bilbo and watch, especially since the hobbit would be very much naked before putting on clothes again. Not that Thorin had not seen Bilbo naked before, but he would not assume to take such liberties without Bilbo’s prior consent. Still, he stood facing the ‘room’ and winked when Bilbo shot him an exasperated look, likely guessing his intent.

Then, the dragon began to… shrink.

All Thorin could really see was Bilbo growing smaller and smaller in a fluid, gradual motion until he was no longer visible behind the panels. Then Thorin heard the rustling of clothes and a moment later Bilbo stepped out again. With the caravan had come fabrics that Dori deemed more acceptable for the consort-to-be and so he had made Bilbo several sets of blazers, trousers, vests, and shirts, combining hobbit and dwarvish styles and motifs. As Thorin had predicted all those months ago, Bilbo had insisted quite vocally and insistently on paying Dori, which Dori had just as vocally and insistently refused. That battle was still ongoing, as far as Thorin knew, and some of the others had bet on who would give up first. Dori was of the line of Durin, the members of which were known for their thick heads both literally and figuratively, but Bilbo could give any of them a run for their gold when it came to wilfulness.

Today’s outfit was a blue blazer with a matching vest. As if the Durin blue had not been enough, Dori had added the traditional embroideries used by those of Durin’s line and somehow managed to combine the more angular, hard lines of dwarven decoration with the flower motifs hobbits preferred. A statement, marking Bilbo as a valued member of the royal family, even without the courtship bead that bore Durin’s rune and Thorin’s insignia. Said bead was being expertly woven into the mababnulzantu amrâl¹ while Bilbo walked back over to him.

Thorin offered his arm to his beloved, which the hobbit took with a smile, and leaned down for a quick kiss. “I was thinking of going outside for a walk. The weather is fine and the first signs of spring are visible all around us.”

“I would like that.” Bilbo’s face lit up even more but dimmed a little as he seemed to remember the state of the lands around them. “It’s a shame the seeds and soil will not arrive in time for the First Planting.”

Bilbo had sent gold and instructions to the Shire with a raven to purchase what seeds he would need for beginning the restoration of the desolation and for helping the Men of Dale prepare what fields they dug after the worst of winter was over. However, those would only be picked up by the next caravan from the Blue Mountains. Apparently too late for what hobbits celebrated as the ‘First Planting’ but Bilbo was confident that next year would see green return to the desolation.

“Soon you will be able to dig your toes into good soil again,” Thorin said as he and Bilbo bid the workers goodbye and made their way back to the front gates.

“Soon.” Bilbo sighed. “Spring is the most important time of the year to hobbits. Our gardens bloom in a thousand colours and fill the air with their sweet scent. All that went to sleep at the approach of winter awakens again. It is a time for celebration, for the first festivals, and weddings. The mountain is beautiful in its own way, don’t get me wrong, but I still miss the green of the Shire…”

“You could fly there and stay for a while.” As much as the very thought made Thorin want to pull Bilbo into his arms and never let him go.

Bilbo stopped, forcing Thorin to follow suit, and looked up at him with a far too knowing smile that indicated Thorin had not been as successful at keeping his voice even and neutral as he would have liked. “And leave everyone else to deal with your bad mood?” His teasing tone did little to get rid of Thorin’s answering scowl. “Yes, I miss the Shire—I miss my books, my armchair, and my garden, as I have told you before. But you and the others of the company are here, and I consider you and them my dearest friends.”

The corners of Thorin’s lips twitched upwards. “Only a dear friend?”

“You ridiculous dwarf.” Bilbo shook his head fondly. “I’m not kissing any of the others, am I?”

“I would hope not.” Jealous Thorin was, but he trusted each member of the company (and Bilbo) with his life. “Speaking of…”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, but his expression gave him away. Thorin leaned down and met the hobbit’s lips halfway. Had they been somewhere more private, he might have deepened the kiss or pulled Bilbo flush to his chest, but their guards were watching and other dwarves passed by them. Thorin lingered for a few more seconds before he fully drew back and gently tugged Bilbo along again.

“Tell me about hobbit weddings, bunnel”, Thorin said, hoping to direct Bilbo’s thoughts towards happier topics. “Ours will have to be dwarvish by virtue of our location and my status, but I would like to include as many of your customs as I can.” Provided Bilbo did not change his mind once Thorin gave him his third and final gift—not that that was going to happen anytime soon, since Thorin had yet to settle on any one idea.

“Grand, as all hobbit celebrations are, though knowing just how much you lot love ceremony it wouldn’t surprise me to learn yours are even more lavish.”

Thorin gave him a look. “It will be the first royal wedding in a while. The last one was that of Dís and Víli and took place in the Blue Mountains where we lacked the resources and gold for a proper celebration. Likely the largest we’ll have here, my coronation non-withstanding. Of course it’s going to be lavish.”

Bilbo huffed and shook his head as he often did when he found dwarven customs over the top, but would submit to it for Thorin and company’s sake. “Well, hobbit weddings last from dawn to dusk but can bleed into the following days, especially when it is gentlehobbits that are being wed. This is preceded by quite a lot of bureaucracy dealing with things like matrimony agreements, testaments, inheritance, and succession. The ceremony itself is held in front of the party tree, which is decorated with a thousand flowers and garlands. The heads of the families that the spouses-to-be belong to give speeches and blessings, before the nearlyweds weave flowers into each other’s hair. They then exchange rings, at which point they are considered married. What follows is partying, merrymaking, eating, and drinking.”

“That our peoples share.” Thorin paused briefly to kiss the top of Bilbo’s head and tried to imagine what his hair would look like with flowers among the curls. He couldn’t imagine wearing them himself, but he would somehow make it possible, no matter how much the others might snicker about it behind his and Bilbo’s backs. “Normal dwarven weddings last two days, but if a member of the royal family marries, they typically last much longer. There is much drinking, too, and feasting.”

“I was there for the wedding of Elrond and Celebrían, and a few other elvish ceremonies besides. The houses that the nearlyweds belong to come together in a feast as well. I do not know how Men do it, but I’d imagine it to be similar.”

Thorin pulled a face at the reminder that he would likely have to invite some elves to their wedding, maybe even Thranduil if Balin insisted on it. “All people of Middle-earth value food, even the foul orcs and goblins.” Though he did not want to know what they would consider edible.

As they walked, Bilbo began to tell him about the wedding of his late friends Belladonna and Bungo, a spectacle that all the hobbits of Hobbiton, Tookland, and almost all the surrounding settlements had been present for. “Belladonna was Gerontius’ oldest daughter, you see, and as such he went all out”, Bilbo told him. “The Bagginses would not let themselves be outshined by the Tooks, however, and poured just as much gold into the celebration. I don’t think there’s ever been a grander wedding since.”

Thorin listened to him with a smile, interjecting every now and then with a comment, information about dwarven customs, or a question which Bilbo was happy to answer. Soon they reached the front gates and exited the mountain, walking past the guards, dwarves going about their business, or Men on their way to or back from the ruins of Dale. Arm in arm they left the path leading away from the mountain and set out in the vague direction of the secret door but did not go up there; instead, Thorin led Bilbo to one of the spots he had loved as a child, which gave them a nearly unhindered view of the lands around them. His choice was quickly rewarded by a gasp from his One and the hobbit’s eyes lighting up.

As much as Thorin hated to admit it, Mirkwood in the distance looked beautiful. The trees there had been decked out in autumnal reds, yellows, oranges, and browns when Thorin and company had passed through—according to Nori whom they had sent up before they were captured by the spiders and then elves—and had lost all their colour as winter set in. Whatever unnatural magic lay over the place had made it so the trees did not lose their leaves, but they had gone grey and bleak, which must have made for a sad sight to a being like a hobbit. Now, with spring so close, the leaves turned green again and what vegetation grew around the Long Lake came back to life after their long winter slumber.

More beautiful to Thorin than any plant could ever be, however, was the unadulterated joy visible in his One’s expression which shone so brightly that it surpassed even the sun. Thorin looked at him from the corner of his eyes and couldn’t help but smile to himself. He wrapped an arm around Bilbo’s waist and pulled him close, content to stay here and watch him for however long the hobbit wished to stay outside. The kingdom could wait for a while.

The sun had begun its descent in the sky by the time Thorin and Bilbo returned to the mountain, only an hour before dinner would be served both in the company’s common room and the great hall. There was little use in going somewhere else until then—and Thorin had asked Dís, Fíli, and Balin to take care of whatever kingly business arose during the afternoon—so Thorin directed his and Bilbo’s steps towards the royal quarters…

…only to find the most direct way blocked by what looked like two carts that had fallen over and spread their contents of boulders and smaller pieces of debris all over the corridor. A number of dwarves were already busy clearing the mess away and one of them broke from the group to address Thorin directly after bowing to him. “Begging your pardon, your majesty”, they said, “but two labourers didn’t watch where they were going and collided. It’ll take us a while to clear it all away.”

They likely could have climbed over the boulders but there were other ways to the royal quarters. Thorin thanked the dwarf for the information and left them to their work, leading Bilbo and the guards towards another path that was less frequented.

Later, once the adrenaline and anger had worn off, Thorin would wonder whether the ‘accident’ with the two carts had actually been an accident and just how much everyone involved in it had known, but those were things Nori and Dwalin would find out. So large an operation had to have been organised weeks in advance—the mastermind behind it would be found sooner or later.

Thorin and Bilbo had barely turned into one of the empty corridors before several dwarves and Men jumped out in front of and behind them. Their guards, having kept a good distance between their charges and themselves both for privacy and because none of them had expected to be attacked here, were too far away to interfere and had to deal with another group by themselves.

Thorin pulled Bilbo close against the wall and put his body between the hobbit and the attackers from both sides, drawing Orcrist with his free hand. “Tell me you’re wearing your mithril shirt, Bilbo”, he murmured as the dwarves and Men got closer. Their weapons looked shabby and their armour wasn’t any better, but their numbers made them a threat.

“No… I came straight from the treasury as a dragon.”

Taking a second to glare at Bilbo over his shoulder, Thorin cursed in Khuzdul and tried to think of a quick exit strategy. If he could keep the attackers’ attention on himself, maybe Bilbo could slip away to safety. He suggested as much as he pointed Orcrist at the two groups, trying to keep them at bay. If he could keep them busy until more guards arrived—

“I’m not going to leave you alone, Thorin!”

Thorin parried an attack from one of the dwarves and pushed him into the Man behind him, sending both stumbling back into the others. The sword of one of the attackers from the right would have cut into Thorin’s arm, had he not worn armour underneath. “You’re unprotected!”

“And you’re outnumbered!”

Mahal, save me from the stubbornness of my One.

Two of the dwarves charged at him at once. Under normal circumstances, Thorin would have dodged them, but that would leave Bilbo vulnerable. The force of the hammer meeting his shoulder made Thorin grit his teeth against the pain. He swung his sword and managed to block the second dwarf’s knife, then retaliated by slicing right through their tunic into their chest. The dwarf cursed and made as if to jump back out of reach, but Thorin was quicker. Another attack with his sword and they went down with a cry of pain.

None of them were trained, that was readily apparent, but they had him surrounded. He could not take them on as he would have had he been alone, not without putting Bilbo at risk—and they knew that too.

They tried to overwhelm him with their numbers, attacking from both left and right. Some of the attacks he could parry or dodge, but one of the Men got him with her knife before Thorin could push her back. He ignored the cut on his face in favour of striking out against the closest dwarf, feigning left then hitting him on the right, Orcrist’s blade easily cutting through the old leather pauldrons and into the flesh between neck and shoulder. The dwarf spat out an insult in Khuzdul, for which Thorin repaid him by cutying his head off and kicking the corpse back, bringing two other attackers down with him. They got back up more quickly than Thorin would have liked and went for him again—

He was pushed aside and out of the way. Metal hit scales as Bilbo shot out in front of him and took one of the knives that had been meant for Thorin, blocking it with a clawed hand that immediately struck back and blinded the attacker in one eye. Before Thorin could even react, spikes cut through the back of Bilbo’s blazer and horns curled backwards from his forehead.

The change itself went so quickly Thorin could not tell what exactly happened. One moment Bilbo fell forward on his hands and let out a growl so low it made everyone in the vicinity freeze instinctually, the next his body grew and grew until Thorin was pushed backwards by a massive, golden leg.

Then Bilbo roared and the sound echoed through the corridor.

Pushed against the wall by the dragon’s sheer bulk, Thorin could not see either of the seven remaining attackers that had been going after him and Bilbo, but he saw those the guards had been dealing with well enough. In probably the most intelligent choice they had made in all their lives, the dwarves and Men took one good look at the dragon and immediately dropped their weapons.

Thorin tried to get to the front but Bilbo, without even turning around, wrapped his long tail around Thorin’s body and kept him in place. They would most definitely have words about that la-ter.

“I suggest you follow your compatriots’ example and surrender.” Bilbo’s voice was filled with such anger it almost did not sound like him at all—the rumbling was as loud and deep as thunder. “Before I decide to test how well dwarven walls withstand dragonfire.”

Though Thorin still could not see them, he heard the clanking of weapons being thrown on the floor. Not all of them or at least Thorin guessed so, since he felt Bilbo’s growl vibrate all the way to the tip of the dragon’s tail. A second later, there was more clanking. Only then did Bilbo fall silent again. He did not, however, release Thorin from his grip.

There was much shouting as—finally!—more guards arrived alongside Dís, Thorin’s nephews, Nori, Glóin, Óin, and Bifur. All of them skidded to a halt as they took in the scene, but they recovered quickly enough, proving once more just how resilient and hardy dwarves were as a race. While the newly-arrived guards took charge of the first group that had surrendered, the others tried to do the same with the ones that had attacked Thorin and Bilbo, but they were stopped by a snarl from the dragon. The massive head swirled around and golden eyes arrested them in their steps, sword-sized fangs bared in warning.

“Bilbo, uslukhê,² you can let them approach. It’s the guards, they’re here to arrest our attackers.” Thorin wriggled a little but Bilbo’s tail only tightened around him in response. Not to the point of becoming uncomfortable, but more than enough to keep him still. He could tell that Fíli very much wanted to say something about that, but a glare from Thorin shut him up (for now). “Let them through please, bunnel. The danger has passed, they mean us no harm. The longer we stay here, the bigger is the chance we’ll miss dinner.” If there was one thing Thorin had learned about hobbits it was that they took their meals quite seriously.

The dragon’s gaze moved from the guards to Thorin. Bilbo huffed and gave Thorin a dry look. “I’m not that easily manipulated, my dear.” Despite his words, Bilbo uncurled his tail and nodded towards the guards who carefully approached the dragon and passed by him. Then the golden eyes settled on Thorin once more—more specifically, the cut on his cheek. “What were you thinking, trying to take on eight opponents by yourself? They could have hurt you much worse than this. I very much do not like the smell of your blood.”

Thorin came to stand by Bilbo’s snout. He reached up and began petting the scales there, easily finding Bilbo’s favourite spot. “You were unarmed and did not have your mithril shirt. If you had fled like I asked—”

Bilbo bared his teeth in a snarl that had the closest guards flinching back. Thorin did not and returned Bilbo’s glare with one of his own. “As if I would leave you alone, surrounded by enemies on all sides!”

“I could have dealt—”

“I saw how well you dealt with them!” Bilbo’s tail swished back and forth in agitation. The guards took advantage of the fact that the dragon’s attention was directed towards their king and quickly led the attackers away to the dungeons. Nori followed after them. “Eight against one!”

“They clearly never had any combat training—”

“That doesn’t matter!” Black smoke rose from Bilbo’s nostrils. The dragon reared back, seemingly just as surprised at the smoke as everyone else, and abashedly curled his tail around his hind legs, almost like a cat. Once he had lowered his head again, Thorin obediently resumed his petting. “You were hurt trying to protect me. There’s nothing you can say that would make that acceptable.”

Thorin reached up and touched the cut on his cheek. “It’s not even that deep.”

Bilbo shot him a look and it was a testament to the expressiveness of his One’s eyes that Thorin could understand perfectly what it was meant to convey—that Bilbo was about to reach his limit for ‘dwarven ridiculousness’.

“Let me be the judge of that, laddie.” With that and absolutely none of the hesitance the guards had shown approaching Bilbo, Óin stomped up to them and forcefully turned Thorin’s head to the side so he could take a closer look at the wound. “It’s shallow enough, aye, but I’ll be applying a bit of salve just in case. Some of their weapons are beginning to rust.”

That was all the permission the others needed to come closer too. Dís joined Thorin and Óin, Glóin, and Bifur gathered the attackers’ weapons, and Fíli and Kíli came to stand at Bilbo’s other side and leaned against the dragon’s flank as if said dragon had not just threatened to burn seven people not even a minute ago.

“Dwalin is going to blow a fuse when he comes back”, Dís commented dryly.

Thorin rolled his eyes and sighed. “He’ll be doubling the number of guards, that’s for certain.” He could already hear Dwalin’s tirade and was very much not looking forward to it. “If Bilbo had worn his mithril—”

“If you ever want me to make Belladonna’s strawberry crumble muffins for you again, you better shut up now, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Thorin did so immediately, much to Dís’ amusement, but she wisely did not comment on it. Instead, she reached up and patted the side of Bilbo’s head once the dragon silently gave her permission. “Thank you for protecting my idiot brother from his own recklessness.” As had always been the case, she was completely unimpressed by the scowl Thorin directed at her.

Glóin and Bifur joined the rest of the dwarves. “Pretty shabby equipment.” Glóin showed them a knife that looked like it was one hard blow away from breaking apart. “Not dwarven made. Looks Mannish to me.”

“There were Men among them”, Kíli pointed out.

“I did not recognise any of the dwarves that attacked us, but that does not mean anything.” Thorin took the weapon from Glóin and inspected it more closely. “The Men in the mountain are Bard’s business. We will inform him as soon as he’s back from Dale.”

“They attacked you, the king, and the consort-to-be. That makes them your business.” Dís called over one of the guards and had them take the weapons and bring them to the dungeons. “Did Nori pick up any chatter about an attempted attack?”

“Not that he told me.” Which Nori, as spymaster of Erebor, most definitely would have done. It was almost impressive that he apparently had not known anything about it. “This must have been planned for weeks if not months. We will have to see who the dwarves are and if there is any connection between them.”

“That’s easy enough to find out. Search their quarters, question them separately, apply some… pressure.” Fíli shrugged. “Maybe let Bilbo do the interrogating. They were terrified of him.”

“Mahal’s forge, I would have been too, had he growled at me like that.” Kíli patted Bilbo’s side, drawing an amused rumble from the dragon.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I want you to stop trying to sneak into the kitchen.”

“Speaking of”, Fíli said, “dinner’s going to be served soon.”

“You’re not as big as Smaug was, Uncle Bilbo, but I don’t think you’re going to fit inside the common room.” Kíli grinned at his brother. “Means there will be more for the rest of us!”

Bilbo huffed out some smoke in the princes’ direction, making them cough and splutter. “I’m going to change shape before that, you rascals. Somewhere private.” He added when it looked like the two were going to suggest doing it right there and then.

“Do you have a set of clothes in your chambers?” Thorin asked and when Bilbo rumbled in affirmation, pressed a kiss to the dragon’s snout. “The corridors up to our rooms are big enough for you to walk up to the door. I’ll fetch the clothes for you and make sure you have privacy to shift back into a hobbit.”

The others followed, but stayed around the corner where they would not be able to see anything. Thorin slipped into Bilbo’s room, picked out what clothing his One would need, including the mithril shirt, and brought everything outside again. “I can leave if you want, ‘ibinê.”³

Bilbo leaned down and carefully pushed his snout against Thorin’s chest. “Nonsense. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Take a step back, though, just in case.”

Thorin did as told and watched as the dragon shrunk in size until all that remained was a hobbit. The transformation went just as quickly and fluidly as it did when Bilbo had shifted earlier and Thorin was still no wiser as to how it actually worked. He chalked it up to the strangeness of magic and helped Bilbo into his shirt, coat of mithril, vest, and then blazer. “One good thing came out of this.”

Bilbo paused in the middle of buttoning up his vest. “Which would be?”

Thorin reached out and gently tapped his finger against Bilbo’s courtship bead. “We finally know that beads do shift alongside you.”

The hobbit reached up and felt the braid himself. Then he gave Thorin a long look. “You’re going to add more and more of those to my hair, aren’t you.”

Thorin did not even try to deny it. “You know me well, ‘ukrad.”⁴ He pulled Bilbo close and kissed him.

For a moment, he forgot everything that had just happened. There was only Bilbo in his arms and Bilbo’s lips on his own.

Then he heard Kíli call out, “Is Uncle Bilbo decent again?”, which immediately broke the spell.

Thorin drew back from Bilbo with a smile and rolled his eyes. Bilbo, for his part, returned the smile with one of his own and called back, “I am dressed, yes.”

“Good”, Kíli proclaimed as he turned around the corner, the others following close by. “I’m hungry.”

------------

Just as predicted, Dwalin was very much not happy once he returned.

“Twenty guards.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “For the both of us?”

“For each of you.” Dwalin crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“Ten.”

“Twenty.”

“Ten.”

“Twenty. Balin’s already approved it.”

“Jalâdishi mê”,⁵ Thorin groaned and put his forehead on the table. Dwalin, the tosser, began to cackle.

------------

“Two of them had letters from Svíkja, son of Krefja.” Nori proclaimed and put said letters on Thorin’s desk. “From what I’ve gathered, these two then hired the other dwarves with promises of good coin.”

Thorin eyed the letters with disdain. “And the Men?”

Nori leaned against the wall and shrugged. “None of them were among the original group that came with Bard. They didn’t arrive at the same time but were seen talking to each other often enough. Could be they were bought like the dwarves, could be that they’re spies from the Master of Laketown.”

That those existed and were in the mountain was no secret to either Thorin or Bard. Probably there to search for weaknesses and ways to get more gold to the Master, but said gold was guarded by a dragon and would be behind the best dwarven locks once Bilbo was finally able to move into his rooms permanently. They would have had better chances if they waited for Bard and the rest of the Men to relocate to Dale with all the treasure that has reliably been identified as that of Girion and his people, but just because the Master was in charge did not mean he was smart.

“Has Bard decided on what he wants to happen to them?” Technically, Thorin would have the right and power to sentence them himself, but sooner or later Bard would have to assume kingship of his people and deal with them.

“Exile from Dale.”

“They attacked Bilbo and me. Among dwarves, that would see them executed.”

“Go over his head if you’re unhappy.” Nori twirled a braid around his finger. “Exile from Dale just me-ans they’ll slink back to Laketown. Not much of a punishment if you ask me.”

Thorin sighed and picked up one of the letters. “They’re his people, so it’s his decision. They’ll be banned from the mountain regardless of what he decides, so it won’t make a difference to us.”

Nori nodded towards the parchment in Thorin’s hands. “What are you planning on doing about Svíkja?”

“He was clever and only spoke between the lines. ‘Dealing with the pest problem’ could mean any-thing. ‘Rid the king of his gold problem’ could refer to gold sickness and be taken as slander, but that’s not enough to sentence him.” Thorin threw the letter down again and ran a hand through his beard. Now that Erebor was retaken, Thorin had let Bilbo talk him into growing it out again. It had been short for so long, it almost felt strange. “The other letter is vague as well. You found no others?”

“They were smart enough to destroy those, I reckon.”

“Then we have nothing. Svíkja is still in the Blue Mountains from what I’ve heard but he’ll come with the next caravan to join my council. Even if we could get dwarves there to search his quarters, Krefja would raise enough of a fuss to make it not worth our while. If the two dwarves confess about Svíkja’s involvement, we may have more course, but it would be the word of two commoners against that of a Lord.” Thorin leaned back in his chair and sighed in frustration. “We’ll have to keep a close eye on him once he arrives. It’s likely he will get sneakier about it next time because his first attempt didn’t succeed.”

“An attack out in the open was risky”, Nori agreed. “He might try poison next.”

“Have someone taste everything before it goes to Bilbo.”

Nori raised an eyebrow at him. “You know how often he sneaks into the kitchens and gets a bite now that there’s plenty of food for everyone? You’d have to taste everything in there and all your food too. Besides, can Bilbo even be poisoned?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hobbits are the children of Kamnûna,⁶ right? Sure, if elvish stories are correct some of the poisonous plants were added by Ushnakh⁷ after the fact, but most of them she created. It would stand to reason that hobbits, as her children, would be immune. Plus Bilbo’s a dragon and who knows if they can be poisoned.”

“You’d have to ask Bilbo about that. If it’s true, that’s knowledge we’ll keep to ourselves.”

Nori nodded in agreement. “Might be he would be able to tell if someone added something to his food. That would make things easier.”

“Perhaps they will make mistakes if they think we somehow manage to circumvent their schemes every time.” It was as good as any plan they could make with Svíkja and his father being so far away. Somehow Thorin doubted Balin would let him banish them without providing a good reason for it, not to mention the outrage it would cause among the other nobles. “I’ll tell Bilbo about the letters and what you’ve discovered. Thank you, udlagiraknadad.“⁸

As always whenever Thorin addressed either of the ‘Ri brothers as such, he was stared at in shock, astonishment, or embarrassment—Ori would stammer and blush, Dori would fight off tears, and Nori—well, Nori looked close to bolting out of the room. Perhaps Thorin could have eased the three ‘Ris into the term and title but a king had to get his amusement wherever he could and besides, sooner or later they would have to get used to it, now that they were officially recognised as members of Durin’s line.

Muttering something under his breath that Thorin did not understand, Nori slunk away. Once the door closed behind the spymaster, Thorin allowed himself to smile and went back to the documents he had been working on before Nori’s arrival.

------------

Almost all of the dwarves that had been involved in the attack—the ones who had orchestrated the cart blockade included—were publicly shorn and banished from the mountain and any other dwarven kingdom that wished to remain Erebor’s and the Iron Hills’ ally.

The two who had hired the others, however, received a harsher punishment—they were executed the day after their trial. Erebor’s first public execution was a dire affair, attended by all adult dwarves and Men with sombre expressions and under a grey sky, but with no pity for the two who had pulled the strings. Their desperate exclamations that they had only meant to kill ‘the beast’ moved absolutely no one.

The mastermind behind it all, Svíkja son of Krefja, would meet a similar fate sooner or later.

Bard, for his part, apologised for the involvement of the Men where all Erebor could hear it and banished them too. According to the customs of Men, the criminals were branded so that everyone who beheld their face would immediately know what they had tried to do. If they thought to find refuge in Laketown and try to hide there among the other Men, they would likely not find it, not when doing so would put the Master at risk of Erebor and Dale severing all ties with him.

Having Bilbo heat up the iron that was then put to the attackers’ faces was a nice touch that Thorin, bloodlust and thirst for retribution barely contained, very much approved of. “You’ll make a fine king”, he had told Bard once they were alone again. Bard’s response had been to groan in dismay and leave.

A king had to get his amusement wherever he could.

------------

“Not that I don’t trust you”, Bilbo said with a tone of voice that made it clear how suspicious he was, “but I am still very much confused as to why all this is necessary.”

All this referred to the fact that Bilbo was blindfolded and being led through the corridors by Thorin, who had a firm grip on his hand and carefully tugged him along. Their journey would be a short one and did not take them outside the royal quarters, the entry points of which were heavily guarded, so the two of them were alone. The others were already waiting at their destination.

“I told you, bunnel, it’s meant to be a surprise.”

“The lot of you weren’t exactly subtle the last few months. Had I wanted to, I could have found out right from the beginning. None of you are sneaky.”

It was a wonder no one had slipped up, but even excitable Kíli had managed to keep his mouth shut, likely because Tauriel pinched his side whenever he came close to spilling the beads.

Hiding a project as large as the one Thorin was leading Bilbo towards would have been impossible anyway. It involved far too many people, both inside and outside the mountain—dwarves, Men, and even elves, including Bilbo’s friends in Rivendell and Lothlórien. A lot of effort and dwarfpower had been needed, just as with any proper construction project, as well as weeks of planning, sketching, sending inquiries, and ordering everything that would be needed before the reconstruction work could even begin.

It all culminated in this moment—the grand reveal.

The idea for Thorin’s third courtship gift had come out of nowhere. He had not even been thinking about the khajamu amrâl⁹—he’d been walking from one meeting to the next, very much looking forward to his Bilbo-mandated luncheon break, when two random memories came together in his mind: Dís telling Bilbo of the times Thorin would sneak into his grandmother’s garden to steal berries and his first proper conversation with Bilbo.

It is tradition to give your intended as many flowers as they have in their garden or more. Those had been Bilbo’s words when he first explained hobbit courtship customs to Thorin. The idea is to show them that they will find a beautiful, bountiful garden with you.

A garden.

That was when the thought struck him.

Sigin’amad¹⁰ used to have a garden.

Bilbo missed his own garden back in the Shire.

Hobbits courted each other with flowers and wove them into each other’s hair when they got married.

If there was a way to restore his grandmother’s garden, perhaps…

Meeting be damned, Thorin had immediately turned around, ordered one of his guards to gather the rest of the company and his sister, and stormed towards the door that led to the terrace. That was where the others found him—standing right by the door with a look of dismay on his face.

“What in Mahal’s name has gotten into you?” Dís had asked, then stepped up next to Thorin and fell silent. “Oh.”

Hearing that, the others had pushed their way through the door as well.

What had once been a garden had become a scene of destruction. The mountainside above the garden must have collapsed when Smaug attacked; large boulders had destroyed what plants and flowers survived the queen’s death, as well as all the flowerbeds, fences, and carefully cultivated footpaths. It had not so much been a garden as a field of rubble.

“Were you hoping to find strawberries here?” Dwalin had asked after a good minute of silence between all fourteen dwarves. “’cause I don’t think anything survived that.”

“I wanted to give Bilbo the garden as khajamu amrâlê gêm…”¹¹ Thorin had shook his head and kicked a fist-sized rock in frustration. “I can’t even be sure if the terrace has obtained structural damage. Not to mention the work this will take… none of us have any idea how to build a garden.”

“Who made it for Queen Sóldís?”

Ori had immediately perked up at Balin’s question. “There are probably records of that in the library. Maybe we’ll find information on how to construct a garden too!” With that, the young scribe had run off, closely, but more slowly, followed by a bemused Balin and Dori.

There had indeed been records on who had made sigin’amad’s garden—a handful of Men from Dale had been in charge of that project once the terrace had been constructed by dwarves—and books on gardening, written mostly in Westron and Sindarin, but Thorin still decided to ask Bard and his people for help, which they had gladly offered.

So it was that now, months later at the end of spring, all the boulders had been removed and the terrace itself had been reinforced. Seeds for flowers and plants had been bought or sent from Rivendell, Lothlórien, and the heart of Thranduil’s kingdom (curtesy of Legolas and Tauriel), a net to catch both boulders and lightning had been installed, and the footpath had been reconstructed with a wooden bench that looked exactly like the one Bilbo had drawn for the book he gave Thorin.

In front of the door stood thirteen excited and anxious dwarves and an elf, eagerly awaiting Bilbo and Thorin’s arrival. Only once they reached the group Thorin removed Bilbo’s blindfold. Then, before stepping out of Bilbo’s way and line of sight, he gave him a quick kiss and said, “Bilbo Baggins, khajamu amrâlê gêm birâfbisi astû.”¹²

Bilbo blinked a few times before his eyes adjusted to the crystal light and took in the scene in front of him. “Is it normal that the third gift is given in front of friends and family?”

“Sometimes.” Thorin took Bilbo’s hand again. “But in this case, everyone is here because they all had a hand in your gift.”

As one, the others stepped aside, revealing the door behind them. Rectangular and stone-grey it had been before, but now it was round and green. Bilbo’s mouth fell open and his eyes went wide. “It looks just like the door to Bag-end!”

Thorin couldn’t keep the massive smile out of his face as he led Bilbo over. “I’m afraid you won’t find your hobbit-home behind that door, but I hope you’ll like your present nonetheless.”

Bilbo only hesitated for a second before pushing the door open.

As if Mahal himself had instructed Razdûna¹³ to guide her barge so the rays of Laurelin’s last fruit would bathe the garden in its warm rays, and had asked Usahu¹⁴ and Mamahdûn¹⁵ to keep the sky clear, Bilbo stepped out into the daylight and beheld the garden lit up in warm, pleasant tones.

Empty the flowerbeds were, as the time for planting had passed (and none of them knew where Bilbo would want each of the different types to go), but there was good, damped soil in them, waiting for whichever seeds Bilbo would decide on. The terrace was large enough for a dozen different kinds of flowers and plants to be grown, maybe even a tree or two, in case Bilbo wished for a party tree of his own. The metal net above them, glimmering in the sun like a thousand stars, would have to be adjusted upwards in that case but Thorin would move the mountain itself if that is what Bilbo wanted.

Thorin stepped around the hobbit and found Bilbo’s eyes shining brightly from unshed tears, mouth hanging open once more. For a heartbeat that felt like it lasted all of Thorin’s life up to this moment, he wondered, with horror so strong it nearly choked him, if Bilbo hated his gift. Maybe a garden suspended so far above the ground was offensive to hobbits? Maybe there was some kind of arrangement that the dwarves and Men had not known about? They should have written to the Thain, should have asked—

Then Bilbo started smiling and all the worries fell off Thorin’s shoulders.

“Oh Thorin…” The tears were running freely now. “You… you made me a garden?”

“This was my grandmother’s garden once.” Thorin took Bilbo’s hand again and led him along the path—past flowerbeds, fences, and the small pool where rainwater would gather—and pointed out where sigin’amad had grown and cultivated roses, other flowers whose names Thorin did not remember, and her berry bushes. They came to a stop in front of the bench, which made Bilbo smile even wider, and Thorin gently made him sit down on it before joining him. “Dís told you I would often sneak out here to steal her strawberries. Grandfather had this terrace constructed for her because sigin’amad loved it when the fields around the mountain came alive during spring. You told me once that hobbits give each other as many flowers as there are in their gardens.”

“I did”, Bilbo confirmed and wiped some of his tears away.

Thorin cupped Bilbo’s face and brought their foreheads together. “You said, ‘the idea is to show them that they will find a beautiful, bountiful garden with you.’ I cannot give you flowers yet, as the lands around the desolation will need to recover first, nor do I know how many flowers are in your garden in the Shire. I know you miss it, that you miss Bag-end and your armchair and books. The last two we can bring here, but not your garden nor your smial. So I thought—” Thorin swallowed against the lump in his throat. “I thought that I could build you a garden here instead. It will take some time for the flowers to grow, but we brought you seeds from all over to plant as soon as you want, even from Rivendell and Lothlórien. And maybe… if you accept the gift, that is… maybe once we marry, there will be enough flowers here for me to weave them into your hair.”

Bilbo’s laugh was wet but so, so happy and Thorin’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. “You gave me a garden. All of you.”

“Bard and some of the Men helped too.”

Bilbo drew back but Thorin did not have to miss the contact for long, as Bilbo threw his arms around Thorin’s neck, pulled him close, and pressed his lips against Thorin’s own. The kiss was messy—but it was perfect. “Khajamzu birâkini”¹⁶, Bilbo whispered against Thorin’s lips. “I accept, of course I do. Oh Thorin, you gave me a garden.”

Thorin smiled wryly. “I'm supposed to ask you first.” Not that he was actually complaining, not when Bilbo's face was brighter than the still-missing Arkenstone (not even the nobles or Lords were asking for it anymore) and the sun combined. “Amralizu. Bunnel, uslukhê, kurdelê, my Bilbo.”¹⁷

“I love you too, my Thorin.” Bilbo moved forward for another kiss, this one longer and softer than the last.

Once they broke apart again, Bilbo leaned against Thorin's side and put his head on Thorin's shoulder. “I can already picture what the garden will look like when everything blooms.” He pointed over to one of the flower beds, seemingly at random or at least it appeared so to Thorin. "I'll plant lemon geranium and yellow poppy there. Lily of the valley and snowbells there—” Another seemingly random spot. “—and purple columbine, amethyst, snowbells, wintergreen, and forget-me-not there. All flowers that will be able to survive the winters here. Where your grandmother grew them, I’ll plant roses, and over there will be different kinds of berries."

"Including strawberries?"

Bilbo laughed. “Of course! And blackberries, blueberries, raspberries, and many more besides.” He eyed a particular spot (which looked like any other to Thorin) and hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I’ll grow hemlock over there.”

Thorin stared at him in disbelief. “Isn’t that…?”

“The plant those two nobles tried to kill me with?” Bilbo looked at Thorin with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “Yes.”

Just as predicted, the moment Svíkja had arrived, the attempts on Bilbo’s life had continued. None so bold as the attack but poison, smuggled into Bilbo’s food and beverages. Had the company and Dís not known that ‘no natural poison’ could ‘kill a hobbit’, they might have panicked, but Bilbo merely assured them that even if that had not been the case, as a dragon he could eat anything and the worst that would happen was a stomach-ache.

“Anything?” Ori had asked in interest.

“Anything. Naturally that doesn’t mean that I would want to eat anything. Metal armour takes ages to digest and orc tastes particularly vile.”

So Bilbo had happily eaten food and drunk teas laced with foxglove, monkshood, belladonna, and other poisons, while Nori and Dwalin gathered definite proof and enough evidence to see Svíkja charged with treason and attempted murder on multiple counts. Thorin had argued often and increasingly vehemently that one attempt—not to mention two, three, and more—was enough, but the others had convinced him by reminding him that Svíkja likely had not been acting alone—Krefja, his father, pro-bably was involved, hungry for power as he was. “Better get both of them right away”, Balin had said with a pitying smile. “Bilbo is perfectly safe. If Svíkja tries to acquire artificial poisons, Nori will know right away.”

Ultimately, the wait had been worth it.

After every single poison attempt failed, Svíkja and Krefja must have got desperate. All their previous letters had been just vague enough to get them out of any accusation, but all that caution got thrown out of the mountain when the nth attempt to poison Bilbo failed again. Krefja bought hemlock and sent some of the plants to Svíkja. Neither made any attempts to disguise their actions.

When digested by a dwarf or Man, the plant would kill them within minutes—but to a hobbit it was a nice addition to any salad. Thinking himself safe when nothing happened for a few days after the hemlock arrived (because Nori let it through and kept a close eye on him), the dwarf mixed the extracted poison into tea and offered it to Bilbo during a meeting between the two, ostensibly arranged by Svíkja to get to know the future consort better. The idea likely came from Lady Oddvá and Zabad¹⁸ Hlei who had done the same a few weeks prior without any readily apparent ulterior motives. Very pleasant people, according to Bilbo, which elevated them in Thorin’s eyes above the general nuisance of most other nobles.

When Bilbo kept on talking amicably and with no signs of sickness, Svíkja had lost it, jumped up, and tried to attack Bilbo with a dagger. By the time the guards outside had stormed into the room, Svíkja was rolling around on the floor missing half his beard and his eyebrows and was trying to put out the flames eating at his clothes. Though Krefja had tried to save his son and himself by claiming Bilbo must surely have attacked unprovoked, his protests were quickly silenced by providing all the evidence Nori and his spies had gathered since Svíkja's arrival—the last letter the most damning of all.

Svíkja had been executed the very next day. Krefja would be brought to Erebor, shorn and chained, where he would meet the same fate.

Bilbo had pointedly eaten the poisonous leaves from the very plant Svíkja had tried to kill him with during the trial. Knowing his One, it wouldn’t surprise Thorin if Bilbo would indeed grow the hemlock in his garden just to be even more petty.

By now, the rest of the company and Dís had joined them in the garden. “Did he say yes?” Bofur asked with a wide grin and the question got repeated a couple of times, increasing in volume and excite-ment with each repetition.

“Yes! There would never have been a different answer! Kun, yes!” Bilbo laughed when all the present dwarves (and elf) cheered.

Somehow, everyone excluding Bilbo and Tauriel (who preferred tea) suddenly had tankards of ale in their hand, though Thorin had no idea where they had suddenly come from. The company, Dís, and Tauriel toasted to the king and consort-to-be, a clamour of deep dwarven voices mixed with well wishes and jokes in Westron and Khuzdul, and the light voice of Kíli’s One. Then the two princes produced their fiddles out of nowhere and played a cheerful little tune that was quicky picked up by the ‘Ri brothers with their flutes, Bifur and Bofur with their clarinets, and Dwalin and Balin with their viols. Dís laughed and clapped along, as did Tauriel, following Dís’ lead and smiling at her own dwarf who winked and began to dance. His brother followed suit, as did some of the other dwarves, to the hollering and entertainment of the rest of them.

Thorin took in his friends’ and family’s happiness and knew that his smile had surely spread across his whole face. When he looked over to Bilbo, the hobbit was also smiling brightly, one of his feet tapping along the music. Bilbo’s eyes met Thorin’s and he got up, signalling Thorin to follow him. He stopped a bit away from the others, where they had some privacy and would be able to hear each other speak.

“Among hobbits it would be bad luck to congratulate someone on something before it has happened”, Bilbo said with a fond shake of his head. “It is not certain that we will marry—after all, you have not yet received my last courtship gift.”

“They celebrate because there is no doubt I will accept whatever you give me. You could give me any old pebble and I would say yes.”

For some reason the idea seemed to amuse Bilbo. “Not quite.” He put a hand into his trouser pocket with a secretive glimmer in his eyes. “I have a present for you, too. I was trying to think of when to give it to you, but you just presented me with the perfect opportunity.” Bringing his hand back out again, Bilbo hid whatever it was in his fist. “Thorin Oakenshield, khajamu amrâlê gêm birâfbisi astû.” ¹⁹ With that, Bilbo uncurled his fingers.

Neither of them noticed how the music had stopped, nor did they feel the gazes of the others on them. All Thorin had eyes for was the object lying in Bilbo’s palm. “That’s an acorn.”

“That it is. I was flying high when I saw beautiful oak trees surrounding smaller trees. To me it see-med like they were sheltering or looking out for their smaller cousins whose arms were raised upwards in supplication or thanks. I know this was not actually the case—the smaller trees likely only benefitted from the shadow that the oak trees throw. But they reminded me of you—the oak trees, that is—not just because of your moniker, but also because that is what you do as king, is it not? You protect your people. You stand over them, arms spread wide, and give them shelter and happiness. You have done so since you became king, even when your circumstances were far from the best.”

Thorin didn’t know how to respond to that. He continued gazing at the acorn and marvelled at the thought that had gone into so small a thing—in size, but not in value.

Bilbo did not seem to take Thorin’s silence badly. Instead, he took Thorin’s hand and covered the a-corn with it, then put his own on top. “One day it will grow”, he said. “In four to five years, there will be an oak tree where I planted it and every time I look at it, I’ll remember everything that happened in my long, long life that brought me here: the good, the bad… and how lucky I am that I found my way home here with you and our friends.”

The lump in Thorin’s throat made it almost impossible to swallow. Thorin raised his eyes to meet Bilbo’s and blinked against the tears that had shot into his own. “Kidzuluslukhê²⁰… my love.” No more words came out of Thorin’s mouth, no matter how hard he tried. There were other ways of showing Bilbo just how much he loved him, however—and so, Thorin cupped the back of Bilbo’s head and pulled him into a long, deep kiss.

Mahal knew Thorin could have lost himself in the feeling—could have deepened the kiss even more, could have coaxed Bilbo even closer for more—but suddenly something rained down upon them. Thorin looked up and found that it had been flower petals. He followed their path to the culprit’s face and found Tauriel smiling at them warmly, but with a mischievous expression.

There probably were flower petals in his hair now, but Thorin did not mind, not with the way Bilbo gazed at him in wonder, his whole face alight. The others had the decency not to say anything or make a comment, even if Thorin could tell they were much wanted to. Instead, raising their tankards, they chee-red. “To the king and his consort!”

“To you”, Bilbo mumbled with a smile.

“To us.” Thorin pulled Bilbo close again for another kiss.