Homeward Bound Part Two: Grace and Redemption

Chapter Twenty-Five

"What were you thinking?" Bilba demanded trying, somewhat successfully, to keep her voice down.

Thorin raised an eyebrow from where he was lounging on a couch as if he hadn't just dropped earth shattering news on Gondor's Steward as easily as one might report the weather. "I was thinking to restore a fellow exiled king to his throne."

Bilba huffed in the sort of exasperation only Thorin seemed to be able to elicit. After some fumbling and quick requests for people with more authority at the gates, it had been determined that the king of Erebor had, in fact, shown up unannounced without an entourage.

A move Bilba was sure would get him labeled as eccentric, which probably wouldn't be all that big of a problem in the end since it was true.

They'd been ushered in with much kowtowing and genuflecting as if Thorin's actions were somehow Gondor's fault, and shown to private chambers to clean up. Bilba had been able to take the first real bath she'd had in months and had stayed in the tub until it was quite possible she'd turned part fish.

After, she'd gone into the main room to find her clothing cleaned and mended, sans the ring, Thorin's braided bracelet and Adalgrim's watch, all of which she'd kept with her. She'd dressed, replaced her belongings in their various pockets, and opened her door to find an attendant waiting to show her to the room they were now in. It was huge and ornately decorated, sporting a wide balcony that gave an exceptional view of the city and surrounding landscape. The room was located on the topmost tier of the city, in an area Bilba was sure they never would have seen without Thorin's presence.

She was fairly sure the couch said dwarf was currently sprawled in cost more than Bag End but Thorin appeared utterly at ease. Fili and Kili were at a far window while Aragorn was sitting on the edge of a nearby table. Probably not quite the proper use of a table but, seeing as how he was the rightful heir to Gondor, Bilba figured he could do as he wished.

"And what if the fellow exile didn't want to be restored to his throne?" she asked through gritted teeth. She didn't know why she bothered. Once Thorin had it in his head that a certain route was correct it was nearly impossible to convince him otherwise.

Thorin gave her a disgusted look, though Bilba had a sense it wasn't directed at her specifically. "Then he wouldn't deserve to be king." He shifted, leaning forward and clasping his hands together between his knees. "I spent a century watching my people starve, knowing they were my responsibility."

"It wasn't your fault," Bilba said in surprise. She sank down on the couch beside him and lightly put a hand on his forearm. She could feel the knots of muscles under her fingers, as tight as the wire Farmer Maggot used to try and keep the foxes out of his henhouse. Her fingers didn't reach the edges of his arm and it struck her suddenly how easily she'd sat beside him, despite his size and current mood. When was it exactly, she wondered, that she'd moved from terror of him to unquestioning faith?

"It was," Thorin responded simply. "I was their king, after the failure of my father and grandfather."

"You didn't ask for it," Bilba cut in but he shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. I was born to it, chosen by Mahal to keep his children safe. It may not have been my choice, but it was my responsibility. A king does not rule over dust and cold rock. Erebor is our home, but my kingdom has always been her people. A king who refuses to take responsibility for that, who chooses to abandon them, doesn't deserve the throne the Valar have blessed him with."

Or cursed them with, Bilba thought, thinking over her history and what she knew to be the fate of many of Middle Earth's royalty. She frowned and then, with a stab of guilt, decided she might give seeing things from his perspective a chance every now and again. After a moment, she sighed and dropped her eyes, shoulders slumping slightly. "I don't know how you put up with me sometimes."