An Unexpected Addition (Thilbo - Bagginshield)

Bedtime

"Now twist the left strand over the top strand. There you go, that's it."

The Company members had all gone their separate ways after the issues of urgent raven messages, naked skin-changers, and imprisoned traitors of the stupidest variety had been dealt with to Thorin's satisfaction. Bilbo had spent the better part of an hour helping Dís heave her oldest son back to his rooms, the crutches catching on carpet edges and tiny pieces of rubble that had been overlooked in the initial cleanings of Erebor's central halls. There was still so much work that had to be done around the city, including huge amounts of reconstruction on the walkways, lower corridors, and central floorings. It would take at least several more decades of meticulous, nonstop labor to restore the Lonely Mountain to its former glory.

"Pull that one down there over the strand in your other hand," instructed Thorin, a patience to his voice that was rare even in private. "Pull a little bit tighter around the ends to keep it taut, and then tie it off with this."

"You've got too much hair," said Frodo. "Like a bear. Or Farmer Maggot's bloodhounds after their baths. It made them kinda fuzzy. Ah!"

"Here, try it again. But hold onto the ends really tight this time, okay?"

"I don't think it likes me."

Thorin laughed. "That's okay, I don't think it likes me half the time, either. Or Fíli and Kíli. My younger brother and sister, too. All of them used to yank tangled clumps out when they tried to comb and braid it. Kíli's the worst, though. There's a very, very good reason why his hair's always unbraided, you know."

"I got marmalade in my hair before," said Frodo, pink tongue peeking out in fierce concentration as he tried to braid Thorin's hair. "Mama chopped it off because she wasn't able to get the stickiness out. I thought it smelled tasty, though."

"Eating your hair isn't healthy, little one." Thorin was leaning forward so that the little hobbit could reach past his rounded ears, large hands supporting Frodo's body as he practically crawled up the King's chest. "I can imagine that it'd cause quite a bit of nasty indigestion, too. And I assure you, there's plenty of indigestion in this Company to go around, especially if Bombur's in the room."

"And Glóin," giggled Frodo, spreading his arms wide to show Thorin how big the fart had seemed to him. "He let out a gigantic, stinky one last week. It smelled like Uncle Rory after he'd eaten Aunt Menegilda's bean soup. Icky."

"Why does that not surprise me," mused the King. "Ah, ah, careful with the beard. It's rather sensitive until the first few inches start to grow in. Here, watch how I do it. The strands have to be much smaller until it's lengthened a bit more, but I've managed a small braid the past couple nights. It is quite pitiful compared to the braided beard I wore before the desolation, though."

"I like your beard right now," said Frodo. "It's fuzzy. Like a peach."

Bilbo could barely contain his laughter from where he was secretly watching right inside of the washroom door. The hobbit had been finished with his bath for a half-hour now, but the sight of Thorin lounging on his bed with a curious and sleepy Frodo in his lap had been too precious for Bilbo to interrupt. Frodo had made himself at home on Thorin's big thighs, intently braiding the Dwarf-King's black mane of hair as Thorin explained exactly what a skin-changer was and how they were useful to Erebor in the long-term. Intelligent and attentive as ever, Bilbo's nephew asked just the right questions at just the right times, thoroughly proving the older hobbit's suspicions about the craftiness that lay behind those innocent baby blue eyes.

He'd have to watch the little boy around Nori in the future.

"Like a peach? Now that's just plain cruel," accused Thorin, his face still as stoic as ever despite the joking tone in his voice. "We dwarves are more like—"