Thorin was not a romantic Dwarf.
For all his passion and intense emotions, he actually had little interest in matters of the heart. Oh, he loved deeply enough and would kill to protect those he cared for, but that was love of a different sort. He loved his family and friends and people. He loved his heritage and homeland and Creator. He never had any interest in the love that came with a One, the love of a bond mate and life companion. It held little appeal to him, and he felt that he was blessed enough in love.
Frerin had been the romantic one amongst them. He was the one who had spent his time daydreaming and waxing poetically about what it would be like to find his One. When they were children, he had always wanted to hear the love stories over the war ones. As they grew older, he was the one who spent hours trying to design the perfect bead to grant to his beloved one day. It took him years before he finally sketched out one that met his requirements. Thorin still had the drawing tucked away. It was wrinkled and faded and really quite worthless, but every time he tried to throw it out, he would recall the way Frerin's eyes had glowed when he showed it to him and found that he could not do it.
Dís had not cared either but she had always been more like Thorin in those terms. Frerin was the odd one out with his golden hair and easy smiles. Like a flash of golden lightening, his quick words and booming laughter had been the only thing that could make Dís smile and Thorin relax. He thought he would never need the sun because his little brother cast enough light on them all to live.
While Frerin had been the sun, Dís had been the moon. Hard and distant, she was the strong one out of the three of them. Even as a child she had been serious and clever; seeing the bigger picture easily and all the details that made it up. She had used her quick wit to protect her family and people and it had been that same wit that saved them after Erebor fell. Many Dwarves saw her as cold because of the distance she put between herself and others, but Thorin knew better. His little sister loved just as fiercely as the rest of them; she just didn't show it.
If Frerin was the sun and Dís the moon, then Thorin knew he would be the sky. He was the one who protected them and held them up for the world to see. He was vast and mighty but paled in comparison next to them. That was fine; Thorin didn't mind being in the background. His siblings were glorious so why wouldn't they get attention? Their love had been enough for him—his sun and his moon—and he never thought to ask for more. If his family loved him then what more could he ever want?
And then Frerin died.
Thorin thought he knew grief when they lost Erebor, but it was nothing compared to when he lost his brother. It was as if a piece of him had died with Frerin, and he knew he would never be the same again. Dís had been just as changed as him; his cold moon becoming even colder. Even their relationship became strained and tense without Frerin there to lighten them up. The three of them had been so intertwined that when a piece was cut out, they completely fell apart.
Things had gotten better when his sister found Vílin. The Dwarf had been common born—a potter, of all things—but he had loved Dís fiercely. His sister, in turn, had given him the smiles that she had once horded away only for Frerin. Thorin could not deny something so precious to his remaining sibling and had given them his blessing. When his sister had become pregnant a few years later, he had accepted the news happily but not given it much thought. He was happy he would be an uncle and that their line would continue on, but he never stopped to think about what his sister's child would mean to him.
That was why he was completely unprepared for the emotions that came upon him when Fíli was born.
Was it possible to love someone without knowing them? Thorin had never thought as much until the day he held his nephew. He had looked upon that little red and scrunched face and felt his heart soar with love. He never wanted to set his nephew down again; he wanted to hold him and watch him and protect him from every danger in the world. He wanted to teach him how to hold a sword, how to read their mother tongue, and to give him sweets when Dís was not looking. When Kíli followed a few years later, he had felt the same consuming love and fierce need to protect him. His nephews had filled the void that Frerin's death had left in him. They became his sunlight and the only ones who could make him laugh and smile again. For the first time since his brother's death, Thorin finally felt complete again.
That was, until he met Bilbo Baggins.
It was not love at first sight. In fact, at first, he found the Hobbit odd and a bit suspicious with his easy attitude. He was also rather annoying too when he questioned Thorin's every word without fear. But the Hobbit could hold his own and never whined, so he couldn't complain. He honestly didn't give the burglar much of his attention until the troll incident where he declared that he would rather die than risk Fíli.
That was... interesting.
It didn't exactly endear him to the Hobbit, but Thorin could respect someone who protected his sister's sons. He didn't know why the little burglar cared but he wouldn't question his intentions. As long as he didn't go back on his word, then what did Thorin care what the Hobbit did? He still didn't give Baggins much thought though he was appreciative when he saved Fíli (again) from Azog. He was even willing to pay such a debt back dutifully and could not understand why the Hobbit resisted his offer.
But everything changed when Baggins punched him in the river.
The Hobbit had been so furious, so hurt by his words that Thorin couldn't help but feel guilty. He knew he wasn't the most pleasant of Dwarves around, but he didn't like to intentionally hurt someone who had done him no harm. The burglar had accepted his apology even though he made Thorin promise not to seek revenge on Thranduil. Feeling guilty and a bit ashamed, he had agreed easily enough to the promise. He even found himself granting the burglar—Bilbo—permission to call him by his first name.
After that, Thorin found himself watching Bilbo. He watched the way the Hobbit never seemed fazed by whatever they encountered, and never lost his composure even when angry. He watched Bilbo fret and worry over the others to a rather alarming degree, and how he easily placed himself in danger for them. He watched the burglar ask the others questions, and saw how intently he listened to their stories as if he honestly cared. He marveled over Bilbo's bravery and how he boldly confronted even Thranduil despite the great harm the Elf could bring upon him. He even watched how much the small Hobbit seemed to eat throughout the day and wondered where he put it all.
But mostly, Thorin watched the way the sun made the gold strands in his brown hair light up. He counted the freckles on his cheeks and studied the arch of his cheekbones. He pondered over the exact shade of brown Bilbo's eyes were, and marveled over how red his lips grew when he bit them. He memorized the melody of his laugher and traced the teasing curve of his smile in his mind.
Then, eventually, he began to wonder what it would be like to be the cause of those smiles.
Thorin had known love, but he had never known a love quite like this. It consumed his every thought and dream. He found himself itching to know everything about Bilbo; from the good to the bad and even the boring bits in between that didn't really matter. He wanted to be the reason for the Hobbit's laughter and wanted to comfort him when he cried. He wanted to give Bilbo everything he ever wanted and burned to protect him from everything horrible and ugly in the world. He wanted to run his fingers through those wild curls and trace the trail of freckles with his lips. He wanted to see his bead braided into Bilbo's hair and wanted to erase every memory of that dead fool from the Hobbit's heart.
Thorin wanted many things in his life—to reclaim Erebor; justice for his family; revenge against Smaug and Thranduil; safety and security for his people—but he could honestly say that he never wanted anything quite as much as he wanted Bilbo Baggin's heart.
~*~
"You're cheating."
"I am not. You just suck at cards."
"No, I agree with him. You're cheating."
"Lies, all lies."
"If I quit now do I get any of my money back?"
"No, Ori, that's not how the game works."
"Don't worry about it. I'll win your money back for you."
"Of course, you will because you're cheating."
"You keep using that word, but I don't think it means what you think it does."
Bilbo bit his lower lip to keep his laughter from spilling out as he watched Ori, Nori, Glóin and Bofur play a game of cards before him. The four sat in a circle with a pile of coins and jewels in the middle. So far Nori was winning, which really was not a surprise to him. But what did surprise him was that Bofur and Ori were losing while Glóin was catching up to Nori. He assumed that being the younger brother and good friend of a thief, the two would be better at cards. Obviously though Nori failed to teach them anything useful.
Behind him, Dori sighed as he continued to re-braid the Hobbit's hair. His braids had become messy and unkempt after the battle, and the Dwarf had noticed and offered to fix them. He had accepted and then quickly rethought that decision when the older Dwarf broke out a box of combs and beads and other hair accessories that he had no way of identifying.
"You don't have to do this," Bilbo repeated again for the fourth time that night.
"I am aware of that," Dori replied without pausing in his task. "Lean back please."
The Hobbit sighed and did as asked. "I hope you're not weaving ribbons and lace into my hair."
"Of course not. I hardly have the proper materials for such work," the warrior scoffed. "No, I won't weave anything into your hair just yet. We'll wait for your hair to get longer before we do that."
"You sound confidant that I'm staying here," he mused, staring up at the dark ceiling.
Dori snorted and gently tugged on the curls in his hands. "We both know you're not leaving. You made that clear when you allowed Thorin to braid his beads into your hair."
Bilbo blinked. "What do his clasps have to do with me not leaving?"
The Dwarf finally paused in his braiding. "They... Did Thorin not tell you about the meaning behind his beads?"
He shook his head slowly in order not to ruin the unfinished braids. "Nope. All he said was that he didn't have anything to tie the ends with, so he had to use his clasps."
"Of course, he did," the Dwarf muttered before continuing his task. "Blasted fool. Bilbo, time for a lesson in Dwarven culture. When a Dwarf offers to braid their bead into another's hair then they are essentially asking that individual for their hand in marriage."
Bilbo froze. "Wait... Are you telling me that Thorin proposed to me? And he didn't say anything first?!"
Dori clucked his tongue and pushed the rising Hobbit back down with one hand. "Calm down. No point in yelling at him now. Wait until he's awake and better before you go off on him."
"I will," he seethed as he crossed his arms over his chest. "He's going to wish he never met me—wait, did I unknowingly accept? Are we engaged?!"
"No," the Dwarf replied, and Bilbo sighed in relief. "To show that you accept you would have to give him back one of the beads he gave you. Wearing them simply shows that you're considering his proposal."
"What I'm considering is the best way to kick his kingly behind back to the Blue Mountains," the Hobbit growled. "How dare he pull such a sneaky tactic on me? If he wanted to marry me then he should have simply come out and asked!"
"If he did, would you have accepted him then?" Dori wondered as he tied off another braid.
"I don't know," he said honestly because the idea of Thorin even loving him was still hard to believe. "Can a king even marry a commoner? Or a Hobbit at that?"
"The law says no but Thorin can easily change that," the Dwarf replied. "There are a few perks to being king."
Bilbo sighed and tapped his fingers against his elbow. He did not know how to take such news. Why did Thorin propose to him and not say anything? Did the Dwarf plan it that way or was it spontaneous? And why had no one told him the meaning of the beads earlier?
"Why didn't anyone mention this?" he asked out loud, glaring at the four Dwarves playing cards because they were the only ones he could see at the moment.
"We all—foolishly—assumed that Thorin would explain the meaning behind the beads," replied Glóin without looking away from his hand, "and then eventually ask you to marry him."
"Last time we assume our dear leader does anything smart," muttered Nori as he stroked his beard and considered his hand.
"Don't worry; with the way Bilbo is fuming, I'm thinking Fíli is going to king soon enough," reassured Bofur, grinning his dimple-grin.
Ori paled under his bruises at the thought. "I'm moving back to Ered Luin!"
"We should've guessed that he didn't say anything when he told you he loved you," Dori mused as he gently tugged some stubborn curls into place. "You look so stunned that I thought you would faint."
"It was a big blow to me," he admitted quietly. "I never thought in a thousand years that Thorin would ever come to see me as more than a friend. It just seems so... unlikely."
Bofur clucked his tongue as he threw a card onto the ground. "You need to give yourself some more credit there, Bilbo. Anyone would be lucky to have your heart."
"It's true. If it was anyone else but Thorin chasing after you, then I would have already challenged him to a duel to prove that he was worthy enough for your hand," reassured Glóin as he squinted down at the card Bofur threw.
Bilbo blinked a few times. "A duel? Now what does that prove?"
"That he's strong enough to protect you," Dori explained simply.
"How silly. I can take care of myself just fine," he said, wrinkling his nose and ignoring the scoffs and snorts he got. "In the Shire, we don't hold duels but contests. For lads it's usually a drinking contest and for the lasses a dancing one. Of course, you can change it up, as some lads are better at dancing and some lasses are better drinkers."
"Wait... are you saying that if Thorin wants to marry you, then he needs to enter a drinking contest?" Ori clarified as he looked up at Bilbo with his brows raised. "Who is he supposed to out drink?"
"Well, since my parents are gone and I have no siblings, it will probably be my cousins or uncles and aunts," Bilbo mused as he thought over his family tree. "There are two rounds before he would face off against the matriarch of my family—which would be Grandmother Baggins."
Nori and Bofur began to choke and cough while Glóin cackled, and Ori just stared.
"Your grandmother?" repeated Dori, actually pausing in his braiding.
He sniffed and gave them all a dirty look. "Grandmother Baggins has never lost a drinking contest in all her one-hundred and twenty-one years. Can any of you claim to hold such a record?"
"How often does she drink?" Ori asked sensibly.
"She carries a bottle of wine with her," the Hobbit drawled, rolling his eyes. "So, I'm thinking every single day of her life."
"Wow. That sounds wonderful," Bofur admitted, going slightly misty-eyed. "I should start doing that..."
"You'd get drunk and fall off a mineshaft and die," Nori pointed out, rolling his eyes. "Stick to drinking only at mealtimes."
"So, what do these contests prove to your family?" Ori asked as he rubbed as a bruise on his chin. It was slowly turning purple and made Bilbo wince every time he looked at it.
"Nothing so important," he said, looking away from Ori's bruise. "It's just a challenge to see how far the challenger is willing to go for their beloved. If you refuse or lose early, then it's obvious to your intended that they don't mean much. But if you keep at it and don't stop, then even if you lose, you can still marry your intended because you've shown their family how much they mean to you."
The Dwarves all shared a look.
"That actually sounds smart," Glóin admitted.
"Very practical way of gauging how much your kin matters to the challenger," Dori acknowledged.
Bilbo snorted. "We hobbits are very practical folk. Why do you think we avoid the rest of the world?"
"Are you sure you don't mean 'suicidal' folk?" Nori wondered as he threw a card down.
He made a shooing gesture at the Dwarf. "Quiet you. Don't upset Ori again."
"Hey!" protested the scholar.
Dori lightly tugged on his hair again. "I'm done now. You can get up."
He nodded and reached up to feel his hair as he got to his feet. Dori had braided some of his hair back into a multitude of little braids with little gold clasps that, when he shifted, clinked together like a bell. It felt strange but it kept his curls under control and out of his face so he could not complain. He still liked the two front braids best where Thorin's claps were.
"Thank you, Dori," he said, turning to Dwarf. "I do appreciate this."
Dori gave him a half-smile as he gathered his things together. "It was no problem. I'm rather used to braiding hair."
Bilbo glanced at Ori and Nori's long and thick hair and didn't doubt it. His eyes then drifted past them and to the crumbling hall where Thorin, Fíli, and Bifur were taken hours before. "Do you think Óin will allow visitors now?"
"I don't know," Bofur admitted, following his eyes. "But he may make an exception for you."
"Won't know until you ask," pointed out Nori.
He nodded and pulled his shoulders up and straightened his spine. "Right. I'm going to go and see then."
"Good luck. Tell us how they're doing if you do see them," Ori said as the Hobbit began to march off.
"Try not to kill Thorin just yet," Glóin reminded him without looking away from his hand. "Remember: King Fíli and his heir Kíli!"
Bilbo shuddered at the idea. "Right. Will do."
~*~
The injured three Dwarves had been taken into the most stable part of the mountain to be cared for earlier. Ironically, it turned out to be the treasure room that was the safest. Bilbo found a few of Dáin's warriors guarding the entrance and, after taking a look at this hair, they allowed him to enter. Inside he found Dáin and Balin in deep discussion with a tired and worn looking Óin.
"—stable for now. He's not coughing up blood anymore but there's no way of knowing if the wound is healing," he heard Óin explain to the two as he drew closer. "If he gets through the night without trouble, then maybe he'll pull through. But there is no way of knowing for sure."
Balin sighed slowly, the line and creases in his face deepening even more. For the first time, Bilbo noticed the white bandage peeking up from his collar, and how he favored his left side more. Even Dáin stood rigidly with his powerful shoulders tense and his face a bloodless white that brought out his dark bruises even more.
"We will have to tell Bofur and Bombur," Balin said softly, rubbing his eyes with two fingers. "They deserve to see him in case he passes in the night..."
"Would you like me to explain it to them?" Dáin questioned as he eyed the worn Dwarf at his side.
Balin shook his head firmly. "No. No, I will do it. No offense, Dáin, but they should hear it from a friend."
"None taken," the warrior reassured as his blue eyes met Bilbo's. "Besides, I think I should help Master Baggins here."
Balin and Óin both turned to look at the Hobbit.
"Bilbo," Balin greeted with a nod.
"Are you injured?" Óin demanded immediately because bedside manner was something only taught to Elven healers. "Bleeding anywhere? Lost a limb? Tell me now before I leave."
Bilbo rolled his eyes and held his arms out and turned around so the Dwarf could see him completely. "I'm fine, Óin. Only a few bruises and scrapes. Tauriel and Beorn protected me for most of the battle."
"Hmp." Óin sniffed and eyed him up and down slowly. "So you say. I'll give you a full examination tomorrow when I don't have critical patients to deal with. Balin, go tell Bofur and Bombur to get over here soon. Dáin, try to drag Kíli off his brother if you can. I don't need him fainting from exhaustion. Again."
Balin nodded and Dáin cocked his head back in a lazy salute. Seeing his work done, the healer turned and stomped off to presumably see to his other patients. With Óin gone, Bilbo leveled his gaze on the two remaining Dwarves.
"Where is Thorin?" he asked bluntly.
"Sleeping. Come along; I'll take you to him," Dáin replied, spinning on his heel and stalking off without waiting.
Bilbo gave Balin a nod before he hurried after the warrior. Dáin led him silently up a few flight of stairs before turning into a small alcove. There, resting on a bed of furs and quilts, laid the unconscious King Under the Mountain. At his feet sat Dwalin; bruised and injured but still loyally guarding his king.
Dwalin's dark eyes glanced up at their approach and he blinked rapidly. "Bilbo?"
"He came to visit," Dáin explained as the Hobbit pushed past him and stumbled over to the king. He dropped to his knees at Thorin's side and wordlessly looked over the Dwarf.
Thorin had been stripped of his armor and clothes and left with only bandages for modesty. They wrapped around his chest and shoulder and though Bilbo could not see his lower half thanks to a quilt, he had a feeling it was also bandaged. The white of the bandages made the king's skin seem sickly and reminded the Hobbit of how waxy Thorin's skin turned in death. The only reassurance that Bilbo could find in the sight was the slow but steady rise of his chest.
"Óin drugged him to sleep so he wouldn't have to deal with the pain," Dwalin said quietly as he watched the two. "He'll probably be out of it for the next few days. Only way to help him fight corruptions and heal."
Bilbo nodded as he slowly reached out and pushed the inky black hair off of Thorin's face. It was a mess and hung in his face and stuck to his sweaty and heated skin. It looked very uncomfortable to the Hobbit. Vaguely, he heard Dáin say something to Dwalin about sleep before he heard the sound of his heavy boots stomping off, but he didn't give it any mind. Instead, he busied himself by pushing the king's hair off his face and away from his neck and wiping his face with his handkerchief.
"Were you hurt? In the battle?" Dwalin asked quietly as he watched the two.
He shook his head as he patted Thorin's forehead dry. "No, nothing serious. I was well protected by the others."
"Good. I didn't want to face Dori or Balin if something happened to you," the warrior grunted.
Bilbo snorted and glanced up at the warrior leaning against the wall with one leg bent up so he could rest his elbow on it. The warrior's face was a mess of scratches and bruises and one of his ears was bandaged up as was his right forearm. But he could not see any other wound on the Dwarf and wondered if he was hiding more under his clothes.
"How are you?" he asked, meeting Dwalin's dark eyes. "Any serious injuries?"
Dwalin shrugged one shoulder. "Nothing worth crying about. Cracked something in my knee but that's all. Why are you here?"
"Making sure your stupid king didn't kick the bucket," he replied, raising his brows. "Why? Do you not want me here? I can leave if you desire that—"
"That's not what I meant," Dwalin said, interrupting him and rolling his eyes. "I meant why did you choose to come back? I thought you would be too angry or heartbroken to come."
Bilbo shrugged and glanced down to watch the slow rise and fall of Thorin's chest. "I wanted to make sure you were all still alive and safe. I wanted to see... I wanted to be sure that Thorin did not die protecting me."
Dwalin had nothing to say to that.
"Do you think the madness has left him yet? He seemed almost back to his old self when I saw him," the Hobbit mused as he shifted to sit with his legs crossed.
"I don't know," the warrior replied, his brow wrinkling. "After you left, he holed himself up in a room and would not come out. When he finally did, it was to fight in the battle."
"Oh." He glanced to Dwalin before looking back to the unconscious Dwarf. "Do you think he can hear us?"
"Hmm. Maybe you should try telling him a story," suggested the Dwarf.
Bilbo stared at him. "What?"
"A story. Balin told me that once, when they were children, Thorin became very sick. The sickness he caught is an incurable one that clogs the lungs so you cannot breathe easily. It killed his grandmother, and everyone thought it would kill Thorin too," the warrior explained with a small frown. "But the princess-consort did not believe that. She said she would not lose her son and so she read to him every day; telling him stories of great heroes who overcame the odds against them. She did this to encourage him to keep fighting his illness no matter how hard it got. And that's what he did; Thorin survived it and got better again to become that hero his mother told him stories of."
"A story?" he repeated quietly, looking back to the king. "But what story should I tell him?"
"Anything. Just... Just talk to him. Let him know he's not alone," Dwalin said quietly as he looked away from the two.
Bilbo closed his eyes and thought back to all the stories his mother used to tell him as a child. He recalled the many tales he read in Rivendell and even the stories that Gandalf used to share with him. But for some reason none of them felt right. The words of a different story—one that he had never shared honestly—came spilling out of his lips before he could stop them.
"Once there was a Hobbit who lived in a beautiful but empty home. He was healthy and respected by many but lived a lonely and empty life. Then, one day, a wizard came knocking on his door..."