"Roar! I'm the mighty Smaug! Bow down, foolish dwarves!"
The royal drawing room was raucous that evening, all of the dwarves gathered in small circles throughout the large chamber. Bilbo sat in a plush chair before the glowing fireplace, one of Ori's new knitted blankets draped over his lap and a warm cup of apple cider in his hands. His nephew was on the carpeted floor beside him, playing with some of the many toys Bofur, Bifur, and the princes had made for him. The glorious battle was currently being narrated by Bofur, who was playing the dreadful part of Smaug with the extremely detailed toy dragon he'd designed himself.
Bilbo had almost objected to all of the toys, but the excited expressions on each of the dwarves' faces had stayed his tongue. The only reason Fíli and Kíli weren't also down there playing with the toys themselves was because of their presence down in Erebor's real-life dungeons instead. Both princes had been very grim when Bilbo had seen them shortly before supper, their mouths set into thin lines as they ate their ham and cheddar casseroles and then departed to meet up with their uncle. It was an unsettling sight to Bilbo, seeing a frown of that sort on the princes.
Even Bard would've been impressed, and that was really saying something. Few existed who could be grimmer than the King of Dale.
He much preferred the boys smiling and laughing, it fit their personalities so much better than those nasty, terrible frowns. Even if Fíli's frowns made his braided moustache look like a weeping willow. But that was pretty depressing, too.
"No! You can't eat him! Bad dragon! Very bad dragon!"
Frodo was crawling all over Bifur in an effort to attack Bofur's flying dragon, his toy version of Thorin trying to whack at the cackling lizard with a tiny wooden rendition of Orcrist. The older hobbit was very relieved that Frodo seemed to have forgotten all about the drama from earlier, his own ears still ringing with the screams of the unknown dwarf who'd had his tongue cut out by Dwalin. He'd scarcely even glimpsed Thorin earlier, the Dwarf-King only confirming Frodo's safety before storming out of his throne room, both of his nephews directly behind him.
Balin appeared at his side a few minutes later. The elderly dwarf took a seat in the armchair across from him, smiling down at the game of siege being played on the floor. A tankard of ale was clutched in his hands, a testament to how long and grueling the past several hours had been for the King's advisor.
"How are you doing, laddie?"
"Alright, I suppose," said Bilbo. He took another sip of his cider. "I'm still fairly puzzled by what happened earlier, but Frodo seems to have forgotten all about it. So, I'd say I'm alright with that."
"Well, I reckon some explaining would be called for right about now," said Balin, carefully waiting until Bofur and Bifur had lured the younger hobbit to another part of the room. "Especially considering the circumstances in which it occurred. My brother reacted quite a bit more violently than usual, but I think you'll understand his anger once I've had a moment to elaborate on the actual cause."
Bilbo waved his hand. "Well, elaborate away."
"The dwarf that incurred my brother's wrath goes by the name of Kozul. He's one of several dozen dwarves who arrived in Erebor about eight months ago from northeast of the Sea of Rhûn. And if you know your geography as well as I suspect you do, then you'll be able to deduce that the climate's quite inhospitable up that way. We were quite wary of their sudden arrival, especially since Erebor had very little in the way of good relations or peace treaties with the far eastern dwarves during Thrór's reign. But Thorin believed that turning them away would make his claims to Erebor appear weak, so he accepted them as miners and craftsmen within hours of their arrival."
"Do they still have a king in their homelands?" Bilbo inquired.
"We assumed them to be similar to the likes of Nori," said Balin with a smile. "A group of misfits or petty criminals who'd not mingled well in their own kingdoms. It'd be simple to remove them, if need be. Several left Erebor within the first few weeks, not too pleased to be living within a kingdom of strict laws again. We expected as much, since an assemblage of such sorts rarely lasts for long, internal backstabbing and profiteering often destroying them well before they ever become a threat to powerful outside forces like our King or the Bowman. But a few dozen have remained and both Thorin and myself have begun to suspect that an ulterior motive may be behind this."
"Foreign reconnaissance?" hazarded Bilbo. "It would make a good bit of sense, if you ask me. I saw firsthand the way dwarves react to gold, so it'd only be logical that a rival dwarf kingdom would wish to prey upon Erebor and the new King while numbers are still so few. No dragon to keep them away anymore. And Dale's still in shambles. Just a few hundred exhausted humans and pigheaded dwarves who did all the hard work of killing said dragon and reclaiming it themselves."
Balin gave the hobbit a cunning smile. "Great minds think alike, my boy. We've a network of loyal dwarves from the Blue Mountains keeping a close eye on them. And for all of the complaining Dori does about him, Nori's skills have come in mighty handy over the last few months."
"Nori's a good dwarf with a huge dash of trickster in him," said Bilbo with a fond smile. "But I've a question, aside from the awful politics behind all of this. What did that other dwarf, Kozul you said his name was, say that infuriated Dwalin so much?"
The elderly dwarf sat further back in his chair. "According to my brother, he said that the hobbit child should be given to the King as kalinak shul. This is neither a term nor a ritual that is practiced by dwarves in our era. If you were to ask most dwarves, especially our woman-folk, they'd tell you that they'd prefer the word simply be removed from Khuzdul altogether and forgotten in the sands of time."
"So, it's really, really bad, then?"
"The practice itself, during ancient times in the far east, involved the torturing and eventual beheading of a child from rival clans. The child's head would then be sent to his king atop a pike, the other severed body parts placed inside a chest with the royal insignia on it."
Bilbo paled, eyes darting around the room. He quickly located Frodo near the left-side drawing table, his toy of Beorn doing battle with Glóin's toy of himself. If he hadn't been so upset by the information Balin had just given him, Bilbo would've probably been smiling at his nephew's playfulness. But at that moment, all the older hobbit could see or picture was Frodo's head being given to Thorin on a blood-covered pike, the remainder of his tiny body stuffed in a disgusting trunk.
"Now do you understand the reason for my brother's fury?" said Balin. "Making a statement like Kozul's in dwarvish society is tantamount to premeditated kidnapping and child-murder. No one speaks of kalinak shul in present times. It's a great source of shame for our kin. History classes only briefly mention it, and even that has died out in recent decades."
"How can they even joke about such a horrible practice?"
Balin's face became even more grim. "That's where the problem lies, along with a great amount of my brother's fury. Our languages differ quite a bit, but I do believe that I can firmly say that many Khuzdul words contain less flexibility to them than in most of the common tongues. The word choices that Kozul used could not be mistaken for joking by any dwarf who possessed even rudimentary lessons in our mother tongue. Dwalin may not be an academic of any sort, but he heard and recognized the purpose behind each of Kozul's words. And he's paid the price with his tongue."
"And Thorin?"
"I do believe he called our King an arrogant prick," said Balin with a small smirk. "But it was probably the part about Thorin being given soup made from our little hobbit's flesh that truly pushed my brother off the slippery slope. I'm honestly surprised that Dwalin was able to restrain himself and not kill the brute altogether."
"He left that honor to me."
The King Under the Mountain walked through the side doorway, flanked on either side by his grim-faced nephews. Dwalin was right behind them, scrubbing at his left hand with a pink-tinted cloth. All of them scanned the room upon arrival, their eyes obviously searching for Erebor's resident pair of hobbits.
"Look, Kíli, look!" shouted Frodo, scrambling over to show the royal dwarves his newest toys. "Bofur made me a dragon. It ate you."
"Really? And you let him?!"
"Well, I couldn't really stop it," said Frodo. He gave the youngest prince his best are-you-an-idiot expression. "He's a dragon. They eat people. And they like gold. So, he had to eat Thorin, too."
"Excuse me?"
Frodo looked at all of them like they were complete and utter morons. "He had to eat you to get to the gold. But you gave him a tummy ache and the farts, so he had to spit you out. See, you're over there."
"It's called indigestion, Frodo. Not the farts. We've talked about this."
"Uncle Rorimac always had the farts," said Frodo with a grimace. "But especially after drinking some bottles of wine. It was awful. Knocked Merry out once at a party."
"I can imagine. Fíli's ability to break wind doubles with every tankard."
"Uh huh, and this coming from the dwarf who..."
The brothers lured Frodo back to his game of dragon slaying, allowing Thorin and Dwalin to take seats in the chairs between Balin and Bilbo. None of them spoke for a few moments, making sure that the youngest hobbit was completely out of earshot before they started to discuss the matters at hand.
"Here."
Bilbo reached out and took a small box from Thorin's hands, eyebrows creased in confusion when the King didn't provide any explanations. The box was no larger than his hand, string tied around it to keep the top cover in place.
"Ugh, Thorin, are you sure the lad will want—"
"Valar!" shrieked Bilbo, the box toppling from his hands and onto the floor. "Are those fingers?!"
Dwalin pulled another box out of his vest pocket. "I've got the tongues."
"Tongues? Did he just say tongues?!"
The Dwarf-King reached down and picked up the scattered fingers, seemingly not at all disturbed by the fact that he was holding severed body parts in his own hands. Bilbo just stared, completely taken aback by the...things he'd been given by the King. He'd known that Dwalin had removed the other dwarf's tongue, but his fingers?! And Dwalin had said tongues, meaning multiple tongues.
"He threatened to kill your child," said Thorin, "Therefore, you receive the limbs that have been removed as punishment."
"But what if I don't want any of the limbs?" Bilbo felt queasy just thinking about it. "And why are there more than one?!"
"He was not the only one I heard making those comments," growled Dwalin, the box of tongues still resting in his hands. "The other fools should've known better than to speak such words within range of my ears."
Thorin's face softened, his voice a whisper. "Balin has explained to you about the significance and reasoning behind these punishments, correct?"
Bilbo nodded, eyes flicking over to Frodo again. "Aye, right before you arrived."
"Then you understand why I did this," said Thorin. "It is our law, and every dwarf in this kingdom is well aware of it. I made sure of this upon their arrival here. And as the parent of the threatened child, it's your decision as to what should be done with the limbs that we removed in our judgment."
"Can you just throw them into the fire and be done with it?" asked Bilbo. "I'm not too fond of severed...anything, really. It's not very...hobbit-y."
"If that is your wish."
Bilbo nodded, his eyes trained on Thorin's boots as the King and Dwalin took the fingers and tongues out of their boxes. The hobbit cringed when he heard the huge fires crunch and blaze around the thrown limbs, Dwalin muttering about maybe throwing their feet or heads in as well.
"Are there more of them?"
Thorin kneeled in front of Bilbo. "Who are of the same mind as Kozul? Yes. I've suspected their treachery for some time now." He looked over at Frodo. "I simply needed a good reason and evidence to act on it."
"Will they try to hurt him?"
"It's very likely," admitted Thorin. "My nephews are quite capable of defending themselves. I've already advised Bard to keep his three children of the mountain for now. And even you're a tougher target due to your age and experience. But Frodo is an easier, more vulnerable target for them."
"Any of the children are," rumbled Dwalin. "We've already alerted the mothers. They'll be moving in pairs or groups at all times now."
"How are you going to get rid of them without alerting their king?"
Thorin smirked, the cruelty behind it an unfamiliar sight to the hobbit. It seemed many of his dwarven companions were capable of violent acts and judgments that Bilbo had never considered nor witnessed before. Yet strangely, the sound of Dwalin cleaning and sharpening his knives was a soothing sound to Bilbo's ears, a sign of protection for both Frodo and himself.
"Nori's already working on it for me." Thorin leaned forward, large hands resting on Bilbo's blanket-covered knees. "But I do have one request, my friend."
Bilbo looked up, Thorin's beseeching eyes too powerful to resist. "Anything."
"Allow Glóril to accompany you and Frodo whenever one of us is not present," he said. "Her loyalty to her brothers and myself is absolute. And she dearly misses her young nephew, Gimli, so Frodo's presence would be a dearest reprieve for her."
The hobbit was silent for a few moments before saying, "Alright. I'll accept. But I still stand by my need for privacy. You dwarves can be nosier than the Sackville-Baggins when you put your minds to it."
The Dwarf-King laughed out loud at that. "I apologize for my nephews and their large, wandering noses."
"I can see where they get it from," said Bilbo, flicking at Thorin's own large nose. "But I don't mind their nosiness. It's kinda endearing, once you get used to it. Although it would be nice if they stopped stealing the cupcakes before they've cooled..."
Bilbo looked to his right, spotting said nephews peeking over a nearby chair. Both of them were watching with wide eyes, dwarvish noses resting on the top of the furniture. Kíli let out a grunt when he realized they were caught, dragging his brother back down to the floor and scuttling off to do who knows what else. The hobbit wondered what kind of half-baked scheme the pair were up to now.
"Strange boys, your sister-sons."
Thorin gave him a small, rare smile. "They have their uses. Although I'll admit, it would be much easier if Dís was here. They always listen to her."
"Frodo misses his mother terribly," Bilbo lamented. "I've tried to provide him an alternative, but it's just not the same. No matter how much you dwarves made fun of my woman-folk habits, I can't give him the exact same care a mother would. And while I'm quite the opposite of Drogo, that role's much easier to fulfill than Primula's."
Bilbo paused, eyes looking over at where Frodo was now playing with Bofur. The game had moved to the bookshelves, which were apparently cliffs that Frodo's toys must scale in order to reach the dragon at the top. Toy-Bard seemed to be willing this time around.
"And now this has happened. It's confusing for him. I can tell."
The hobbit felt a much larger hand take hold of his chin, forcing him to look up at Thorin's somber face. Both of them could hear Frodo in the background, attacking Glóin and Dwalin with the dragon toy he'd seized from Bofur. Both of the princes were playing dead on the floor.
"I will have their heads beneath my blade before they hurt either of you," said the Dwarf-King. "I give you, my word."
"Roar! Now I'm King Under the Mountain! Give me the gold!"