"So, when's the khalâk ceremony?"
The skin-changers were officially the strangest bunch of creatures Bilbo had ever met in his admittedly sheltered life. Well, he wasn't quite so sheltered anymore, but each of the skin-changers behaved in ways that set them apart from the other civilized folks of Middle-Earth. The badgers were the worst of them, of course, but the four wolves had an unusual demeanor about them as well. They tried to sniff and smell at everything within a twenty foot radius, something that unnerved most of the dwarves and resulted in plenty of bemused glances thrown their way. And the skin-changers seemed to enjoy the befuddled reactions of their stouter hosts.
"Pardon?"
Currin just smiled at him. "Ah, so they haven't told you yet."
"Mind your manners," warned Balin from his position on the opposite side of the map-covered table. "The King and Master Baggins have much to sort in their relationship due to different cultural norms and practices. You of all people should understand such an issue, Sister Currin."
"Ah, you know my parentage," stated the she-wolf. "Or were you just guessing like so many others have in the past?"
"One of your parents was human," replied Balin, carefully arranging stones on the map to identify the Ironfist's most likely travel routes. "Your behavior around outsiders is much calmer and more restrained than that of true-born skin-changers, like the badgers and dark wolves in your company. And your little brother is the same, it seems. Restraint of a sort like that usually only appears in skin-changers who have mixed parentage or constant interaction with outsiders. The former's much more likely than the latter, for any member of your kin."
The she-wolf snorted in return. "I like this dwarf. He's clever."
"A result of necessity, my lady."
"It's too bad that you and starfish-head don't have good noses or ears. Impossible to ambush or outsmart, both of you would be."
"I'll give Nori your compliments. He'll be flattered."
Bilbo had been surprised by the amount of leniency and freedom that the dwarves had given to the skin-changers, especially since they still wouldn't even let any men besides Bard and his citizens into the mountain yet. When he'd finally asked Balin about it, the elderly advisor explained that Mother Nymeria's pack had come to the aid of Durin's Folk after Smaug's attack on Erebor, bringing the homeless dwarves whatever food, clothes, or other supplies they could spare. It hadn't been much, but the skin-changers had done their best to assist a longtime ally and Durin's Folk hadn't forgotten it.
"Balin?"
The elderly dwarf gave them a smile and then wandered off to help his King, who had been pouring over another heap of maps, geological charts, and several tomes for the past five hours. And if Bilbo knew his intended fairly well, which he liked to think he did by this point, then the Dwarf-King would soon be throwing a growly fit of frustration and stomping off to clobber Dwalin in the training hall. Both of them seemed to enjoy beating the crap out of each other on a weekly basis, a practice that still unnerved Bilbo despite Dís' assurances to its safety and necessity. No matter how long Bilbo lived in Erebor, the more violent habits of dwarves would always confuse him.
"Hmmmm," rumbled Currin, her nose sniffing the air around them. "It seems that the King wants to mate with the hobbit. Just as I suspected."
Bilbo nearly tripped over his chair in surprise.
"You do not say things like that in polite company, Sister Currin," sighed Balin as he attempted to keep an irritable Thorin in his seat. "By Mahâl's beard, you skin-changers are just as blunt as I remember. It must be the noses."
"I tell it as I smell it."
And then the young woman went silent, her head cocking to the side while both of her pointed ears twitched in concentration. Standing now at her full height, Bilbo felt very small next to the towering she-wolf, something that he was certain many of the dwarves had experienced as well. Like Beorn before them, Currin and her kin were both physically and mentally imposing, their demeanors an odd mixture of animal and human that appeared to endlessly confuse the inhabitants of Erebor.
"I can hear your little one," said Currin. "Down the hall. He's crying."
"Oh dear..."
Bilbo was gone from the war room within seconds, ignoring Thorin's shouts and walking quickly through the halls to the royal drawing room. He could hear the sound of Frodo crying long before he entered through the door, which had been left partially open by someone already inside of it. Dori, Óin, Dís, and Dala stood around the central tables, two bawling children wiggling in their arms whenever the royal healer attempted to treat the lacerations and scrapes that littered their faces. Poor Dís almost dropped Donel when a cloth of disinfectant was pressed to his bloody chin and swollen nose, yet another shout of pain tearing its way from the little boy's throat.
"What happened?"
"One of the steps in the entrance hall crumbled under Donel's feet," said Dori, his usually immaculate beard disheveled from Frodo's constant thrashing. "He toppled down into Frodo and then they both rolled to the bottom. I tried to grab them, but they just went down at a speed I couldn't keep up with and..."
"It's alright, Dori," assured Bilbo. "Things like this happen sometimes when little hands and feet are involved. And they're still in one piece from the looks of it. Nothing's broken, is it, Óin?"
"Frodo's got quite the bump on his head and several missing teeth, but neither of them appear to have broken anything," said the healer. "Plenty of gashes and bruises and scrapes to go around, though."
"I lost my teeth, Uncle."
Bilbo ran a gentle hand over Frodo's bruised cheek. "That's okay, darling. You'll have your new ones growing in before the end of the year. And we can use them for your milk necklace, too."
"But they're gone," whined Frodo. "They fell off."
"Gone?"
Dori's arms tightened around Frodo, thick fingers running up and down the little boy's back as Óin swabbed at his bloody eyebrow, cheeks, chin, and hands. A green tint had overtaken the fussy dwarf's features, something that Bilbo had only ever seen when one of the Company members acted like an uncivilized idiot or when one of his brothers were injured on the quest. It was an unnerving sight, to say the least. And Frodo seemed to agree with the older hobbit's assumptions, his small arms reaching up to dangle about Dori's rigid shoulders.
"It's okay, Dori. I've got more of them. See..."
"Oh, I know, little one. And what lovely, pearly teeth they are," said Dori. He was all but clutching Frodo to him, a clear sign that Bilbo was still missing essential pieces of the stairs-toppling-puzzle. "I think it'd be best to keep them well away from hard surfaces in the future, though."
Frodo nodded, face scrunching up when Óin dabbed his chin again.
"What did you mean about them falling off?" queried Bilbo when both boys were distracted by Óin's continued treatment. His friend's clinginess was beginning to unnerve him now. "Dori? What happened?"
"They nearly fell off, Bilbo," whispered the dwarf. "I only allowed them to walk a few steps in front of me, but then Donel tripped and they nearly went over the edge of the walkway. It was one of those areas where the railings were knocked off in Smaug's wrath. I'd never take the children near the unrailed walkways, I swear it. But it was already past their dinnertime and this walkway is only missing a few parts of the rails on the left side, so I decided to take a shortcut with them."
Dori's fingers were massaging gentle circles into Frodo's side, an obvious attempt to soothe both himself and the injured boy. The incident had terrified Dori in its simplicity and swiftness. All it took was one second and a crumbling lump of stones to thrust two children into the abyss of Erebor's mines. And Dori had nearly fallen prey to such a tragedy not even twenty minutes ago.
"And then Donel tumbled forward and I couldn't catch them in time," said Dori, a pale falling over his face as he recounted the incident. "They landed inches from the edge, Bilbo, and there's nothing I could've done to grab them before..."
"You nearly went over yourself, Dori," soothed Glóin's wife. "I witnessed all of it from the level beneath you. The entire central wing's a menace to Erebor's children and a good portion of our adults, too."
"That thrice damned dragon did so much damage," snarled Dís. "Even after death, his ghost still dogs the footsteps of our children."
"Owww!"
It took over a half-hour for Óin to finish patching up the boys and then administer the pain tonics that would allow them to sleep through the night. Both of them had nasty-looking gashes on their cheeks, foreheads, chins, and hands along with swollen noses and bruises littering every part of their small bodies. Donel had sprained his right ankle in the fall, which Óin had wrapped up tightly in a soft splint for the time being. In contrast, poor Frodo had bumped his head on the way down while also skinning his lower calves, a very unfortunate result of the boy's traditional hobbit attire. And he'd lost five more teeth from the looks of it, too.
"The poor thing will be gumming his food for weeks," lamented Dís. "Frerin lost half of his teeth in less than one month, if I remember correctly. He looked like an infirm warg whenever he tried to chew his meat."
"How is that any different than regular dwarf meals?"
"The food actually fell out of his mouth," said Dís with a chuckle. "You don't see that at regular dwarf meals. Our men practically start to whimper and bawl if something doesn't manage to get into their mouths. Frerin sure did."
"Sure explains a lot about Fíli, then."
The Lady of Erebor was sitting on the couch with a slumbering Donel wrapped up in her lap, hands gently combing through his messy red hair so that she could then braid it into some semblance of order later. Bilbo sat opposite her on the same couch, a huge knitted blanket draped across both their legs while drowsy children filled their laps. Frodo had an unpleasant frown on his scratched up face, bandaged hands twitching in discomfort whenever he tried to move in his sleep. Overall, both boys looked like they'd gone three rounds in the arena with Dwalin on a Mersday morning.
"Here's some tea for the two of you," said Dori when he returned from the nearby royal kitchens. "My favorite blend of chamomile, this is. Works wonders with sleep and a passing ache in the back."
"Thank you, Dori. Now have a seat over here." Bilbo patted the armchair directly beside the drawing room couch. "You look like you're dead on your feet, my friend. Just rest yourself for a little bit, alright?"
"Aye, and they feel like granite, too. Dreadful evening."
"I've sent word to Donel's mother about what happened," said Dala a few minutes later. Thorin, Óin, and Balin followed behind her. "I assured her that everything was okay, but I still think she'd like to know about it."
"Thank you, Dala. I didn't even think about that," admitted Bilbo. "It'd probably do the lad some good to see her for a short while, too."
Poor Thana had been exhausted over the last few days. The twins had been going through their first bout of teething, so Bilbo had offered to watch Donel for several nights, or at least until Thana and Farór didn't look like they were going to pass out or fall down a flight of steps themselves. Donel had been more than happy to get away from the thunderous crying of his baby sisters, eagerly making himself at home in Frodo's bedchambers, play area, and pool-like washroom.
"Are they alright?" asked Thorin.
"Just bruised, bumped, and scraped up," said Óin as he sunk into one of the side chairs with a groan. "None of their gashes are more than superficial, so I'd expect both of them to be back on their feet and playing by tomorrow morning. Donel's ankle might take a few more days of recuperation, though."
"I've already spoken with the foreman in charge of resurfacing the—"
"Khan hâknith munza lâhk!"
Dala sighed. "I will never understand half the words that come out of that sweet lad's mouth. He uses the most obscure dialect."
"I tried to look it up," whispered Dís. "Still haven't found it yet, either."
"Me neither," said Dori.
"Oh, hello there, Bifur," said Bilbo when the toymaker entered through the door. "It looks like your trip to Dale went well. What've you got there?"
"Mûhk al—"
"Iglishmêk, my dear cousin," said Bofur as he breezed into the room with a bunch of boxes in his arms, "Iglishmêk. And don't throw the basket while you do it! That'd be a traumatizing situation, no doubt about it."
"Bifur?"
I have something for the boys, signed the dwarf. An early Midwinter's present, in case of more snow from the north.
The axe-ridden dwarf was practically bouncing up and down where he stood, both hands clutching a cloth-covered basket in front of him. Bifur tended to be quite excitable, even downright manic some times; but this was a whole new level of energetic that Bilbo had scarcely seen before. It almost looked like the dwarf was going to explode like one of Gandalf's whiz-poppers if he didn't give his present soon.
"Finally! Some good news," stated Dori with a loud sigh. "We need some of that right about now. Very, very dearly."
"That was extremely thoughtful of you, Bifur," said the hobbit with a smile. "Just give Dís and myself a few moments to wake the boys, alright?"
Bifur didn't stop hopping, though.
It didn't take long for them to rouse the boys from their tonic-induced slumbers, a series of near-toothless yawns from Frodo illustrating just how many teeth he had lost in today's dangerous escapades through the entrance hall. However, the mention of presents woke both children up without a second's pause.
"Presents?!"
"Well, that certainly got their attention," said Balin with a laugh. "Nothing wakes a child up quicker than the sound of gift boxes and tearing paper. Ah, ah, careful with the bandages, lads."
"Balin's right, boys," scolded Bilbo. "You've already got more than enough cuts and scrapes for the month. Slow down. Thorin."
The Dwarf-King reached over and snatched up a wriggling Frodo, nodding to his sister when she kept a tight hold on the dwarfling. Both of them walked over to Bifur, an impatient armful of children struggling forward to see what was in the basket. Of course, considering their long and arduous past with two other squirmy dwarflings, neither of the royal siblings had any problem controlling the situation.
"Now hold still and mind your manners," rumbled Thorin. "Fussy little boys don't get presents until they're calm and say their thanks to the gifter. Now..."
"Thank you, Bifur!" chorused both boys.
With that done, the eager dwarf pulled off the blanket and allowed everyone to see what exactly he and Bofur had bought while trudging through the snow to Dale. And with squeals of childish joy, it was obvious that the gift didn't disappoint either of the children or the adults in the room.
"Kittens!"
Frodo and Donel were reaching for the basket within seconds, both royals leaning forward so that they wouldn't drop their injured charges. Always fond of animals himself, Bilbo made his way over to the basket and peered inside at the three sleeping kittens, two of them a dusky grey and the largest one a dark orange. The excited shouts of the children appeared to have woken all three of them.
"Now be gentle, boys," warned Dís. "And careful with your bandages. We'll have to give them a bath, Thorin. In case they've got fleas."
Thorin's eyebrows shot up. "You're planning to keep them?"
"I'm certainly not planning to say no to them," said Dís with her patented are-you-an-idiot-dear-brother look. "The boys or the kittens. Have you seen those eyes? I refuse to be the villain in this story."
"And you expect me to be it instead?"
"Well, if you want to upset your intended, sister, nephews, and the children; then by all means, forbid the keeping of pets in the royal wing. But I won't defend you when a pair of hobbits and dwarflings decide to kick your royal ass."
"You're a cruel woman."
"Perhaps," said Dís with a shrug. "Though I'm not the one hesitating to give my child a pet kitten. Honestly, Thorin..."
"You know I've never been fond of cats. He should've gotten the boys some kind of mongrel or hound that's good for—"
"Klunk!"
Thorin was suddenly faced with a faceful of furry orange kitten. And a toothless, exuberant, and scratched-up little hobbit. If there were any doubts about Thorin's kingly demeanor being ripped to shreds by the children in his life, then they were all crushed to teeny-tiny pieces by Frodo's joyous smile.
"He keeps bumping into the table," explained Frodo. "So I've named him, Klunk. And that one's Bumble. And that's Zuzu. His stripes look like Zs."
"Those are...very good names."
Bilbo was cuddling with the grey-striped kitten named Zuzu, jabbering on and on to Balin about the old tomcat he'd had as a young faunt at Bag End. The second grey cat, Bumble, was rolling around on the floor and batting at Donel's loose bandages. All of the other dwarves were making over the tiny creatures as well.
"Can we keep them? Please, please, please, please, please?"
"Well, we'll have to—"
And then there was a whole bunch of barking and banging and cursing from the nearby kitchen, Bofur tumbling through the door with four little balls of sleek grey fuzz milling around his booted feet. One of them was carrying a wooden toy in its muzzle, an obvious no-no if Bofur's reprimands were to be listened to. Bifur and the children let out whoops of excitement when the puppies made their appearance, every other dwarf in the room gaping in shock at this new development.
"You got puppies, too?" gasped Bilbo.
Deerhounds. Future hunting dogs, signed Bifur. Only five in the entire city now. All of them belong to Malor. We need more for the hunting seasons.
"Puppies!" shrieked a voice from the door. "Finally!"
Kíli was across the room in seconds, scooping up the squirming pups and making over them with coos and kisses and cuddles. His brother wasn't far behind on his wobbly crutches, blue eyes brighter than they'd been since Bilbo's initial arrival. To say that both of the princes were enamored would be an understatement.
"I'm gonna name you, Granite!" declared Kíli. "And you'll be Jasper. And you'll be Onyx. And you'll be...ugh, whoops, this one's a girl. Well, hmmm, you can be Beryl! A good, strong name for a good, strong girl."
"How come you get to name them?" demanded Fíli.
"Because I've had those names on a waiting list for over seventy years," said Kíli with an upturned nose. "First come, first names."
"Snotty brat."
"Well, that's one dream come true," stated Dís with a delighted smile. "They've been begging for a puppy for decades. Thank you, Bifur."
"And I must thank you as well," said Dala while she watched Gimli fawn over one of the pups. "Gimli's had a similar desire in recent years. Maybe having some pets will make Erebor more...hospitable for the little ones."
"I'm inclined to agree," stated Bilbo from his spot on the floor. One of the kittens was attacking the hair atop his feet. "And Bifur's selected a fine bunch here."
"He's always had a way with the beasts," said Bofur. He'd finally escaped the pile of pups and had wandered over to the pile of kittens. "Used to take care of any stray he'd find on our travels from village to village. Saved quite a few of them, he did. They're one of the reasons he's still with us, I think. Helped pull him out of the other world when Azanulbizar and the axe wound became too much. He'd have been lost to us if not for all of those dogs and cats and goats and cows and ponies and such. Brought him back to our world, they all did."
"And now?" asked Bilbo with a concerned tone. "Will these animals help Bifur?"
Bofur nodded. "Aye, I think they will. Help ground him to this world, my brother and I reckon. Might also help him interact with the boys, too. He's got a real soft spot for all of them, but communicating's difficult for him. Even with those who have open minds like Frodo and the princes. But the animals might help, I hope."
Thorin couldn't argue with that. Or say no. And he honestly didn't want to, either.