Chapter Text
The dominant races of Middle-Earth had a terrible habit of underestimating hobbits.
It seemed to be a universal assumption by everyone and their grandmother that Bilbo was the weakest member of Erebor's royal family. Perhaps it was the leaf-like ears or the love for cooking or the natural aversion to all things bloody, but dwarves, elves, and men alike always approached Thorin first instead of his smaller yet more diplomatic and politically savvy husband. Balin hadn't been surprised by this, and had simply given Bilbo an apologetic smile when he'd been overlooked yet again by a lord and lady at Open Court. Thankfully, their local allies were far more open-minded and discerning, with Bard, Thranduil, and the skin-changers often making it clear that they preferred to work with the Lonely Mountain's least confrontational royal.
However, no one in the kingdom or beyond appeared to grasp just how dangerous Bilbo Baggins could be when the right motivation presented itself. And present itself it did on a warm Trewsday evening in the heart of summer.
Bilbo had been browsing through the guild halls, more than a little curious about the conflicts that had been raging for several weeks down there. Apparently, the Carpenter Guild had encroached on a small set of forges that belonged to the Jewelry Guild and this had caused a minor dispute to erupt between them, which had then pulled both the Locksmith and Armorer Guilds in as well. Of course, this eventually dragged the Blacksmith and Shoemaker and Stonemason Guilds into the now out of control fray, punches and axes and giant rocks flying between each guild's designated territories.
It was a miracle that Dori hadn't killed the whole lot of them yet.
Because of this violent chaos, Bilbo had chosen to wear his magic ring while visiting the guild halls that afternoon, easily slipping between dwarves and forges and the battle zones that had consumed Erebor's busiest corridors. He scarcely had reason to use it nowadays, but the trinket still had its advantages when circumstance called for it. And sometimes Bilbo just enjoyed watching his subjects in their natural habitat with no bowing or brown-nosing or nervous twittering involved; a happily crafting dwarf was truly a remarkable sight to behold, their concentration and skill far beyond anything that Bilbo had witnessed back in the Shire.
Well, except for gardening and cooking. Hobbits ruled those particular crafts with an iron skillet. And Bilbo was contemplating what to make for supper that evening when he heard a hushed voice to his left side, just barely hidden behind a series of screens that separated the Weaver and Tanner Guilds. Normally, he would have just walked on by without a second thought, but the sound of his oldest nephew's title was enough to make Bilbo pause for a moment.
"—have to wait until we know the prince's schedule."
"And I said that I have that situation under control," snapped a second voice. "The lad's almost always alone after his Hevensday mining inspections. I've had him watched for five weeks now, and he never has anyone with him. Sits alone up on the far end of the battlements. Or wanders down to the mushroom patches."
"We'll have to move quickly. He's armed to the teeth."
"Being armed doesn't do much good against poisons, now does it?"
"I suppose not."
Bilbo stood perfectly still as the two dwarves emerged from their alcove and headed into the forges, neither of them seeming to notice that anything was amiss or that they had been overheard. Of course, their rendezvous location had been particularly well-hidden and out of the way—Bilbo also had a feeling that they'd been communicating in Iglishmêk as well—so it wasn't surprising that the would-be assassins had thought themselves alone. Invisibility tended to help one's spying abilities, too.
"We'll see about that," whispered the hobbit.
For the next three days, Bilbo tailed the two dwarves whenever the opportunity presented itself, eyes and ears making sure that the assassination plot he'd overheard was in fact authentic and being put into motion. He discovered that their names were Kogor and Grorf, the former an Ironfist from the Mountains of Rhûn and the latter a Blacklock from Nârad-Dûm in the far south. The first one didn't surprise Bilbo too much given their past issues with Ironfists, but he was genuinely puzzled by the second dwarf. As far as the hobbit knew, Erebor was on good terms with the dwarves of the Yellow Mountains, even establishing a few trade agreements last year with them. Distance was a huge hindrance, of course, but Bilbo wasn't aware of animosity existing between Durin's and Var's Folk.
He followed them down to the guild forges each morning and then to the communal dining halls for lunch, easily moving through the crowds while also keeping an ear out for any type of subversive rumors. Kogor and Grorf weren't the most discreet of dwarves, but they never spoke of their treacherous plans where anybody could hear them. Well, anybody who wasn't invisible, that is.
"What about his food schedule?" asked Kogor on the second evening. They were hidden in a different alcove this time, one that was nestled between two tannery shops. "We don't want to draw too much attention and I've already got what we need to do this."
Grorf huffed with frustration. "He never eats in the main halls."
"Must be the halfling. Most of Oakenshield's Company seems to dine separate from the main population."
"Rather conceited if you ask me."
"What about this?"
Bilbo could hear the Blacklock huff and say, "Won't work. The King's hound never wanders far during stuff like that. He'll chop your head off before you even get within five feet of the brats. And I don't trust those mongrels, either."
"I already checked," said Kogor. "As of Highday, they'll be out on patrol for the rest of the week."
"Not the big one. She'll be here."
It was silent for a minute or so after that, both dwarves speaking in even quieter whispers. Bilbo edged a little closer from where he'd been hiding behind a nearby screen, his feet just barely skimming the floors. The last thing he needed was to accidentally kick a rock and make the dwarves button up completely; with his luck, they'd assume Bilbo was a skin-changer and disappear into the mines for their bi-weekly rendezvous.
"We'll have to report something soon," whispered Kogor. "It's only a matter of time before he grows impatient, especially with the season nearing its end."
"Then he can do it himself if he wants it done quicker. I'm not risking any more than I have to for this."
"But what about—"
And then the fourteenth bell rang, signaling the end of lunch and beginning of the work day's second half. Bilbo felt like punching the wall, positive that he had been about to hear something important. Neither dwarf revealed much during their meetings, rarely mentioning names, locations, or saying anything vital outside of Iglishmêk, which Bilbo was usually unable to see. Paranoia and secrecy ran deep in the dwarven race.
"I'll find you later in the usual spot. Bring the tools with you. And don't dally in the dining halls again."
Grorf just huffed in reply. Friendly chap, that one.
The hobbit made excuses whenever questions were asked of his whereabouts, claiming to be working on yet another project in the Deep Archives. And it wasn't like Bilbo was lying, either; he was compiling a stack of lost documents that would allow him to recreate a more thorough map of Endor's far eastern plains. He was just putting that project off for the next couple days, far too busy tracking the dwarves who had dared to threaten his eldest nephew's life.
"Who are you working for?" Bilbo had wondered. "This whole thing's too delicate for those simpletons to have planned it."
He also arranged for Fíli and Kíli to accompany him to Dale on the third day, claiming that the princes' increasingly busy schedules were causing Bilbo to dearly miss his older nephews and the quality time they used to spend together. This wasn't an outright lie, either; Bilbo was genuinely upset by how little he'd seen of the boys in recent months, which was attributable to their royal training regimens under Balin and Dís. With this explanation and a particularly sad-looking pout, Bilbo had easily persuaded his husband to allow Fíli and Kíli a short break with their smaller uncle.
"Surely you've cast a spell over these," said Fíli, mouth stuffed to bursting with strawberry cream cake. "There's no other way it could be so addictive. I swear, I would give up the throne if I could eat this delicious piece of heaven forever."
Bilbo flicked him in the nose and said, "Shameless flatterer."
"It's not flattery if it's true," Kíli pointed out. "And everyone knows that your food's the best in the kingdom."
"Oh Eru, save me from brown-nosing nephews."
They were seated in the royal gardens now, just returned from Dale and yet another round of negotiations with Bard about this year's crop yields. Fíli and Kíli had even tried to help this time around, haggling for prices in a dwarven way that Bilbo would never be wholly comfortable with. Thankfully, Bard didn't seem to mind and was quite willing to humor the princes when they attempted to haggle for lower tariffs on wheat and rye. It was kinda endearing, even if Balin and Glóin would've been horrified by the prices they had settled on. But Bilbo was proud of them for trying and that's all that mattered.
"It's not fair that Fíli didn't have to do his mining inspections this week," pouted Kíli, who was now sprawled on the ground beside Bilbo's carrot patches. "You should have to come with me tomorrow, eh? Torment the foremen and drive Uncle up a mine shaft."
"Behave yourself, Kíli."
"What? I wasn't actually planning on doing anything."
"You know I don't like fibbing, zundushith," warned the hobbit. He plucked a radish out of the ground and examined it. "Such behavior never ends well for naughty fauntlings or the occasional dwarf."
"Am I being threatened? Because I feel like I'm being threatened here."
Bilbo nudged him with a toe and said, "Allow your brother an afternoon of respite, both from duty and your antics. Or would you prefer to accept the title of crown prince and all of the duties that come along with it?"
"No thanks, I'm okay with being the spare."
"I thought so."
They spent the next hour in companionable silence, Fíli and Kíli both lounging about in the evening sun while Bilbo tended to his rapidly expanding gardens, more than a little excited to see the wide variety of plants that were capable of growing in Erebor's soil. Hamfast's tips had worked after all, and Bilbo now had patches of carrots, cabbage, dill, lavender, parsley, potatoes, chamomile, mint, sweet peppers, lemon basil, green beans, thyme, grapes, cucumbers, asparagus, hibiscus, and, of course, his prized tomatoes. Numerous berry bushes wrapped around the garden's grand pillars and towering walls, each of them interspersed among a gorgeous array of flowers such as violets, peonies, citrus blossoms, Johnny jump ups, marigolds, and honeysuckle.
But his real prizes were—
"Hey! Put that down this instant," Bilbo scolded. "I told you those aren't ripe for eating yet."
Kíli stared at the pear. "Looks ripe to me."
"Simpletons."
After receiving a sound whack to the head, Kíli scurried off to join his brother near one of the small streams that weaved through the gardens, each of them cut in geometric shapes that Thorin had designed himself. Four apple and six pear trees now decorated Bilbo's terraces, the former being an anniversary gift from his husband while the latter were a tribute from Dorwinion dignitaries. His mushroom patches were a glorious sight as well, safely nestled within the mountain's halls and growing with abundance, more than enough to provide for his horde of hungry dwarves.
"These may be ripe enough for eating," said Bilbo, turning a small bunch of cherry tomatoes to and fro. "And they'll eat it if they know what's good for them, too."
It was just after the eighteenth bell when Thorin arrived, a jabbering Frodo cradled snugly in his arms and a grumbly Dwalin, Glóin, and Bifur at his heels. The hobbit was brushing through his oldest nephew's hair at that point, idly instructing Kíli on the correct way to determine if a carrot was ready to be harvested or not. Fíli purred under Bilbo's ministrations, all but snuggling into his uncle's pudgy stomach. Nothing relaxed a dwarf more than having their hair brushed and fussed over, although Kíli was an unusual exception.
"Enjoy your day, ghivashel?"
Bilbo happily returned his husband's kiss of greeting and said, "Very much so. Crop yields appear to have increased, prices are a bit lower, and the boys actually behaved themselves."
"I assumed as much from the hair brushing."
"He ate the last of his vanilla cupcakes several nights ago, so I had to resort to the brush," reasoned Bilbo. He scratched his fingers over Fíli's scalp, laughing at the groan and purr his nephew released. "Plus, it makes him so docile and adorable. Your sister's a genius."
"Uncle Bilbo has magic fingers."
Thorin smirked at this comment and drawled, "Oh, you don't know the half of it, irakdashat."
"Ewww! Uncle! That's gross!"
"You shouldn't make such comments then," said the King. He gave Frodo a kiss on the head, smiling down at the faunt who was still jabbering to Bifur about giant crickets and their ickiness. "You'll corrupt your cousin and Bilbo and I will be having none of that."
"Ugh, why is it always me?"
That particular statement made Bilbo tense up, shoulders hunching and hands instinctively moving downwards to shield his nephew from an invisible harm. Thorin raised an inquisitive brow at this, but Fíli remained unawares and simply basked in what he assumed was a warm hug from his hobbit-y uncle, shamelessly soaking up what attention Bilbo was willing to give. At least Kíli was distracted and not trying to fight his brother for Bilbo's affections again.
"Who's hungry for some eggplant casserole?"
"Blah!"
It was on the fourth day that he approached Nori with his findings, easily locating Erebor's spymaster with the help of two young minions. All it took was a brief description for Nori to launch his own investigation, disappearing into the mountain's dark tunnels like some kind of monstrous, three-eared bat. Bilbo just stood there for a little while, not quite sure what to do with himself.
"Well, I'd say it's about time for supper."
And so Bilbo went off and kidnapped Fíli from his duties for the second time that week, explaining to Dwalin and his guards that he needed his nephew's help in the gardens and that they could beat the snot out of each other without the crown prince's presence. All Dwalin did was raise a suspicious eyebrow and follow them up to the royal wing, eyes darting back and forth like he expected an army of goblins to leap out and attack his self-proclaimed charges. If he was being truthful, Bilbo was somewhat relieved to have the giant dwarf with them.
Spying on Kogor and Grorf had made him quite antsy and nervous when visible and alone. Attempting anything against the Consort or prince while Dwalin was nearby would result in an inevitable beheading. Possible evisceration, too.
"I need some help with these trellises," said Bilbo when they arrived in his gardens. "Aye, those ones. Just bring them right over here and..."
Nori appeared out of nowhere four hours later, sauntering along Bilbo's streams and fountains like it was the most natural thing in the world. Fíli and Dwalin were still trying to pin the trellises to the cliff side walls, both of them too stubborn to give up while also cursing the very existence of roses and clematis and any other climbing flower they could think of.
Wait until they saw the wisteria he was planning for next summer, thought Bilbo with an evil smirk.
"I have returned."
Bilbo snorted and said, "I can see that. So, what tidings do you bring?"
"Mayhem and bloodshed."
"I was afraid of that." Bilbo rubbed at his eyes and took a deep breath. "Will you be able to handle it?"
"That question offends me."
With another deep sigh, Bilbo led Nori over to his favorite couch, not missing the bemused look that Dwalin shot their way. Avoiding him would be impossible once the trellis was complete; Dwalin was a suspicious bastard at best and always stuck his nose into the royal family's business when it came to safety. And unfortunately for Bilbo, he and Frodo were the most likely receivers of that overprotective instinct nowadays.
"So, what's the verdict?"
"It appears that we've got ourselves an interloper in His Majesty's Court," said Nori. He grabbed a handful of grapes and flopped onto the couch. "A minor lord from the Iron Hills who has quite the interesting background. Longbeard father, Blacklock mother, and Ironfist grandfather on the maternal side. Also the youngest of four children, if my sources are to be believed."
"All brothers?"
Nori nodded and said, "Has quite the inferiority complex, too. He was apparently passed over for several titles, although I'll have to dig into that a bit more. I need more than five hours to work my magic, I'll have you know."
"Will you be needing my assistance?"
"You do realize," said Nori around a mouthful of grapes, "That His Royal Gruffness will have my head if anything happens to you."
"Since when have you cared what Thorin thinks?"
"In case you haven't noticed, your husband has a bit of a temper. Kinda possesses a bad habit of flying up the mine shaft when his dear hobbits are involved." Nori examined a caterpillar that had made itself at home on his shoulder. "And I like my head where it is, thank you very much. Plus, from the looks of it, this dwarf and his co-conspirators aren't too far into the game yet."
"And that's a good thing?"
Nori nodded, lips curved into a shit-eating grin as Dwalin approached them. It was quite tempting to make a comment, but Bilbo restrained himself and watched as Nori and Dwalin started their usual bickering match. He patted the empty space beside him when Fíli walked over, several leaves and twigs sticking out of the lad's golden hair. Bilbo didn't hesitate to remedy this, fingers easily plucking the leftover foliage from Fíli's head, mind now preoccupied with all of the ways he could make those dwarves wish that they'd never been born.
Threatening Bilbo's nephew was the stupidest thing they could have ever done.
About an hour later, Bilbo pulled Nori off to the side, flicking Dwalin in the ear when he continued to rant about the thief's sticky fingers. Honestly, those two just needed to find a closet and work their problems out, Bilbo thought. Their constant bickering and arguing and name-calling was just annoying at this point, especially since they couldn't even be in the same room without fighting anymore. Of course, Dori might kill Dwalin and throw away the body, but Bilbo was certain that he could find his husband a new best friend. Maybe...
Or maybe not. Thorin could be difficult to deal with sometimes. Kinda pig-headed if you asked him.
"Nori?"
The spymaster turned around and actually blinked in surprise when Bilbo slipped a small knife into his left hand, eyes darting between his Consort and the pointy weapon that said Consort shouldn't have felt the need to carry on him. It appeared to be one of Thorin's, too. Nori would recognize the Anvil of Durin anywhere. He wondered if the hobbit had swiped it this morning from Thorin's own person. Oh, the possibilities...
"And this is for?"
"If they come anywhere near my boys," said Bilbo, face grim and eyes hard as stone, "Kill them."
"My pleasure."