Archive of Our Own

Really, it shouldn't have been all that surprising that the first one to end up shirtless was Dwalin.

This wasn't to say that his old friend had much of a habit of prancing around half dressed, of course, not any more than any other dwarf. However, he was a warrior and a trainer of warriors, and did not believe in going easy on anyone. It thus didn't take a lot of days on the road for him to arrange a training session with Fíli and Kíli, taking on the two of them at once just because he could.

Thorin was sitting at the edge of their camp, following the training fight with one eye and keeping the other on their burglar. Mister Baggins was seated nearby, fretting over some minor tear in his jacket, the fussy little thing. Thorin really would have preferred to leave him be, but he suspected doing that would have led to them discovering the hobbit had been eaten by a stray squirrel or some such, so someone had to keep an eye on him. Since everyone else was otherwise occupied, preparing food or collecting firewood or indeed training their fighting skills, Thorin was the only one left to make sure their numbers stayed the same.

"All right, lads." Dwalin stepped back from the ring he had drawn on the ground, clapping his hands. "Try each other for a change. Fíli, don't forget your footwork! And Kíli, pay attention to your right side!"

"They're improving." Thorin could admit that much as he watched his nephews now attacking each other, packing his pipe. "Still a long way to go, though."

"Aye, that's true." Dwalin gave a satisfied nod, then made to take off the undershirt he'd been wearing during their fight, now soaked with sweat. "They'll get there in the end."

There was a small sound from Thorin's side, and he turned to look at the hobbit. He half expected Mister Baggins to get all embarrassed at the sight of Dwalin standing there naked from the waist up, using his shirt to wipe off sweat from his forehead, but instead his eyes seemed almost too intent.

"That's a lot of tattoos," Mister Baggins breathed. "What do they all mean?"

"Oh, this and that." Dwalin grinned, always glad to share the stories of his markings. "Marks of battles I've fought, enemies I've beaten. This one," he pointed at one in particular, "says 'if you can see this, I'm punching you.'"

"That's… informative, I guess." Mister Baggins blinked but recovered fast. "And the big one on your back? It's just, I couldn't help but notice it when you were looking at the lads. It seems awfully complicated, more so than the rest of them."

"Why, that's his soulmark, of course." Thorin lifted his eyebrows, making to light his pipe, now. "Do hobbits not have those? The mark that reveals who your soul is bound to?" Tch. He had expected halflings to be strange, but this was quite beyond even his expectations.

"Well, of course! It's just, ours are much smaller, and they appear on our wrists instead." Bilbo tilted his head. "You're married, then, Master Dwalin?"

"Huh?" Dwalin frowned, then gave Thorin a glare as he tried in vain to hold back a laugh. Dwalin married, indeed! "No, I'm not. Why'd you ask?"

"But… you have your mark." This seemed to be a point of some confusion.

"Well, of course. How else am I going to find my One?"

"You mean you haven't found them yet?" Another blink. "How do you dwarves get your marks, then?"

"Why, they appear around the time we come of age, of course." Thorin recovered enough to finally light his pipe, taking a deep drag of it before glancing at the hobbit. "The place is somewhat inconvenient, of course, since we can only see our own with the aid of mirrors, and they're complicated enough that memorising them is hard. We tend to rely on family and friends in the matter of finding our match, then."

"Aye. I'm not too familiar with my own mark, not worth the effort trying to see it that often, but I'd know my brother's at a glance. Knew it well enough when I saw it on another dwarf in the baths one day." Dwalin nodded towards the cookfire, where Dori and Balin were aiding Bombur with the food preparation, spending rather a lot of time trading familiar touches. "Before you ask, they're not married, either. Balin's sworn to be married in the halls of Erebor and not before."

"That seems… strange." Which was obviously a nonsensical comment; the whole matter was perfectly normal, thank you. "So even after they've found their match, they won't marry? And what if you don't like the one who has the same mark?"

"Well, obviously sometimes the marriage is delayed because they have to decide whether they like each other, first." Though this did sound somewhat curious. "What about your people? What use are your marks if they don't guide you?"

"Why, they tell you when you're bound to someone, of course!" And that wasn't the same thing? "See, us hobbits, we don't get our marks until after we've found our match. When you find your other half, and you both feel the same, that's when the mark appears. So, if you have your mark, you're considered married by Shire law, though obviously most will still have a big wedding. Any excuse for a party is a good excuse, after all."

"That sounds overly complicated." Dwalin shook his head, pulling his shirt back on now that he'd cooled down a bit. "Back in Erebor we used to have these big tournaments where unattached dwarves would come and fight in nothing but their breeches, with everyone looking for matching marks. That's the kind of effort I'd be willing to go to; anything else seems like a waste of time."

"Of course." Thorin snorted. "Well then, my friend, I suppose I'll have to arrange one of those tournaments once we retake the mountain, if I ever want to get any peace from you."

"Or you could just keep your eyes open. What do I have a friend for if they can't even find my One?"

"Oh, yes, forgive me. You're right, I'll just have every dwarf in the mountain get in line stripped to the waist and have them march by. A splendid idea indeed."

"Hey, you're the one who wants to get rid of me." Dwalin rolled his shoulders, then turned toward the fighting princes again. "Fíli, sharper turns! And Kíli, either braid that hair of yours or learn to fight with it in your face! No slacking off, you're still on your feet, aren't you?"

"Well." Mister Baggins shook his head. "You dwarves sure know how to make thing complicated."

"I sure have no idea what you mean, Master Hobbit. Clearly our ways are exceedingly simple and straightforward." Thorin saw Nori and Ori returning with firewood and stood up, taking a puff of his pipe. The return of his brothers would hopefully distract Dori enough that he could steal Balin aside for a chat about their plans for the journey. "Imagine pursuing someone and then finding out they are not suited to you! That would only lead to sorrow and heartbreak."

He got no protest to this, so clearly the discussion was closed. He started a leisurely walk toward the campfire, wondering if he might have the time to ask Dori to take a look at the sleeves of his new tunic at some point. He'd thought a new garment would be better suited for the ravages of the journey, but there seemed to be something wrong with the fabric, or perhaps some badly constructed seam.

It was truly astounding, how much he could be distracted by a mere itch on his wrist.

*

Bilbo supposed it was something of a sign of how hard the road was starting to be that the dwarves actually fought for the chance to get the first go at bathing.

They didn't have much in the way of bathing facilities, of course, merely a small spring that would only hold two or three of them at a time, which had given rise to their argument. Thorin had listened to this for only a few moments until he had told them all to draw lots to determine their order and company. Bilbo had found himself sharing the water with Óin and Bifur as a result, which really wasn't too bad a fate; they both seemed mostly interested in cleaning themselves instead of splashing around as he was sure someone like Kíli would have done. He was quite happy to dress himself and head back to the camp afterwards, feeling somewhat more civilised again as he nodded at the last party headed towards the spring — Fíli and Nori, now that was a turn he was glad not to be sharing. Not that he didn't like Fíli, and he did find Nori tolerable enough, but they both did have a slight bent for mischief.

Even so, he was somewhat surprised when he had barely managed to find a seat near the campfire when Fíli ran right back, naked as the day he was born, chased by an enraged Nori waving a knife. Ever the quick thinker, Fíli rushed to hide behind his uncle, who seemed thoroughly unimpressed.

"Help me!" Fíli squeaked, hands grasping Thorin's shoulders. "I swear I didn't do anything, he just attacked me!"

"Nori." Thorin heaved a long-suffering sigh. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, don't worry, I won't hurt your little princeling too much." Nori gave an almost manic grin, his knife dancing between his hands. He was just as naked as Fíli and dripping water, must have made it all the way to the spring, all muscle and hair and an intricate design on his back. "I'll just peel the skin off his back and be on my way."

"And why would you do that?" Thorin still did not seem overly impressed. Though then, most of the company were watching the scene with mild interest at best; Balin didn't even bother to look up from whatever document he was perusing, while Dori kept tutting over Ori's braids. "I know he can be annoying, but surely that is not your foremost choice for making him quiet."

"Nothing like that, Your Majesty." Nori's grin grew just a tad more threatening. "I'm just getting back stolen property, since clearly he's taken Ori's mark."

This comment stirred a lot more interest, Dori's head coming up in a snap while Ori squeaked in surprise. Thorin stayed calm even as people started to crowd closer, though, not wavering a bit. "I'm afraid that's not sufficient reason for me to let you slice up my sister-son. If anything, that would be all the more reason to keep his back intact."

"Oh, come on, just a little? He's young, he'll heal soon enough."

"The answer's still no." Thorin crossed his arms over his chest, all grand and majestic even when faced with a waving knife and waving various other parts right in front of him. "Go finish your bath, there'll be no blood spilt. While you," he turned towards Fíli, not even bothering to see if Nori was going to follow his orders, "you need to come with me right now."

Fíli seemed to waver for a moment, then his shoulders sagged. "Can Kíli go get my clothes?" he asked. "I really don't want to go back after him."

The request was granted, and the rest of the Company arranged themselves for better viewing positions. Even Bombur, busy tending a pot over the fire, inched around it until he had a clear view of what was going on. Bilbo had to admit he was rather curious, too, which was why it was a good thing he wasn't alone in his gawking.

"So… is this quite the usual way of things?" Bilbo finally spoke up as Nori returned, looking more sedate with his knife hidden away, and sat down next to the small group of Bofur, Glóin, and Bilbo himself, all gathered to enjoy a pipe while watching the show. Poor Ori and Fíli had been put through what the other dwarves called an Inspection, which apparently consisted of them both stripping to the waist — or, in Fíli's case at this time, putting on some trousers — so Dori and Thorin could both examine their marks in detail. Once these had been found to indeed be a match, the lads had at least been allowed to dress themselves properly, which apparently led to negotiations about the terms of their courtship, far as Bilbo could tell.

"You mean the thing with Fíli and Ori? Aye, more or less." Bofur chuckled. "They've found their match, so now it's a matter of deciding how they'll court and when they may be wed. The final call on the details is theirs, of course, but since they're still so young and live with their family households, Thorin and Dori are taking the lead in the matter."

"Right." At least Fíli and Ori didn't seem unhappy about the matter, a bit embarrassed perhaps, but that was surely forgivable after the great big production this had ended up being. They did keep stealing not so subtle glances at each other, causing Kíli to snicker and groan in turns as he watched from the side. "This all still seems a bit strange to me, you know."

"Why so?" Nori shrugged. "Unless you mean that it's strange Ori would be a match for the bloody crown prince, in which case I agree. It's terribly strange and shouldn't be allowed. Clearly Ori deserves better." At least he seemed to have calmed down enough not to be waving a knife about anymore.

"I'm pretty sure the only way he could do better would be by being Thorin's match, and I doubt you'd approve of that much more." Bilbo shook his head, taking a puff from his pipe. He certainly needed a nice, calming pipe right now. "No, I mean this whole thing with courting after you've found your match. That just seems like asking for trouble."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Well, you know." Bilbo frowned down at his pipe, not sure how to put this in a delicate manner without offending anyone. "Ah. What about children?"

"What about them?" Bofur frowned. "They'll come when they come, surely. Oh! Are you wondering about heirs? Because you know, that's not a problem. If two dwarves are matched, they can always have children, never mind what parts they seem to have on the outside."

"That's not quite what I mean." Though it did answer another question he had been wondering about. "Just… what about legitimacy? I mean, you've got two dwarves who like each other, and know they are a good match, and then you decide to have the wedding at some random point in the future. What if they have children before then?"

"Oh! Well, that's no problem." Bofur grinned. "Dwarves don't have illegitimate children."

"You'll forgive me if I doubt that statement." Bilbo's frown deepened. "I may be a bachelor myself, but I know enough about young hearts and minds to know that's not likely. I doubt young dwarves are quite so different from young hobbits as to be impervious to temptation."

"I don't think you quite understand, Master Burglar." Nori shook his head. "No dwarf has ever been born out of wedlock. None. Now, we do have the occasional very happy surprise born to a widow some ten years after they lost their spouse, but that's hardly out of wedlock, now is it? And of course there's often some much older sibling who will be quite happy to help with the child."

"Indeed. Why, our dwarflings are so very legitimate, some of us already have perfectly legitimate children the day we marry!" Glóin gave a decisive nod. "Me, I'd have loved to marry my beloved as soon as I found her, but I wanted to make sure we had a proper home first, so it took us a while to get there. I'll admit it was quite the change, gaining a new wife and a two-year-old son all at once, but thankfully we'd already had some practice with caring for her baby brother for the last two years. It was quite the experience, mind, especially given that she's an only child."

"And then there's those like young Ori, of course." Bofur gave a cheery nod, pointing with the stem of his pipe in the direction of the current spectacle. "He was actually born two full months after their mother died, the poor thing. A difficult start to a life if there ever was one, I'm sure you'll agree. Good thing Dori's such a responsible older brother, he's been caring for the wee one from the start."

"Aye, and of course Balin has been of much help there." Nori flashed Bilbo a smirk. "Cares for the lad like he were his own flesh and blood, he does. I suppose I can't complain too much when we do reach Erebor and they marry at last, with how much he's helped us with Ori."

"And let me guess," said Bilbo, starting to catch on. "You've already been promised a nephew out of the deal?"

"He catches on fast!" Nori's smirk widened. "Aye, that I have. Looking quite forward to being an uncle, really. I bet the child will be the bookish sort with those two, all quiet and polite but with a bit of a spark."

"I'm sure." Bilbo looked over to the scene, with Ori standing next to Dori, fiddling with the sleeves of his sweater. His gaze slid to Fíli standing opposite to them, then on to Thorin, and a thought occurred to him. "Ah. Is Thorin also, er, helping to care for the lads?"

This startled a laugh out of Glóin. "Oh, no! No, he just is their uncle, plain and simple. Right now he's filling in for his sister since she's obviously not here."

"Thorin's a solitary, everyone knows that." At Bilbo's no doubt confused gaze, Bofur shrugged. "Means he doesn't have a mark, so he must be complete as he is without needing to find his One."

"There are people like that?" Bilbo blinked. "I mean, obviously not all hobbits have a mark, I don't for one, but we just kind of assume that's because we haven't found a match yet. But some dwarves just… don't have a match at all?"

"That's right. It's not terribly common, mind, so when one of them happens to be the king the word does get around. Or a prince, for that matter. Kíli's a solitary as well, so it's really a good thing Fíli's found his match, and so early, too. Will give them the best opportunity to continue the line and all."

"Should have been sensible enough not to think about doing that with my little brother, though." Nori frowned for a moment, glaring at Glóin for suggesting such a terrible thing, then relaxed with a shrug. "Oh, well. At least we'll get two weddings out of the way at once, when we get to Erebor. Mahal knows Dori would fuss himself to an early grave trying to work through that stress twice."

"And what about you?"

"What about me?" Nori lifted his fairly impressive eyebrows.

"Are you going to get married, too?" Surely he wasn't remembering wrong. "I mean, I'm not sure how different dwarven marks are, they do seem pretty complex and all, but I remember the top part of Dwalin's pretty well because it reminds me of the decoration on my father's snuff box. Yours seemed to be the same as far as I could tell when you were chasing after Fíli earlier."

Nori simply stared at him with wide eyes, while Bofur developed a sudden coughing fit and Glóin threw his head back in a roar of laughter, thumping a hand on his knee. "Oh, that's rich! Why, we should call for a new Inspection soon as they're done with the current negotiations. Wouldn't want you to be left out from all this sudden happiness going around."

"That's just not —"

"Oh, it's absolutely necessary!" Glóin's face seemed about to split with a grin as he waved over to the other side of the camp. "Oi, Balin! Come settle an argument for us, will you? We'll put our burglar's memory to the test!"

As it turned out, Bilbo had not remembered wrong, though both Dwalin and Nori tried to argue so no matter how many people agreed that their marks were indeed a perfect match. This set of negotiations seemed to be going nowhere fast, though, and still hadn't been resolved to anyone's satisfaction — though to the amusement of many, to be sure — by the time Thorin finally barked an order to get settled for the night.

There might have been threats of simply having all the unattached dwarves of the Company strip down at once to check for any remaining matches, just to get everything out of the way at once, but thankfully this was dismissed as a joke. Bilbo was quite sure he would survive just fine without seeing any more naked dwarf flesh for quite a while, thank you.

And if a part of him did wonder just how much muscle and hair Thorin had hidden under his clothes, well, clearly it was a sign he needed sleep most urgently.

*

Thorin did not like any of this.

First there had been the thunder battle, and that blasted accident that almost took the lives of far too many. And then, once they finally got to some relative safety, the burglar tried to sneak off in the night. To return, he said — as though he would have made it back to Rivendell alive! He'd been so very insistent against Bofur's pleas that Thorin had been forced to get up, really, he ought to have been asleep already if not for the blasted itch on his wrist, and then it had taken ages of arguing before he'd managed to get the halfling to admit it perhaps wasn't the best of ideas to wander off into the snowstorm all alone. And then, because clearly the world hadn't punished Thorin enough yet for whatever heinous crimes he must have committed to deserve all of this, the stupid little elven knife had decided to start glowing.

Not that the warning did much good, really, when the floor was about to give out under them. Even if they'd all been awake and on their feet Thorin doubted they could have all gotten out of the cave before the floor opened up, sending them tumbling down.

It was only because he already stood nearby that he managed to grab hold of the halfling, who otherwise would have fallen right past them and probably been lost in the caverns of the mountain until he starved to death or got killed by something nastier than himself. Which was little consolation as they were all marched in front of the huge ball of lard that called himself the Goblin King. Honestly, the creature was an insult on all things kingly.

Except then there was Gandalf and fighting and an escape, and somehow they made their way out of the mountain, and though for one heart-stopping moment he almost thought they'd left the halfling behind Bilbo was there too, as alive and whole as he was likely to get on the road. Though then, it probably would have been for the better had he actually sneaked off on his own; then he might have held some chance of long-term survival. Thorin had been a fool to bring something so small and vulnerable on the journey, but there was no turning back now, not with a mountain full of goblins at their heels.

And then there was Azog.

Truth be told, there was very little Thorin remembered of that encounter later. It was a shameful thing to admit, that he would have given himself over to rage so completely at such an important moment, with his entire company depending on his leadership, but the truth was not always pleasant. All he had been able to see, to think, was the pale orc who had killed his grandfather and ruined his father, who wanted to hunt down his line until they were no more, who threatened not only him but what little remained of his family. Something that vile could not be allowed to live, to seek out the lives of those precious to him. He'd promised to bring Fíli and Kíli back to Dís, damn it, and if he failed in that he'd better be dead already when she found him.

Except then there was the warg and fire and pain, and then a brave little creature standing between him and certain death, wavering and afraid but not backing down.

He wouldn't have known much after that even if his memory hadn't been wavering already, lost to pain and unconsciousness as he was. His next clear thought was lying atop the carrock, with Gandalf saving his life, because apparently wizards were good for something after all. And Bilbo was there, still, small and weak and courageous Bilbo, and for all that Thorin did not often find the words to express himself he knew he had to do so now or he would regret it.

He really could have done without any cheers or applause from his stupid sister-sons, really. It wasn't that unique for him to speak his heart.

There was another matter, too, one he also wished to express, but he left that for later. It wasn't until they had made camp for the night that he approached the burglar again, beckoning him out of the direct hearing of the rest of the Company.

"Thorin?" Bilbo looked up at him, curious, not afraid. Truly a courageous one. "What is it now? I mean, I suppose it's nice to know you don't think me entirely useless, but really, you don't have to keep telling me."

"It's not about that. Well, not directly, in any case." Thorin drew a deep breath. He'd only get one chance for this. Well, really, he supposed he could try as many times as he liked, but to take too many attempts for such a simple question would not have been very impressive, and somehow he doubted Bilbo would want someone so lacking in any kind of wit. "I… there is another matter I would like to address."

"Oh?" Bilbo lifted his eyebrows. "And what's that?"

"I would wish to court you."

Bilbo blinked, once, twice. "That's…" Then, he fell silent. Great.

"Only if you wish it as well, of course," Thorin hasted to add. "I know my conduct toward you has been somewhat… unbecoming. If you reject me, I will be disappointed but understand. Or if you'd like some more time to think, that's fine too. I'll definitely try to prove myself to you better than I have, Mahal knows I owe you a whole lot of that, so if there's any way I could —"

"But why?" Bilbo cut him off, finally finding his voice. "Why would you do that?"

"Why?" Thorin frowned. "Why, because I find myself interested in you, little one. You may not be big and strong, but you certainly have enough courage to best dwarves several times your size. If courage and loyalty are enough for me to choose my company, why would it not be enough for my partner?"

"But the others said you're — what's the word? — ah, right, a solitary. That you don't need a partner."

"It's not quite that simple." Thorin shook his head. "Yes, it's true there is no One for me, nobody among my people who Mahal might have prepared as my other half. However, that does not mean I cannot or will not feel affection or desire. It's not entirely unheard of for love to grow between two who have no One, or on rare occasion even between some who might have someone yet lost them before they met and fell in love."

"And… you'd want to do that? With me?"

"If you are amenable, yes." Thorin nodded. "I know I'm unlikely to be a desirable partner most of the time; I have many duties and an irritable temper. I cannot even promise I will not be harsh with you again. But your courage lights a fire within me, and I would draw close to that fire, even though it might yet burn me."

"You know, I could get used to this Thorin who actually speaks his mind." The hobbit smiled. "Very well, then. I think I'd rather like to be courted by you, Thorin Oakenshield, if only so I might try to keep you from doing something that foolish again any time soon."

Clearly, the only appropriate response to such an insult was to kiss the hobbit silent.

Thorin wasn't one to regret his decisions, not once he had made them. This one, he was sure, he would never regret, certainly not as they reached the house of the great bear and found a corner away from prying eyes, hearts still racing and hands still trembling as they made to get rid of each other's clothes and touch each other all over.

He should have regretted it, really, by the time he saw the mark that told him Bilbo belonged to someone else, but clearly all he could do now was enjoy this while he could and hold the wretched, selfish hope that Bilbo never found the One who would take him from Thorin's arms.

*

Bilbo was miserable.

First it had been just the forest, which had been bad enough, with its sick air and lack of sunlight and then the terrible, terrible spiders. He still wasn't quite sure how he had managed to escape their notice, though he was glad he had, or there wouldn't have been anyone to free the dwarves from their cocoons. Except then there had been a battle, and after the battle there had been elves. Angry, armed elves who took them to cells, and took Thorin somewhere else, and now Bilbo was all alone and cold and there were whimpering noises coming from a cell nearby.

"Hey, tree-shaggers!" Fíli's shout was angry, but there was distress in his voice as well. "You can't just leave us here like this, my brother's in pain!"

"Kíli?" Bilbo went as close the the door of the cell as he could, hoping to hear the dwarf in the cell next to him. "Kíli, what's wrong?"

"Bilbo." Kíli's voice was a pained gasp. "I — I'm not sure. My chest, it's… it's like it's on fire…"

Bilbo's heart went cold as he thought of the spiders, the spiders and their venom and what terrible things they could do to a poor dwarf. He instantly joined in on Fíli's clamoring, the other dwarves doing the same. Not too long after a rather annoyed-looking guard came up.

"What is it?" he asked, eyeing them with suspicion.

"My brother," Fíli spoke up before Bilbo could think of a way to express their distress. "He's in pain! You've got to let our healer see him!"

The elf glanced into Kíli's cell, frowning suspiciously. "I'll do no such thing," he said. "But I'll bring one of our healers in to have a look."

"Just help him, please," Bilbo said, trying to keep his tone soft instead of the angry shouts of the dwarves. "I — I fear the spiders might have poisoned him."

The elf gave him an unreadable look. "If that is the case, our healers are his best hope." With nothing else, he strode off, high and mighty as one would please.

Much to Bilbo's relief, he did return soon enough, with an actual healer and a couple of other guards in tow. He even spied the blond elf who was clearly in charge lingering nearby, keeping a close eye on the proceedings. The healer was let into Kíli's cell, guards standing by in case there was any scheming.

He heard words from the next cell, too low to make out, Kíli clearly too pained to put up a fight. Then, mere moments later, there was a shout. The elf standing further away hurried closer, apparently summoned to help. Then there were more words, loud ones but too fast for Bilbo to make sense of with his rather basic knowledge of the elven language, and all of a sudden all the elves seemed to be moving at once.

Kíli was led out of the cell, still clutching his chest, following the guards without much protest. The blond elf followed them, but paused as he saw Bilbo pressed against the door of his cell. "Well, aren't you a curious find in this Company of dwarves."

"I'm not a dwarf." As though that wasn't clear enough. "What are you doing with Kíli?"

"Don't worry, we're not going to harm him. It's just that we can't relieve his pain while he's in his cell." There was something he wasn't saying, Bilbo could tell, but then asking probably wouldn't help the matter.

"So you're going to help him, then?" He clutched at the bars of the cell. "Promise?"

The elf looked at him with curious eyes for a moment, then nodded. "You have the word of Legolas Thranduilion," he said, and Bilbo couldn't help but gasp, just a bit. "Your friend will not come to harm under our care."

"Well, at least one of us is taken care of, then." He forced himself to relax. It would do him no good to waste his energy being upset. "And when will Thorin be brought back?"

"Once he has argued with my father to both of their satisfaction, I suppose." Legolas lifted his eyebrows. "Why so? Think he can help the matters?"

And what was it to this elf, anyway? "Just feeling a bit cold, that's all." Why, yes, he was being cheeky, but he was too tired and irritated and worried to care much about propriety. "It's really an excellent way to keep warm, having a dwarf of your own. Downright furnaces, they are."

The elf's expression shifted, though Bilbo wasn't sure whether it was amusement or something else. "I'll keep that in mind." Then, he turned away and left, following Kíli's group with long, swift strides.

After this there was nothing to do but wait. After what felt like forever Bilbo heard someone approach, the heavy footsteps of a dwarf along with some rather colorful curses. Hurrying to the door of his cell once more, he saw Thorin being led toward the cells, cursing his guards at every step.

Bilbo wasn't sure what he expected, but having them come to a halt in front of his cell was not it. The guards motioned for him to get away from the door, which he did with some hesitation. The door was then opened and Thorin shoved in, the door closed and locked after him.

"The prince says the hobbit was feeling cold," one of the guards said, and though Bilbo might have expected mocking both his expression and voice were entirely calm. "Apparently you are to keep him warm." Then, they turned and left, just like that.

"Thorin!" Bilbo hurried to him. "Are you all right? They didn't hurt you, did they?"

"I'm unharmed, I promise." Thorin's hands cupped his face, big and strong and oh so warm. "And you? They didn't do anything to you, my burglar?"

"I'm fine, and so are the others. Except…" Bilbo bit his lip, feeling awful, even more so as Thorin's brow furrowed in concern. "It's Kíli."

"Kíli?" Thorin's frown deepened. "What's wrong with him?"

"I — I don't know." Bilbo drew a deep breath. "He was in the cell next to mine,but he was in pain. A guard summoned a healer, except then they took him away. The prince — the prince was here, too, and he said they'd help him but couldn't do it in the cells, except they haven't been back yet and we haven't heard from Kíli at all."

"I'm sorry." Thorin breathed deep, his head falling in regret. "I couldn't keep you all safe…"

"It's not your fault, Thorin." Bilbo pressed closer to his chest. "He… I believe the prince, somewhat. I think he meant it when he said they wouldn't harm him. And he had you brought to my cell since I asked, and…" He couldn't help it, the fear and exhaustion of previous days catching up with him at once as he leaned into Thorin's strong chest. "I'm just so afraid…"

"Do not fear, my love." Thorin's voice was hushed, too low to reach any of the cells next to them, though Kíli's was empty, anyway. "They'll have to go through me before they can lay a finger on you."

"I'd just as soon not have you hurt, either, if it's all the same to you." Bilbo found his hands clutching at Thorin's clothes. "I just want us all to get out of this blasted forest alive…"

Thorin kissed his hair, then, his hair and his forehead and finally his mouth, and though Bilbo still was cold and scared and in quite some distress he managed to find some solace in that at least. Soon enough he found those big hand sliding lower along his body, stroking here and touching there and sliding under his clothes, and for all that this went against any semblance of propriety he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed this, needed Thorin and his touch and some proof that they were still alive, and if this was what he could get then by Yavanna he would take it.

And if their captors were offended by their conduct, well, they should have thought about that before holding anyone against their will, now shouldn't they?

*

For such a spirited thing, Bilbo was almost startlingly small covered with Thorin's coat.

He brushed a hand against the hobbit's curls, sighing. He deserved so much better, deserved furs and silk sheets to rest upon, a feather mattress and fluffy pillows, not a small cot in an elvish dungeon and a road-worn coat to shield him from the chilly air.

He deserved a proper lover, one who would keep him safe and sound in a happy little home, not a stupid old king who could offer naught but whispered promises and fevered touches in the dark. Truly, at the very least he should have had the decency to wait until they had a proper bed, with time and privacy and sweet-smelling oils rather than a bit of salve and the vain hope that none would hear them in the other cells. Yet Thorin had needed this, had needed to reassure himself that his hobbit was still healthy and whole even as everything else was robbed from him, when he was unarmed and imprisoned and one of his sister-sons had been stolen away. And Bilbo seemed to need it too, judging by the trembling touches and swallowed sounds and the way he pressed himself against Thorin in a breathless rhythm.

Once they got to Erebor, he would give Bilbo everything he desired and deserved and more. Well, unless Bilbo found someone better by then.

This was going to be a cheerful night, he could tell. Sighing, he stretched himself, then scratched his wrist in thought. There was a rash developing there, probably caused by something in that horrid forest. Like his life hadn't been difficult enough already.

Someone called his name, a loud whisper and not much else, and he turned towards the door of the cell. The hallway was dimly lit, just enough for him to make out a silhouette against the light, but it was familiar enough to give him pause.

"Kíli?" He rushed to the door, keeping his voice low. "Kíli, are you all right? I heard you were taken away; they could not tell me where."

"Peace, Uncle. I'm as well as I've ever been." The boy looked pale now that Thorin got close enough to actually look, though it could have been the lights and nothing else. "I promise you, they haven't hurt me in any way."

"Then why did they take you?" He frowned. "And why are you now here? Did you escape?"

"Nothing quite like that." Kíli inclined his head, and Thorin now saw an elf standing farther along the hallway, just far enough to pointedly not hear their hushed conversation. She was tall, like all her kind, a maiden with long red hair and a soldier's bearing. "Tauriel brought me here, to speak with you."

"Kíli. What's going on?" Because something was wrong, here, something that he needed to know.

"Ah. I suppose it'd be easiest to just show you." Kíli lifted his hands to the laces of his shirt, the only layer he wore above the waist at the moment, the rest lost somewhere in the elven realm. Loosening them up he pulled aside the fabric, just enough to reveal the patch of skin above his heart. It wasn't too clear in the dim light, but even so Thorin could make out the design on his skin, partly obscured by the sparse hair that covered his chest.

"That's." Thorin swallowed, fearing he already knew the answer. "What is that?"

"It's an elven soulmark." Kíli's cheeks flushed, and he glanced over his shoulder to where the elf maiden stood patiently, waiting for him. "Tauriel's mark."

"But — you are a solitary." Just like Thorin himself.

"Apparently, I'm not." Kili laced his shirt back up. "See, from what Tauriel told me, it's the mark of your other half that you get, not your own. And elves, well, they don't get their mark until they first set eyes upon their One, so that's what happened when I saw her. Tauriel, on the other hand, has born the same mark on her back ever since she came of age."

"The very same?" Thorin lifted his eyebrows. "You have checked?" Not that it was that terrible a thought for a lass to shed her shirt for an Inspection, not among dwarves anyway, but he wasn't sure elves felt the same.

"Ah, yes." The flush deepened. "The prince himself did so — Thranduil's son, he was the blond one when we were captured. Apparently they grew up together, so he recognized her mark on me as soon as he saw it."

"That makes sense, at least." Though none of the rest of this did. "So, now what? What are they going to do with you?"

"At the moment? Arranging a wedding. Apparently elves aren't quite like hobbits, to think the mark itself sufficient, but they're enough alike that they want the wedding as soon as possible. The Elvenking is grumbling, but he can't deny the marks. And, well, the reason they've got the rest of you locked up is because you were trespassing or some such; since I am Tauriel's One, I've got every right to be here, so they wouldn't have an excuse to throw me in a cell even if they wanted to."

"But you're being wed to an elf." That, to Thorin, seemed a worse fate than being held prisoner. At least you might escape from a cell without anyone losing their life.

"Aye, I am. And rather happy about it, mind you." Kíli lowered his eyes, looking serious all of a sudden. "I — I know this isn't what you'd want for me, or what mother would. But — she is my One, Uncle. I know that, even after such a short time. And, well, it's an opportunity, isn't it? I'm mostly free to wander, I can look for ways to get you all out of here, you know I wouldn't abandon you —"

"Hush, lad." Thorin reached his hand between the bars to set his finger on Kíli's lips as the boy seemed to be growing more frantic by the moment. "I know you wouldn't. Wild you may be, but never not loyal. All I wonder about is whether you'll go with us or stay with your One as we go."

"Well, obviously she's coming with us." Kíli blinked as though surprised this was even in question. "I'm not leaving her behind, and I want to go to the mountain with the rest of you. Clearly, all there is to do is to bring her along with us."

Thorin snorted. "And would she be willing?" He doubted it. Why would one of Thranduil's own want to leave the forest?

"That's certainly what she says." Kíli glanced towards her again. "There is evil filling the forest, Uncle, and she doesn't like it any more than we do. Thranduil won't see beyond the borders of his forest, though. It didn't exactly take me long to convince her of our cause, though she's worried about the dragon still."

"Of course it didn't." All of a sudden Thorin felt like sitting down and crying. Or laughing, he wasn't quite sure. Trust his little nephew to convince one of Thranduil's own guard to come with them. "I don't suppose you'd get us an invitation to the wedding as well?"

"I'll certainly try, but I doubt it." Kíli flashed him a grin. "Don't worry, Uncle. We'll get you out of there soon enough." Then, he was gone, rushing toward his new beloved.

Thorin stayed at the door for a moment longer, then turned and returned to Bilbo's side. He had been tasked with keeping the hobbit warm, after all.

It wasn't the last of Kíli's visits, though it was the only time he spoke quite so long and freely. Most of the time he was accompanied by one expressionless elf or another, passing messages between the dwarves, little treats and entertainment — a book here, a ball of yarn there, even a couple of flutes that weren't quite sized for dwarven hands but made quite a bit of noise anyway. He might have almost thought Kíli had entirely forgotten about what he was supposed to do, but then he knew there was very little Kíli was able to do right now, with guards trailing his every step. During one of their brief chats Kíli mentioned he wasn't even allowed a sharp knife at a table — though apparently the elves thought nothing of leaving their bows lying around unattended. The more foolish they were, for thinking dwarves so useless. Then came the day of the wedding, and Mahal, Dís was going to have his beard for allowing this to happen, that was for sure. Kíli had tried to convince the elves that it was necessary for his family to be present, while elves apparently acknowledged no such tradition; the compromise, as it was, was that Fíli had been allowed to attend the ceremony. Judging by the sounds Thorin heard from the direction of his sister-son's cell this was under the condition that he be stripped down in front of a guard to make sure he was entirely unarmed, and he would have felt indignant if he hadn't been quite certain Fíli was the one least suffering about that. He wasn't sure what ailed the poor guard more, Fíli's suggestive comments or Ori's growled threats, but as the elf led a newly dressed Fíli past Thorin and Bilbo's cell he looked as harassed as though he'd been chased down the hallway by a pack of wargs. Fíli, being Fíli, was only smirking in a rather smug manner. He was still wearing the same smirk as he appeared a few hours later, along with Kíli, Tauriel, and a ring of keys. "Funny thing, you know," Fíli said as he started quickly opening the doors, one by one, while Tauriel and Kíli tried to hush everyone down. "Apparently it's very impolite among elves to refuse a drink from the bride and groom during a wedding. Not that the poor ones on guard duty seemed very reluctant anyway, having been left out of the festivities. Didn't take too long for them to fall asleep, either, especially with whatever it is Tauriel slipped in."

"Nothing lethal, don't look so very scandalised," Tauriel huffed as Thorin gave her a dubious look. She was wearing what appeared to be a wedding gown, and was currently busy cutting away most of the hem, revealing a pair of practical trousers underneath. He had to applaud her foresight, along with the fact that her wedding gown obviously included sheaths for her blades. Perhaps elves weren't entirely hopeless. "They'll have quite the headache come the morrow, but that serves them right for not being more diligent in their duties."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you are their superior officer. Would make sense that they trust you."

"I'll call it all a training exercise if you lot are too noisy and we get caught." She gave him a lop-sided smile. "Now, I want you all to consider the fact that I'm helping you escape when I'm supposed to be enjoying my wedding night, so I'd rather appreciate it if you were all quiet and fast on your feet or this is all for naught."

Thorin decided not to think about anything even remotely related to a wedding night involving one of his sister-sons and followed their guide instead. He couldn't help but notice that they were heading down, not up, but as he questioned Kíli about this he merely shook his head.

"We've been thinking about it, and getting you lot out through the gates is next to impossible," he said. "We'll have to take another way out." Which didn't sound ominous at all, but right now he'd just have to trust in the judgment of his younger heir.

Mahal, they were all going to die.

Tauriel led them to the door of what appeared to be a wine cellar, then halted them. "Let me go first," she said, taking out a bottle from a bag she had with her. "I'll just make sure the guards are actually asleep before we all barge in." Opening the door, she stepped inside, making sure not to let any of them show through the doorway. Kíli followed her closely, but then Thorin supposed he was the one out of them who did have an excuse.

When there was a surprised shout, though, he rushed right in, the rest of the Company behind him.

He wasn't sure what he had expected, but the sight that actually came to be before him was certainly not it. There was Kíli, holding a bow drawn and ready, and Tauriel with her knives at the ready. Opposite to them sat Legolas, Thranduil's son, looking rather relaxed with a goblet in his hand.

"And here's the rest of the merry band." He lifted his goblet in greeting. "Oh, don't look like that, I'm not here to stop you. Did you know it's very easy to convince guards to leave their post when you can actually command them to do so? And they're not even suspicious if you tell them you need a moment to mend a broken heart." He gave a delicate sniff that was clearly fake. "It is such a hardship, after all, seeing my oldest friend married to a dwarf. Who could blame me for wishing for a bit of solitude?"

"Explain yourself." The words were more a growl than a question as Thorin stepped forward. "What are you playing at, Thranduilion?"

"Oh, you know, getting a drink as it happens — not from your wine, Tauriel, I know your ways with herbs too well. Making sure your little escape plan actually succeeds, because my father is going to be furious when he learns about it and that does make me feel warm inside. Oh, and delivering a little gift." He gestured with his goblet toward what Thorin realised was a pile of all their weapons, the ones that had been confiscated upon their arrival, even Orcrist and Sting. "Consider it my gift to the happy couple, if you will."

"Legolas." Tauriel wasn't much better than Thorin, hissing at her friend. "What is the meaning of this?"

"What do you think?" Legolas took a sip of his wine and smirked. "I'm coming along, of course."

"Don't be a fool."

"I'd be more a fool if I didn't. And really, what choice do you have? Leave me behind? At least if I come with you, you'll know I haven't raised an alarm. And don't even suggest a threat," he added as Thorin carefully belted Orcrist, keeping a suspicious eye on him all the time. "I'm not altogether happy with your plan, Thorin Oakenshield, but we both know you are not yet fool enough to try and harm me in my father's kingdom. The dragon would be the least of your problems if I was found hurt or even slain by your hand."

"Consider that your only salvation." Though he was going to be sure to get to the bottom of the elf boy's motivations. "Now, how are we supposed to escape? I see no other way out of this room."

"Oh, there is another way, though you may not like it very much." The elf hopped up from where he was seated, then walked up to a pile of barrels, giving one of them a not too delicate kick. "I do hope none of you get seasick." This was delivered with a grin of so much glee, Thorin found himself very much debating the value of running him through with his blade after all.

Really, Thranduil's wrath could hardly have been much worse than the barrel ride that followed.

Especially since he was sure he heard the stupid elf laughing.

*

Bilbo wasn't quite sure how to feel about their arrival in Laketown.

The barrel ride had been horrid, for all that he had been quite snugly fit in with Thorin, with just barely enough room for them both. They hadn't even thought there might be a gate in the way, which would have been a problem if it hadn't been for Legolas and Tauriel, deftly riding on the shoulders and even heads of the dwarves as they rushed up to the lever to keep it from getting shut. These guards did not get a lovely gift of wine, though from what Bilbo saw they at least weren't killed, which he supposed was a relief. He really wouldn't have wanted their elf friends to do something so horrid just to aid them.

There was enough killing, anyway, when a bunch of orcs tried to get them from the shores of the river. And really, it would have been horrid enough even without Thorin doing his best to shield Bilbo with his body.

The idiot didn't even think of what he would have done if he'd ended up stuck in a barrel with a dead dwarf.

When they finally reached the shore at a more peaceful pace, though, everyone was alive, though wet and shivering from all the splashes of water over the side of the barrels. The dwarves immediately started stripping what layers they could and yet retain their dignity. Legolas and Tauriel refrained, though even they hadn't escaped the water, and Bilbo hesitated about it until a piece of fabric was dropped on his head.

"You'll freeze to death," Thorin said, standing there with his chest entirely bare save for the matted fur he called chest hair, his coat and a couple of other garments draped over his arm. "It's dry, or nearly so; the other layers kept it from getting too wet."

Bilbo stammered his thanks, knowing by now it was useless to get into an argument with Thorin about such things. Besides, if the piece of clothing he'd been offered — Thorin's undershirt, he realised with a slight flush — was indeed dry, then clearly Thorin himself was mostly so as well. Dwarves and their layers! While Bilbo could appreciate the need for a shirt and a waistcoat and a jacket, as was proper, at least he didn't have an undershirt and an overshirt and a tunic and a tabard and an overcoat and a mail somewhere in between there as well.

It was indeed dry, though, and made him feel a bit less cold as he quickly shucked off his wet layers and pulled on the shirt. It was entirely too big for him, and he rather felt like a fauntling playing dress-up in his father's clothes, but at least he hopefully wouldn't catch his death of cold this way.

From the corner of his eye he noticed Kíli making a similar offer to Tauriel, who refused with a smile, and Fíli doing the same to Ori who flushed and spluttered and insisted he was fine, really he was, his knitted pieces would be dry soon and besides kept him quite warm even while they were wet.

Really, all around there was far too much dwarven skin and hair showing right now.

Then there was their travel to the town, and the grim bargeman who tried to plead with them to give up their quest, and then they were discovered by some malicious gossip and Thorin was forced to give a speech. A fine speech it was, too, one that guaranteed them welcome in the town even more readily than the presence of Thranduil's own son, and all of a sudden there was no need to hide as they were being offered food and clothing by a townsfolk who could scarcely afford it.

Really, it would have been quite nice if Ori hadn't taken ill and Bard hadn't been still so very grim and Bilbo hadn't been so very very nervous about the task ahead.

He sought out Thorin after Dori and Óin chased him away from Ori, insisting there were enough people fussing over — ah, caring for him already. Though he wasn't sure where he would find the king, he hadn't expected for him to be speaking with Legolas out on the porch. Creeping closer, not wanting to interrupt such a rare sight, he realised what had them both occupied at the same time: out on a lower dock, Kíli was standing with Tauriel, neither of them having eyes for anything but each other.

"You are not worried?" Thorin glanced at Legolas, a serious look on his face.

"About Tauriel?" Legolas gave a small humming sound. He wasn't entirely relaxed, neither of them was, but at least they managed not to be openly hostile. "Should I be? Is your nephew perhaps in the habit of breaking hearts wherever he goes? If so, I should be deeply disappointed to see it happen again; after all, they are now honourably wed."

"You know what I mean, elf." Thorin sighed. "She will lose him soon enough."

"If he falls in battle, perhaps. If not, they will have plenty of happiness before them."

"I'm not entirely clueless." Thorin shook his head, now. "You elves live long lives, longer than most of us can even understand, I'd wager. What's to become of her when he ages and dies?"

"He will not." Legolas's voice was calm and sure. "Not before their time is full."

"What are you speaking of?" Thorin frowned. "Are you suggesting he might live longer than he ought to?"

"Indeed." Legolas glanced down to where Kíli was speaking with Tauriel, laughing and animated in his gestures. "From what I understand the prince might yet have some maturing to do, but he will not grow old until she does, which will not be for a good while yet. Of course, either of them might still be felled by an enemy, or if they are truly unlucky an illness might claim your little prince, but mere years will not be enough to part them."

"Are you certain?" Thorin's voice was quiet, as though he hardly even dared to speak his question. "What guarantee do you have of that?"

"It's not the first time an elf has found love outside their race, you realise." Legolas was now the one to shake his head. "The times are not frequent, mind, but then they are legendary enough for all to know of them. And if the gift of a longer life may be given even to men, who have such a different fate from all others, why would it not be granted to one of Aulë's children?"

"But you do not know."

"For certain? No, I do not. However, I do know I have seen my dearest friend bear a mark for centuries that she could not understand, and now she has found the match for it. We always suspected another race might have their marks on their backs, but we did not know for sure; not even my father could offer an explanation. Perhaps he simply did not want to mention it, or perhaps dwarves have ever been too secretive of their ways, but either way we had no knowing what the mark signified. Imagine my shock when I was summoned to a young dwarf in pain and found over his heart the mark I knew from the skin of my friend."

"A shock indeed, I'm sure." Thorin frowned. "And your father had no opposition, then, when you found the matching marks?"

"Should he have? I'm not saying he was pleased, mind, but he would not argue against such clear evidence. Besides, I think he was relieved, in a way." Legolas shook his head, not appearing very happy about whatever thought plagued him. "He had been… worried, I suppose I should say, that I might have my eye on Tauriel. I won't deny that I love her, but only as I would a sister. Even so, I would not have allowed all this if I did not believe it would bring her happiness."

"Right." Thorin was quiet for a moment, and Bilbo almost spoke up at last, when Thorin's voice cut through the silence again. "And you believe you will find the match to your mark, then, if you follow us?"

"I do not understand what you mean." So why was Legolas suddenly so very still?

"He thought you might have interest in each other, even though she bore a mark, however strange its placement. You were hostile towards us at first, yet as soon as you found out about Kíli's mark, you became more helpful. And even when we were all cold and wet, you would not strip off your shirt, even though if you knew your friend's mark so well it couldn't just be unseemly for an elf to do so in company, for all that our hobbit was quite shy about it." Thorin shook his head. "It's hardly proof, but all this would suggest you bear the mark of a dwarf as well."

There was a moment of silence, during which Bilbo hardly dared to breathe. At last, though, Legolas sighed. "It's a foolish hope, anyway, is it not? Clearly it's not one of your Company, or I would know already, and the mountain is empty of dwarves."

"There will be dwarves aplenty once we have the stone, so as to summon our allies to our side." Thorin still looked grim. "But even that is hardly a guarantee. An elf life is long, and that of a dwarf quite brief compared. It's entirely possible the one you are meant for is not yet born."

"I know it's not so." Legolas turned away from Thorin. "We elves… even with us, it often happens our true love has not been born yet as we reach our maturity. As such, we have a longing of a sort when our love has reached the age where they might find their mark. Tauriel has felt hers for some ten years now, maybe a bit more."

"That would make sense." Thorin nodded. "That would put Kíli in his early sixties, about the earliest a dwarf may get their mark, for all that they are not quite of age yet."

"I have not felt it for quite so long, yet it's there, the feeling that I should be searching for my other half wherever they may be. I know my love is out there, I just have to find them; now I know I must seek them among the dwarven folk. And what better way do I have of finding them than aiding you in your quest? There will surely be dwarves from all over when you send out your summons, and more yet if you bring back the glory of Erebor. And if I have aided you, perhaps I might be permitted to visit now and then to try and find my mark."

"When we bring it back, not if." Thorin's voice was firm enough to send a shiver down Bilbo's spine. "There is no question about it."

"I do hope you are right." Legolas finally turned back toward the king, inclining his head. "Now, are there any other concerns? It's just, your hobbit friend seems to have been waiting quite a while for us to be done."

"Bilbo?" Thorin spun around, seeing Bilbo standing just beyond the doorway. "How long have you been there?"

"Ah, for a while now." Bilbo hesitated, then stepped forward. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to eavesdrop. It's just, it was curious to see the two of you speaking, and I didn't wish to interrupt."

"I suppose it's a sight strange enough to keep an eye on." Bilbo found himself drawn into an easy embrace, warm and sure, even as Thorin glanced at Legolas. "Have my word, then, Thranduilion, such as it means anything to you: once the mountain is free, if you do not betray us, you'll have my leave to visit the mountain as often as you please, to find your match there."

"Truly?" Legolas sounded surprised. "You would permit that?"

"Of course." Thorin snorted. "Think about it. Do you think there is any greater insult I could offer your father than to see one of my people wed to his precious son?"

And really, it was an absolutely horrid reason to be nice to someone and help them find their love, but right now, Bilbo couldn't bring himself to care.

*

Of course, things couldn't just be simple. First there was Ori still being sick when they were to set out, left behind with the bargeman's family and Óin — and Bofur, though that was only because he overslept. Then Legolas, growing restless about some bad signs, tempted away not only Tauriel but Kíli as well, to go with him to check on something up in the north. And then when they finally made their way to the mountain, found the doorway and saw the keyhole and finally stepped back into the halls that were theirs by right, he was supposed to let Bilbo go into danger all by himself.

For the first time Thorin began to question his plan.

Of course, Bilbo would have none of that, sneaking off as though he had any right to. Except before Bilbo could even dream of finding the Arkenstone the dragon woke, having caught the smell of dwarves, and truly Thorin could blame none but himself after he had been unable to let Bilbo go for such a long time.

There was running. A lot of running. Also, gold and fire and an irate dragon. Really, he could hardly be blamed if all he wanted to do as they saw the dragon flying off was find his hobbit and hold him close for a brief moment.

Of course, then he realised the Arkenstone was yet to be found, so things were going to get ugly soon.

And the stupid rash on his wrist was only growing worse.

*

This was, Bilbo decided, not working.

He'd barely had time to breathe in relief at having survived a showdown with a dragon — a dragon, one big enough it probably could have razed all of Hobbiton in a day and had time for a proper dinner afterwards! — when Thorin started to get strange. If he'd been insistent about the Arkenstone before, save for a moment of hesitation when it was actually time for Bilbo to fulfil his contract, now he was nigh obsessed. He barely gave everyone enough time to sleep and eat, and even then only the minimum; if Thorin had had his way, they would have spent every waking moment searching for that blasted stone.

Bilbo was sure he had glimpsed it, earlier, when he had spoken with the dragon; however, he hadn't been able to get close enough before it grew enraged and tried to burn him to a crisp. At the time Thorin had seemed quite relieved that he had survived the ordeal. Now, seeing how he was running everyone ragged for the sake of one shiny stone, Bilbo started to wonder if he'd soon be accused of not fulfilling his contract when he had chosen to escape with his life.

What was worse, he was getting sick. Actually sick, not just with a case of sniffles. The first sign had been a loss of appetite, and for all that he might have tried to blame that on their poor and ever diminishing rations it was simply unthinkable for a hobbit not to have the mind for food, however terrible the food may have been. And then what little he managed to get down came back up again, and for all that he tried not to draw too much attention when clearly they all had much more important matters on their minds he knew his friends were growing concerned.

He tried to do his part, still. Not that there was much he could do, not with Thorin like this, sweet and tender one moment and crying betrayal the next. Bilbo tried to reason with him in his clearer moments, but his words would not get through. Even when those left behind in Laketown arrived, speaking of the fire and destruction, Thorin cared about nothing but that blasted gold and a shiny stone.

Really, Bilbo could hardly be blamed for hiding it away when he did come across it, quite by accident as he almost hit his toe on the stupid lump. He wouldn't keep it for long, of course, just for a bit more, though Balin's talk of the madness of Durin's line had him growing quite concerned.

Except then Óin cornered him, along with a rather concerned Fíli, and demanded to examine him. Except they just so happened to be also arming themselves for battle because Thorin would not listen to reason, would not even truly negotiate with Bard no matter how dishonourable it was, and none of Bilbo's pleas would reach him yet. Clearly this was no time for such trifling matters as one little hobbit being sick, even if the nausea and exhaustion plagued him all the time now.

Good thing Óin had been so insistent, too, or things might have turned out quite differently.

As it was, he marched up to Thorin the night before what was sure to become a terrible battle, demanding his attention. It must have been one of Thorin's more agreeable moments, as he granted it easily enough, turning to look at Bilbo with a soft smile.

"What is it, my burglar?"

"You have to stop this, Thorin." Bilbo looked him in the eye, willing him to understand. "If you will not negotiate, we'll have a war on our hands on the morrow. And no matter how great a fortress we might have here, you know we can't win this battle, not our little company against an army."

"Oh, Bilbo." Thorin sighed, hand brushing against the side of his face. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. I know it may seem hopeless now, but believe me, I have a plan."

"Well, unless that plan consists of actually negotiating with Bard and Thranduil and giving them their due, it's not good enough." Bilbo crossed his arms over his chest, taking a step out of Thorin's reach. He would not be swayed this easily. "This will end in blood and death, Thorin, and I can't accept that."

"You would abandon us now?" Thorin's voice was low, disappointed more than angry, and somehow that hurt even worse. "You've followed us this far, faced a dragon for us, yet you would flee now that we finally have what is ours by right?"

"If it was just my safety, I would not." Sure, he would try to think of something else, would think up a scheme of some sort, but he would not leave Thorin's side for good until he was forced to. "However, it's not just me I have to think about anymore."

"So who is it that concerns you, then? The men of Laketown, who only aided us in greed? Or perhaps Thranduil's court, after they held us prisoner and tried to steal my sister-son away? What would give you such concern, my burglar?"

"I spoke with Óin." There was no way around it; he would just have to be honest. "He's quite certain I'm to become a big brother soon enough."

Thorin blinked slowly. "…What?"

"You heard me." Now he just had to understand as well. "Quite a surprise it was, considering my parents have been dead for quite some time, but Óin was insistent. There's going to be a new Baggins soon enough, a vulnerable little one at that, and for all that I've followed you this far regardless of my own safety I can not in good conscience do the same when I am responsible for a little one." He dropped his arms, now, hugging his stomach instead. He was still rather disbelieving, himself, but he had to trust Óin's expertise in this.

Had to hope this would be enough.

"You…" Thorin trailed off, taking a short, halted step forward. His hand reached toward Bilbo, hovering in front of his stomach. "You're certain?"

"So Óin tells me. And the symptoms are clear enough." Bilbo met Thorin's eyes as steadily as he could. "Perhaps I am a coward for this, Thorin, but I will not risk one I should keep safe. If you insist on going along with this madness, then please allow me to go on my way first." He swallowed. "I would rather raise my brother alone than be buried with your son."

At his last words something in Thorin seemed to crumble, and he fell down to his knees. "Bilbo," he said, a strangled gasp more than anything. "I cannot — I should not —" He hung his head, shaking it slowly. "I cannot bear to see you go."

"Then will you negotiate?" As Thorin seemed to waver, Bilbo pressed on. "Or if you cannot bear to do it, will you allow someone to do it in your stead? Fíli's got a good head on his shoulders, for all that you've dragged him into this mad venture. I'd offer to do it myself, but I have no idea whatsoever what anything is even worth."

"Is that the only way?" Even as he spoke, though, Thorin sounded defeated already. "There is no other option?"

"If you wish for us all to live to see the sunset tomorrow? No, there is not." Taking on a more gentle tone, he let one of his hands tangle in Thorin's hair. He was tempted to push aside that ridiculous crown, but he didn't want to scare him off. "It's gold, Thorin, gold and gems they want. I've seen the hoard, as have you; you have more than enough to pay them all they ask for and more, and still have plenty left to rebuild Erebor and pay your Company. Gold and riches are nice to have, I suppose, but they are little consolation for the dead." His other hand rested on his stomach. There was nothing he could feel there, not yet, but there would be soon enough. "This, though? This is something you cannot mine out of a mountain. And while gold will remain in the grasp of the dead, this is all too easily stolen away with a blade or an arrow."

"It is a treasure," Thorin murmured. "A treasure more precious than any other."

"I thought you might agree." Bilbo knelt down, now, to get closer to Thorin's level. "Can you do this, Thorin, for me? For us? Can you show me what truly matters to you?"

"I… yes." Thorin lifted his head at last, and there was a fire in them that Bilbo had missed these last few days in place of the mad gleam. "Yes. For you, and for that little life, I can do that."

Bilbo hardly even dared to hope, but Thorin stood up now, head held high as he flung the crown aside himself. All of a sudden it was the old Thorin again, barking sharp orders that yet held sense rather than the mad bellowing he had grown all too used to. The Company was soon summoned, each given their tasks, and as dawn approached after a very busy night Thranduil and Bard were met at the now open gates by a clear-eyed king and his grinning heir, with chest upon chest of gold and gems already awaiting them. Thranduil's surprise was almost comical, really, and while the tension rose again as Dáin arrived it was soon diffused as it became clear there was no battle to be had.

Of course, that was when three very excited archers ran along, speaking of orcs and goblins and Gundabad, and then another army showed up, and really it all would probably have turned out quite horrifying if Bilbo hadn't been whisked away behind the thickest walls all at once. He might have complained, really, except he had to remember it wasn't just about him anymore, it was about something so much more important and fragile and precious and if keeping that safe meant he was to stand aside and watch his friends take to the battlefield, then that was what he would do.

It was almost worth it just to see the dwarves rallying to their king.

*

"So, that happened." Thorin kicked at the head of a fallen goblin, not terribly surprised as it rolled clean away from the filthy body. "What's the verdict?"

"Many dead on all sides, from what I'm told." Dáin walked up to his side, worn and ragged after the battle but no less energetic. "'Course, the important part is that our side still has survivors."

"Aye, that would seem to be the most crucial point." Thorin glanced around, taking in the battlefield. It was a mess, stretching from the gates of Erebor all the way to the streets of Dale, fallen orcs and goblins and men and elves and dwarves all in a big, unsightly mess. It would take them days just to separate all the bodies, never mind dispose of them with any kind of propriety. At least they were headed toward winter; had this been summertime the stench would have been unbearable.

"Your heirs fought well, I'm told." Dáin flashed him a grin. "Though what's this I hear about Kíli teaming up with an elf lass? Are we sure he's a Durin at all?"

"He bears her mark. Seems unsightly to part them, especially after she helped us sneak away from the Elvenking's dungeons." Thorin shrugged. "Besides, I've little right to speak, given where I found my own half."

"Your own?" Dáin frowned. "But you're a solitary, even I know that."

"So I thought, yes." Almost without thinking Thorin started to take off his gear, bracer, gauntlet, glove. He'd taken a nasty slice to the arm, anyway, and while it had been hastily bound it'd need better treatment once things were not quite so dire. He'd seen the condition others were in, some already doomed to death and others yet fighting. Fíli, his beautiful Fíli had a gash over his face, and while he joked about how the scar would only make him prettier to look at Thorin was quite certain Ori would have preferred his old Fíli with both eyes still there.

But, hey, at least they were alive to make such jokes and complaints. That was really all he could hope for.

"Thorin!" The voice made him spin around at once, searching the mess of the battlefield for its source. Bilbo was rushing toward him, followed by Kíli and Thranduil's son, others tracing after them at some more distance. Thorin didn't care about the others, though, all he saw was his beloved Bilbo, dirty and pale but whole and wonderfully, remarkably alive. As soon as the hobbit was close enough Thorin picked him up, twirling him in the air before drawing him into a tight embrace.

"My burglar," Thorin murmured into the curly hair. "I pray I never put you in such danger again."

"I'm fine. We're all fine." Yet he could feel Bilbo trembling a bit as he clung to Thorin. "I was afraid I would lose you…"

"I'm not so easily stolen away, beloved." It took a moment until Thorin managed to loosen his hold, ignoring Dáin's obvious amusement or the others rushing towards them. "Say, Bilbo, there is something I've been meaning to ask."

"Oh?" Bilbo blinked up at him, eyes wide, and Mahal, were those tear tracks on his face? Truly, Thorin was utterly without honour to have allowed his One to cry so. "What is it?"

"The soulmark that hobbits have." This earned him another surprised blink. "What is it like, exactly?"

"Uh. It's… a mark? Nothing as complicated as those dwarves have, not usually, though with a bit more twirls and hooks and such. More flowery, if you will. Why so?"

"Are they something like this, perhaps?" With the other gear on his arm gone, he pushed the sleeve up, showing his now bare wrist. Where before had been a nasty rash was now a clean mark, a mess of complicated lines neater than any tattoo could have hoped to be. Bilbo stared at it, mouth opening without a sound.

"Well, finally." That was Kíli, of course it was Kíli, and was the stupid boy actually rolling his eyes? "Now are we at last allowed to tell Bilbo about the mark on his back?"

"What?" Bilbo spun around. "I do not have any kind of a mark!"

"Oh, you do, beloved." Thorin set his hand on Bilbo's back, right over where he knew the mark to be hidden. "I first saw it in Beorn's house. I almost lost my hope then, thinking you were meant for another, but since you said hobbits do not get their marks until they find their One I held onto hope it might have been meant for me."

"And then with me and Tauriel he got confirmation it's the other one's mark that we bear, not our own." Kíli grinned. "So you've had a mark on your back all this time, just like we dwarves tend to, and Uncle's finally got one on his wrist, just like a hobbit."

"Excuse me!" Bilbo huffed. "I do think I'd have noticed if I had something like that on me!"

"Would you really?" Bofur of all people asked, frowning. "I mean, you've said your parents died before you came of age, and you haven't had a lot of bedmates since. Even on the journey you were all shy 'bout your clothes. Has anyone actually seen your bare back in your adult life? Well, before our mighty king came along, of course?"

"I…" Bilbo hesitated, then closed his mouth. Thorin chuckled and drew him close.

"See? I would hardly lie to you about such a thing, beloved. But if you wish I'm sure we can find a mirror for you to check later. For now, there is plenty to do."

"Ah, right, that reminds me." Bilbo's hand disappeared inside his coat. "I've got something for you."

This time it was Thorin who blinked in surprise as Bilbo gave him… something. It was a lump, roughly the size of his fist, wrapped up in a dirty handkerchief. "Is this…"

"Oh, you know. Just a shiny little stone I found the other day." Bilbo fidgeted. "I, ah, thought I'd keep it safe until your mind was a bit clearer."

"The Arkenstone." The King's jewel. The thing that had somehow come to symbolise the entirety of his birthright as the leader of Durin's folk, as the head of Durin's line. Everyone else fell into a hushed silence, even the elves staring at the little package. Now that Thorin looked, he could see the faint glow seeping through the thin fabric.

After a moment, he shook himself, then tossed it in Kíli's direction. The prince caught it with a surprised yelp.

"Take that to Balin, tell him to have it put on the throne when there's time. I'm going to be busy for quite a bit, I think, what with peace treaties to negotiate and bodies to bury and celebrations to arrange." Thorin turned to Bilbo with a smile. "Besides, from what I understand I happen to be married by hobbit custom, so clearly I should be introducing my new consort to everyone as well. Oh, and spreading the news about my impending fatherhood, of course. Really, I'll be far too busy to worry about some old stone for quite a while yet."

Bilbo smiled, and Thorin had never seen anything more beautiful, not even the most gleaming gems or brightest gold coming anywhere close. Clearly, he had done something very, very right to deserve this.

Okay, so the fact that this little announcement seemed to have made both Dáin and Thranduil's brat fall down on their arses right there on the battlefield was something of an indication, too, but really Bilbo's smile was the better part.

*

"You know," Bilbo said, leaning back in his seat that was really more of a throne — "subtlety" was clearly not part of the dwarven vocabulary, certainly not if the dwarf in question was a smitten king — as he surveyed the party going on around them, "I have to say, you dwarves aren't too bad at this whole party business. Well, to be honest I'd prefer more open air and some grass for the dancing, but I suppose the golden floor and glittering crystals will have to do in a pinch."

"So glad that you are at least somewhat satisfied, my love." Thorin's lips twitched even as he picked up Bilbo's hand to press kisses along his knuckles. "I don't suppose I could convince you to join me for a dance?"

"Oh, I'd love to, but I don't really know any dwarven dances, and most hobbit jigs would be pretty uncomfortable with this in the way." He patted his growing stomach. It was rather large now, which made him dread the last couple of months he had left; if he was going to grow any larger, he couldn't leave his bed soon. He was rather starting to suspect he might be having two of them in there. Of course, suggesting anything of the kind made the dwarves scoff and laugh in disbelief. Apparently twins were a thing that did not happen to dwarves, at all. Though then, Bilbo had to admit it was entirely possible he was just having a big dwarven baby instead. One who somehow managed to kick him on two different sides at once. What did he know about dwarven babies?

Really, he was rather hoping it was twins. For all that he had been assured the birth part would sort itself out — and he really wished he hadn't asked about the details, even though really he needed to know — he still suspected he'd rather handle birthing two smaller babies than one monstrously large one.

Dís, with the experience of one who had gone through two pregnancies with what she called ridiculously thick-skulled babies, had taken one look at his growing abdomen when she arrived and announced she would begin the funeral arrangements in plenty of time, since clearly Bilbo was going to murder Thorin when the time came to get the child out into the world. Bilbo found this ridiculous, of course. As though he was going to deal with an infant or two all alone while also trying to keep an eye on King Fíli.

The babies weren't arriving tonight, though. Tonight there was a feast, one larger than anything he had ever seen in the Shire, with food and drink and music and hundreds upon hundreds of dwarves. There was plenty of reason to celebrate, now. The large caravans from Blue Mountains had arrived at last, bringing with them Dís and most of Thorin's people. This, of course, meant that they could finally have a proper coronation, and, it had been decided, a bunch of weddings as well. Bilbo and Thorin and Kíli and Tauriel had forgone any actual ceremony, being already married in the manner of hobbits and elves, respectively — though there was still a bit of pomp and circumstance about crowning Bilbo and Tauriel as prince consort and princess of Erebor — but the brothers Ri and their partners were still to be wed, or rather two brothers Ri and one son of Balin, and nobody saw any reason why the feast couldn't celebrate the other two marriages as well, especially since Bilbo was quite clearly heavy with another heir to the throne.

So, yes. Plenty of reason to celebrate. And a very happy Thorin, too, one who actually kept smiling all the time instead of returning to his usual grim exterior after a brief moment.

"As you wish, my beloved." Thorin grinned at him. "Is there anything I can get you? Your plate seems to be empty again, and we can't have that in a feast."

"Mmm, I wouldn't say no to some more of that excellent chicken." Bilbo smiled brightly as his husband took his plate and headed towards the tables laden with food. Had this been a more formal sort of affair, they would have been seated at the head table with food right in front of them, but due to the logistical improbability of having all the hundreds of dwarves seated with enough food within reach at all times and still have enough space and time for dancing the feast was handled buffet style. It was all for the better, anyway; this way even the kitchen workers could join in the fun, only being called to duty when something had to be replenished.

It almost made him dizzy, the amount of dwarves rushing about. Dwarves, and men as well, and even a few elves here and there, he noted. Many had been invited from Dale, and a few had answered Tauriel's call from Mirkwood, Legolas chief among them. Bilbo shouldn't have been quite so amused at the way the poor boy seemed to have made it his mission of the night to make eye contact with as many dwarves as he possibly could in hopes of one of them being his fabled One.

He rather hoped the poor boy wouldn't have to face disappointment for too long.

"Ah, Glóin." He smiled as the redheaded dwarf stepped off the dance floor, releasing Dís from his arms. She seemed to have a mind of dancing with all her cousins tonight, as she barely gave Bilbo a nod before making a beeline towards where Dwalin was standing with all the propriety of a guard who had already had quite a few large tankards of ale tonight. "Where is your family? I don't think I've seen them since the beginning of the feast." They had been quite the interesting pair to be introduced to, Glóin's wife and son. Each of them had a temper to more than match him, and on top of that young Gimli had quite the clever tongue on him. A dangerous combination, Thorin had said, and Bilbo wasn't sure whether to agree or just anticipate great things from the lad.

"Aye, 'tis a pity." Glóin gave a heavy sigh, stroking his beard. "Gimli was so looking forward to the feast, too, but seems he's taken ill. He tried to hide it, of course, stubborn lad that he is, but there's no fooling his mother's eyes. She took him to our rooms to rest; hopefully he'll recover enough to enjoy the feast at least somewhat."

"Oh?" Bilbo frowned. "What ails Gimli?"

"I do not rightly know." Glóin shook his head. "Seems there's an ache in his chest. I do hope he's not coming down with a cough or anything."

"Right." A suspicion began to grow in his mind. "Say. When did this ache of his start?"

"I couldn't say for sure, what with him begin so stubborn about it. I know he was fine during the ceremonies, but started to act odd soon after we came to the feast. After Thorin introduced all the guests of honor, I think."

"I see." Guests of honor including a very particular person. "Glóin. Say, do you remember when we were captured in Mirkwood?"

"I could hardly forget," Glóin grumbled. "After what that lad said about my wife, and my darling Gimli!"

"Right." Bilbo sighed. This was going to end so badly, he just knew it. "And do you remember what happened to Kíli after that?"

"Why, he took to some pain, and —" Glóin froze. "You don't think…"

"I'm not sure, of course," Bilbo hasted to say. "But… well. Thorin suspects there's a reason the elf prince seems so eager to meet new dwarves." Knew as much, now, but he was trying to soften the blow somewhat.

For a moment, Glóin stayed frozen in place. Then he turned and strode off in the direction where Legolas could easily be seen rising above most of the crowd.

"What's happening here?" Thorin appeared at his side, bearing a plate full of rather excellent fried chicken, along with a few other snacks.

"Oh, you know, this and that." Bilbo accepted the plate eagerly. "Don't get too comfortable on your throne, darling. I suspect you're going to have a diplomatic incident on your hands soon enough, and I am not going to be the one to deal with that."

"Diplomatic incident?" Thorin's eyebrows rose up high. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, we already know elves want to marry as soon as they find their One, while dwarves aren't quite so fussed, and Gimli is young yet. Really, I'd be surprised if Glóin was willing to see his little son wed within the next fifty years or so. Except I may have heard from a source or two that for elves simply bedding one another may be enough to be considered married, while dwarves on the other hand have no such connection between the two, so sooner or later there will be an argument as to who is or isn't married and I will not be the one to deal with that particular mess."

"Wait, slow down." Thorin's eyebrows knitted together. "You can't mean…"

"Well, Legolas has been quite eager to show his face to everyone here. And apparently Gimli had to retire from the feast due to chest pains some time ago."

"Right." Thorin sat down very slowly, eyes flickering to where Glóin was now yelling at a rather befuddled elven prince. "There's no way Glóin will allow Gimli to marry until he's old enough not to require permission."

"Oh, I'm sure. Which is a good thing, really, since I think they'll need a bit before Gimli is willing to marry anyone, never mind an elf who insulted his mother. Until they come around, though, it might be wise to at least try to avoid a war with Mirkwood."

"And you think they will come around, then?"

Bilbo gave Thorin a gaze that tried to convey that he did love Thorin, really, for all that he could be an idiot sometimes. "You think they wouldn't, when you and I managed it?"

"I suppose that is a point." Thorin chuckled, leaning in to kiss his cheek. Really, Bilbo was never going to get used to all these displays of affection, for all that he knew Thorin to be much more relaxed now that the mountain was theirs. "So, anything else your sharp eyes and ears have caught that I should be aware of?"

"Oh, not much." Bilbo hummed, happily eating a bit of the chicken. Really, so very excellent. "Well, except that either there's something entirely fascinating about Tauriel's stomach that absolutely requires Kíli to glance that way every few moments, or there's going to be a happy announcement soon enough. Which is just as well, really; I'm still not entirely convinced Ori's nausea these past few mornings has been entirely due to wedding nerves."

He wasn't sure whether to laugh or despair at the utterly dumbstruck expression on his husband's face. Really, Thorin was a great king, but all too often he failed to be in any way observant. Dwarves. No wonder they couldn't find their matches without walking around shirtless all the time, being as stone-headed as they were.

But then, they were his dwarves, and he wouldn't have had them any other way.

There were so, so many ways they could have been even worse.