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Bilbo was quite busy over the first week after the battle, helping keep Thorin alive. He expected most of what it entailed, but of all silly things he also ended up standing guard, to make sure nobody tried to drop any kingly duties at Thorin’s sickbed.
He just stepped out to bring fresh water to keep Thorin’s fever as bay and found one of Dain’s dwarves holding over a small stack of paper to Thorin, still laying in literal sickbed. Bilbo set the water basin on his hip and snatched the papers, glaring.
“Is this you making it known Balin is incapable of providing help?” he did not like manipulating Thorin, but it seemed to be the only thing that kept working. “Or Dain being useless as a lord anywhere outside of his own hills?”
“I would never!” Thorin straightened up, only to grunt in pain and collapse right back against the pillows. Bilbo put the basin down and sat next to him, then held handkerchief to his mouth so he has something to spit blood into. “They’re more than qualified to provide assistance-”
“Then let them!”
Thorin looked unconvinced so Bilbo stood up to make a show of washing the handkerchief before using it to wipe Thorin’s beard free of blood.
It had the desired effect of Thorin huffing an annoyed breath before relaxing against the pillows.
“Hush and let me brush your hair while they deal with what room to dig into next.” Bilbo said softly and turned to poor dwarf still standing nearby and likely wishing he could’ve avoided the show. “I hope this makes it clear Dain is too make such menial decisions on his capable own. Should he have any worries, he can consults Balin and he will advise if there is a need for King’s personal counsel.”
He handed back the paper and the dwarf watched him for a moment before grabbing it and marching off, muttering in Khuzdul under his breath. Bilbo feels Thorin pretend not to go stiff at that, very much like a pet caught digging into newly planted flowers.
“I keep telling you, they will catch me in bad enough mood and I will allow you to a kingly duty of decreeing it an offence to speak in language not all present understand.” Bilbo rolled his eyes and settled more comfortably against Thorin’s side. He’s as surprised as always when the Mithril shirt bends and folds like silk as he does so. He took to wearing it over whatever shirt he wore as a tunic that day, as it held the fabric close to his skin and spared him having to take it in.
There are still reports made of straggler orcs and goblins being caught as well and Bilbo would very much like to keep himself safe. That the silvery shirt served to reassure him anytime he wondered whether he’s truly welcomed here was unintended benefit.
He finished washing Thorin’s beard clean and reached for the comb next. “Any hope you might share what he was saying?”
“Nothing important.” Thorin shrugged weakly, not looking in his eyes.
Bilbo let him lie and started humming as he brushed his hair, knowing it’s a sure way to put his stubborn dwarf to sleep he so desperately needed and so stubbornly avoided.
He didn’t look for Balin, because he’s far too kind to tell him the truth. Instead he made his way to library, where Ori he oversees sorting the many books of the library. He set down a few donuts he fried with some wild berries he managed to find. He still felt offended that dwarves apparently are them plain and fatty, but at least it means he could show little favoritism without being discovered.
“Bilbo, how can I help you?” Ori looked as tired as everyone around and Bilbo fussed over brushing cobwebs from his clothes and wiping soot from his hands before he let him eat.
“I’ve begun to suspect Dain may not like me very much.” He started and sighed at Ori’s very telling, alarmed reaction. “I don’t mind it, dear, I simply would like to know the reason so I may remedy it.”
Bilbo held no delusions about any distrust being unjustified. He stole from Thorin and no matter his intentions, the deed will haunt him for the rest of his life. If he plans to make a life in Erebor, and he very much intends to stay by Thorin’s side until chased away, he must make amends however he can.
“I-it’s not what you think!” Ori grabbed his hand, squeezing it with a determined look. “None hold what you did against you, it’s- complicated.”
Bilbo allowed himself a small laugh and squeezed back, before unsubtly pushing donuts closer to Ori. He picked one and bit off a piece, avoiding his eyes as he chewed.
“It’s the- h-how you look.” He said finally and Bilbo shuffled uneasily on the bench. His eyes wandered down to Ori’s clothes, messy from constant work, but clearly fit to him and cohesive in colors and intricate embroidery. He picked at the fraying sleeve of his own borrowed shirt and suddenly felt very out of place.
He got far too used to getting by with whatever they had during their journey, it seems. He must look ridiculous, in Mithril finery over shirt bunching up under it and his trousers held together with more spite and thread than actual fabric. He can’t remember putting a comb to his own hair this week and last time he picked a mirror was to show Thorin a braid he remade, to ask whether it was appropriate.
What a ridiculous sight he must make at Thorin’s side!
“Not like this!” Ori whined and Bilbo took a moment to marvel at how easily all among the company could read trough his worries. Was he back in Shire, he would be mortified at so being so easily read, but in Erebor all it does is make a weight he can’t quite get rid of settle more comfortably on his shoulders. “Noone among Dain’s folk would dare oppose the courtship, but it must still be an adjustment to watch you in Mithril. With Khazad-dum, we lost our only source of it so…”
Bilbo blinked, barely hearing Ori as he continues to talk. He tried to figure out what other meanings those words could hold before letting out a very undignified screech of: “Whose courtship?!”
Ori gave him such spooked look Bilbo barely kept a hysterical laughter in.
“The Mithril shirt. All know it’s a statement of Thorin courting you?”
Bilbo shook his head, moving his mouth silently.
It can’t be!
Thorin barely said anything as he gave it to him. He might be many things, infuriatingly vague included, but he would not court him so publicly without telling him! If nothing else he valued his position too high to make a mess like this!
Bilbo stood up, pacing nervously and biting his thumb to not start muttering words far to unkind to be said out-loud. His other hand grabbed at his hair and he hissed when a pang of pain shot from his head down his spine.
Then he froze. He rubbed his fingers over the healing wound on his head, where stone struck harshly enough to chip bone and leave him unconscious for long hours of the battle. He still had little memory of how it happened and was very fuzzy on how he got down the mountain.
He collapsed on the bench and let Ori hold him upright as bile rose to his throat.
“Thorin is courting me.” He said slowly, shivering as he tasted the way words settled in his mouth, in his mind. “He’s courting me and I completely forgot it!” He wailed.
Ori looked paniced, as he always did when anyone cried.
“I-it’s fine!” He assured weakly, hugging Bilbo. “You just have to court back, now that you know!”
Bilbo sniffled, staring at him through tears and trying to keep a hold on himself even when all he wanted to do was curls up and weep. How could he forget something like that? How could he wear such precious shirt and never realize?!
No wonder Dain and his dwarves detested him, if it’s been over a month and he showed no reciprocation. They must think him greedy enough to keep the Mithril while not accepting the courting – or worse yet, to be leading Thorin on!
“I’m going trough all the official books, look.” Ori pulled papers on the table closer. “I will find out how you should respond! Then nobody can claim you’re puni-.” He cut off.
Bilbo’s head snapped up and he grabbed Ori before he could flee, clearly having said more than he intended.
“Punishing him.” He guessed easily, new dread settling into the pit of his stomach as if he drank molten gold. “They think it’s my punishment for him? For what?!” He laughed, wet and hysterical, feeling more miserable than he can remember since he stole the Arkenstone.
Ori sighed and folded over the sooty handkerchief to wipe his teary face.
“For the – whole banishment, they say. They whisper you claim to forgive him, but then give no answer in punishment.”
Bilbo cursed his dwarves, then himself, then dwarves some more, then himself a whole lot more, and finally grabbed the handkerchief to wipe his face with a final sniffle.
“You must help me.”
“Of course!” Ori grinned, relieved. “Don’t worry, as soon I find the books, we’ll fix it!”
The courting turned out to be far more complicated than they assumed, of course, because nothing involving dwarves can be simple. Stil, among all the violent, exhausting, death-provoking courtship methods that they found one Bilbo had any hope to accomplish.
Sharing the craft of a dwarf was still far beyond what any hobbit should ever attempt, but he had even less hope mining gems to sculpt them or digging out a cave with his own hands!
That’s how Bilbo ended up trawling the bogs around the lake for bog iron, feet far too wet where they dug into the mud and hands numb from the cold where he held the net. He has little choice unfortunately, not if he wanted to do it before the wetland froze over.
Bilbo was not going to spend the winter enclosed in Erebor and not able to answer Thorin’s courtship. He was quite sure it wouldn’t take no more than a week before he snapped and begged Thorin for forgiveness, most likely in very public place – and wasn’t it a mockery, that this was the biggest danger here?
Bilbo rubbed his fingers against the warm wool of the gloves Ori lent him and continued walking, net growing heavier.
His own ineptitude aside, Thorin was a king courting him. Anything Bilbo does in response will reflect on him, on his taste and his capabilities. He cannot afford to slip up and humiliate him or no doubt Dain’s dwarves will pounce on any vulnerability.
Bilbo stopped turning away from discussions in Khuzdul, if only to know what to ask Ori about. He never got direct translations, of course. Having learned another language already, simply listening to conversations was enough to let him figure out a word here, a phrase there. He knew Dain’s name often came up alongside Thorin’s, as well as the topic of courtship and being a king. It took no imagination to realize many Ironhill dwarves would far prefer their own kin on the throne.
Bilbo cursed as he stepped on a stone again and decided to get out. Ori gave him a bag to fill completely before the bog iron could be smelted and he’d prefer to do so before Thorin was allowed to get out of his sickbed.
Thankfully he managed just that, though he did so with barely a day to spare, which meant having to keep his actual use of his spoils a secret. The iron was left with Dori to be smelted, while Bilbo sought Bofur to help him carve what he wanted to make. He did it under pretense of simply wanting to make a gift for Thorin, in case he was refused.
He tried not to entertain that possibility, but he was no fool. What had he to offer, after weeks and weeks of no answer? What if the gift was just another bout of madness and Thorin never spoke up because he regrets it?
Bilbo licked a cut on his finger clean and got back to carefully carving pattern on simple, wooden headband. He tried to make it look as unhobbit-like as he could, just so there would be no discussion of pushing his own sensibilities onto Thorin. It felt silly so consider such political nonsense, even more so after months of slowly abandoning all but few things that still made Bilbo feel like a hobbit.
He still did the little things – he tended to Thorin, even when Oin allowed him to walk. He was still advised against lifting his arms too high to avoid aggravating the wound, so Bilbo brushed his hair and helped him dress, made meal and fed them to him, he woke him from nightmares and helped him wash off the sweat of them, he mended his clothes and kept watch to pull him to rest when he needed it, all done in the comforts of the room Thorin took up.
Bilbo had no room of his own, but he didn’t mind. He insisted on walking through the mountain to learn its layout, delivering papers and missives and notices. Thorin might be allowed to walk, but it did not mean he was going to let him to overexert himself! It means Bilbo could visit their company friends far more often as well, all of them busy with restoring Erebor enough to survive the winter inside it. He took naps wherever exhaustion caught up to him and he that was enough.
Bilbo blew out the last wood dust and rubbed his finger over a wonky, geometrical pattern he could only hope will be filed clean after casting. Along the length of the simple circlet, he left indents meant for mounting gems, should Thorin wish for it, for Bilbo knew anything Thorin wore had to match his station now.
Bilbo took everything into consideration, except for Thorin, who looked at the gift with the look of a whipping victim given the weapon to clean of their own blood and flesh.
“I’ve noticed you going without and then Ori admitted the crown you wore – before, was you father’s.” Bilbo cringed at himself, as he always did when he brought up the time Thorin suffered the sickness.
He wasn’t quite sure gold could be blamed for it, in hindsight. There was far too much pain and conflicts and pressure tangled within all that happened to have such a clean explanation for everything. He did not wish to make Thorin relieve it, thus he avoided the topic when possible and simply called it before when he had to mention it.
Before they reached Erebor, before he hid Arkenstone, before he bartered it, before he was banished, before Azog almost took Thorin from him.
“I hoped to give you something to use before you make your own. Do you not. Like it?” He managed to ask, clutching the fabric he delivered the iron circlet in. It was dyed blue to match Thorin’s eyes.
“Forgive me – of course I. Like it.” Thorin smiled, an indulgent thing one would give a child coming to share a mudpie and expecting a parent to take a bite.
Bilbo should’ve known he would manage to make things worse, but it made the heartbreak no less painful.
“Well, let’s eat before it gets cold!” He all but threw the offending gift onto a side table and grabbed Thorin’s hand to pull him to the table. “Beorn send us some supplies, so I made the honey cake you like and roasted some bird in it, too. I think you’ll like it.”
The food, thankfully, went over far better and Bilbo forced a smile as he listened to Thorin talk about what he saw today in the mountain. He asked him to do so at dinners, as a way to stop him from thinking only of the Smaug’s ruin and instead letting him notice all the work done to reclaim Erebor from his shadow.
Finding another method of courtship took even longer than the first.
“I’m not downing his enemies!” Bilbo hissed, worrying the sleeve of his shirt in his fingers and pulling at the thread he pulled loose until it dug into his skin.
Ori sighed, rubbing his face.
“There is precious few method acceptable for a King to begin with, Bilbo… nobody’s asking you to gift him Thranduil’s head on a platter!”
Bilbo did not admit how tempting it sounded, after spending most of previous day keeping peace during a council meeting between dwarves, elves and men. Instead he promised himself to grow out more tansies in the room Thorin filled with dirt for him to garden in despite the first snow chasing everyone into Erebor.
“I’m a hobbit, we do not fight! The only thing we kill is weeds in our gardens!” Bilbo grumbled and wiped his face with his hands.
Ori went back to rewriting a book as he waited for him to resign himself to partaking in dwarvish nonsense. It was something Bilbo found himself doing far too often lately, but with his first gift a failure he wanted to err on the side of caution.
What was he thinking, casting a new crown for Thorin? Who was he to stumble into such painful memories and try and tidy things up? What a fool he was.
“There remains a problem of no foes worth killing.” Bilbo sighed. “Azog is dead and as hilarious I’m sure it might be to present Thranduil’s head like a roasted pig, I’m afraid I’ll freeze to death before reaching their woods.”
“Well, there is something else.”
Bilbo looked up at Ori desperately.
“Something not involving me slitting someone’s throat?”
“Kind of?” Ori taped the quill against the inkpot. “As we build within mountains, we often have trouble with whatever does the same. We domesticated goats and boars to avoid fighting them, but never did so with bears.”
Bilbo laughed, part incredulity and part pure panic.
“You want me to fight a bear?!” He choked out. Suddenly, luring Thranduil into a meeting to assassinate him sounded more tempting than Bilbo would ever admit.
“Not a grown one!” Ori assured him immediately, holding up his hands. “Bofur found a mineshaft collapsed in the fight with Smaug and a cub must’ve taken home there. Only a cub, probably kept alive by feeding on corpses left after the fighting. It’s not quite a foe, but you’re also a hobbit so I’m sure nobody would hold it against you!”
Bilbo sighed and rubbed his face again.
“I have no choice, do I?” He huffed and stood up, pretending very much his legs didn’t shake. “I have to do I alone, if I remember from the book?”
“You’re supposed to.” Ori confirmed. “But we could catch it first, so you just slit the throat?”
Bilbo shook his head.
“No, I’ll do it. Alone.” He wagged a warning finger at Ori. “I’ve faced orcs and goblins, I’d like to think I can take on a bear cub.” He laughed and patted a hand over the Mithril on his chest, mind finger twitching with need to put on the ring.
Dori was more than happy to help make something to wear for Bilbo , so he had skillfully taken in shorts and pants and even a hooded coat lined with fur to keep warm. It was a relief to hide the Mithril shirt, though Bilbo was ashamed to admit it.
He planned to wear it proudly again when he responds to Thorin’s courting properly.
It comes to Bilbo far later, as he tries and fails to curls in the armchair in Thorin’s room, that at no point did Ori show any doubt he would kill Thranduil and survive, let alone a young bear. He sighs, decided to take it for a compliment and finally manages to doze off.
He did not sleep well and in the morning almost gave Thorin tea with salt and then had to be stopped from watering the oak sprout with boiling water. He apologized profusely before excusing himself to seek stronger brew in the kitchen, to wake him up properly.
Guilt twisted in his gut, but he refused to let Thorin worry.
The cub was a pitiful thing. Small, thin and rabid with cold and hunger as Bilbo snuck into its cave, magic ring on his finger. It felt almost wrong to throw sleeping powder he made from dried herbs into its face and then slit its throat.
There was no kinder fate awaiting it though. It was dying in its sleep now, or starving over the winter, or being killed by dwarves if it tried to follow the mineshaft deeper into the mountain. At least Bilbo could make it clean and quick, put no lives in danger except his own.
He lit up torches he brought and took to skinning the bear, careful to cut off the claws separately. He didn’t quite have the stomach to listen to Ori talk about what exactly will be done with them and he refused to mount the head. He had enough nightmares before even killing the poor thing, he didn’t need it haunting him from a wall.
He cut out what meat there was and dragged the rest outside for scavenger birds to feast on. The ravens surrounded it before Bilbo finished cleaning up the hide, one even coming close enough to be thrown scraps from the knife as Bilbo worked to clean the skin.
“Brave little thing, aren’t you?” he smiled and pet its head gently, careful to avoid a feather growing in. He wrapped the meat and the claws inside the hide and gathered it into his arms before leaving.
The kitchen was happy to have more food and Gloin was delighted to help Bilbo with curing the bear skin. He didn’t even comment on the nicks he made or how wet and dirty it was from being cleaned on snowy ground. Bilbo left the claws with Ori for whatever they could be used for and headed for Thorin’s room with some tea that was made in the meanwhile.
Bilbo walked into the room and froze, because-
“Come inside, Bilbo.” Thorin was standing by the window, looking unfairly pretty with winter sun making the gray in his hair look silver and he was holding flowers in his hand and the room smelt sweetly of baking and-
Bilbo stumbled inside and leaned against the door, letting it close.
“Thorin?” He swallowed the heart that jumped right to hir throat, looking between a plate of pastries on the table to flowers in Thorin’s hands. “What are you-?”
“We should. Talk, I think, and someone dear to me said it’s always done best over food.”
Bilbo let out a startled laugh and slowly walked closer.
“It depends on what you talk about.” He said slowly, trying not to panic. He did not just kill a bear to be rejected before he can even gift it to Thorin. “I fear no sweets can sooth a broken heart.”
Thorin looks alarmed at that and Bilbo reached to touch the flowers.
“Sunflower to tell one off for aiming far above their station, lavender for distrust and tansies to declare a war. You’d be hard pressed to find more hostile arrangement if you tried.” Bilbo touched each flower and let himself laugh at Thorin’s terrified expression before he covered Thorin’s hands holding the bouquet, pulling the flowers to his chest. “They’re lovely and I know you meant nothing of the sort, but Thorin- why?” Bilbo felt his face heat up in humiliation, even as he couldn’t stop his eyes from watering or wipe the silly, lovestruck smile from his face.
Thorin eyed him suspiciously, as if he was still expecting a scolding.
“Let us talk now, then.” He sighed and let go off the flowers. “I’ve been made aware of certain – indiscretion of mine. Gift made in genuine love, but never explained properly.” He said and Bilbo had just enough time to suck in a breath to hold it in dread before Thorin stepped in closer, leaning down to press their foreheads together. He reached down to pull the edge of Mithril shirt from under Bilbo’s shirt and rubbed it between his fingers with a sigh. “I gave it to protect you, a token of friendship, for that’s all I could hope for at the time. I was made aware however you might’ve took it with, hmm, another meaning.”
Bilbo blinked, his mind slow as if his thoughts were wading through a freezing bog. Then he groaned, turning his head to hide it in Thorin’s shoulder.
“I thought I forgot it!” He complained, careful to turn to his side xo the flowers aren’t crushed between them. “I though you’ve courted me, but the head wound stole it from me! I tried to hard to find a way to court you back, but I didn’t- you hated the circled, you barely wear it – a-and I gave you nothing better yet!”
Thorin wraps arms around him, chuckling above Bilbo’s who can feel the sound in his chest, right under his cheek.
“I loved your gift, love. If I’ve been reluctant to wear it, it’s because I felt myself undeserving of it, worried you were professing feeling I could never imagine you having for me.”
Bilbo took a shaky breath, the love bouncing around his head and crushing any doubts he might have whether Thorin loved him back anytime they arose.
“I love you.” He said, voice choked by tears. “I’ve loved you far longer that I had any reason to and couldn’t stand all the rumors, so I-I tried my best-”
Thorin shifted on his feet and pushed him away just enough to wipe this cheeks clean with his thumbs.
“You’ve done your fair share of courting me before we even reached Erebor.” He said, tone amused even as a dark blush colors his cheeks and ears. “You’ve faced my foes and saved by life, you’ve cared for my people and freed us from bondage, you vouched for me and gave me back my mountain. You even did what none dared to try and stood up to me in my time of madness… the Mithril is barely enough to respond to it. There is no need for gifts from you or for slaying bears, love.”
Bilbo frowned. It can’t count, can it? He didn’t kill Azog, nor did he do anything that important. He refused to be proud of stealing the Arkenstone, not willing to put blame of the madness on such a little thing, or to claim Durin’s blood in Thorin cursed.
It can’t be enough!
He turned his head aside as he heard a shuffle. There was a crow in the pot that holds the planted acorn from Beorn’s garden, putting down sticks and clearly aiming to nest there. Bilbo recognized a growing feather on its side – it’s the same bird that came close as he cleaned the hide outside.
Bilbo groaned and wiped his face with a sleeve, then hid his it in the flowers.
“All the planning and I’m thwarted by birds.” He complained and huffed when the raven cawed at him and swooped down from the pot. Bilbo took in a breath and smiled at the scent of the flowers. “We should still talk, shouldn’t we.”
Thorin hums in agreement and pulls him to the sable, sitting in the chair and having hobbit settle on his lap. All too well, as Bilbo’s blushing dark enough to worry about feeling faint if he’s honest.
“I love these.” He leaned his head on Thorin’s shoulder and looked at sweet pastries on the plate. “How did you-?”
“You talk in your sleep, love.” Thorin smiled softly and Bilbo somehow turned more red still. “Kept mumbling about bear claws, although now I realize in far different way than I assumed.”
“We should both be banned from making assumptions, I fear.” Bilbo groaned and stroked over the flowers again. “Can you tell me, if then mean anything for dwarves?”
Bilbo grew sunflowers to use winter sun and have seeds for the ravens if they couldn’t spare meat, while lavender came to help fight the stench of Smaug clinging to the rooms. Tansies he plantes simply to annoy Thranduil. He didn’t think they meant anything for dwarves.
“Ah, I assure you no war declarations were intended.” Thorin sighs and brushes Bilbo’s hair away from his face. “Sunflowers seek the sun just like bring it into my life, while lavender soothes and heals.” He shrugged, looking away. Bilbo had to fight down the need to kiss him right then and there, because no, they must first talk properly. They need to explain things and make sure they will be fine, come rumors or silly misunderstandings. “And you keep decorating with the yellow ones at meetings, so I assumed you to like them…”
Bilbo chuckled.
“Tansies are put to make a guest fully aware how unwelcomed they are.” He explained and grabbed one of the pastries. No use letting them dry out. “Bear claws are similar – because you use flaky pastry, the effort required in rolling it all out is taken to mean violence you’d inflict on them if it wasn’t so improper.” He explains.
“I knew we could trust hobbits to make food a language.” Thorin eyed him careful. “You keep decorating with tansies?”
Bilbo shrugged and bit into the pastry. He groaned in delight and licked his lips before answering properly. “I see no hobbits around, so all they do it look pretty, don’t they? Should anyone take offence, it’s entirely of their own accord.”
Thorin looked at him for a moment more before he laughed, open and free in a way Bilbo hadn’t seen him yet. He stared at him, trying to memorize every little detail from the sound of his voice and breath to the way his face shifted and his skin wrinkled.
“I love you.” Bilbo blurted out and felt his face burn again. “I love you, not matter what silly mess we land ourselves in. I swear it.”
Thorin quieted down and looked at him with such soft, loving look in his eyes Bilbo could no longer stop himself from kissing him to seal his oath.
They can talk more later.
They will be fine.