Archive of Our Own

"An audience?"

Thorin failed to see the problem.

"You'll grant me an audience?"

"It is a formal request." The dwarven prince was really looking at him like he'd lost his wits now. "So I will treat it as such."

Bilbo let out a shrill laugh. "Hah! I didn't see you request an audience with me when you showed up on my doorstep in need of someone to do the dirty work for you, half a year ago!"

They were gathering attention now, but being conscious about himself or his words was the last thing on the hobbit's mind, really, and he'd be damned if he let that stop him. If he'd looked behind him, he would have noticed a lot of dwarves in the great hall, staring at him in something not too far off utter shock, and a few that were more than a little worried about how this would turn out. Only few of them were still more interested in the food; the feast was held in honour of the accomplishments of their grand king, and this king so happened to be the same person Bilbo incredulously stared up at right now, seated on his high throne and looking down on him as if he was better. The nerve of this man!

Thorin raised an eyebrow - he didn't take him seriously at all, then - while one of the dwarves that made up his personal guard said, "You speak to the king now, hobbit. Have a sense of what you say."

That really set him off.

Bilbo opened his mouth. He pressed it back into a thin line, forcing himself to calm down. It was all he could do to keep his temper in check. He used to be a kind and caring hobbit once, and he didn't know what happened along the way to make him like this - or he did, but he did not want to think about that - but it seemed that little of that same person was still there. At least not when it came to Thorin. "All I ask," he said, addressing Thorin pointedly and ignoring the guard as if he didn't exist, "is for myself to get a safe passage back. I have given my fourteenth share to bring you allies, I have been rudely banished for it, I have fought in a war of which I never wanted to be a part, and I wonder more every day why I am still here. If you have a sense left to acknowledge my part in your tale, Thorin Oakenshield, you will not tell me to return in the morning for an audience."

If anyone looked closer, they might have seen the hurt that lay underneath. For Bilbo, if nothing else, was tired. This journey had changed him alright, but he wasn't sure if he liked the person it had made of him. They had promised him gold - that had never been the reason that he came along - but along the line, he had accomplished not only voiding his payment, but losing his heart as well. He'd not gotten it back.

"Enough about it now. We shall not discuss the matter while we celebrate," said Thorin, who looked so proud and distant at that moment that Bilbo wondered if he even knew him anymore, "Drink and be merry, hobbit."

Oh, Thorin really shouldn't have said that. How long had they been on a first name basis now? Bilbo raised his chin high.

"As you wish, dwarf."

The hall around them rose in uproar at his insolence at once. That, he cringed inwardly, may have not have been one of his finer moments; he'd just insulted a dwarf king in front of his raised-for-war-and-forge people. Who happened to also cover all the exits. Gandalf was, of course, nowhere to be found. And Thorin, well, Thorin looked positively livid. He'd just roused a dragon, he thought bitterly to himself. But did he regret his words? No, not at all.

Thorin's eyes shifted to a different corner of the hall. Bilbo blinked, not expecting any distractions, and followed his gaze. He didn't know when Fíli had made his way to his side, but noticed him now and was grateful for it. From the table of men and elves, he saw, the elvenking Thranduil had stood up. His presence demanded respect, even from the dwarves. They quieted begrudgingly.

"My men will escort you to the farthest borders of the Mirkwood," he spoke aloud and with a sense of finality. Although there was kindness in his intent for what Bilbo had done for his people with the matter of the Arkenstone, which clearly wasn't why Thranduil so openly stood up against Thorin's decision. "Should you not be able to find a company to join from there on, you shall be welcomed as an honoured guest in our midst until such company is arranged for you. Our people do not forget, Master Baggins."

Next to him, a younger elf stood up at those words. Bilbo recognised him from the woodland feasts, where he had been seated next to the king himself. "I offer to travel with you from there to Rivendell, if you will accept my request," he bowed, a hand pressed to his chest to profess his sincerity.

Bilbo found himself slightly agape at the unexpected offer. He looked back and forth between Thorin, who was now standing in front of his throne, affronted, and Thranduil, who looked back with impassive disinterest.

Fíli chuckled next to him, though still wary for anyone to come closer to the hobbit. "It seems the elves have you in higher esteem than you thought," he said. In the midst of the chaos that followed Thranduil's words, and those of his son, it was good to have a friend at his side.

"I... yes," he stammered, "It seems they do."

"Are you sure we cannot persuade you to stay a while longer? We would miss you, Kíli and I."

Bilbo threw him a sad smile. "And I will miss you too. This is your home, and I am happy to see you have it back, but it will never be my home, despite how I may sometimes want it to be."

"You speak in riddles." Fíli smiled, though confused.

There was a humourless laugh, "I do, now don’t I?” He looked between Thorin and Thranduil. Neither of them was still interested in him, despite how their topic might pretend to be about him. He could run off now and not have them notice. Bitterness welled up. “How about another one, for good times' sake? The key to the greatest piece of my treasure is an ugly little thing without gems or gold that nobody wants, and what lies behind the lock is Arkenstone nor mountain.” He sighed. “It is high time I leave and save myself what little dignity remains, Fíli."

Fíli must have understood, for he put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder for comfort and said no more. Bit by bit, the crowd of dwarves quieted around them. From afar, Kíli looked at him with worry - Dwalin next to him, though he pretended to be gruff as always, shared a similar concern. Bilbo took a deep breath.

He did not look at Thorin as he accepted Thranduil's offer. His gaze was firmly pointed at the floor. First he gave a nod. Then, when nobody seemed to notice, he spoke up.

Fíli did look.

*****

Bilbo should have seen something like this coming.

Behind him stretched out a large, circular chamber. In the middle stood a large table of a smoky sky blue marble, inlaid with gold veins and engraved with ancient runes, and the hall was surrounded with status of what he expected were previous rulers. The very air of the room thrummed with power and importance, like dwarves held council here or discussed the next strategic move in wars. Though the seats around the table were currently empty, the fire in the hearth was warm and there was food on the table. Someone must have been here not long ago.

By all rights Bilbo should not be here - and it was not that he wanted to in the first place - but he was nonetheless. He kicked the door once; he got nothing but a sore foot for it in reply. "Oh, come on!" he called out, "This, whatever this is, is not funny. Let me out of here at once!"

A few futile moments later, he sank down in the largest of the chairs. Dwarves' bottoms were made of hardier stuff, he thought to himself. He shifted in the seat and scowled. How anyone would sit comfortably on this kind of surface was beyond him.

Fíli had really been a little too nice, perhaps. Today was the day of his leave; all of the others had already met with him the day after the disastrous evening in the great hall. Except Fíli and Kíli. Bilbo had assumed they'd simply managed to arrange some time alone and were most likely too distracted by one another, and he couldn't blame them if that had been the case. Besides, it wasn't like he'd never see them again; he could visit whenever he wanted to, and so could they.

Except that Bilbo knew how idle promises were easier than true good-byes, but nothing usually came of it. They were nothing but shallow words. They would never visit him, and he would never take the dangerous road back to the mountain. That’s just how things were.

But Fíli had shown up at Bilbo's door that morning, two days after what had transpired in the great hall, and had said with a grin, "Kíli and I arranged a little parting gift. It would mean a lot to us if you chose to accept it."

And so here he found himself, tricked and locked in some room by dwarves who were supposed to be on his side. There was nothing for him to do than wait for someone to walk by. Of course, no-one would. This would be a long, long day.

A door opened behind him, closed, and a lock turned.

"What...? Kíli! Open this door at once!"

Oh, no.

Bilbo made himself as small as he could be. If Thorin didn't notice him, maybe Kíli would open the door and he'd be able to leave this godforsaken mountain in one piece. Had not Gandalf chosen him as the burglar for his ability to blend in and pass by unnoticed? He tried almost frantically to make use of that now.

Only a few more hours and he would have been gone, and then none of this would have happened. Except Kíli never replied at the words, and the door never opened, and so the inevitable was just a disaster waiting to happen.

"Is this your doing?!"

See, there were the first thunder clouds.

Bilbo refused to look up. He angrily shook his head. Trust Thorin to piss him off right from the get-go. "Of course it isn't," he said, still staring hard at the table and its geometrically intricate design, which he might have quite enjoyed under any other circumstances. "Did you still not get that I want to be as far away from you as is possible?"

"Good. That makes two of us."

"I'm glad we agree."

Bilbo stayed where he was, and he refused to give up his seat just because there was a king in the room with him now. He could sit in any of the lower chairs if he needed a place to sit. His arms crossed in front of his chest and slowly it dawned on him that Fíli and Kíli weren't about to open the doors any time soon. Still he stubbornly kept up his walls. Minutes must have passed, and frankly, his behind was beginning to get cold. Whoever sat on these chairs for long... wow.

Thorin, thankfully not within his line of vision, scraped his throat.

"If there's something on your mind, be out with it," Bilbo snapped.

"There's nothing."

And, of course, there was no other answer to be expected from the proud dwarf. Bilbo huffed. He could be getting his belongings together, check everything over and make sure he didn't forget something. But Thorin scraped his throat again. Really, now, Bilbo thought.

"How do I offend you?" Thorin at last asked. It sounded, he frowned, not at all angry. Puzzled, more like. When Bilbo did not reply, caught off guard as he was, the other continued. "Whatever I do, you always find something about me that upsets you. I would have arranged a fine company for your return to the Shire. Did you truly need to make me look the fool in front of my men?"

Bilbo was going to keep quiet. He really was. That little twang he felt in his chest was not guilt, and Thorin was not right at all. No sir. But who was he kidding? He knew of himself that he'd been not at all reasonable. Somehow Thorin just brought out the worst in him.

"An audience? I asked a favour from a friend, not a king."

"Then all you had to do was ask me between friends."

Bilbo let out a laugh that sounded more like an objection. Yes, Thorin's comment made sense. But, "when was the last time we've been as friends?"

Beorn's house, his traitorous mind readily supplied. And embarrassing as his drunkenness that particular night had been, and the entirely unfitting suggestions that Kíli had thrown out there about him and his uncle... all that aside, it was a fond memory. Things could have been great between them, if only they'd continued down that path.

"And whose fault is that?"

It was his, of course, for the larger part. But Thorin could have tried harder not to say the wrong thing every damned time. "Well. I leave today, if your kind nephews see fit to let us out, so that'll be one less worry for you, now won’t it be?" He berated himself. Here he was, on the last day they would see each other, and he was being terrible again.

At least Thorin's raising anger deflated somewhat by his statement. He moved, though Bilbo could not see, until he sat down in one of the chairs and then there was no denying his presence. It had been a whole lot easier to talk to him when he wasn't looking at him. Now that he was, Bilbo really hated how it took him so much effort not to slip in a snide comment here or there. Thorin looked tired, like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. Or, if Bilbo stopped exaggerating, he looked like he hadn't slept since their fall-out during the feast, two nights ago.

Thorin muttered, "I never said you needed to leave."

He hadn't. There was that one time when he'd said he never wanted to see Bilbo again. But Thranduil had seemed fit to pressure the dwarven king into a formal apology for that, and they’d been fine during the weeks that followed.

Bilbo forced himself to have at least one decent conversation with the dwarven prince before he left. They were stuck here anyway. So his response was - he tried very hard - as little venomous as he could work with. It ended up just being quiet. "I know. It is past time I went home."

"If you’re certain, I will arrange for gold to be sent home with you. You should not leave empty-handed. Consider it as a token of my appreciation. I do appreciate what you’ve done, Master Baggins."

Why did things just keep rubbing him the wrong way? This was really just him being unreasonable. The hobbit sighed. He chewed on his lip, clenched his jaw, then tried to put on a casual expression. It ended up being rather much a flatline. "Yes, well, I may be a burglar, so this may come as a surprise, but I wasn’t in it for the gold. I never have been."

"Never?" Bilbo frowned at why that surprised Thorin so much. "Then why would you agree to the contract?"

"Oh, you know hobbits. Always interested in meeting a live dragon, the lot of us."

Bilbo cracked a smile. It was a pitiful joke, but he was glad that Thorin - after getting over the initial wariness because surely he assumed that Bilbo had lost his sense of humour somewhere between Beorn's place and Lake-town - joined in. He missed that laugh that rolled like a deep thunder through a stormy sky. His heart clenched. What a fool of a Took he was.

"Really," Thorin played along, "And was it to your liking?"

"As a matter of fact, I think I'm cured from that now."

Silence reigned between them for a while. It was fairly pleasant. Bilbo reached for a piece of dried strip of meat from the table. He smiled at the presence of juice; his kidnappers were at least sensible of hobbit customs... if you didn’t take the locking up part into account.

Thorin stayed where he was. He seemed deep in thought. Bilbo looked him over when he was sure Thorin wasn't looking. He was magnificent, truly. A worthy king. Bilbo smiled.

"I've been led to believe that there is an item in Erebor's treasury that you value quite," Thorin spoke more to himself. He looked at Bilbo. "Would you tell me which it is? I refuse to have you negotiate with dragons and then go home with nothing."

Bilbo stilled. "Who told you that?"

"Fíli said so yesterday, what of it?"

He cursed, before deflating entirely. Bilbo waved a hand about. "He fooled you. It's not an item, and I can't take it back with me. It's fine, really. I just, I want to be on my way."

Of course, that roused Thorin's curiosity. Bilbo sighed. Things just weren't going to go easy on him this last day, now were they? Tell a dwarf you do not want to take anything from their pile of gold, and they ought to be happy. At least, according to his theories. What they should not do was take it as a reason to start asking questions.

"Then what is it?" Thorin wondered.

Bilbo shrugged morosely. This would be his last day, he told himself. Tomorrow he would be passing the desolation of the dragon, astride a pony and in the company of elves. "Happiness, I suppose. It can't have escaped your attention that I've lost quite the amount of it during our travels."

"Something in Erebor's treasury gives you happiness," Thorin deducted. He frowned, his features darkening. "Is it the Arkenstone?"

"What?" Bilbo cried out, because that suggestion was just outlandish. "No! Of course it's not! What would I want with a shiny stone?!"

The dwarven prince shrugged and looked at him weirdly, though Bilbo groaned at the relief he saw interlaced there. Really, now. He definitely was going to keep his mouth shut from here on out. If about nothing else, then at least about this subject. "Look, I said you don't need to give me anything and I mean it. Let's just... sit this one out and go our separate ways and that'll be that."

Thorin didn't seem so happy about that, but what was Bilbo to do?

"Will we see meet again some time?"

"... No, I don't think we will," Bilbo bit on his lip. That was the downside of leaving, really. He longed to get back to the Shire primarily because returning and closing this chapter gave him a sense of tranquillity. And who knew, maybe he'd settle down with a nice lass and have tiny hobbit children some day. But the road between Erebor and the hills of Hobbiton was too long, and too dangerous for him to do all of their travels over once again.

Thorin frowned. "Is that your choice?"

"It is." It wasn't. He didn't want to leave. But staying was painful, and every day more so.

"Then you should go," the other acquiesced solemnly.

They were silent for a little over five minutes after that. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he felt better by having Thorin accept his decision. He chewed quietly on the strip of beef.

It was faint at first. A scurrying sound. Then, suddenly, there came a rattle at the door. It wasn't the key, but they both heard gravel under someone's boots, weakly, and they straightened up. While Bilbo stayed seated, Thorin was up on his feat immediately and tugged at the bars of the door. "You there! Open this door!" he called out.

"Uncle," the voice that distinctly belonged to Kíli said, "I'm sorry, we can't yet."

"You locked me in here! Of course you can. What is the meaning of this?!" A pause. "Fíli! Tell your brother to open up!"

Nobody opened up. Bilbo could picture Thorin's look as he saw his nephews, disobeying his orders so openly. He leaned the back of his head against the stone chair and sighed out. Thranduil would be wondering what took him so long. Maybe that was their intent all along; stalling his departure until it looked like he had changed his mind. If so, they were going to be in for it.

"We can't," Kíli shook his head. He raised his voice. "Bilbo, we're sorry about this! You were supposed to tell him yourself."

Bilbo blinked.

"You're Bilbo's treasure," said Fíli to Thorin then.

Bilbo's eyes shot open. The earth spun beneath his feet from the sudden vertigo and even though he was seated, he felt like he was going to fall. When his senses came to, a great sensation of betrayal pooled in his belly. Fíli had no right. He had no right! It hurt almost physically, to have his greatest secret so easily thrown in the open. He gasped for air.

The latch behind the bars shut with a click, drowning them in too much privacy for Bilbo to handle.

He sat still. His entire frame shook, though he wasn't sure if it was in hurt, or anger, or something else. He wanted too many things at once; he wanted to run, he wanted to smash something, break something, and he wanted to spin back time. He also wanted to breathe, but right now, his throat felt constricted and his mouth was dry.

"Is this true?" Thorin said carefully from behind him.

Bilbo did the only thing he could think of. He slipped on the ring.

Thorin might look exasperated when he rounded the chair and found no-one there, but Bilbo sat there still and held his breath, hoping that Thorin didn't check. He didn't. Instead he walked around the room, checked after tall statues of broad dwarfs that, he realised, he should have hid behind instead. He even looked under the table. Bilbo's heart hammered in his throat.

"Bilbo?" the dwarf asked. It came out muted in the overwhelming silence of the spirit realm. "Where've you gone?" He didn't want to keep the ring on, but he was so afraid. If he hadn't been locked in one room and at the mercy of two young dwarves who'd already made it very clear that he wasn't going to get out very soon, he might have not resorted to this. But as it was, he just didn't know what to do. Having this conversation with someone as proud and stubborn as Thorin, in a locked room, certainly couldn't be healthy for him.

"You're invisible, are you not?"

Well, that took him faster to figure out than Bilbo had expected.

Thorin sat back down in his seat and pinched his eyebrows together, before running a hand down his face. All in all, it did not look like an angry dwarf. Instead, and Bilbo didn't understand that, he looked rather defeated.

"Wherever you are, I know you can hear me."

There it came. Bilbo braced himself and pulled his legs closer against his chest.

"I apologise for my nephews' behaviour. It is unbecoming of them. Once we get out of here, I will make sure they are properly punished."

Bilbo sighed without sound. Hadn't Thorin punished them enough?

"If what Fíli says is true," he spoke to the void around him, "I beg of you not to leave today. If your company leaves without you and you'll still want to go, I will find you a better company. I...," Thorin looked uncomfortable enough for Bilbo to almost feel pity for him, "I need to talk to you, but I can't talk if I can’t see how you respond. I don't know whether I assume too much. Are you listening?"

Bilbo's mind raced. He wasn't going to talk; that would give him right away. Nor was he going to make some sort of sound - again, he didn't want Thorin to know he was seated in the chair. His hands reached for a small pebble, and he flung it against the door.

Relieved, Thorin nodded. He understood.

A long silence told them both that Bilbo wasn’t willing to give up invisibility, and Thorin was still milling over his next question.

"Is it true what Fíli claims?" he asked at last.

It was quiet for a long time after.

"... I see," Thorin started, hoarsely. Another pebble, less firmly thrown, bounced off the door and interrupted him.

When the dwarf sat up and looked almost hopeful at the door, Bilbo's confused heart raced.

Thorin suddenly smiled. He looked down. "I can't give you that to take home with you," he said, and Bilbo didn't see why that was so worthy of a smile, because they were the bitter words he'd always expected, "My place is here. But should you still want to leave, which I would ask you to reconsider, then know that you've made me very adamant about one thing," said he, "Now that I know, I can't let you go."

Bilbo blinked back into existence in his seat, confused.

"That's why you've been so terrible with me lately?" Realisation dawned on Thorin.

"I can put the ring back on," Bilbo warned.

"The door's still locked," Thorin pointed out with a grin that, really, he couldn't stay angry at, no matter how much he tried. The tingling sensation in his chest made it pretty much impossible.

"It'll stay locked for at least twenty more minutes!" Kíli called out from the hallway.

"Kíli!" Thorin returned threateningly, while Bilbo sat very embarrassed and very self-aware at the understanding that the two of them had been eavesdropping all along.

"I shall be leaving now!" Kíli's voice was merry and ignorant of anything and everything about his uncle's current anger. "As is Fíli, he wants you to know. Twenty minutes, uncle."

When Bilbo stood up from the chair to look at the door, he found Thorin there with a very appalled expression.

"It's just twenty more minutes," Bilbo offered, "That's a relief."

Thorin spluttered. "Do you know...- Just what are they...-?"

The hobbit raised an eyebrow. He sat back, then stared incredulously, "You're more concerned about what they're getting up to, aren't you?"

"Twenty minutes! Do you think that's a coincidence, master Baggins?"

Bilbo thought that over. Then he shrugged, because he really didn't care. "Anyway," he clapped a hand on his knee, "I believe we were discussing other things. My departure?"

Ah. That got Thorin back on track. His shoulders sagged just a little and when he sat back down in one of the chairs - stupidly across from Bilbo on the other side of the table - he looked rather pained and down at his hands.

Bilbo simply pulled his nerves together and smiled. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

Thorin eyes met his own.

*****

When the door finally creaked open forty minutes later, accompanied by strings of apologies and Kíli talking ahead of himself once again, saying they lost track of time and oh, it would not happen again, the two young dwarves - when they finally stopped talking – were at a loss for words at the lack of response. Even Bilbo - pressed up against the back of the chair as his hands tangled in Thorin's mane and they kissed like nothing else in the world existed, with Thorin possessively pinning him into the chair - did not respond. He made tiny noises that held such promise that they only further embarrassed the young dwarves though.

"Uncle?" Fíli asked tentatively.

Kíli prodded him with an elbow to quiet down, gaping just as much.

They quietly slipped back out of the room.