this is Nay

to Thorin Oakenshield

'By the time you have received this, I'll be far closer to the mountain, and, perhaps if we are lucky, I will be there soon. I have brought many gifts from the Shire. (though, do not tell the company just yet, I would like to surprise them if possible. But someone may have already took a peek at this, I gather) Traveling has been a lot simpler this time around, and I have thoroughly enjoyed being in the company of this party from the Blue Mountains; they are happy to be coming back to Erebor, as am I. I know I have said this before, but it is greatly true that I miss you all. I am ever so looking forward to getting to spend time together again. Perhaps, we may have a cup of tea and discuss all that has happened, just the two of us? If you would like, of course. I am sorry to say I must end this letter here, but I hope you are well and getting the proper rest you need.'

With love— BB

"Are you looking at that letter again?" Dís peered over his shoulder, a cheeky grin lining her face. "It was sent nearly a month ago."

"I am aware." Thorin said blankly, slipping the worn letter back under the pile of accumulated papers and documents dirtying his desk. He pretended to look over a letter discussing the potential new trade routes in hopes his sister would not spy his ruminating over the hobbit's letter too closely—though that was a feeble wish, as she had eyes sharp as an eagles. In truth, this was the third time that morning he had examined it, finding he could not stop thinking of two simple words; with love. He felt incredibly foolish; such endearments were typical ways to end a kind message between close friends, yet still…

Perhaps he was reading too much into such a small thing, but such a small thing was taking up his mind completely. "Do you…" He sighed, shifting in his chair to face his sister, who still kept a smile. "There is something about this… particular letter that has caught me. I'm not so sure I… fully understand it."

Dís raised a brow. "Are you asking for my advice?"

"Are you going to mock me if I am?"

She laughed. "I suppose that depends what this is all about. Look, Thorin… I'm not set on prying into your personal letters here, and I may not have had the chance to properly speak with this Bilbo Baggins, but from what I've heard… the both of you seem awfully—-"

A hard knock on the door interrupted her, and Dwalin came through. "It's yer' brother."

He and Dís were swift to travel outside to greet their brother, Frerin, who they had not seen for long even before the quest. He spotted them and jumped off the wagon that had brought him there, his long dirty-blond hair and beard ragged—clearly from an adventure of his own. "There he is!" Frerin chuckled, his arms opened wide as he strolled up to Thorin, putting his good hand to his shoulder and clunking their foreheads together in one swing. "King of Erebor, eh? Isn't that a fancy title. Shame I couldn't make it to your little crowning, sure that must have been quite the party." He then turned to Dís, ready for attack. "Sister!"

"Don't you start—-" Dís braced for impact as he charged her way, the both of them battling for hold over the other to see who could first be put to the ground and win the friendly tussle. Ultimately, Frerin found himself lying back to the dirt. "Well, I can see you've been slacking, brother."

"The local taverns need their loyal patrons—who am I to pass them up? Besides, I can still beat you at Farkle any day." Frerin chuckled and hopped back up to his feet, pulling the both of them in for a squeezing hug. "It's been long, I'll well admit I've missed you both. But that's as sappy as I'm going to get!"

"Uncle Frerin!" Behind them shouted Fíli and Kíli, overjoyed and coming up so quickly they crashed into the three of them. "Ha-ha! Look at you both!" Frerin patted their shoulders each. "Fíli, your looking sharp. And, Kíli, eh… still working on that beard of yours?"

"It'll come in." Dís brushed her son's cheek and he tried to swat her hand away out of embarrassment.

"Mum!" Kíli protested.

"Well, that's alright, nothing wrong with being a bit of a late grower. Anyway, I'm starving and craving the finest ale you've got. Let's get inside so I can hear all about this quest of yours, brother!" Said Frerin.

For the rest of the day they spent sharing stories over a pint, mostly of the quest and Fíli and Kíli's avid retelling of it's events—with the rest of the company swearing that their version of the journey was the correct one. All of them spoke highly of the master burglar they would not have succeeded without, who Thorin made sure to praise time and time again, though he wished he could say so to the hobbit face-to-face. He pictured the letter once more, and wondered what Bilbo was doing then, if he was fast asleep under the stars, or enjoying good food over the fire, or, perhaps—was he thinking of Thorin, as Thorin was thinking of him now?

He went to bed that night plagued with dreams of Bilbo Baggins he wished to be reality.

Two days had went by with little noise or news of Bilbo's arrival, though Thorin knew it could be potential weeks until he made it to the mountain. Still he found himself maddeningly antsy not knowing when he may come; what if he had changed his mind? What if he no longer desired to see him, for all the distress and hurtful things Thorin had done to him on that day of the battle? Even if Bilbo had accepted his apologies over their letters, Thorin felt it was not yet enough—-he had to tell him himself, for Durin's sake—he would get down to his knees and plead if it meant seeing Bilbo Baggins again. He would travel far to his doorstep if he must, and ask for—-

"Thorin? Have you been listening?" Dís asked, sat across from him nursing her drink.

"With the way you tell your stories? Pfft, of course he's not. No wonder your boys used to fall asleep so fast." Frerin jested, closing his eyes and making a mock snoring sound.

She shook her head. "I could tell you the one about the sister who went mad because her brother wouldn't keep his mouth closed for five minutes."

"Eh, I've already heard that one a lot."

"Mhmm."

However, before Dís could continue, Balin had stopped by. "Pardon the interruption, I just thought I should let you know that Bilbo has arrived safe and well, and is waiting—-"

Thorin did not need to hear any further; he left his seat within a blink, bolting passed Balin and through the door. He was halfway down the hall when he'd realized he hadn't caught the rest of where Bilbo was. He wandered aimlessly for a good while until he ran into Bofur and Bifur who directed him in the right path at last. "Bilbo, he's—"

"Front door." Bifur said.

"Oh aye, we just got done saying our hellos an' all." Bofur nodded. "Come to think of it, he was asking for yo—"

Thorin rushed through them faster than he had gone in months, ignoring the tight pain building at his wounded side and the still hard sting in the bottom of his foot; Óin would be furious if he saw him moving so, likely drag him back to his chair himself, but this was no time to sit and keep idle. He rushed to the front entrance, coming to an abrupt halt and—- "Bilbo."

The hobbit smiled at him, that very smile that had his heart jumping. "Thorin."

For then, they only stood in silence, taking in the other after such time apart. They had not seen each other since Bilbo had found him wounded on the ice, holding him close, promising they would see the day through—together. The next time, Thorin had a foggier memory of; Bilbo had come to visit him in bed rest, though he only could remember the hobbit's hand holding his, speaking of… something he could not quite recall, and how he would soon return after settling his affairs in Bag End.

Thorin was not sure how to even begin, now he was facing him. "How… have you fared on your—?" Suddenly the hobbit came straight forward, wrapping his arms around him snugly. Though surprised, Thorin embraced him back tightly.

"Silly dwarf," Bilbo chuckled against his chest. Thorin wanted them to stay like that forever. "I should be asking you how you have fared. It's good to see you back on your feet, you… look well. Very well." Bilbo stepped back, eyeing him up.

"As do you, Master Baggins."

Bilbo's smile widened just a tad then. "Well, thank you. I tidied myself up as best you can on the road, though, I'm afraid I am in dire need of a proper bath…"

"Your in luck, we have just managed to get our running waters in work once more."

"Running water? Oh, bless the Valar. Or, more to whomever mended it." Bilbo said. "Well, I suppose I shoul—"

"Bilbo!" Then shouted Kíli, running up from out of thin air and practically tackling the hobbit.

"Your here!" Fíli joined, Bilbo disappearing within their hug.

"Yes, yes, thank you both!" Bilbo tried surfacing for air, though the two were hardly about to let go. "Now if you would kindly step off of my foot, that would be much appreciated."

"So, this is your famed hobbit then?" Frerin strutted by, a wide grin on his face. Dís followed at his side, going off to her sons to remind them to be a bit more polite to their guest, though Bilbo assured her it was alright.

"Ah, you must be Frerin, and Dís, yes?" Bilbo said. "Thorin has spoke wonderful things about you both. So have Fíli and Kíli, of course! It is a pleasure to meet you both."

"You talked about us, did you?" Frerin said to Thorin, leaning his arm on his shoulder. "Well met then, Master hobbit! Anyone who can manage a year with my brother is a warrior indeed."

"We have heard great things about you as well. It's safe to say my sons have told your tales nearly every dinner." Said Dís.

"Speaking of, you'll join us for dinner, won't you?" Kíli asked.

"You should!" Fíli agreed. "It'll be great, we'll have the whole company back together! What do you say?"

"That would be quite lovely, yes. I will gladly join you all." Bilbo said.

Fíli and Kíli cheered; the day promised to be well, and Thorin was ever so looking forward to the rest of it and more.

When came time for dinner, the company and all made sure it to be worthwhile. Fresh, hot food was lined across the great table, lighted around with large candles. Bofur, standing high on one of the dining chairs, pulled out his flute and began playing a merry tune. Other's clapped and stomped in rhythm and started to sing. Soon some of the company gathered to dance, circling around each other and swapping partners; Kíli had his mother laughing with his interesting footwork, as Fíli took Ori's hand and spun him around. Thorin watched as Bilbo was thrown into the mix, his smile bright, far different from that first night they arrived in his home. He felt a thump at his shoulder, turning to see Dwalin giving him a look, gesturing to the dance. Thorin went to join when then he stopped, seeing Frerin jump on the chance first and take Bilbo in hand. "Well then, Master hobbit, let's see what you can do!" The two merged with the group and Thorin backed away, trying not to think much of it till they all sat at last for eating.

Before taking his seat, Thorin stopped by Bilbo. "Master Ba—Bilbo," He corrected himself; he supposed there was no need for such formalities anymore. "Would you… care to sit alongside me?"

"That would be wonderful, Thorin—yes." Bilbo said, smiling fondly, his autumn colored curls and sun-kissed cheeks lighted warmly by the candles. Thorin felt a flutter in his stomach at the sight. They sat next to each other, Dori coming by to offer a glass of wine; Thorin was not entirely sure where they could have purchased such an item so swiftly, though it appeared to be quite similar to the bottles in Mirkwood. After Dori left to fill others glasses, he caught Bilbo eyeing him rather closely. "What?" Thorin crooked a brow.

"You've grown out your beard?"

"I have, now that the mountain has been reclaimed and the battle won."

"I like it." Bilbo said. "It… suits you well."

Thorin felt the unexpected flutter again and tentatively sipped the strange tasting wine. For a moment they sat quietly until Thorin grew bold and made to act; the night was clear and warm, after all—the perfect opportunity for an evening stroll. "Perhaps, after the meal… we may—"

"Quite the dine we have for ourselves! Mind if I join?" Frerin showed, sitting down at Bilbo's other side, who hardly had the time to object so if he wanted. "I haven't had such a meal in… oh, the Maker knows how long. Your well aware of the scarce food on long travels, I take it, Master hobbit."

"Weren't you settled with the Stonefoots in the East?" Dís spoke from across the table, surprised.

"Well, of course, I was. Only for a few months, then I… went off. Simple as that." Frerin shrugged as he picked at the bone of some chicken.

"Went off?" Thorin did not like the sound of that. Though, it would explain his brothers lack of letters during that time.

"Don't get your pretty braids in a twist, it was all handled." Frerin said. They stayed silent for awhile as Balin gave a kind speech and everybody began to eat. However, Thorin found himself ending up an awkward to Bilbo and Frerin, who spoke with the hobbit avidly for enough time for Thorin to lose count. He could only sit and wait, doing his best to ignore the little things Frerin would lean over to whisper to Bilbo, who would laugh or whisper something back. Thorin tried not to get in his head about the interactions, but that proved to be harder said than done.

"What happened to your hand, if I may ask?" Bilbo asked Frerin a few minutes later, drawing Thorin's attention back to them.

"Ah, that?" Frerin lifted his missing hand, cut off at the upper wrist. Thorin still remembered the sight of it when it happened. "Azanulbizar, a fierce battle between us and some orc scum."

"I have heard of it, yes." Bilbo said.

"Then you'll know how many we lost that day." Frerin's voice grew low and less vivid. "I was out in the woods with my brigade, up alongside Fundin—Mahal carry his soul—we… well, let's just say I found myself the only one left. Some orc bastard sliced it clean off, nearly bled to death right there till I was found. Wouldn't have happened if…"

If you had been there. Thorin finished the sentence in his head, one he had heard plenty spat to his face before. "None of us could have known that would happen. We all did what we had to."

His brother scoffed under his breath. "Right. If that's what you want to say about it."

"We can't change what occurred that day by feuding," Dís said. "Perhaps we should leave it for another day."

"Yes, I—I didn't mean to cause a stir," Bilbo followed in her path, attempting to defuse the brothers growing anger. In that moment, Thorin could hardly take in their voices of reason. "There's no need for—"

"And what would you have me say instead?" Thorin charged his words at Frerin.

"Oh, maybe taking out the stick up your arse would be a fine start!" Frerin exclaimed. Kíli choked on his drink and Bofur and Glóin tried to sway the conversation back to something about Bombur's cooking. Dori covered Ori's ears with shock. "I think that ones a bit too far up thou—-"

"I rather believe enough has been said." Balin intervened. "We all had great loss that day, and your sister is right; arguing will only get you deeper into that hole."

"Aye, all of us wish we would have done things differently." Said Dwalin.

Frerin did not calm. "And if things went differently, I wouldn't have been left to—!"

"Enough!" Thorin pushed back his chair and stood at once. "I made my choice that day, and that we will both have to live with the rest of our lives."

Frerin got to his feet just the same, voice weary and raised. "Oh, you made your choice alright. You chose to follow grandfather, that's what you always did, didn't you? You left me in those horrible fucking woods for him, just like you had before, just like you left mother here!"

"Frerin!" Dís gasped, the rest of the company falling silent, as did the mountain itself.

Thorin did not yell back, he only watched as the fury slowly sunk away from his brothers face, turning into a regretful dread for what he had said, though did not take back his words. No one said anymore and he excused himself from the table, finding himself sat on a single stone bench far off in one of the hallways, leaning in on himself, his face buried in his palms, his hair falling low at his sides like a curtain to hide behind. He had made his choice that day, faced with the fact he could not save everyone, even if he well tried, forced to choose between his family and friends lives. He could easily recall Frerin's pleas, grasping at his arm for him to stay, as then he was only a boy thrust into battle like the rest of them.

"Thorin—Thorin, please, I need you! I need you to stay! I can't—" Frerin could barely breathe, unsettled by the yells and quickening of the battle, which he had not been properly trained for nor witnessed before. Thorin was not much older, but was placed to act like he was more than a boy then, to wear the face of a warrior. Frerin would have to do the same.

"Stay with Fundin, guide the charge to the forest and hold your ground!" Thorin told him.

"No, no I— I can't fight like you all!"

"You will have to."

He left Frerin then, and did not see him again for long—not until the battle had neared it's end and word reached him of the brigade in the woods—all dead, except his brother. They found Frerin half awake on the ground, his arm splattered with red and missing his hand all together, though he had enough in him to have tightly wrapped some ripped clothing around it to halt the bleeding. Thorin dropped to the ground and held him close, wincing when Frerin cried as he put heavier pressure on the wound. "Help him—I tried to… tried.." Frerin weakly gestured across the field, where Fundin lay beside an orc.

"Do not strain yourself. You have fought bravely, brother." Thorin tried getting him up.

"Father, where's… where's father?" Frerin mumbled.

"I will find him, I promise you that. Dwalin, help me get him to his feet!" Thorin called and Dwalin helped him carry Frerin back to their safe settlement, where by a thin thread—he was saved.

Ever since then Thorin knew his brother held a great anger towards him, one they had not discussed for years. He thought they had settled to leave it behind, but it was something impossible to be left.

"Thorin?"

He looked up at once. It was Bilbo.

The hobbit sighed. "Are you… alright? I am terribly sorry, I had not meant to… bring forward such bad memories."

"It is not your fault. It seems my brother still holds old animosity towards me, for which I… can only take blame for."

"Oh, I see," Bilbo nodded, his eyes jumping between the floor and him. "Is there.. anything I could..?"

"You have traveled far, you deserve rest. Though I... appreciate you coming to see how I fared." Thorin said, though in truth he wished for Bilbo to stay a bit longer, but felt wrong asking so of him.

"Well, of course, I—" Bilbo faltered over his words, considering if he should continue with them. "I care about you."

Thorin's heart jumped, and for a moment the both of them fell silent. Perhaps, Thorin thought—he had not mistaken the affection in the hobbit's letter after all. There could be a chance, from all that happened between them… yet for once, Thorin found himself unable to speak his mind in fear of ruining the companionship they both shared.

"Ah. Right," Bilbo cleared his throat, his pointed ears drooping in a manner Thorin had not noticed before. "Goodnight, Thorin."

"Rest well, Master Burglar."

Bilbo smiled fondly at the title, and it was all Thorin could think of as he retired to his chambers later. Among the bitter taste of old memories, Bilbo was the light sweetness to wash it away, something Thorin had begun to crave. As he sat to the edge of his bed, slowly combing through his hair and the curled shapes from his undone braids, he spied the book he gave up upon days before on the bedside table. He was not one to indulge in poetry quite much, but hobbit's, however, seemed to be the kind to. He had thrown it off after finding no helpful advice of sorts the first time around, but now… maybe he would try again? He moved to grab the book, leaning by the small candle light on the nightstand as he started to flip through the pages once more. His eyes widened at the chapter of 'Confessions', eagerly looking to each poem, met with some few about the aches of waiting for your love, or the hurtful feeling of holding yourself back, to never let them know of your affections, how that could possibly feel even worse than rejection itself.

Thorin snapped the book shut, his eyes restless and weary, asking for the gentle hold of sleep. He blew out the candles and his head dropped to his pillow with a heavy sigh.

He would not let himself become one of those saddened poems.

"Have you seen Bilbo?"

"Hm, oh, yes! He just came to the kitchen as I left a few minutes ago." Said Bombur. "Do you have a message for him?"

Thorin eyed the square of paper in his hands. "Something of that sort."

Making his way to the kitchen, he felt an ounce more confidence than before, putting his trust in the small poem he had wrote early that morning, planning to give it to Bilbo. He'd just stopped at the side of the kitchen's open door upon catching the middle of an unexpected conversation. "—Said, you are the most gorgeous being I have ever laid my eyes on. Now I know we've only just met, but I must speak the truth. I am mesmerized. Will you, give a dwarf as myself, such a chance?" Frerin spoke, and it was Bilbo who replied.

"Well, you certainly have a way with words."

"Swoonworthy."

Thorin looked down to the paper, his prior confidence now shrinking; had his brother wished to court Bilbo? Had he… already done so? While they had known each other no more than a day? The poem crumpled within his hand, letting it drop to the floor. He left at once, though a sudden pain at his side and bad coloring of his wound brought him to Óin, likely from the extra exertion of the day before. He sat quietly, ruminating over what his brother was trying to play at; had he known of his affection for Bilbo, and purposefully set his sights on him? Or had he truly desired to pursue him? Perhaps… Bilbo had really wished for Frerin, instead of him, who had caused so much harm? Thorin hissed through his teeth as Óin did something to the scars of his wound. "I told you! I did!" The elder dwarf huffed. "No. Running. No fast paced sport. No holding a sword until there isn't a chance your very skin will pop. What was that?"

"I didn't speak." Thorin said blankly. Óin shook his head and continued to examine.

A few minutes passed, Frerin had entered the room, seemingly in search of something. Whether that was an actual item, or his annoyance, Thorin was not sure. "Too much fun, eh?" He said to him. Thorin did not spare him a glance. "What? Your just not going to speak to me now, is that it?" When Thorin did not answer yet again he went on. "We haven't seen each other in three years, and this is how it's going to be? Look I— I know I said a few things at dinner but, do we really need to hold onto that?"

"Enough has been said." Thorin told him.

"That's—are—? Your unbelievable." Frerin finally gave up, throwing his hands in the air and leaving the room.

Óin gave him a curious look. "Mmm, when my brother and I would fight, we would arm wrestle, and the loser would confess what they were so caught up about."

"Did it work?"

"Hm. No. Not really. But you can try."

Thorin sighed and let him continue.

That afternoon he had a council with Balin and three ambassadors from neighboring land, which did it's part to distract him for some time. He had been sat in the room after the others left shifting through papers when Bilbo came knocking. "Thorin? Do you happen to be… er, busy, at the moment?"

Thorin did not look up from the papers; he knew what the hobbit had come to say, and he was in no particular mood to hear it. "That depends."

"Ah," Bilbo sounded as if he was not sure how to answer that. "Well, I… suppose I'll just get straight to it then. I have something to ask of you that—"

"I know why you are here."

"You… you do?"

Thorin stood from his seat, finally turning to face Bilbo, who wore a surprised expression and held a paper in his hands. "If you have come to ask for my approval for my brother's hand, then I will not hear it."

Now Bilbo looked truly befuddled. "Your brothers—what?"

"In courtship."

"That is—what on earth are you talking about? Thorin!"

Thorin had already begun to walk out of the room, not wishing to hear the excuses he believed to be said to him then, swinging the door open and having it crash right into Frerin, who charged forward, unsuspecting of it suddenly opening. "Shit!" His brother groaned, staggering back and pinching the bridge of his nose. He glared at Thorin as he continued to walk away. "That's it, I've had enough of—"

"Just—let me speak to him for a moment." Bilbo said to Frerin.

"Tsk, good luck with that." Frerin rolled an eye and leaned himself back to the wall to get his bearings.

"Thorin! Don't you walk away from me you—!" Bilbo rushed after him, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to turn back around to look at him. "What are you going on about?"

"You and my brother, isn't it clear?" Thorin said, his words holding a sting. "You carry affection for him; I heard your conversation in the kitchen together this morning. And the two of you at dinner…"

"Oh for goodness—" Bilbo shook his head, his hold on his wrist still strong. "You hadn't even heard the whole thing, I take it! Your brother was telling a story of another he was swooning over, not me. And dinner was simply friendly!" He let go then, pulling out the paper he had been holding. "I found your poem on the floor and I've been around the entire mountain searching for who wrote it all day! I asked everyone in the company, and you are the only one left. By Yavanna's green hills, Thorin; I don't like your brother, I like you, you bloody oaf!"

A palpable string of silence stuck between them then; Thorin could hear his own heart pounding, the two of them stuck in a tenseness each their own. No longer needing words, within a blink they moved towards the other, their lips meeting furiously in a greatly awaited kiss. Bilbo's hands reached up to wrap over his shoulder and hold to his collar, Thorin's fingers squeezing his waist, pulling him as close as he could and never wanting to let go. Bilbo's fingers shifted through his beard as they slipped apart for a breath, the points of his ears tinted red. "Ah, you, should… probably speak with Frerin." He took a step back, clearing his throat. "But I—er, hope I made myself clear."

"Crystal."

Thorin held off his thoughts on Bilbo's boldness for then to go back for his brother, who he had wrongly judged and assumed, who he had neglected and scorned before. They had gone too many years not speaking of such hurtful things, of ignoring how they felt of it. Frerin was still by the door, arms crossed. "Well, look at that, did he manage to get something through that thick skull of—"

"I am sorry." Thorin interrupted.

Frerin blinked silently. "What?"

"I am sorry for what you were put through as a boy—things no one should be. I live in regret for those days, and what I did not do for you. For all of you. I was too blind to see it; I thought then you needed a teacher, a king, when what you truly needed was… a brother. That I failed. Now I can only try to not repeat my past actions. You need not accept my apologies if you do not want them."

Frerin stayed quiet for awhile, finally sighing into his hands and nearly laughing. "You can't just—you don't speak to me all day, and now you spring all this on me?"

"I would have told you so sooner; I was not upset with you for what you had said at dinner. I only was when I…" Now he felt utterly foolish, almost not wanting to admit his misunderstanding of the situation. "I… had thought you wished to court Bilbo."

"You—-what? Are you serious?" Now Frerin almost really laughed. "For Durin's sake, Thorin… believe me, I've got no interest in your burglar. He's a good lad, but not for me."

Another string of silence.

"So you—I…" Frerin sighed again. "Your right; I did just want you to be my brother. Not my commander, or ruler, just… just you. But I was so angry about everything that happened and I… being back here after so long, without it being covered in flames and chaos, it was all so much I couldn't… I didn't realize it was too much until I snapped at you. I left dinner and had a panic. Dís and Balin found me and… I don't know."

He took another moment.

"What I said about mother—I didn't… didn't mean it. I shouldn't have said that."

Thorin stepped up to him then, placing a hand to his shoulder, and accepting—Frerin hugged him fiercely. "I will be your brother."

For the first in a long time, Frerin shed his tears on his shoulder.

"Ho-ho! And what's on the menu tonight, Bombur?" Glóin clapped his hands together.

"Everything!" Bombur exclaimed.

"That's what I like to hear!" Bofur cheered.

Dinner was set beautifully once more, this time, going peacefully. Thorin watched each of the company's joy and comfort settled all around him, enjoying life as they should. Stacked with a full plate, Frerin sat at his side, offering a smile. Under the table Bilbo slipped his hand into his, a sureness that he would not be letting go. That he was to stay.

to Thorin Oakenshield

'By the time you have received this, I'll be far closer to the mountain, and, perhaps if we are lucky, I will be there soon. I have brought many gifts from the Shire. (though, do not tell the company just yet, I would like to surprise them if possible. But someone may have already took a peek at this, I gather) Traveling has been a lot simpler this time around, and I have thoroughly enjoyed being in the company of this party from the Blue Mountains; they are happy to be coming back to Erebor, as am I. I know I have said this before, but it is greatly true that I miss you all. I am ever so looking forward to getting to spend time together again. Perhaps, we may have a cup of tea and discuss all that has happened, just the two of us? If you would like, of course. I am sorry to say I must end this letter here, but I hope you are well and getting the proper rest you need.'

With love— BB

"Are you looking at that letter again?" Dís peered over his shoulder, a cheeky grin lining her face. "It was sent nearly a month ago."

"I am aware." Thorin said blankly, slipping the worn letter back under the pile of accumulated papers and documents dirtying his desk. He pretended to look over a letter discussing the potential new trade routes in hopes his sister would not spy his ruminating over the hobbit's letter too closely—though that was a feeble wish, as she had eyes sharp as an eagles. In truth, this was the third time that morning he had examined it, finding he could not stop thinking of two simple words; with love. He felt incredibly foolish; such endearments were typical ways to end a kind message between close friends, yet still…

Perhaps he was reading too much into such a small thing, but such a small thing was taking up his mind completely. "Do you…" He sighed, shifting in his chair to face his sister, who still kept a smile. "There is something about this… particular letter that has caught me. I'm not so sure I… fully understand it."

Dís raised a brow. "Are you asking for my advice?"

"Are you going to mock me if I am?"

She laughed. "I suppose that depends what this is all about. Look, Thorin… I'm not set on prying into your personal letters here, and I may not have had the chance to properly speak with this Bilbo Baggins, but from what I've heard… the both of you seem awfully—-"

A hard knock on the door interrupted her, and Dwalin came through. "It's yer' brother."

He and Dís were swift to travel outside to greet their brother, Frerin, who they had not seen for long even before the quest. He spotted them and jumped off the wagon that had brought him there, his long dirty-blond hair and beard ragged—clearly from an adventure of his own. "There he is!" Frerin chuckled, his arms opened wide as he strolled up to Thorin, putting his good hand to his shoulder and clunking their foreheads together in one swing. "King of Erebor, eh? Isn't that a fancy title. Shame I couldn't make it to your little crowning, sure that must have been quite the party." He then turned to Dís, ready for attack. "Sister!"

"Don't you start—-" Dís braced for impact as he charged her way, the both of them battling for hold over the other to see who could first be put to the ground and win the friendly tussle. Ultimately, Frerin found himself lying back to the dirt. "Well, I can see you've been slacking, brother."

"The local taverns need their loyal patrons—who am I to pass them up? Besides, I can still beat you at Farkle any day." Frerin chuckled and hopped back up to his feet, pulling the both of them in for a squeezing hug. "It's been long, I'll well admit I've missed you both. But that's as sappy as I'm going to get!"

"Uncle Frerin!" Behind them shouted Fíli and Kíli, overjoyed and coming up so quickly they crashed into the three of them. "Ha-ha! Look at you both!" Frerin patted their shoulders each. "Fíli, your looking sharp. And, Kíli, eh… still working on that beard of yours?"

"It'll come in." Dís brushed her son's cheek and he tried to swat her hand away out of embarrassment.

"Mum!" Kíli protested.

"Well, that's alright, nothing wrong with being a bit of a late grower. Anyway, I'm starving and craving the finest ale you've got. Let's get inside so I can hear all about this quest of yours, brother!" Said Frerin.

For the rest of the day they spent sharing stories over a pint, mostly of the quest and Fíli and Kíli's avid retelling of it's events—with the rest of the company swearing that their version of the journey was the correct one. All of them spoke highly of the master burglar they would not have succeeded without, who Thorin made sure to praise time and time again, though he wished he could say so to the hobbit face-to-face. He pictured the letter once more, and wondered what Bilbo was doing then, if he was fast asleep under the stars, or enjoying good food over the fire, or, perhaps—was he thinking of Thorin, as Thorin was thinking of him now?

He went to bed that night plagued with dreams of Bilbo Baggins he wished to be reality.

Two days had went by with little noise or news of Bilbo's arrival, though Thorin knew it could be potential weeks until he made it to the mountain. Still he found himself maddeningly antsy not knowing when he may come; what if he had changed his mind? What if he no longer desired to see him, for all the distress and hurtful things Thorin had done to him on that day of the battle? Even if Bilbo had accepted his apologies over their letters, Thorin felt it was not yet enough—-he had to tell him himself, for Durin's sake—he would get down to his knees and plead if it meant seeing Bilbo Baggins again. He would travel far to his doorstep if he must, and ask for—-

"Thorin? Have you been listening?" Dís asked, sat across from him nursing her drink.

"With the way you tell your stories? Pfft, of course he's not. No wonder your boys used to fall asleep so fast." Frerin jested, closing his eyes and making a mock snoring sound.

She shook her head. "I could tell you the one about the sister who went mad because her brother wouldn't keep his mouth closed for five minutes."

"Eh, I've already heard that one a lot."

"Mhmm."

However, before Dís could continue, Balin had stopped by. "Pardon the interruption, I just thought I should let you know that Bilbo has arrived safe and well, and is waiting—-"

Thorin did not need to hear any further; he left his seat within a blink, bolting passed Balin and through the door. He was halfway down the hall when he'd realized he hadn't caught the rest of where Bilbo was. He wandered aimlessly for a good while until he ran into Bofur and Bifur who directed him in the right path at last. "Bilbo, he's—"

"Front door." Bifur said.

"Oh aye, we just got done saying our hellos an' all." Bofur nodded. "Come to think of it, he was asking for yo—"

Thorin rushed through them faster than he had gone in months, ignoring the tight pain building at his wounded side and the still hard sting in the bottom of his foot; Óin would be furious if he saw him moving so, likely drag him back to his chair himself, but this was no time to sit and keep idle. He rushed to the front entrance, coming to an abrupt halt and—- "Bilbo."

The hobbit smiled at him, that very smile that had his heart jumping. "Thorin."

For then, they only stood in silence, taking in the other after such time apart. They had not seen each other since Bilbo had found him wounded on the ice, holding him close, promising they would see the day through—together. The next time, Thorin had a foggier memory of; Bilbo had come to visit him in bed rest, though he only could remember the hobbit's hand holding his, speaking of… something he could not quite recall, and how he would soon return after settling his affairs in Bag End.

Thorin was not sure how to even begin, now he was facing him. "How… have you fared on your—?" Suddenly the hobbit came straight forward, wrapping his arms around him snugly. Though surprised, Thorin embraced him back tightly.

"Silly dwarf," Bilbo chuckled against his chest. Thorin wanted them to stay like that forever. "I should be asking you how you have fared. It's good to see you back on your feet, you… look well. Very well." Bilbo stepped back, eyeing him up.

"As do you, Master Baggins."

Bilbo's smile widened just a tad then. "Well, thank you. I tidied myself up as best you can on the road, though, I'm afraid I am in dire need of a proper bath…"

"Your in luck, we have just managed to get our running waters in work once more."

"Running water? Oh, bless the Valar. Or, more to whomever mended it." Bilbo said. "Well, I suppose I shoul—"

"Bilbo!" Then shouted Kíli, running up from out of thin air and practically tackling the hobbit.

"Your here!" Fíli joined, Bilbo disappearing within their hug.

"Yes, yes, thank you both!" Bilbo tried surfacing for air, though the two were hardly about to let go. "Now if you would kindly step off of my foot, that would be much appreciated."

"So, this is your famed hobbit then?" Frerin strutted by, a wide grin on his face. Dís followed at his side, going off to her sons to remind them to be a bit more polite to their guest, though Bilbo assured her it was alright.

"Ah, you must be Frerin, and Dís, yes?" Bilbo said. "Thorin has spoke wonderful things about you both. So have Fíli and Kíli, of course! It is a pleasure to meet you both."

"You talked about us, did you?" Frerin said to Thorin, leaning his arm on his shoulder. "Well met then, Master hobbit! Anyone who can manage a year with my brother is a warrior indeed."

"We have heard great things about you as well. It's safe to say my sons have told your tales nearly every dinner." Said Dís.

"Speaking of, you'll join us for dinner, won't you?" Kíli asked.

"You should!" Fíli agreed. "It'll be great, we'll have the whole company back together! What do you say?"

"That would be quite lovely, yes. I will gladly join you all." Bilbo said.

Fíli and Kíli cheered; the day promised to be well, and Thorin was ever so looking forward to the rest of it and more.

When came time for dinner, the company and all made sure it to be worthwhile. Fresh, hot food was lined across the great table, lighted around with large candles. Bofur, standing high on one of the dining chairs, pulled out his flute and began playing a merry tune. Other's clapped and stomped in rhythm and started to sing. Soon some of the company gathered to dance, circling around each other and swapping partners; Kíli had his mother laughing with his interesting footwork, as Fíli took Ori's hand and spun him around. Thorin watched as Bilbo was thrown into the mix, his smile bright, far different from that first night they arrived in his home. He felt a thump at his shoulder, turning to see Dwalin giving him a look, gesturing to the dance. Thorin went to join when then he stopped, seeing Frerin jump on the chance first and take Bilbo in hand. "Well then, Master hobbit, let's see what you can do!" The two merged with the group and Thorin backed away, trying not to think much of it till they all sat at last for eating.

Before taking his seat, Thorin stopped by Bilbo. "Master Ba—Bilbo," He corrected himself; he supposed there was no need for such formalities anymore. "Would you… care to sit alongside me?"

"That would be wonderful, Thorin—yes." Bilbo said, smiling fondly, his autumn colored curls and sun-kissed cheeks lighted warmly by the candles. Thorin felt a flutter in his stomach at the sight. They sat next to each other, Dori coming by to offer a glass of wine; Thorin was not entirely sure where they could have purchased such an item so swiftly, though it appeared to be quite similar to the bottles in Mirkwood. After Dori left to fill others glasses, he caught Bilbo eyeing him rather closely. "What?" Thorin crooked a brow.

"You've grown out your beard?"

"I have, now that the mountain has been reclaimed and the battle won."

"I like it." Bilbo said. "It… suits you well."

Thorin felt the unexpected flutter again and tentatively sipped the strange tasting wine. For a moment they sat quietly until Thorin grew bold and made to act; the night was clear and warm, after all—the perfect opportunity for an evening stroll. "Perhaps, after the meal… we may—"

"Quite the dine we have for ourselves! Mind if I join?" Frerin showed, sitting down at Bilbo's other side, who hardly had the time to object so if he wanted. "I haven't had such a meal in… oh, the Maker knows how long. Your well aware of the scarce food on long travels, I take it, Master hobbit."

"Weren't you settled with the Stonefoots in the East?" Dís spoke from across the table, surprised.

"Well, of course, I was. Only for a few months, then I… went off. Simple as that." Frerin shrugged as he picked at the bone of some chicken.

"Went off?" Thorin did not like the sound of that. Though, it would explain his brothers lack of letters during that time.

"Don't get your pretty braids in a twist, it was all handled." Frerin said. They stayed silent for awhile as Balin gave a kind speech and everybody began to eat. However, Thorin found himself ending up an awkward to Bilbo and Frerin, who spoke with the hobbit avidly for enough time for Thorin to lose count. He could only sit and wait, doing his best to ignore the little things Frerin would lean over to whisper to Bilbo, who would laugh or whisper something back. Thorin tried not to get in his head about the interactions, but that proved to be harder said than done.

"What happened to your hand, if I may ask?" Bilbo asked Frerin a few minutes later, drawing Thorin's attention back to them.

"Ah, that?" Frerin lifted his missing hand, cut off at the upper wrist. Thorin still remembered the sight of it when it happened. "Azanulbizar, a fierce battle between us and some orc scum."

"I have heard of it, yes." Bilbo said.

"Then you'll know how many we lost that day." Frerin's voice grew low and less vivid. "I was out in the woods with my brigade, up alongside Fundin—Mahal carry his soul—we… well, let's just say I found myself the only one left. Some orc bastard sliced it clean off, nearly bled to death right there till I was found. Wouldn't have happened if…"

If you had been there. Thorin finished the sentence in his head, one he had heard plenty spat to his face before. "None of us could have known that would happen. We all did what we had to."

His brother scoffed under his breath. "Right. If that's what you want to say about it."

"We can't change what occurred that day by feuding," Dís said. "Perhaps we should leave it for another day."

"Yes, I—I didn't mean to cause a stir," Bilbo followed in her path, attempting to defuse the brothers growing anger. In that moment, Thorin could hardly take in their voices of reason. "There's no need for—"

"And what would you have me say instead?" Thorin charged his words at Frerin.

"Oh, maybe taking out the stick up your arse would be a fine start!" Frerin exclaimed. Kíli choked on his drink and Bofur and Glóin tried to sway the conversation back to something about Bombur's cooking. Dori covered Ori's ears with shock. "I think that ones a bit too far up thou—-"

"I rather believe enough has been said." Balin intervened. "We all had great loss that day, and your sister is right; arguing will only get you deeper into that hole."

"Aye, all of us wish we would have done things differently." Said Dwalin.

Frerin did not calm. "And if things went differently, I wouldn't have been left to—!"

"Enough!" Thorin pushed back his chair and stood at once. "I made my choice that day, and that we will both have to live with the rest of our lives."

Frerin got to his feet just the same, voice weary and raised. "Oh, you made your choice alright. You chose to follow grandfather, that's what you always did, didn't you? You left me in those horrible fucking woods for him, just like you had before, just like you left mother here!"

"Frerin!" Dís gasped, the rest of the company falling silent, as did the mountain itself.

Thorin did not yell back, he only watched as the fury slowly sunk away from his brothers face, turning into a regretful dread for what he had said, though did not take back his words. No one said anymore and he excused himself from the table, finding himself sat on a single stone bench far off in one of the hallways, leaning in on himself, his face buried in his palms, his hair falling low at his sides like a curtain to hide behind. He had made his choice that day, faced with the fact he could not save everyone, even if he well tried, forced to choose between his family and friends lives. He could easily recall Frerin's pleas, grasping at his arm for him to stay, as then he was only a boy thrust into battle like the rest of them.

"Thorin—Thorin, please, I need you! I need you to stay! I can't—" Frerin could barely breathe, unsettled by the yells and quickening of the battle, which he had not been properly trained for nor witnessed before. Thorin was not much older, but was placed to act like he was more than a boy then, to wear the face of a warrior. Frerin would have to do the same.

"Stay with Fundin, guide the charge to the forest and hold your ground!" Thorin told him.

"No, no I— I can't fight like you all!"

"You will have to."

He left Frerin then, and did not see him again for long—not until the battle had neared it's end and word reached him of the brigade in the woods—all dead, except his brother. They found Frerin half awake on the ground, his arm splattered with red and missing his hand all together, though he had enough in him to have tightly wrapped some ripped clothing around it to halt the bleeding. Thorin dropped to the ground and held him close, wincing when Frerin cried as he put heavier pressure on the wound. "Help him—I tried to… tried.." Frerin weakly gestured across the field, where Fundin lay beside an orc.

"Do not strain yourself. You have fought bravely, brother." Thorin tried getting him up.

"Father, where's… where's father?" Frerin mumbled.

"I will find him, I promise you that. Dwalin, help me get him to his feet!" Thorin called and Dwalin helped him carry Frerin back to their safe settlement, where by a thin thread—he was saved.

Ever since then Thorin knew his brother held a great anger towards him, one they had not discussed for years. He thought they had settled to leave it behind, but it was something impossible to be left.

"Thorin?"

He looked up at once. It was Bilbo.

The hobbit sighed. "Are you… alright? I am terribly sorry, I had not meant to… bring forward such bad memories."

"It is not your fault. It seems my brother still holds old animosity towards me, for which I… can only take blame for."

"Oh, I see," Bilbo nodded, his eyes jumping between the floor and him. "Is there.. anything I could..?"

"You have traveled far, you deserve rest. Though I... appreciate you coming to see how I fared." Thorin said, though in truth he wished for Bilbo to stay a bit longer, but felt wrong asking so of him.

"Well, of course, I—" Bilbo faltered over his words, considering if he should continue with them. "I care about you."

Thorin's heart jumped, and for a moment the both of them fell silent. Perhaps, Thorin thought—he had not mistaken the affection in the hobbit's letter after all. There could be a chance, from all that happened between them… yet for once, Thorin found himself unable to speak his mind in fear of ruining the companionship they both shared.

"Ah. Right," Bilbo cleared his throat, his pointed ears drooping in a manner Thorin had not noticed before. "Goodnight, Thorin."

"Rest well, Master Burglar."

Bilbo smiled fondly at the title, and it was all Thorin could think of as he retired to his chambers later. Among the bitter taste of old memories, Bilbo was the light sweetness to wash it away, something Thorin had begun to crave. As he sat to the edge of his bed, slowly combing through his hair and the curled shapes from his undone braids, he spied the book he gave up upon days before on the bedside table. He was not one to indulge in poetry quite much, but hobbit's, however, seemed to be the kind to. He had thrown it off after finding no helpful advice of sorts the first time around, but now… maybe he would try again? He moved to grab the book, leaning by the small candle light on the nightstand as he started to flip through the pages once more. His eyes widened at the chapter of 'Confessions', eagerly looking to each poem, met with some few about the aches of waiting for your love, or the hurtful feeling of holding yourself back, to never let them know of your affections, how that could possibly feel even worse than rejection itself.

Thorin snapped the book shut, his eyes restless and weary, asking for the gentle hold of sleep. He blew out the candles and his head dropped to his pillow with a heavy sigh.

He would not let himself become one of those saddened poems.

"Have you seen Bilbo?"

"Hm, oh, yes! He just came to the kitchen as I left a few minutes ago." Said Bombur. "Do you have a message for him?"

Thorin eyed the square of paper in his hands. "Something of that sort."

Making his way to the kitchen, he felt an ounce more confidence than before, putting his trust in the small poem he had wrote early that morning, planning to give it to Bilbo. He'd just stopped at the side of the kitchen's open door upon catching the middle of an unexpected conversation. "—Said, you are the most gorgeous being I have ever laid my eyes on. Now I know we've only just met, but I must speak the truth. I am mesmerized. Will you, give a dwarf as myself, such a chance?" Frerin spoke, and it was Bilbo who replied.

"Well, you certainly have a way with words."

"Swoonworthy."

Thorin looked down to the paper, his prior confidence now shrinking; had his brother wished to court Bilbo? Had he… already done so? While they had known each other no more than a day? The poem crumpled within his hand, letting it drop to the floor. He left at once, though a sudden pain at his side and bad coloring of his wound brought him to Óin, likely from the extra exertion of the day before. He sat quietly, ruminating over what his brother was trying to play at; had he known of his affection for Bilbo, and purposefully set his sights on him? Or had he truly desired to pursue him? Perhaps… Bilbo had really wished for Frerin, instead of him, who had caused so much harm? Thorin hissed through his teeth as Óin did something to the scars of his wound. "I told you! I did!" The elder dwarf huffed. "No. Running. No fast paced sport. No holding a sword until there isn't a chance your very skin will pop. What was that?"

"I didn't speak." Thorin said blankly. Óin shook his head and continued to examine.

A few minutes passed, Frerin had entered the room, seemingly in search of something. Whether that was an actual item, or his annoyance, Thorin was not sure. "Too much fun, eh?" He said to him. Thorin did not spare him a glance. "What? Your just not going to speak to me now, is that it?" When Thorin did not answer yet again he went on. "We haven't seen each other in three years, and this is how it's going to be? Look I— I know I said a few things at dinner but, do we really need to hold onto that?"

"Enough has been said." Thorin told him.

"That's—are—? Your unbelievable." Frerin finally gave up, throwing his hands in the air and leaving the room.

Óin gave him a curious look. "Mmm, when my brother and I would fight, we would arm wrestle, and the loser would confess what they were so caught up about."

"Did it work?"

"Hm. No. Not really. But you can try."

Thorin sighed and let him continue.

That afternoon he had a council with Balin and three ambassadors from neighboring land, which did it's part to distract him for some time. He had been sat in the room after the others left shifting through papers when Bilbo came knocking. "Thorin? Do you happen to be… er, busy, at the moment?"

Thorin did not look up from the papers; he knew what the hobbit had come to say, and he was in no particular mood to hear it. "That depends."

"Ah," Bilbo sounded as if he was not sure how to answer that. "Well, I… suppose I'll just get straight to it then. I have something to ask of you that—"

"I know why you are here."

"You… you do?"

Thorin stood from his seat, finally turning to face Bilbo, who wore a surprised expression and held a paper in his hands. "If you have come to ask for my approval for my brother's hand, then I will not hear it."

Now Bilbo looked truly befuddled. "Your brothers—what?"

"In courtship."

"That is—what on earth are you talking about? Thorin!"

Thorin had already begun to walk out of the room, not wishing to hear the excuses he believed to be said to him then, swinging the door open and having it crash right into Frerin, who charged forward, unsuspecting of it suddenly opening. "Shit!" His brother groaned, staggering back and pinching the bridge of his nose. He glared at Thorin as he continued to walk away. "That's it, I've had enough of—"

"Just—let me speak to him for a moment." Bilbo said to Frerin.

"Tsk, good luck with that." Frerin rolled an eye and leaned himself back to the wall to get his bearings.

"Thorin! Don't you walk away from me you—!" Bilbo rushed after him, grabbing his wrist and forcing him to turn back around to look at him. "What are you going on about?"

"You and my brother, isn't it clear?" Thorin said, his words holding a sting. "You carry affection for him; I heard your conversation in the kitchen together this morning. And the two of you at dinner…"

"Oh for goodness—" Bilbo shook his head, his hold on his wrist still strong. "You hadn't even heard the whole thing, I take it! Your brother was telling a story of another he was swooning over, not me. And dinner was simply friendly!" He let go then, pulling out the paper he had been holding. "I found your poem on the floor and I've been around the entire mountain searching for who wrote it all day! I asked everyone in the company, and you are the only one left. By Yavanna's green hills, Thorin; I don't like your brother, I like you, you bloody oaf!"

A palpable string of silence stuck between them then; Thorin could hear his own heart pounding, the two of them stuck in a tenseness each their own. No longer needing words, within a blink they moved towards the other, their lips meeting furiously in a greatly awaited kiss. Bilbo's hands reached up to wrap over his shoulder and hold to his collar, Thorin's fingers squeezing his waist, pulling him as close as he could and never wanting to let go. Bilbo's fingers shifted through his beard as they slipped apart for a breath, the points of his ears tinted red. "Ah, you, should… probably speak with Frerin." He took a step back, clearing his throat. "But I—er, hope I made myself clear."

"Crystal."

Thorin held off his thoughts on Bilbo's boldness for then to go back for his brother, who he had wrongly judged and assumed, who he had neglected and scorned before. They had gone too many years not speaking of such hurtful things, of ignoring how they felt of it. Frerin was still by the door, arms crossed. "Well, look at that, did he manage to get something through that thick skull of—"

"I am sorry." Thorin interrupted.

Frerin blinked silently. "What?"

"I am sorry for what you were put through as a boy—things no one should be. I live in regret for those days, and what I did not do for you. For all of you. I was too blind to see it; I thought then you needed a teacher, a king, when what you truly needed was… a brother. That I failed. Now I can only try to not repeat my past actions. You need not accept my apologies if you do not want them."

Frerin stayed quiet for awhile, finally sighing into his hands and nearly laughing. "You can't just—you don't speak to me all day, and now you spring all this on me?"

"I would have told you so sooner; I was not upset with you for what you had said at dinner. I only was when I…" Now he felt utterly foolish, almost not wanting to admit his misunderstanding of the situation. "I… had thought you wished to court Bilbo."

"You—-what? Are you serious?" Now Frerin almost really laughed. "For Durin's sake, Thorin… believe me, I've got no interest in your burglar. He's a good lad, but not for me."

Another string of silence.

"So you—I…" Frerin sighed again. "Your right; I did just want you to be my brother. Not my commander, or ruler, just… just you. But I was so angry about everything that happened and I… being back here after so long, without it being covered in flames and chaos, it was all so much I couldn't… I didn't realize it was too much until I snapped at you. I left dinner and had a panic. Dís and Balin found me and… I don't know."

He took another moment.

"What I said about mother—I didn't… didn't mean it. I shouldn't have said that."

Thorin stepped up to him then, placing a hand to his shoulder, and accepting—Frerin hugged him fiercely. "I will be your brother."

For the first in a long time, Frerin shed his tears on his shoulder.

"Ho-ho! And what's on the menu tonight, Bombur?" Glóin clapped his hands together.

"Everything!" Bombur exclaimed.

"That's what I like to hear!" Bofur cheered.

Dinner was set beautifully once more, this time, going peacefully. Thorin watched each of the company's joy and comfort settled all around him, enjoying life as they should. Stacked with a full plate, Frerin sat at his side, offering a smile. Under the table Bilbo slipped his hand into his, a sureness that he would not be letting go. That he was to stay.