#bilbo_baggins

Bilbo pressed his lips together to muffle an involuntary groan as the noise fed into his pounding headache, threatening to overwhelm his senses in a red haze of agony. The bed of sharp, jagged stones that he was laying on did not help alleviate the ache in his body either. Reflexively, he shifted to get himself into a more comfortable position but his bound arms caught him by surprise. With a pained grunt, Bilbo flopped ungracefully back to the ground and the pebbles around him scattered loudly across the stone floor. The conversation in the room abruptly died.

“Would you look at that? The Halfling is finally awake! Quick, someone get our esteemed leader.”

What is going on and where am I? Bilbo thought groggily at the sound of retreating footsteps. Panicked, he struggled to regain his senses and he snapped his eyes opened, only to immediately regret his decision when the bright daylight assaulted his vision. A sharp spike of pain ripped through his head, the agony threatening to send him reeling back into unconsciousness.

Alright, that was a stupid idea. Let’s not try that again. Bilbo closed his eyes with a hiss and he concentrated on taking deep, steady breaths, battling to stay awake. He did not even notice the new arrival until the stranger stood less than a foot away from his curled form. 

“Mister Baggins! My apologies for the rough treatment,” a familiar voice – possibly the leader’s if Bilbo were to hazard a guess – called out. He sounded strangely muffled as if he was speaking underwater. “It is unfortunate that we are in this current predicament, but please know that I have nothing personal against you at all.”

In a last ditch attempt at defiance, Bilbo mustered the last of his dwindling energy to squint up at his assailant.

Haldan smiled back at him with cold, hard eyes. “This is just business and you, Mister Baggins, are worth a lot of money. I hope you understand.”

Bilbo’s vision faded to black before he could hear the rest of what Haldan had to say.

=====

The room was immediately in an uproar at Dáin’s grim announcement.

“A ransom? Who would do such a vile thing?!”

“Why would they take Bilbo and Ori? They have the gentlest temperament out of all of us!”

“Maybe because they are so polite and pleasant that the kidnappers thought that they make soft, easy targets.”

“As if any member of Thorin Oakenshield’s Company would be soft after all that we had to face!”

“Master Dori? Master Dori?” Balin’s alarm could be heard above the agitated cries of the room. Bombur and Bifur, who were milling nearby, turned towards the rapidly paling Dwarf in question and together with Balin, they gently guided him back into his seat. “Deep breaths Master Dori,” Balin coaxed, “Keep taking deep breaths.”

On the other side of the room, Nori desperately pushed his way through the throng of Dwarves to get to Dáin and Thorin. “Let me through,” he snarled as the others skirted away from his war path. This must be some kind of a sick, twisted joke, Nori balled up his fists and thought angrily. How dare anyone, let alone Dáin of all people, tell such blatant lies to the Company!

It wasn’t until he had finally seen the braid and that damnably familiar purple ribbon – a present from their late mother, Ori treasured that thing – being handed to Thorin that Nori felt his breath knocked from his body; all the conflicting, violent emotions drained away in an instant, leaving him to stand shock still. His treacherous mind was flooded with horrible scenarios of his baby brother, sweet gentle Ori, left beaten and bleeding somewhere in the dark and there was absolutely nothing he could do to make this stop.

“They cut off his braid,” he croaked out hollowly instead. “Why would they cut off his braid?”

The braid and the golden button served as a friendly warning, a dark, sinister part of Nori’s mind, one that was more than familiar with the way kidnappers think, whispered to him. It sent chills running down the Dwarf’s spine. The next package received would be a thousand times worse and a thousand times more bloody. 

A steady hand on Nori’s shoulders jostled him out of his dark musing. “Master Nori,” Bofur’s brows were drawn gravely and Nori wondered how the miner could remain so composed when he felt shook to the core, “we will find your little brother and Bilbo.”

The thief swallowed hard and nodded mechanically, but he couldn’t find it in him to be so blindly optimistic. Bofur apparently could sense Nori’s hesitation. At the thief’s lacklustre reaction, he frowned even deeper and tightened his grip on the Dwarf. 

Meanwhile, Dwalin had violently stalked forward to get to Thorin without caring that he had knocked his chair over. He stopped when he reached beside Nori and ever so slowly, he unsheathed Grasper and Keeper. “What does that letter say,” he hissed, the quiet murder in his voice so cold that all those who heard him shivered, “who do I have to eviscerate for laying a hand on my intended and on our Hobbit?”

“A group, if what this letter says is the truth,” Thorin looked up from the letter to reply coolly. His blasé attitude would have been convincing if not for the white knuckled grip on the page. “They want 14 000 gold coins, divvied up into five portions to be delivered in three days' time and dropped off in a location that they have specified.”

“Specified?”

“They have drawn a map.”

“Idiots,” Glóin brandished his axe and laughed derisively. “All we have to do is ambush them when they collect the gold!”

The Dwarves answered with a resounding, enthusiastic ‘Aye’ and without further ado, they gleefully followed Glóin and Dwalin’s example and unsheathed their weapons at once.  

“Dwarves, let’s not be too hasty! If we can all just put those away,” Dáin yelled over the bloodthirsty crowd. His words went unheeded.

“We will make an example out of them! Show the rest of the world just what happens to those who harm one of our own!”

“Like young Ori had once said, we’ll give them a taste of Dwarfish iron right up their jacksies!”

“Please, if we can all just settle down and carefully rationalize –”

“I have my crossbows! I have been practising on how to double wield them!”

“My Prince, I must really object to this unorthodox use – Please put those away!”

“SILENCE!” Thorin slammed his hand against his desk and roared, and in an instant, blessed silence filled the room once again. “An ambush would not work,” the King began testily. He glared at his sheepish companions, “The kidnappers have already anticipated this. In the letter, they said that they will only release the hostages once they have safely retrieved the gold. If the kidnappers are harmed in the meantime, Bilbo and Ori will automatically forfeit their lives.”  

Thorin held up his hand to pre-emptively stop the grumblings. He continued authoritatively, “We will not give them any incentive to harm those two. My decision is final on this.”

He did not break his eye contact from his Dwarves, especially from a growling, homicidal-looking Dwalin who was still clutching Grasper and Keeper, until everyone had nodded sullenly in acquiesce. Satisfied that he had driven his point home, he turned to his skittish cousin and asked gravely, “Where did you find this letter?”

Dáin’s lips were pressed into a tight line, his face adopting a pinched look from what was undoubtedly an extremely unpleasant memory. “It was found on Master Borin, your Highness. It was placed deliberately there to –”

“Placed deliberately?” Nori scoffed in disbelief. He glared coldly at the Iron Hills Lord and spat out, “It is no secret that your advisors do not like Bilbo. And now you’re telling me that you have conveniently found a note on Master Borin. What’s to say that they were not the ones who were responsible for this?” 

“Because, Master Nori,” Dáin answered flatly, “the note was pinned to Master Borin’s shirt across his chest while Master Borin himself was found lying unconscious in a pool of his own blood. Whoever wanted our attention made sure they got it.” Pursing his lips, he brusquely turned to Thorin. “Master Frór and I were the ones who found him. I have Frór watching over him at the moment. Master Borin sustained a knife wound to his side and a blow to the back of his head. Thankfully, it was nothing life threatening.”

“Now if you are all ready,” Dáin eyed the shocked crew tersely, “I can take you to him. Hopefully he is awake to answer our questions.”

=====

The second time that Bilbo woke up, he was bombarded by two different sensations; the first and immediate one was an all consuming pain that seemed to be radiating somewhere from the back of his skull. Bilbo suspected that if he had the strength to lift his arms, he would have found a swollen bump there as a telltale sign of his injury. The second thing that Bilbo noticed, once he had pushed away the feeling of pain, was the pervasive chill of damp wooden planks pressing uncomfortably against his cheek. That in itself was highly unusual since the last thing he remembered was strolling beside Ori on his way back to Thorin’s tent –

A wave of disorienting memories came crashing back at him.

Farm. Attack. Kidnapping.

Haldan.   

It took every last ounce of effort for Bilbo not to visibly react at the deep seated feeling of betrayal that flared up within him. His friend had orchestrated his kidnapping! How long had Haldan been planning this? Has it always been Haldan’s intention to trick Bilbo into becoming friends so that he would lower his guard around the other advisor? Was Bard in on this scheme as well?

Bilbo clamped down on his anger. The answers could wait. For now, he needed to focus on surveying his immediate surroundings.

Keeping himself loose limbed to feign unconsciousness, Bilbo breathed in deeply, registering the utter stillness of the room and the cloying scent of musk from the stale air around him. The quietness of the space reminded him of Erebor before its resurrection. Bilbo remembered the first time that he explored the derelict fortress; his diminutive form had casted a long shadow over the once gilded walls while his steps echoed hollowly in the abandoned rooms with every new step he took. The utter feeling of loneliness had pressed heavily against Bilbo from all around him, making him feel small and insignificant in the vast, open space. There was something horribly sad to see such splendour reduced to ashes and dust.

Well, Bilbo thought glumly, opening his eyes to his surroundings at last, I much prefer to be over there than here, wherever here is.

Bilbo waited until he was certain that he had regained enough of his senses before wriggling his arms behind him. The tight tug around his numbing wrists was to be expected and logically, Bilbo had to admit that it would be a gross oversight if his captors did not keep him bound, but he could not help but feel slightly disappointed to discover his hands tied. Carefully adjusting his weight, he struggled clumsily into a sitting position, only flopping to his side twice for his trouble. He squinted around in hopes that he could recognize something, anything that could give away where he was.

From what Bilbo could tell, he was in a small, rectangular room completely devoid of furniture and light, save for a weak beam of sunlight that shone through a tiny circular window far above Bilbo’s reach. The dark, weathered wood beneath him looked like it had seen better days. Broken, jagged pieces of the floor planks jutted out randomly across the span of the room with all manners of detritus caught between the cracks and holes of the floorboards. The walls were in an equally sad state of affair. The half-rotting wooden panels that were held in place by rusting, protruding nails looked like they were seconds away from collapsing inwards. Outside, the wind howled and Bilbo shivered at the cold that seeped through.

Wait, shivered?

Bilbo quickly looked down and felt instantly relieved that his green jacket was still on his body, although it was gaping wide open from the lack of buttons. He sighed in resignation. Honestly, how was it that he had such bad luck with keeping his buttons? He had rather liked those too! They were beautifully made and, Bilbo suspected, handcrafted by Thorin himself, which made losing them all the more regretful. At this rate, he might as well just give up on buttons altogether and go around wearing something like his old bathrobe.  

The resounding clank of the metal lock sliding open caught Bilbo completely off guard and he reflexively shifted his attention towards the room’s entrance. The door creaked open and in came Haldan, carrying a wooden tray with food. The sheepish smile that he gave to Bilbo was a familiar one, and the Hobbit automatically prepared himself to brush away the stream of apologies that would undoubtedly come pouring out of Haldan. Then, he remembered that he was in this predicament because of that lying backstabber and the anger came roaring back.

“Mister Baggins! I am glad to see that you are awake! I was worried that we were too rough with you. My apologies for that,” Haldan said, pausing briefly to kick the door shut behind him. “I have brought you some soup, some bread and a pot of tea for us to share, although we will have to make do without milk and sugar, I’m afraid. Please enjoy the meal while it is still fresh and warm.”

Bilbo threw the strongest glare that he could muster. “How kind of you to watch over my well being after you’ve kidnapped me,” he uttered with venom.

Haldan rolled his eyes and deposited the tray in front of the Hobbit. Instantly, the air of nervousness around him vanished. “Oh don’t be so dramatic! I told you it wasn’t personal. Besides, I’m hardly going to let you starve. You’re worth more to me alive than dead. Now if you don’t mind, please kindly turn around.” When Bilbo did not budge at all, he sighed, “Unless you want to eat with your hands tied, that’s fine by me as well.”

Bilbo grudgingly turned so that his tied hands were facing Haldan. For a brief second, he entertained the thought of running to safety the moment he was freed.

Clearly anticipating Bilbo’s train of thought, Haldan added in an exasperated manner, “Please do not try to run. Not only do I have a knife that I’m not afraid to use, I have guards posted outside your door and I have your little friend with us as well. I’d hate to hurt him to get you to cooperate.”

Bilbo would have spun around if Haldan’s grip wasn’t on his arm. “Little friend?” he asked, his heart sinking. Please don’t let it be Ori, please don’t let it be Ori.

Haldan hummed and said distractedly, “Yes, the young Dwarf with his head constantly buried in a book. I like him, he’s well-mannered!”

Oh, this was not good.

Bilbo turned to face his captor when the rope bindings were cut off. He absentmindedly rubbed the circulation back into his raw wrists. “Why take Ori? He hasn’t done anything.”

Haldan winced and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well...my men panicked when the kidnapping was taking too long. I admit, things could have gone much smoother, but we had to push our plans forward than what was initially scheduled so...” The advisor trailed off, still looking very much embarrassed. He lowered himself on a debris-free spot on the floor and he sat crossed legged. “Rest assured, he is safe and sound. Now please sit while I get this tea started.”

Bewildered, Bilbo gingerly sat down as Haldan began pouring two cups of tea from the flowered porcelain pot that he had brought in. He was torn between following his Baggins sensibilities by thanking for the offered tea, because no respectable Hobbit refused a good cup of tea, and his Tookish sensibilities to tell Haldan just where he could stick that tea cup. Instead, he asked, “So you’ve had this elaborate plan to kidnap me for ransom but you had to do a rush job. Why, though?”

“Why what?” Haldan gently placed the pot to the side with a soft clink to look up inquisitively at Bilbo. “Why the kidnapping or why the rush?”

“Both, I suppose.”

Haldan reached for his cup and blew lightly to clear away the rising steam from his drink. “Well, Mister Baggins,” he began, “to answer your second question first, we had to rush the plan when we learned that Gandalf the Grey was arriving. The last thing we want is a Wizard to interfere.” He took a deep drink of his tea before continuing, “As for your first question, the answer requires a bit of time. You don’t mind do you?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and scoffed. “By all means, let’s hear it. It’s not like I have any places I need to be at the moment.”

“Wonderful!” Haldan beamed and somewhere in the back of Bilbo’s mind, he was reeling at how surrealthis whole situation was. He was having tea and polite conversation with his captor of all people, and if Thorin knew about this, Eru forbid that he does, the Dwarf would probably scowl furiously like he had never scowled before in disapproval.

This has got to be the most bizarre kidnapping in the history of Middle-Earth.

“How much do you know about the Lake-town Master?” Haldan asked. He nudged the plate of food closer to Bilbo. “Come on now, eat up! I promise it isn’t poisoned. See?” As a show of good faith, he pinched off a bit of bread, dipped it in the soup and ate it.  

“He was a slimy git who ran away after Bard gave him the gold to rebuild Lake-town.” Bilbo answered bluntly, eyeing the food with open suspicion. Why was Haldan doing this? Was it of some bizarre form of guilty penance? Or maybe, Haldan was bored out of his mind and Bilbo provided some entertainment. Bilbo wasn’t sure which answer that he preferred.

“Well I’m hardly going to disagree with you on that!” Haldan laughed into his tea. “Yes, he was a git and he ran away with a lot of gold although that was certainly not where my problems began. I suppose I should start from the beginning?”

Bilbo nodded slowly and he reached for his soup, finally giving in to his Hobbitish love of food. He took a small bite out of it and noted, with bitterness, that it was potato and leek, his favourite. It was also absolutely delicious.

Damn you, Haldan, he thought viciously, scarfing down a much larger mouthful as he continued to glare poisonously at the man.

“My associates and I used to work for the Master,” Haldan said, completely ignoring the animosity that was directed at him. “I was his accountant. It was the job that I have been striving to get, not because I particularly liked the Master, but I did like the sizeable income that came with the position. The money meant that my family and I could finally crawl from the gutters of poverty. Can you imagine what it is like to go so desperately hungry that you are on the verge of starvation, Mister Baggins?”

For an instant, Bilbo tensed, clutching at his the bowl and his spoon tightly until his hands were shaking. Cold-seated panic unfurled in his head along with the sharp, bitter memories of the Fell Winter. He was but a child at the time, and a rather sheltered one at that, but Bilbo doubt he could ever forget the thick blanket of fear that had smothered the Shire-folk as they watched their food storage dwindle down to nothing. Bilbo remembered the many hushed conversations that his parents had shared, made in secrecy when they thought he was not present. They grew more and more frequent and more and more panicked as the unforgiving winter stretched out, when not even the Baggins’ wealth could save them from hunger, not when there was no food to be found anywhere. He remembered the strict rationing that his mother had carried out, and despite how tough things were at home, Bilbo’s parents were insistent that their son would always have at least a mouthful to eat. It wasn’t until later when his father had fallen ill and Bilbo had seen how equally thin and gaunt his mother had become that he realized just from whom he was taking his food.

Bilbo may not have had to starve, but he understood what it was like all the same.

“I don’t need to imagine,” Bilbo said, his voice deceptively steady as he pushed away his half empty bowl of soup. He swallowed the memories down along with the unpleasant, roiling emotions that came with them.

“I am sorry to hear that, Mister Baggins.” Haldan looked at Bilbo with something akin to pity and Bilbo felt another spike of irritation towards his captor. “However, I trust that you fully understand my determination to avoid sinking to that level again. I happily worked for the Master and the both of us came to a mutual agreement – I would be paid very handsomely for my work and in return, I would turn a blind eye to some of his, ah, less than honest dealings. Together with my associates, we became very rich, very fast.”

That...did not surprise Bilbo. Having met the Master, he could imagine the detestable man to be involved in embezzlement.

“So, let me guess,” Bilbo crossed his arms across his chest and said flatly, “you were finally discovered.”

Haldan tilted his head in agreement but he did not look upset by the accusation. “And the timing could not have been any worse. It was right after Smaug’s attack and the people, well, what’s left of them anyway, were hoping to use the town's fund to rebuild their homes. However, they discovered a significantly less amount of money saved up for the town than what was reported. It seemed that the Master has gotten a bit too greedy and has pinched off more money than he should have. To say that the Master and all those who worked for him were heavily criticized was…a severe understatement.”

Things were starting to piece together for Bilbo and he blurted out, “Is that why the Master was so insistent with pressing Thorin for money before the Battle? To give it back to the people to save his own skin?”

“Partially,” Haldan looked very pleased at Bilbo’s leap of logic, “the townsmen were threatening all of our lives at that point and we, in turn, were threatening to redistribute the Master’s assets to appease the masses. You can imagine that he was under quite the pressure to procure the necessary funds to quell this situation and thought it best to acquire said fund through Thorin. I also had no doubt that he was hoping to pocket some of the newly earned gold for himself.”

“Of course he was.” Bilbo rolled his eyes while absentmindedly reaching for his cup of tea. For a kidnapping, this whole endeavour sure was becoming much more comfortable than he had expected. “He received his gold from King Bard after the negotiation with Thorin. It should be more than enough to get the townsfolk off of his back.”

“Yes, he did, but it was much too late by that time. There was so much anger towards the Master that there wasn’t much that he could do to salvage this situation.” Haldan grimaced in distaste, “Even then, King Bard insisted on giving the Master the gold out of some naive hope that the Master could use it to redeem himself. Once a loyal guard to the Master, forever a loyal guard, it would seem.”   

“And where were you and your associates? How did you escape the townsmen’s wrath and land yourself as Bard’s advisor?”

Haldan smiled. “Oh, don’t be mistaken, Mister Baggins, there was no escaping the townsmen, not when they have their torches and pitchforks ready. As far as they were concerned, my associates and I were just as guilty so the best that we could do at the time was to keep our heads down and out of sight.” Haldan pressed two fingers against his mug and frowned when it was too hot for his liking. He continued, “It just so happened that I was the more fortunate one out of the group. I was approached by King Bard himself who was seeking an expert in dealing with finances and he was hoping that I could work for him. Best of all, the King promised to protect me if I accepted.” Haldan tilted his head back and laughed, “It was an offer that was impossible to refuse.”

“But King Bard must have known about your involvement with the Master. No offense, but couldn’t he have picked someone with a reputation for being more trustworthy?” Bilbo pressed on, absorbed with finding the truth. And to think, there was so much hidden beneath Haldan’s nervous, jittery façade. He wondered how many people had equally underestimated the man like he himself had done.

“No offense taken!” Haldan said wryly. “To be honest, I was just as surprised as you were at being approached. I suspect it was because I was the only one who was still alive that had the necessary accounting skills.” He chuckled darkly, “By chance, I was promoted from a disgraced accountant to a hated advisor. Funny how everyone else’s loss ended up to be my gain.”

He sighed in disappointment at the disgusted look that Bilbo threw at him. “And this is where you and I are fundamentally different, Mister Baggins. I am an opportunist who will always put myself in front of everything. You, on the other hand, are bogged down by this need to please everyone.”

He propped his chin up with his fist and he leaned forward, squinting at Bilbo as if he was observing some bizarre creature. “It must be so exhausting having to constantly do good by everybody. I still can’t quite figure out if you are being exceptionally brave or stupid for undertaking such an impossible task.” Haldan eyed Bilbo up and down quickly, and said, his voice suddenly chilly, “At the moment, my opinion is leaning more towards ‘stupid’.”

Bilbo swallowed heavily at Haldan’s sudden change in demeanour. So, this was what Haldan had been hiding all along, this steel core of ruthlessness that, by his own admission, pushed him to place his own well-being above all else. Worse still, Haldan seemed to pride himself in his unwavering conviction to serve his own interests. Bilbo wondered just how far Haldan will go to achieve this. Would he risk burning every single bridge of his past?

Putting on a nonchalant face, the Hobbit said with false bravado, “Why does it matter if I'm being stupid or not? You just need me for the money.” He paused to take a small sip of tea to further disguise how much his discovery had disturbed him. “Speaking of which, you haven’t finished your explanation. Why do you need the money?”

And just like that, Haldan was back to his sunny self. “Oh, pardon me! Where was I?” He crossed his arms and stared at the floor for a few seconds until his line of thought came back. “Ah yes, I became King Bard’s newest advisor and believe it or not, I wanted to do a good job. I had much to gain by retaining my position and I suppose that I wanted to redeem myself, at least a little. However, I quickly realized that my efforts were made into a mockery by just about everyone.”

“I’m not sure if I have mentioned this, Mister Baggins, but I am rather good with numbers and figures.” He shot a challenging look at Bilbo but was immediately pacified when the Hobbit nodded along passively. “From the very beginning, I have discussed with the King how best to spend his money. I have submitted costs projections and endless pages of reports to warn him about overspending but despite my best efforts, my warnings were brushed aside by the King’s other advisors who, I should add, know nothing about finances. You see, it was a personal vendetta that they had against me. They were not happy with my presence and had made it their mission to remove me from my post.”

Haldan’s voice was low and dangerous when he hissed out, “And the King, that stupid, biddable man, followed their advice, despite the fact that he had hired me for my expertise. Time and time again, I tried to speak to him but he wouldn't listen.”

Bilbo wisely refrained from making any comments and took a silent sip of his tea.

“Did you know, Mister Baggins,” Haldan continued and there was no disguising his open bitterness, “that Dale's current funds are absolutely pitiful? When I brought this up in a meeting, they had the audacity to pin the blame on me!” Haldan gestured to himself violently. “You’re the financial advisor, they exclaimed, why haven’t you warned us? How did you let this happen? What do we need you for if you can't even do what you're hired to do?”

“And then, the rumours started to spread – Haldan must be up to his old tricks again! He is embezzling from the King just like he and the previous Master had embezzled from Lake-town! Why was he hired anyway? Clearly, he must be infecting the King with his poison! Quickly, someone have him removed before he could do more damage! Jail is too good for someone like him, he should stoned, no, hanged for his crimes!” Bilbo flinched back as Haldan sounded more and more unhinged. “And that’s when I realized that nothing has changed. With the Master gone, I have become the town’s scapegoat, and it is only a matter of time before I will end up murdered. King Bard’s promise for protection was nothing but useless words offered by a powerless man. I might as well take a page out of the Master's book and save myself!”

There was a moment of uncomfortable, tense silence. Sometime during that rant, Bilbo had leaned away from Haldan, clutching his mug over his chest like he was wielding a shield. As the man took a few deep breaths to reign in his rage, Bilbo slowly forced himself to lower his mug. “Why bring Erebor into this mess? Wouldn’t it have been easier for you to take directly from King Bard?” he asked hesitantly.

Haldan scoffed but Bilbo was relieved to note that his posture had relaxed slightly. “I was originally going to steal from King Bard,” he admitted, “but the pitiful amount that he has left will not be able to sustain me unless I want to start my new life as a pitiful, starving pauper. The only one with any gold around here is King Thorin, so I wasn't given much of a choice to choose from.”

“And kidnapping was your answer?”

“It was a quick, effective way of getting what you want if you have nothing left to lose and I'm not sure if you've noticed, Mister Baggins, but I have nothing left to lose.” Haldan shrugged, reaching for his mug beside him and draining the rest of the liquid in a smooth motion. “By that time, I have gathered my associates and they were also willing to do what it took to get out of here. It was easier to carry out a plan that took more risks with a team assembled, especially when the reward was a great one.”

Bilbo was about to retort when a loud crash resounded from outside of the door followed by the sound of muffled cursing.

“Ah, it seems that your friend is finally awake!” Haldan calmly placed his empty mug back on the wooden tray. He turned towards the door and called out, “Let him in!”

A large blond and furious-looking man with blood streaming down his chin (from his purpling, swollen nose, Bilbo noted in shock) came lumbering in. He was carrying a violently thrashing Ori under one of his arms as if he was lugging around a sack of potatoes.

“Let me go, you great, ugly, troll-shagging, scum-sucking son of a whore! Once I get my hands on you, oh you’re going to be sorry! You’re going to wish that I only left you with a broken nose, you – ”

“Not so polite anymore, this friend of yours,” Haldan idly commented as a string of increasingly creative profanities came pouring out of Ori. “Just leave him here somewhere – gently please!” he insisted when the large man looked like he was getting ready to throw Ori across the room. 

Instead, he gave Haldan a foul glare, unceremoniously dumped Ori face-down on the ground, and backed away to stand guard beside the entrance with an annoyed grunt.

“Ori!” Bilbo shouted in distress, immediately clamouring to his friend.

“Bilbo?” Ori quickly lifted his head in Bilbo’s direction. “Bilbo! Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he struggled to roll himself around with renewed determination despite his bound arms and legs.

“I’m fine, I’m…fine,” Bilbo grabbed his friend by the shoulder and helped him sit up while checking for injuries that needed binding. The sight of dried blood caked along the side of Ori’s face made Bilbo worry in particular. Frowning, he gingerly pushed away the Dwarf’s blood soaked fringe to get a clearer view of the injury, careful to avoid brushing against any broken skin. He winced at the nasty gash that was revealed.

“Oh dear, perhaps we have been a bit too rough with your companion as well.” Haldan said apologetically. “I suppose that some damages cannot be avoided though.” He tilted his head at Ori and greeted happily, “Hello there! Good to see you again!”  

“You!” Ori sputtered, his face frozen in shock for a brief second before contorting in a livid mixture of pain, hate and fury. Bilbo had to hold Ori down from charging angrily at the man despite the Dwarf was still bound.

“Yes, yes me. And here I thought Mister Baggins was overreacting when he woke up. Master Dwarf, you certainly have got him beat.” Haldan huffed out, bemused but unimpressed by the display of aggression. The large man behind him cracked his knuckles menacingly.

When no other answers were forthcoming from either Bilbo or Ori, Haldan got up and stretched his back, the joints of his spine popping unpleasantly. Bilbo felt a thrill of petty satisfaction in knowing that sitting on the floor had left the man just as uncomfortable as he was. “Well then, that certainly was interesting!” Haldan brushed the dust from his tunic with both of his hands. “As much as I would like to stay, I’m afraid I must be off! Lots of things left to plot. I’m sure you understand.” Haldan sent a quick signal with the flick of his wrist and the large man moved forward to pick up the tray and the discarded dishware. “I will have someone bring another meal for your friend shortly. Have a pleasant night, gentlemen.”

“Wait!” Bilbo called to his retreating back. He had one final question left to ask. “Why are you doing all this – the tea, the conversation?”

Haldan paused but he did not turn to face Bilbo. “I figured that at the very least, I could spare to tell you the truth. Consider it repayment for the kindness you have shown me.” With those parting words, he walked out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. 

=====

“Aye, your Majesty! I was attacked by four Men just by the outskirts of the camp! It was completely unprovoked! If I find out who those honourless, cowardly weasels are, I’ll have their beards, every last one of them!”

Frór placed a placating hand on Borin’s shoulder and gently pushed the incensed Dwarf back on to his cot. “Rest, friend,” he muttered, ignoring Borin’s grumbling.  

“Can you recall any of their faces?” Thorin asked from the other side of the narrow bed, a bit too brusquely if Balin’s warning look was anything to judge by. Honestly, he could care less what he sounded like at the moment so long as Borin gave him the answers that he needed. “We will also need you to recount the events prior and during the attack.”

“Nay, your Majesty, I cannot recall what their faces looked like.” Borin shook his head apologetically. He immediately winced, lifting one of his hands to his head to gingerly prod against the thick swath of bandages wrapped there. “They were dressed as all the other workers would: thick, non-descript tunic, brown pants, worn leather boots, and gloves. They were also wearing their hoods up and they covered their faces with their scarves. However, I did notice that the one who stabbed me was a very large man, taller and stouter than King Bard. There was also a very small man in the group, real thin and bony looking.”

“One large man, two medium sized ones, and a very small one. That’s not much to go by.” Balin sighed, shifting closer to his King in a show of support. Thorin distantly realized that the tension rolling off of his shoulders must have been obvious to everyone in the room and he tried to force himself to relax. He needed to keep a cool head if he wanted any chance to save Bilbo and Ori. “Is there anything else that stood out about your attackers? Maybe a scar on the forehead or a birthmark somewhere that was uncovered?” Balin asked again.

“I’m afraid there is none, Master Balin,” Borin said regretfully. He stroked at his dark beard in thought. “They were careful to keep as much of their features as hidden as possible.”

Thorin tried not to let his frustration show.

“Everyone has gotten themselves comfortably settled, your Majesty,” Dáin announced as he walked in the room, drawing the Dwarves’ attention to him while inadvertently distracting Thorin from his increasingly angry thoughts. “Hopefully, the healers will feel less harassed now that everyone has gotten out of their way and peace has been restored to their tents.” He winked at a passerby healer and gave him a small, sheepish wave. He was rewarded with a dirty look.

None of the healers were impressed when thirteen, panicked Dwarves came barging into their sanctuary with their loud, frantic demands to see Borin, and it was only through the presence of both the King and the Iron Hills Lord that they were not promptly booted off the premise. In the end, it was agreed that only the King, the Lord and Balin were allowed in while the rest of the Company had to wait outside, where they would sit quietly and cease their disruptive behaviour at once, thank you very much!

“Have I missed anything important?” Dáin asked politely. He sidled beside Frór and bent over to greet Borin, pressing his forehead against his advisor's. “Old friend, I am glad to see that you are well,” the Lord said warmly, looking very much like a great weight had lifted off of his shoulders.   

“It will take a lot more than a nick to the side and a blow to the head to keep this old Dwarf down,” Borin answered, his voice rough, but he was grinning widely back at Dáin.

Thorin swallowed, remembering the same fragile gesture that he had shared with Bilbo and what it felt like to willingly surround himself in his warm embrace. He had never told Bilbo this, but in that moment it was as if the Hobbit had applied a salve over his heart, one that soothed away all the hurt and the coiling anger in his body, leaving behind a rare sense of quiet stillness that he thought he would never feel again after Frerin’s death. That same feeling of peace only came back to him when he had Bilbo pressed tightly against him, locked in a passionate kiss that neither of them wanted to end.

Thorin balled his fists and made himself look away. He did not see Balin’s sad, understanding expression or the meaningful look he shared with Frór.

Clearing his throat delicately, Frór began in his characteristic unflappable manner, “Master Borin has been telling his Majesty that his attackers had gone to great lengths to keep themselves from being identified, and it was with utmost regret that he could not find any identifiable features on them save for their body size.” The Dwarf paused briefly to glance at Dáin, who was drawing away from Borin with one last, friendly clap to his shoulder. “Now that everyone is present, perhaps we should move on to discuss the events leading to the attack?”

Borin sighed, annoyed and tired by the memories of his attack. “It was my turn to work at the farm and knowing that the Hob – ” he caught the flash of irritation in Thorin’s eyes and hastily corrected, “Master Baggins was working there as well, I was hoping to use this as an opportunity to approach him. I have just found out some distressing news about that Dale advisor that Master Baggins is so fond of, the one who calls himself Haldan, and I wanted to warn Master Baggins to stay away from him. I believe that the man is more dangerous than he seems.”

Borin looked around and when he saw that no one had any questions, he continued quieter than before, “I found out that Haldan is nothing but a crook who worked with the Master to drain Lake-town dry of its riches. Now that it’s in ruins, Haldan has apparently moved on to a bigger, richer target: King Bard himself.”

“And what proof do you have that these rumours are true?” Thorin asked, sceptical. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Who’s to say that these are not stories conjured out of jealousy to slander the good Master Haldan’s name?”  

“These are no mere stories, your Majesty. Haldan worked for the Master for many years as his accountant and during that time, the Master had consistently pocketed a fair amount of the city’s gold. This was discovered by the townsmen when they were trying to see if they could afford to fix the damages done by Smaug.” Borin raised a questioning brow to Thorin but his tone was in no way disrespectful when he added, “Who do you suppose helped the Master cover his tracks in the books, your Majesty?”

Thorin had to concede that Borin did have a point there.

Balin, however, was still unconvinced. He narrowed his eyes at Borin. “These are dangerous accusations that you are making, Master Borin,” he said gravely.

“And I trust my research and my sources to not lead me astray,” Borin responded confidently in turn. He met Balin’s measuring gaze without flinching.

“Gentlemen, please. We can discuss more about Haldan afterwards. For now, let us continue." Dáin gestured at Borin in a universal hand wave to encourage him to get on with. "You found out about Master Haldan and you wanted to warn Master Baggins. What happened next?”

“It was only until after we have returned from Dale that I was able to run into Master Baggins. I was at the outskirts of the Dwarven camp and I could see him walking with a young Dwarf some distance ahead of me. Before I could catch up to him however, I saw four Men trailing suspiciously behind him."

Thorin sucked in a sharp breath at the disturbing picture that Borin's words had planted in his mind. How long has Bilbo been followed without him noticing? How long has Bilbo's safety been so horribly compromised? He cursed under his breath; he knew he should have not given in to Bilbo's request by dismissing his team of Dwarven bodyguards.

When I get him back, Thorin thought, because he was going to get Bilbo back safe and sound, no ifs and buts, I am assigning at least twenty guards to Bilbo on top of the four who guard the bedroom's entrance.

"Those men were your attackers?" Dáin asked but the flat way he had said that made it sound like a foregone conclusion rather than a question. Borin nodded.

"I stopped them off course, first asking if they were lost, then asking what business they have around this area, who they were working for, what their jobs were, what was their schedule for the day, were they having a pleasant evening, how were they enjoying their walk, and who did they say they were working for again?" Borin held his hand up and he ticked his fingers off one by one as he listed out the questions he had asked. "Just employing the standard interrogation tactics to catch them off guard, really."

Frór crossed his arms and smiled, the corner of his mouth delicately quirking upwards in a gesture that was oozing with vindictive satisfaction. "I trust that you were successful?" he drawled out.

"Oh yes, they toppled like a house of cards. Couldn't keep their stories straight at all." Borin snorted, "In retrospect, that was where I made my mistake. I was so focused on catching them lying that I had failed to notice that I was very much alone at the time. Master Baggins and his friend had wandered out of sight."

"They all jumped on me at once. One of them managed to take a swipe at me with his knife and the last thing I remembered was something smashing into the back of my head." Borin absentmindedly picked at the rough, white bandaging around his head. He ignored Frór's disapproving look. "I managed to land a good few punches to their legs and knees before I went down though. Not sure how much damage I actually dealt out, but I would like to believe that at least one of them would have some trouble hobbling around for the next few days."

Thorin mentally went through Borin's account again, committing to memory what little description he was given of the captors: Four men, possibly sporting some form of leg injury, one larger than King Bard, one small and thin, the other two are of average size.

Balin was right; there wasn't much to go after, but Thorin was persistent if nothing else and he would continue searching to the ends of Middle-Earth if that was what it took to get his Bilbo back.

"Thank you, Master Borin, for your help." Thorin tilted his head lightly towards the bedridden Dwarf. "I will send Master Óin in to look over your injuries. He is especially talented with creating salves that could treat all kinds of wounds. I am sure that under his expert care, you will be on your feet in no time." He brushed aside Borin's flustered refusal with a quiet but firm, "I insist, Master Borin," and with one last nod towards the Iron Hills advisors, Thorin left the tent, Balin and Dáin tight on his heels.

The moment he set foot outside, the Company members immediately jumped to their feet and clamoured to him.

"Well, what did he say?" Dwalin was the first one to call out impatiently. Among the cacophony of noise and movement, he was standing almost entirely too still with his hands inches away from the daggers that Thorin knew were sheathed in his belt. Thorin had only seen Dwalin like this whenever he was on the hunt out in the wild, and he remembered his friend describing what it felt like to be in that headspace. "It's like your whole world, everything that you see and hear, has been narrowed down so that you can only focus on your goal to catch your prey. Everything else that is unrelated is just muffled, background rubbish," the warrior had said, shrugging.

Thorin had yet to see Dwalin fail in his hunts whenever he set his mind to it. He almost felt bad for those kidnappers in that brief second. Almost.

"Master Borin could not see his attackers' faces, they had disguised themselves well." Thorin admitted. The disappointment had not ebbed, not even after he had some time to digest this news. "What he could tell us was that there were four Men, dressed as everyday workers, who attacked him. Within the group, there was one who was large and heavily built, more so that King Bard, and another member who was small and thin. Master Borin might have also wounded one or more of them in the leg."

"That's not a bad place to start actually," Nori grunted out from his spot beside Dori. His older brother was still looking paler than usual and he was obviously leaning on Nori to keep himself standing, but Thorin was glad to note that the lost look of shock from earlier was fading.

At Nori's vague statement, everyone turned to the thief in surprise. When he noticed this, he elaborated impatiently, "The attackers looked like four workers from Dale or Lake-town. The only way they could have gotten into the camp was through the South Gate with all the other workers. On top of that, Dale and Lake-town workers tend to visit the camp for their routine supply drop-off and pick-up, and I know they operate on a different schedule from each other." He paused to let that information sink in. "If we can narrow down the time that the attack took place, we can match it with the schedule and find out which town they are from."

"Master Borin saw them trailing after Master Baggins and Master Ori after he returned from the farm," Dáin did not hesitate to volunteer immediately.

"Bilbo and Ori were probably walking back to the King's tent for our six o'clock meeting, which meant the kidnapping had to be just before that time," Bofur called out helpfully from behind the two Ri brothers. He returned Nori's look of gratefulness with a bashful smile. 

"After the attack, they must have used something to carry Master Baggins and Young Ori out as well," Glóin added. His words stirred a fresh bout of interested murmur from his friends. "A cart, a wheelbarrow, anything. That should help narrow down our search some more!"

"An injured worker leaving the camp at around six o'clock with a cart is much more obvious to find," Bombur concluded with flourish, earning him a clap to the shoulder from the Dwarves around him.

Thorin nodded at his trusted entourage, his mind racing as he decided what he should do next. Already, he was feeling a resurgence of hope that this situation was not as bleak as he had first believed. "Master Nori," he ordered, "see what you can find out about all the workers who visited the camp. The resources of Erebor are to your disposal. Take anyone and anything that you may find useful, but be discreet in your search. We do not want to alert the kidnappers that we are on their trail."

Nori bowed lightly to his king. "Thank you for the offer but I work best alone and I have everything I need on my person. I will need help with sorting out the information once I have them." With a final bow, he gently guided Dori to Bofur, who gladly accepted his position as Dori's newest crutch, and left after whispering quick reassurance to both Dwarves.

"I have made quite the network of friends from the betting pools that I have set up and I am supposed to meet with them in ten minutes. With your permission, I can ask them if they have spotted any visitors who fit Master Borin's description. They are more than happy to share any gossip," Glóin offered.

Thorin nodded, "Do so but do not mention the kidnapping. After your meeting, return to my tent with the information you have collected. We will hopefully be able to coordinate with Nori to piece together something useful."

"We want to help as well!" Fíli moved to the front of the group with Kíli by his side and they stared at their Uncle with twin looks of determination on their faces.

Thorin reached over to clasp a hand on both of his nephews' shoulders and he wondered if there will ever be a day when he will cease to be proud of his boys.  "I will need you to find Roäc at the Ravenhill. Have him send out all of his kin to survey the area around Dale and Lake-town for Bilbo and Ori. We can at least get an aerial search started. Let him know that for his help, I will gladly gift him a satchel of the brightest set of gold beads that he will ever lay his eyes on." They nodded solemnly and dashed after Glóin's retreating back.

"Master Óin," Thorin called out, startling the Dwarf, "if you can be so kind as to look at Master Borin's injuries, I would be much obliged. I promised him that you could provide the proper healing salves to expedite his recovery."

"I most definitely can, your Majesty!" Óin puffed his chest out, looking supremely pleased by the king's high regard of his talents. "I shall get to it at once!"

There was a pause as Thorin considered how he should divide up the rest of his team while everyone eagerly waited for their set of orders. "I plan to ride to Dale to speak to King Bard," Thorin finally admitted, "but I cannot bring everyone with me or else I will risk drawing too much attention to myself and the purpose of my visit. I am thinking of travelling with two other companions, no more than three."

"I am going with you," Dwalin growled out, his tone and hard gaze brook no argument. It wasn't as if Thorin was surprised by Dwalin's swift decision either. His friend was not one to sit idly by when there was a chance for him to be doing something to help, especially when there was so much at risk from failure. It would be cruel to deny him otherwise.

"I am going as well," Dori suddenly spoke up and that took Thorin, along with all the other remaining Dwarves, by surprise. "If there is anything I can do for Ori – " His voice broke and he shook his head. "I am going," he repeated simply, stubbornly. 

"I will stay, your Majesty. Someone has to prepare the gold as per the kidnappers' request," Balin calmly volunteered. He added with a hint of sarcasm, "Not to mention, one of us has to suffer through the tediousness of paperwork once Master Nori and Master Glóin return to report their missions."

"Bombur, Bifur and I will help Master Balin! It is cruel to leave a Dwarf alone with nothing but paperwork for company," Bofur said jovially with a cheeky wink to Balin. The advisor rolled his eyes in Bofur's direction in mock exasperation.

"Thank you, brave heroes for saving me from this cruel and unusual torture," Balin deadpanned and Thorin found himself reluctantly smiling at the display. Leave it to Balin to retain all of his wits and dry sarcasm even in the most dire of situations.

Dáin grinned widely at Balin. "How very noble of you, Master Balin," he exclaimed, bright and energetic, "but unlike you, I am not above running from the dreaded paperwork, and run I shall, now that I have been given the perfect excuse to do so!" He signed a quick 'thank you' in Iglishmêk to the scowling, unimpressed advisor. "I leave this camp in Master Balin and Master Frór's very capable hands and, if my cousin doesn't mind, I would very much like to pay King Bard a visit as well."

"Now that everyone knows what we're doing, what are we waiting for?" Dwalin grunted. "Let's go."

=====

"Can you see anything?" Ori asked breathlessly. He shifted his stance and tightened his grip on Bilbo's feet to keep him steady.

"No," Bilbo called out, gripping the window ledge to keep himself more balanced while standing on Ori's shoulders. The last thing he wanted was to fall and crush his already injured friend. "All I see is grass, more grass and – oh, I think I might hear a roaring river nearby!"

"But can you see the river?"

"No, there is nothing to see out of this window. If this is how it looks like from all directions, then we are literally stuck in the middle of nowhere." Bilbo scanned the area again in some vain hope that he will spot something more interesting. "A grassy, flat piece of nowhere," he repeated, defeated. "Alright, you can lower me down now. We will have to come up with another plan."

It wasn't the first time that Bilbo and Ori were met with disappointment that evening. Immediately after Haldan had left and Ori was freed from his rope bindings, he and Bilbo searched frantically through their pockets. "My knife, my slingshot and my money are gone," Ori said, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. His eyes widened when he felt something else missing and he blurted out, "did they cut off my braid?!"

Bilbo paused his rummaging and looked up."Oh, you are missing a braid!" He made a disgusted face, "What could they possibly do with that?"

"I don't know and I don't want to know either," Ori replied sullenly. He wrapped his arms protectively over his chest, looking so miserable that Bilbo's heart ached for the Dwarf. "I just wished they had cut from a different spot on my head. My mother gave me the ribbon that was used to tie that braid!"

"I'll get it back for you, Ori," Bilbo promised, his hand already reaching into his pocket where he usually kept his tell-tale velvet pouch. "I just need to put on my – " He paused mid-sentence when he felt the lining of his very empty pocket. Frantically, he patted himself down, despairing that he could not feel his ring on his person. "Those thieving scoundrels!" he exclaimed, "They stole my ring!"

He chose to ignore the irony of that statement and how he had essentially done the same to that creature in the Misty Mountains.

"Now what do we do?" Ori asked, his eyes catching on the waning beam of sunlight that fell on a patch of broken floor board. "At least we have a window in here to let us know what time of the day it is. It looks like we still have a little bit of daylight left before night falls."

No sooner had Ori finished uttering those words that he and Bilbo widened their eyes in realization. Together in unison, they followed the light beam to its source with their gaze, craning their heads until they spotted the round, little window high above them. Neither of them could reach it alone but maybe if one was standing on top the other's shoulders...

Bilbo and Ori exchanged long glances at each other.

And this was what brought them to their current predicament. 

"It's a shame that neither of us could fit through that space," Bilbo mused when they had finally taken a seat on the floor to think of a new escape plan. "If only I had my ring back, I could have used that to sneak out when they bring us our food. I could use it to steal the keys to this door and find our belongings." He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, groaning in frustration. This entire situation was reminding him too much of the miserable experience he had in Thranduil's hall. He had joked darkly to himself at that time, in a sad attempt to keep his spirit up, that escaping from captivity was one of those once in a lifetime experiences that makes for a good pub story. That was, of course, before his meeting with Smaug which, as far as pub stories go, trumps every single one in Bilbo's repertoire. 

He really did not need to go through yet another capture again.

"I think I might have heard one of the men talk about your ring."

Bilbo whipped his head up to stare at Ori. The young Dwarf had seated himself comfortably with his back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him, and his clasped hands resting over his belly. His eyes were looking up at the ceiling, lost in thought. "When I first woke up, the men were arguing loudly about who got to keep it. A fight broke out and things got ugly until one of them strong armed his way into victory." Ori pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his face in concentration. "I'm pretty sure they called him Galion."

"Great," Bilbo muttered, burying his face in his hands again. Just when he thought his luck could not get any more rotten. "They probably discovered what it can do. Why else would they be fighting over it like that?"

"It will be alright, Mister Baggins. We've been through worse." Ori got up, dusted himself off and took a seat beside Bilbo. He gently nudged the Hobbit with his shoulders, earning him a small smile from his friend. "It's a shame that we had to miss that meeting with the King though. I wonder what he wanted to see us all for?" He pulled back, alarmed, when Bilbo started to choke violently. "Are you alright, Mister Baggins? Was it something I said?" he asked in distress.

Bilbo was saved from having to explain himself when the door swung open and one of their captors stumbled in. A pungent smell of alcohol came wafting after him, flooding the room.

"Well, well, well! Would ya look at that! How're you gents doin' this fine ev'ning?" The newcomer slurred out loudly. His eyes were fever bright, his dark hair and beard were scraggly, and his mouth was stretched into a too-wide grin that showcased his yellowing teeth. He took an unsteady step forward, almost falling face-first to the ground from the dangerous way that he was swaying, but he regained his footing at the last second. He was holding a short dagger in one hand and in the other, a set of brass keys. They jingled with every swing of his arms.

Bilbo stayed completely still and glared darkly at the man. As far as enemies go, he wasn't terribly impressive; he was much shorter than his other companions, barely standing an inch or two taller than Thorin by Bilbo's estimation. However, whereas the Dwarf's strength and solid build could more than make up for his lack of height, their new visitor was rail thin.

"Oh come on luv, don't be like that! I just wanna talk is all!" The man cooed when neither Bilbo nor Ori returned his greeting. He cocked his head to the side and swung his knife at them, adding in a sing-song voice, "Now which one of yous could tell me more 'bout that pretty lil' ring of yours?"

That question took Bilbo by surprise but he did not react outwardly at all. From the corner of his eyes, he could see that Ori had also kept his face stony.

He did not miss the way that the Dwarf's eyes kept flicking to the set of keys either.

"Ring? What ring?" Bilbo asked politely, his mind quickly coming up with an idea to escape. He glanced at Ori and nodded his head just a fraction, hoping that the Dwarf would catch on, and then he quickly turned his attention back to their captor. "I don't know anything about any rings," he repeated.

The man laughed a dry raspy laugh. "Come now, don't play dumb. I'm talking 'bout the ring we found on you. The magic ring!"

Bilbo rubbed at his chin, making a show of concentrating on his thoughts before he broke into a bright smile. "Oh! Yes, that magic ring! Why, I woke up and found it missing and you cannot imagine my distress!" He planted his hands on his hips as he levelled the man with a disapproving look. "I hope you gentlemen have plans to return it! That ring means a great deal to me!" He did not dare to turn to Ori as the Dwarf slowly edged away from him.

"Oh no, no, no, we wouldn't dare," the man shook his head fervently with gross exaggeration. Bilbo was unimpressed by what horrible liar he was. "But you see, Master Hafling, me and my – " he hiccupped, "me and my companions were real impressed by this ring of yours and we just...wanna borrow it, is all. To take a look!" He looked extremely pleased with himself, no doubt thinking that his fast wit had fooled Bilbo. "We'd be happy to return it to ya if you can maybe tell us where to get s'more?"

Bilbo blinked. "Some more?" he echoed dumbly because honestly, he had never heard anything more ridiculous. Were they expecting him to keep a stash of magic rings in his tent?

"Yes, of course!" The man nodded eagerly, his large grin was threatening to split his face but his eyes were dark and hungry. He stumbled towards Bilbo and the Hobbit automatically backed away to keep out of reach from the knife. "You must be able to get yer hands on s'more! You're friends with that Wizard aren't ya? And you're friends with those Elves and with Bard and with them Dwarves as well!" The man shuffled closer, forcing Bilbo to take another uneasy step back. "And don't even get me started on them Dwarves! Everyone knows 'bout you and Thorin!"

Bilbo flinched. "Me and Thorin?" he squeaked out.

"Yes! You and Thorin and your...epic love story!" The drunk threw his hands up impatiently with the knife and the keys still in his grip. "It's out for the whole bloody world to hear, what with 'em ballads – whatsit called? 'The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins' and 'The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield'! And let's not forget about them suggestive drawings on those pamphlets!"

Bilbo felt a flood of mortification came over him. By the makers, was he and Thorin the last to know about their mutual attraction? He glanced quickly at Ori, who was almost behind their captor, and caught the Dwarf mouthing the words 'I'm so sorry' back at him. Ori looked extremely sheepish. 

"W-well, you're...absolutely right!" Bilbo ended with false cheer, trying to regain control of the situation while not glaring at Ori for those images. "About my...my relationship with Thorin and my friendship with the Elves, with King Bard and with Gandalf." He leaned slightly forward and dropped his voice to whisper conspiratorially, "I also know where to get more of those rings, but to do that, you...uh..." He wracked his brain for an answer.

"Yes, go on, wot is it?" the man demanded none too kindly.

"You..uh...you will need," Bilbo stammered. "You will need to – duck!"

He rolled out of the way just as Ori launched himself on their captor's back, sending them both crashing violently into the ground. The knife and the keys flew out of the man's grip and they skittered across the floor in different directions. Torn between the two items, it took Bilbo a split second longer to decide on grabbing the keys first before he could dash over to where he thought he had seen them land. Meanwhile, he could hear Ori desperately wrestling the man into submission, and he blocked out their pained grunts to focus on his search. The darkness of the room and the multiple holes in the broken planks made spotting the keys extremely difficult and Bilbo, frustrated, immediately got to his knees, groping around blindly for the lost item with shaking hands and a racing heart.

Come on, where is it? Where is it? He thought frantically as sweat began to bead his brow. His fingers brushed against an object – a solid ring – and the resounding clink it made was the most beautiful sound he has ever heard. Yes, found it!

Ori's pained cry startled Bilbo out of his premature sense of victory and the Hobbit whirled around just in time to see his friend being forced to his knees by their captor. Gripping tightly on Ori's hair with one hand, the man pulled the Dwarf's head back, exposing the pale length of his vulnerable neck. His other hand drew out a second, concealed knife from his belt and he pressed the blade menacingly against Ori's jugular.  

"You shouldn't have done that, Dwarf!" The man spat out, his face filled with terrifying rage. "Just for that, I'm gonna slit yer throat open in front of yer friend!"

"What in the – Aldor, you idiot, stop! We need him alive!"

Three other figures rushed into the room with two of them pulling the drunk – Aldor, Bilbo's mind supplied – away from Ori. The third man beelined straight towards Bilbo and had him pinned face-first to the ground before he could fight back. The Hobbit desperately twisted to get himself loose but to no avail and he let out a cry in protest when he felt the keys wrenched forcibly out of his hands.        

"You got him, Mallor?"

"Yes, Galion," answered the man who was holding him down and Bilbo felt the hand gripping his shoulder tightened painfully. "He isn't going anywhere."

Bilbo raised his head as best he could from his pinned position. Galion? Wasn't that the one who has his ring?

"Good," Galion grunted distractedly as he tried to hold a violently thrashing Ori still, but the Dwarf was having none of it. Ori was fighting like a mad man; he was clawing at his captor's tunics, throwing wild kicks that end up missing more than anything. "For the love of the Gods, Aldor! What the hell did you do?"

"He accosted us!" Bilbo shouted desperately before Aldor could get a word in edgewise. "He came in drunk and attacked us!"

"Wait, what? That's not true at all!" Aldor looked up and snarled. He was held in a grappling hold by the large man, the one from before who was present during Haldan's visit.

"We were minding our own business and he came in waving a knife at us, muttering something about magic! We were acting entirely on self defence!" Bilbo cried out, loud enough to drown out Aldor's spluttering protests. "I thought Haldan didn't want us dead! Wait until he hears about this! I'm going to have a word with him!"

"Now, now, Master Hobbit, let's not be too hasty!" Galion replied, having finally subdued Ori by pinning him to the ground in a similar hold that kept Bilbo from escaping. "I'm sure that this is all just a massive misunderstanding! Our friend here overindulged and you know how people can be with a bit of liquid courage warming their bellies. Isn't that right, Aldor?"

Aldor mumbled something unpleasant under his breath, but even in his state, he could recognize the cold, dangerous glint in Galion's gaze. He nodded once, cowed into submission. 

"See? No hard feelings, right?" Galion grinned, sharply. "Now, is there something else that we could bring you before we go, gentlemen?"

"Bandages and salves," Bilbo gritted out, remembering Ori's cry of pain. "And a pan of fresh water."

"Of course! We shall have that for you soon. Have a pleasant evening!"

Bilbo felt himself being roughly released and he promptly rolled over to his back, wincing at the tightness of his joints and the lingering ache in his muscles. He waited until he heard the door close and the sound of retreating footsteps fade before clamouring to his feet.

"Ori! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Ori replied, pale-faced and shaking as Bilbo helped him sit up. "Just got my leg hurt on a piece of floor board during that tussle. It's nothing. What's more important is that the plan was a complete success!"

Bilbo watched Ori reach into the folds of his tunic to pull out a familiar velvet pouch. "I pick pocketed this from Galion." He grinned, tossing the bag back to a visibly gobsmacked Bilbo. "It looks like we got the ring back!"

-----

Author's Notes:

Thank you everyone for all your lovely reviews/comments/kudos/favourites/recs! As always, knowing that there are people out there who are enjoying this is the best motivation that anyone can get! I *do* read all of the comments that you leave me and I try to respond to all of them as well (except if they were left as anon on ffnet, then sorry, I can't respond to those! Rest assured, I have read them though!) Please let me know how you are enjoying this chapter and many, many thanks once again! Hopefully, the next part will really bring us to the end of this fic, ha!

Notes about this chapter:

[1] I made the assumption that a gold coin from Erebor has a gold content of 10 grams/coin, which is higher than a Julius Caesar Aureus coin (8.18 grams). 1 coin is the modern equivalent of $402 US. Based on the ransomer's demand, Haldan and his crew are walking away with a total of approximately $10 million. Divide this up by five people and we have $2 million per person. On top of that, those $2 million weigh about 110 lb. Quite heavy!

They couldn't ask for anymore because they couldn't carry anything heavier while making a fast getaway.

I also made the assumption that each Ereborean gold coin is the size of a Canadian/American quarter. Those $2 million worth of coins can fit neatly into a 8 inch x 9 inch x 5 inch box. For non-Americans, that's 20.3 cm x 22.9 cm x 12.7 cm.

And that's entirely wayyyy too much math than anyone cares to know. If you're still reading this, you deserve a cookie. 

[2] Bilbo's flash back to the Fell Winter (T.A. 2911 – 2912): Bilbo was 22 years old at the time. I took some creative liberties and assumed that he was a young child.

I guess today is going to be one of those days, Bofur’s resigned thoughts rang in his head. Just once, he would like to have a meeting with the Dwarves without having to tip-toe around the family drama surrounding Ori’s choice of partner and Dori’s intense disapproval of...pretty much Ori having a love life. Clearly, his wish for a fruitful, peaceful meeting where they could have deep discussions about their completely fictional interpretation of Thorin and Bilbo’s relationship died a quick death, which was utterly ridiculous since the meeting hasn’t even started yet and Bofur had arrived early.

And damn it all, he had been so looking forward to sharing his Bagginshield story to the rest of the group too!

Bofur quickly glanced around the room and he felt some of his tension leaving when he spotted his brother and cousin sitting huddled in a corner, both sporting identical, grim expressions that could give Bard’s a run for his money. At least his family had arrived and he has people with which he could wallow in misery.

“So, what’s going on this time?” Bofur muttered after quietly navigating to the two Dwarves. He shifted around in place a bit until he was seated crossed-leg with his back propped against the smooth surface of a nearby cabinet. The Dwarf had a feeling that he was in for a long explanation so he might as well take the initiative to make himself comfortable.

Bombur snorted, “Not sure. They’ve just been standing there…staring at each other for the past minute or so. Ori and Nori haven’t arrived yet so Dwalin is without his fighter to defend his honour and we are without our peacekeeper. Balin there doesn’t seem to care either way.” He waved his hand at the advisor some distance to his left, who was hunched over his desk, half buried in stacks of paperwork.

He did not show any signs of being aware of his surroundings beyond the occasional twitch of his hand from wielding his pen and the odd muttering here and there. Bofur stared bug-eyed at the old Dwarf. “You would think that he’d be a bit worried if a fight breaks out, if not for his brother than for the state of his tent,” the miner mused out loud. Bombur shrugged nonchalantly, his movement jostled free a shower of biscuit crumbs from his braided beard and they tumbled down the curve of his stomach.   

Bifur scowled, tapped both of his cousins on the shoulders and signalled in Iglishmêk when he had their attention. ‘If they fight, we will have to be the ones to restrain Dori. Bofur and I will hold his arms and Bombur, you will tackle his legs.’   

“Why not go for Dwalin instead?” Bombur leaned in to whisper. “Dori is the strongest Dwarf out of the Company and I’m not sure the three of us could stop him –”

“So Master Dwalin,” Dori’s shrilled voice neatly cut through the light murmuring in the room. “Have you been defiling anyone else’s little brothers lately?”

The brothers Ur collectively winced.

Bifur’s frown deepened and he resumed signalling again with a renewed sense of urgency. ‘The three of us can take him. Also, if you look closely, you will see that the others have strategically positioned themselves to dive at Dwalin at the first sign of trouble.’

Bofur turned his attention back at the group in question for a second glance. Bifur had a point; some time during their conversation, Glóin and Óin had discreetly moved closer to Dwalin until they were flanking him on both sides. Fíli and Kíli had also shifted towards the tall Dwarf from their relaxed lounge against the tent wall, and the princes were exchanging more and more frequent looks of unease as the time passed.

“Quite right,” Bofur agreed at the same time that Bombur let out an ‘oh!’ of understanding. “If that is the case, I think we should…” Bofur tilted his head meaningfully towards Dori. Sharing a final, determined nod, the three Dwarves scrambled up and stepped out of their secured little corner. They shimmied around the tent quietly until they were situated within grabbing distance of the eldest Ri brother. Óin gave the three a fleeting, knowing grin at their arrival.

“Master Dori,” Dwalin finally deigned to answer after a lengthy stretch of awkward silence. “I don’t make it a habit of defiling any Dwarves.” Bofur breathed a sigh of relief in his head at the lack of anger in the warrior’s reply, even if his posture was tense like a coiled up spring. Thank Durin that Dwalin has enough sense not to be so easily goaded into a fight. Maybe, just maybe, they could all get through this without devolving into utter chaos.

Bofur’s wishful thinking lasted a grand total of three seconds, which was the time it took for Dwalin’s serious expression to morph into a dark, reckless smirk. And then, as if Mahal was making it his personal mission to break Bofur’s optimistic spirit that evening, the warrior casually crossed his arms over his chest and added smugly, “The only thing I do is snog the adorable ones who call themselves Ori, and I like to do that preferably over a table.”

In that moment, the noise drained from the room except for the very audible gasp of shock that all the spectators shared. Glóin doubled over and started to guffaw, his hands slapping over his knee. Bofur closed his eyes in resignation. Here we go.

Dori let loose a massive roar so full of rage, it shook the earth beneath everyone’s feet. He bodily launched himself at Dwalin with his arms stretched out to claw a fistful of the warrior’s beard, only to be roughly pinned down by the Ur brothers an arm’s length away from reaching the warrior. Fíli and Kíli jumped into the fray a second later with Fíli boldly stepping between the two to deter any further attacks while Kíli helped Bofur and Bifur to hold the violently thrashing Dori in place. Meanwhile, Óin and Glóin each placed a heavy hand over Dwalin’s shoulders, but their efforts to restrain him were unnecessary; Dwalin had not moved from his spot except to raise his brows in surprise.

“I will not let you touch him, not when I am still alive and breathing!” Dori bellowed out dramatically. His face turned an alarming shade of purple-red from his continuous attempt to dislodge the four Dwarves on top of him.

“Please do not antagonize him any further, Master Dwalin!” Bofur pleaded as he strained to keep his grip on Dori’s right arm. He had already put his whole weight into immobilizing the Dwarf but even then, Dori was still strong enough to thrash around uselessly. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Bombur, Bifur and Kíli struggling just as much as he was.

Curse the wrathful old Dwarf and his unnatural strength!

“What…in Durin’s name is going on in this madhouse?” a deeply amused voice called out from the entrance, neatly interrupting the chaotic scene.

Nine pairs of eyes whipped towards the newcomer. Even Dori stopped to watch in surprise.

“Nori!” Bofur cried out, his otherwise happy greeting tinged with a hint of hysteria. “Thank goodness you are here! A little help would be much appreciated!”

No sooner had he uttered that sentence, Dori wriggled his arm loose from Bofur’s hold and delivered a swift upper cut to the miner’s chin. Bofur’s head snapped back from the strength of the blow, his teeth clacking together loudly. A second blow quickly followed, this time to the stomach, (an elbow, Bofur realized belatedly), and he was sent sprawling backwards head first into the fur lined ground.

Dori did not waste any more time. He reached behind and grabbed the closest Dwarf off of him – Kíli, Bofur concluded while trying to breathe through his pain from the prince’s squeak of terror – and proceeded to throw the young Dwarf over his head with a simple flick of his wrist. Poor Kíli was launched screaming into the air into a very surprised Fíli, who instinctively backed into a panicked Glóin. Together, the three landed on the ground in a groaning, tangled mess.

With two of the four Dwarves off of him, Dori effortlessly twisted out of Bombur and Bifur’s hold, stopping briefly to punch Bifur in the eye to keep him down. He scrambled to his feet with his robes and his braided silver hair uncharacteristically dishevelled. Like a man possessed, he completely ignored the agonized Dwarves curled by his feet to search for his target. His gaze locked on to the flabbergasted Dwalin.

“You,” Dori snarled, shifting his body into a duelling stance, “will rue the day you were born!”

And then, he fell to the ground in an unconscious, loose-limbed pile.  

The Dwarves, or at least those who were not still writhing on the floor, gaped at Dori.

When he did not respond, they focused instead on the set of feet that seemed to have materialized behind Dori’s crumpled form sometime amidst the fight. They trailed their eyes up the length of the finely made navy robes, skipping over the neatly groomed thick white beard until they came to rest on Balin’s face.

Balin stared back serenely, his right hand still raised in the same chopping motion that he had used to incapacitate the oldest Ri brother. “A swift blow to the back of the neck can render anyone unconscious,” he said, completely nonchalant at the sorcery that he had just performed. “Now then,” Balin continued lightly, “does anyone have any rope?”

=====

It was shortly after everyone had gathered enough supplies to tend to their wounds that Ori finally made his appearance.

“My apologies for being late, everyone!” he called out in a rush from the entrance, “I hope I haven’t kept you all – just what in Durin’s name is going on in this madhouse?”

Ori did a double take at the sight of his friends sitting about the tent in various states of injury.  His eyes widened further when he spotted his oldest brother in the corner. “And why is Dori tied to a chair?!” he asked, his voice going high with panic.

“Funny you should say that, I pretty much used the exact phrasing when I came in.” Nori chuckled, his fingers spreading more cooling salve on Bofur’s chin. He grinned a little harder at the small sound of distress that Ori let out upon discovering that his oldest brother was well and truly unconscious. Unlike Nori, Ori had never seen their illustrious brother knocked off his pedestal so it did not surprise the thief that the youngest Ri would be standing shock still.

“Oh, don’t worry about him,” Nori said dismissively. “We had to keep him calm before he murdered your beau.” The steel in his voice when he had said that term of endearment contrasted with the gentle way he tilted Bofur’s head to look for further bruising. “I’d like to add that for once, it was not my suggestion to tie him up. Also, he was already frothing at the mouth in rage when I arrived.”

Bofur muttered something impolite under his breath that made the thief snigger.

Ori paused his frenzied inspection on Dori to shoot a quizzical look at Nori. “Frothing at the mouth?” he repeated slowly. He blanched visibly once Nori’s words had fully registered. “Murder?!”

He spun around frantically just in time to see Dwalin trudging towards him and he all but ran the last few steps to close the distance between them. Ori automatically skimmed his fingers down the length of Dwalin’s arms to check for injuries, his eyebrows were furrowed in concern and his lips were pressed together into a thin line.  

“I am fine, dear heart,” Dwalin said, voice low with the intention to sooth frazzled nerves, but he did not bother to stop Ori. Instead, he waited patiently until the scribe had seen for himself that all was well before reaching down and gently clasping both of the brunet’s hands in his. “See? I have escaped unscathed,” Dwalin insisted again. Slowly and without looking away, he brought the scribe’s hands close to his lips and laid a gentle kiss on each of his soft palms.  

The attractive shade of pink that bloomed across Ori’s cheeks only made his growing smile all the more sweeter.

From his seat beside the newly bandaged Bofur, Nori coughed lightly twice. When his little brother and Dwalin made no move to let go of each other, the thief threw his hands in the air and coughed as if he was about to hack up a lung.

The couple finally jumped apart and Ori cleared his throat to ask, “So, what actually happened?” He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves and did not look up from the ground, his embarrassment all too apparent.   

“Dori went crazy, that’s what!” Kíli jumped at the first opportunity to complain. “He picked me up and threw me into Fíli!” The Dwarf animatedly mimed out the way he had flown in the air.  

To his right, Fíli reached over and patted Kíli on the shoulder to calm him down. “If it makes you feel any better, at least you had something soft to land on,” the blond Dwarf said sagely.

“And the both of you fell on top of me, so if anything, I suffered the most here,” Glóin grumbled. He pushed away the bottle of salve that Óin was trying to press into his hands with a scowl. “I’m fine! I’m not the one who got punched!”

Across the room, Bifur, who was dutifully applying his salve on his rapidly swollen eye, looked up and threw a rude hand gesture at Glóin. Glóin glibly ignored him.

“But I don’t understand,” Ori wrapped his arms around himself and stared at the ground, lost in his train of thoughts. “What provoked Dori into such drastic actions?”

Dwalin grunted and rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. “I…lost my temper and may have goaded him into a fight,” he confessed, suddenly feeling deeply ashamed of his actions, especially in the face of Ori’s soft, sad eyes. He continued roughly, “I wanted to present this to Master Dori so that he may approve of it, but I got distracted.”   

He swallowed heavily and reached into the inner pocket of his heavy jacket to pull out a flat, beautifully carved oak box that was the length of his hand.  

“It is…it’s meant to be my first official courting gift to you. I made these with you in mind.”

Dwalin tentatively placed the box in Ori’s hands and said in a hush, “I hope you will accept this along with all of my affection.”

Not for the first time that evening, the room fell into a pregnant silent. All of the Dwarves stood still and watched in anticipation as Ori slowly popped open the lid.

“Oh Dwalin, these are beautiful,” Ori breathed out. He gingerly lifted a sleek, silver fountain pen of the three that were cushioned in the velvet lining. In the light, he could truly appreciate the exquisiteness of the gift – the intricate details that decorated the barrel were etched with a different, lighter coloured metal, one that Ori could not immediately identify, and the same design continued on the cap, which was also inlaid with two neat rows of tiny sapphires and diamonds. The graceful pointed nib was less extravagant, but nevertheless, it was adorned with thin carvings of traditional Dwarven patterns.

Before Ori could pick up a second pen, Nori stepped up and grasped his brother’s shoulder with one hand. “Master Dwalin,” he began coldly, “last I check, courting traditions have to be met and that present cannot be accepted until the head of the family has a chance to inspect and approve of it.” He let go of Ori and held his hand open. “Since Dori is currently incapacitated, I shall step in to act as the temporary head for now.”

Ori mulishly handed his packet over and promptly crossed his arms over his chest, obviously dissatisfied. “Thank you,” Nori said, completely blasé. Although rarely directed at him, he had seen Ori throw some spectacular tantrums in the past, including the massive spat where he had insisted on going to Erebor and the current one over Dwalin. He was, therefore, not at all afraid of his little brother’s temper.

Nori brought the box closer to his eyes and squinted at the pens appraisingly. He noted each of its weight (and how surprisingly light they were), their unique design and in spite of himself, he could not help but be grudgingly impressed at the beautiful craftsmanship. Dwalin had obviously spent a lot of time and effort into making this present for Ori. Not only did the pens suit the scribe’s profession, they were a perfect blend of practicality and beauty. Nori was loathed to admit that he could not find any fault in them.

The only thing that bothered him was this mysterious, light metal that made up the lines of the design. He raised one of the pens up to shine it in the light, just as Ori had done previously, and sucked in his breath when he figured out what that material was –

“Dear Mahal, is that mithril?!” he blurted out.

All of the Dwarves immediately clamoured closer to see this near priceless gift. Ori’s jaw-dropped and he turned to look back and forth between his brother and Dwalin, unable to process the sheer value of what was given to him.  

Dwalin, on the other hand, was the epitome of calm and composure even if he had every right to puff his chest out to boast. “Only the lines of the design are mithril. The rest of the pen casing is platinum. Stronger, more durable than gold,” he explained concisely. “I inherited a small ingot of mithril from my father, which I kept stored away in Erebor’s vaults along with a few items of value. Only recently was I granted access to them again.” He smiled a small, bashful smile at Ori and admitted, “I cannot think of a better way to use the ingot than as a gift to my intended.”

Nori was left without a retort. He did not like Dwalin (and he suspected that this feeling was very much reciprocated), but despite his own biases against the Dwarf from the dealings he had with him in the Blue Mountains, he could not find any legitimate grounds to reject his suit on behalf of Ori. He knew that logically, he should be rejoicing that a high bred Dwarf like Dwalin, son of Fundin would care to court below his station. After all, Dwarven matches were normally made so that both families benefited from the marriage, and this match between Dwalin and Ori would only serve to bring prestige to the Ri family…  

Nori fought to contain his sly grin. He may have just figured out his point of attack against Dwalin after all.  

“Master Dwalin,” Nori purred and Dwalin stiffened from the sudden change in his tone of voice, “this is a very generous gift and you have most definitely outdone yourself with it.” The thief snapped the box shut. “However, I must admit, I am a bit taken aback by both the gift and your desire to court our Ori.”

Still holding the box, Nori clasped his hands behind his back and slowly circled Dwalin like a predator scenting blood. “Let us not beat around the bush: a high ranking Dwarf who also happens to be rich in life experience such as yourself could find a suitably experienced Dwarf of equal status as his consort. Now,” he paused in his pacing to round on Dwalin, “why is it that you have chosen sweet Ori?”

He ignored Ori’s spluttering and ploughed forward with his argument, “I find the inequality of this match to be greatly distressing. Firstly, as I have mentioned before, you could have easily chosen a Dwarf of noble blood to bring prestige into your family and instead, you choose to join your family with ours. Not to say that our family is anything to be ashamed of, but we are no sons of Fundin.” Nori casually buffed his nails against his heavy wool tunic, looking bored. “And then you show up with a gift made with mithril of all things, and I cannot even begin to know how we can reciprocate such a grandiose, priceless offer, not even with our share of Erebor’s gold, but of course, you must have known all this beforehand.”

Dwalin’s eyes followed Nori’s, his posture and expression giving nothing away.

Nori narrowed his eyes and he dropped all pretences at playfulness. “Which brings me to question, just what is it that you seek to exploit when you have decided to buy your way into my brother’s hand in courtship? His youth? His innocence?”

“Now listen here, Master Nori,” Balin stepped forward and exclaimed in indignant fury, “just what exactly are you insinuating here? You have gone too far –”

Dwalin held his hand up to silence his incensed brother. “Master Nori, I do not see this situation the same way as you do,” he rumbled calmly and Nori was starting to hate his unbreakable composure a little. “To me, prestige in a Dwarf is gained through the brave deeds he commits. It is to my understanding that Ori was the one who insisted on undertaking the quest to reclaim Erebor despite knowing that he is not experienced in fighting.”

“And yet, he faced all of the journey’s challenges most admirably.” Dwalin shook his head in disbelief, and he continued with wonder colouring his words, “I cannot begin to imagine the bravery he must possess to stubbornly persevere through it all, to choose to fight knowing that the odds were constantly stacked against him, and to come out as a survivor.”

Even though Dwalin was speaking to Nori, it was Ori who continued to catch the warrior’s attention. The tenderness and warmth in Dwalin’s eyes were unmistakable. “So you see Master Nori, I hold Ori in the highest respect. The way I see it, it is he who will bring honour to me and my family if he accepts my suit, not so much as the other way around.”

“Now, as for the matter about the mithril,” he carried on calmly, “what is a piece of metal compared to all of the time and effort that Ori had spent into crafting all those knitted gifts for me?”

Nori frowned, obviously confused. He spun around quickly so much so that his little brother stepped back with a nervous little squeak. “Wait a minute,” Nori asked, squinting suspicious eyes at Ori, “just how many things did you knit for him?”

“Um…er…”

“Twenty nine items,” Dwalin interjected confidently. He began to list them out without missing a beat: “three pairs of socks, three pairs of gloves, two scarves, three jumpers, two woollen caps, one tea cosy with four matching mug warmers and four matching coasters, and finally, one blanket that is currently in the works.”

“And in return, I gave him three pens.” Dwalin raised an incredulous brow at a gobsmacked Nori. “Quite frankly Master Nori, the pens are really the least I could do.”

The Company Members simultaneously turned their attention towards Ori. Completely frozen, the scribe made the most peculiar, distressed sound from the back of his throat between closed lips, one that reminded the Dwarves of the pitiful cries of a wounded baby animal, and ever so slowly, Ori buried his face in his hands, leaving the flaming red tips of his ears visible.

“Oh, this is unbelievable!” Kíli whispered loudly to Fíli, undisturbed by Ori’s display of pitiful mortification in the brash, shameless way that was so characteristic of the young Dwarf, “I didn’t even get a single scarf while Dwalin gets to hoard a pile of knitted goods! How is this fair?”

Fíli rolled his eyes and did not bother to dignify that comment with a response.

“There there, laddie!” Balin cooed and he rubbed soothing circles on Ori’s hunched back. Let it be known that Balin did not keep his position as the king’s advisor for this many years without knowing when to step in to do damage control. “I thought your knitting was absolutely lovely. All those different patterns and colours, they are wonderful pieces and one can never have too many knitted things! Dwalin clearly appreciates all of them. Why, I never see him without at least two pieces of your knitwear on his body!”

“My apologies if I have embarrassed you, dear heart.” Dwalin seamlessly chimed in and sounding appropriately contrite. He did not need to take his brother’s cue of warning to fix this, now. “But a Dwarf can only be humble for so long when his beloved has gifted him with twenty nine, hand-made presents –”

“You memorized everything I made and you just…listed them all out like you were doing inventory,” came Ori’s distressed words, muffled by his hand. “You made me sound like a crazy person! A crazy person with a thing for knitting!”

“– all of them so beautifully made as well! It is not my intention to imply that anything is wrong with you – ”

“I stress knit is all! There is nothing wrong with that!”

“ – and I am fully aware of your habit of stress knitting, love. You are right, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

“You weren’t supposed to know about the blanket either.” Ori still refused to look up but at least, he sounded less miserable than just moments ago. “How did you even know about the blanket?”

“I may have discovered it by accident when I tripped over one of your large baskets of yarn,” and upon realizing how saying that would not help his case at all, Dwalin quickly amended, “because I am clumsy. Extremely clumsy. It was through no fault of your own!”

Bombur shuffled beside his brother and whistled lowly at what could only be described as Dwalin fretting. “Funny how Master Dwalin had managed to maintain a perfectly cool head during Master Nori’s interrogation, but he had lost it the moment young Ori was displeased with him.”

“Aye, love makes fools of us all,” Bofur agreed, his good cheer rapidly returning. It was not every day that one got to witness the unflappable Master Dwalin flounder.

“Alright, enough! If the both of you would stop this shameful display, I do not want to be caught up in your lovers’ tiff!” Nori shuddered a little in disgust and glared at the warrior.  Sure, he had wanted to see Dwalin being taken down a peg or two but to see him wrapped around his little brother’s finger so thoroughly was downright pathetic. However, he cannot help but feel a little sorry for the poor bastard. Ori could be a tad too sensitive to other people’s comments. Nori himself had had the unpleasant experience of having to calm a desperately wailing Ori many years ago from some off-handed remark he had accidently made.

He had never been so grateful to accept his older brother’s help that day.  

Ori slowly lowered his hands to peak nervously at his brother. “Nori? Does that mean…?” He gestured meaningfully at the box that Nori was still holding.  

Nori sighed. Master Dwalin’s retort was surprisingly eloquent, well thought out and before he made that terrible faux pas to list all twenty nine knitted gifts, surprisingly… sweet. The Dwarf had clearly thought that Ori hung the moon and the stars of Middle-Earth and likewise, anyone could see how enamoured Ori was with Master Dwalin. Dori had tried to separate the two to absolutely no effect and now, even Nori’s quick thinking had failed him in finding a legitimate excuse to refuse the tall Dwarf.

Nori may not like this but he could recognize when he was beat. Besides, what were his alternatives? If he chose to deny Master Dwalin now, it would be seen as an insult to the sons of Fundin and he would risk offending close members of that branch of the family, which may or may not include Glóin and Óin, he wasn’t too sure.

Worse still, he would have to deal with Ori’s hurt disappointment if he turned down Master Dwalin’s offer. Nori could not even begin to imagine the backlash he would receive from his own little brother, but he had a feeling that he would inadvertently end up alienating Ori from himself and Dori.

No, the hollow victory he would gain from winning against that self-righteous Dwarf was not worth losing his little brother.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his fists tightly, the thief gave Ori a single, stiff nod, and no sooner had he given his consent did he find himself with an armful of his little brother.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Ori said in a rush, his head buried under Nori’s chin on his right side, his arms wrapped firmly around his middle. Nori could not even remember when it was the last time he had held Ori like this and a warm wave of nostalgia washed over him. Slowly, he raised his arms to return the hug. 

“I do not like him, Ori,” Nori muttered into his little brother’s soft hair, “but I hope you know what you are doing.” He reluctantly pulled back to smooth out Ori’s flyaway hair and to straighten his crooked braids. “Also, don’t think that Dori will make this easy for him either,” Nori warned. “You better tell lover-boy to smarten up around that old cog.”

The bright smile of utter jubilation that lit up Ori’s face helped soothe the lingering traces of bitterness in Nori’s heart. He supposed that granting his brother this one small moment of happiness was the least he could do.

=====

Dear Mother,

Kíli and I have successfully infiltrated the farms for the past few days to give you further insight on Uncle and Bilbo’s activities. (Hello Mum! Farming is terribly boring. I don’t understand how you can stand it!) It’s a good thing that we had our Project to keep our minds occupied! You would not believe how much progress we have made on our stories. Who would have thought that a menial task like tilling the earth could inspire so much creativity?

(Uncle and Bilbo also provided a bit of entertainment. The way they gravitated towards each other was absolutely adorable, but even that got stale really quickly. I mean, after watching them for three days straight only to see that they have not gotten anywhere with each other beyond the casual, suspiciously excessive  touching, one begins to lose hope a little.) 

We included our spy reports to this letter! You can judge for yourself and see what we meant!

On a different note, the Company – minus Uncle and Bilbo, of course – had a meeting to confirm the contents for the third set of the pamphlets. The meeting itself was full of excitement; this time, the focus was on the Ri brothers and Master Dwalin. (Poor Master Dwalin.) Master Dwalin took the initiative to offer his first courting present to Ori but unfortunately for him, both Master Dori and Master Nori dislike him intensely; Master Dori was much too over-protective of Ori while…

Say Kíli, do you know why Master Nori even dislike Master Dwalin?

(No idea. It wasn’t as if they spoke much to each other during the quest either. Maybe something had happened in the Blue Mountains. It wouldn’t surprise me, what with Master Nori’s apparent familiarity with activities of dubious legality). So…what you’re saying is that Master Dwalin might have arrested Master Nori on numerous occasions in the past?

Suddenly, everything makes so much more sense.

Between the three of them, I was surprised that the tent was still standing! (Dori leapt at Master Dwalin when he bragged about snogging Ori, Mum! I have never seen a Dwarf so intent on murder before.) Even after the rest of the members got together to restrain both Dwarves, Dori still had enough strength to break out of his hold. (We had four Dwarves piled on top of him with myself being one of them, and he threw us off like we weighed nothing! He literally picked me up with one hand and tossed me aside! It was terrifying!) Thankfully, Balin stepped in to save the day with a blow that knocked Dori unconscious.

Come to think of it, Master Dwalin had gotten lucky from that or else he never would’ve been able give his courting present to Ori. (Master Nori, who was acting as head of the family, gave Master Dwalin a hard time as it is, but at least there were no physical punches being thrown! He also did end up approving the present even though he had done so very grudgingly.)

We were finally able to start our meeting once Dori woke up with his sanity restored. He apologized profusely to the members of the Company and promised to have a civil talk with Master Dwalin. (Why did I feel like running for cover when I heard that?) It’s probably your survival instinct kicking in to keep you far, far away from the potential war zone where this ‘civil’ talk will take place. Or it could be your reaction to a newly instilled fear for Dori after you were launched into the air, screaming for your dear life by his hands. (Hey! I’d like to see you retain your composure if you had to go through what I went through! Also, I did not scream! It was at most a startled, but very manly yelp.)

As I was saying before, the contents of the pamphlet were discussed extensively during the meeting and we all agreed on publishing three short stories. If this pamphlet is well received, we shall publish another pamphlet with a new set of stories. We can even make it a bi-monthly publication if we can manage it! (We were wondering if you are interested in having your story be a part of this pamphlet? The second piece will be written by Fíli and I while the third by Masters Bofur and Nori, so we are pretty confident that this publication will be the best thing to grace Middle-Earth in the entirety of its existence.) Move aside, Fulla and Buri! There is a new classic in the making!

We have attached a separate page that contains more instructions regarding this if you are interested! (I hope you will say yes, Mum! I can’t wait to see what you have plotted. You always tell the best kinds of stories while Uncle’s tend to be overly melodramatic!) Don’t tell Uncle we said that though. I think we might hurt his feelings.

With all our love,

Fíli and Kíli

Erebor, 20 Mar., 2942.

PS. Have you told Uncle about that label yet? I still have my reservations about this Teleporno fellow …

=====

To my two darling sons who clearly inherited their superior taste in good story telling from me,

Thank you for your latest report regarding the events at the farm. It has been extremely informative and I agree that your Uncle has been dragging his feet long enough. It’s time that I send him another letter. Brace yourselves, boys. You might want to run for cover or make yourselves scarce least he takes his frustration out on you both.

I have also attached a draft of my story. Briefly – I have drawn inspiration from the mythos surrounding Mahal and his wife Yavanna to demonstrate that the union between Master Baggins and your Uncle is not only divine in nature, but it is of good omen. That ought to silence those old, suspicious traditionalists from grumbling about an “unnatural” marriage when a marriage does happen. Please pass this draft on to Master Nori in your next meeting along with my most heartfelt congratulations to both Master Dwalin and young Ori. I honestly wish them all the luck in the world, because they most certainly need every bit of it if they have to face the combined powers of Master Nori and Master Dori.

I have also included a packet of klamath weed for Master Dwalin to help him in dealing with an overly anxious future brother-in-law. I recommend that he infuse two to three teaspoons of the herb per cup of hot water before serving this tea to Master Dori. It will help relax the Dwarf a little and lift his spirit, among other things.

Oh stop looking at me like that. It won’t kill him.

No Fíli, I have not told your Uncle about the label. I shall do so when the opportunity presents itself. Also, there is absolutely nothing wrong with Teleporno aside from possessing the bad luck of having parents with terrible naming skills. Your suspicion is completely unfounded.

With love,

Your most honourable and talented mother

Thorin’s Hall, 2942.

=====

To my dear brother whose nonexistence progress in his love life makes me weep tears of frustration,

A little birdy has told me that you and Master Baggins were seen frolicking in the fields, prancing about with laughter ringing in the air and looking very much like a pair of young Dwarves in love. Apparently, the two of you also looked like you could be re-enacting that famous scene where Fulla and Buri were running hand-in-hand in a field of wildflowers towards the sunset.

As disturbing as that mental picture is (as with all mental pictures where you are doing any sort of prancing in a field of wildflowers), I feel compelled to ask: why have you not began to court your Hobbit?

For Mahal’s sake, I have not seen you this relaxed towards anyone in over a century. For you to let your guard down like that pretty much just shows how incredibly fond you are of Master Baggins. What is holding you back? Last I checked with his relatives, Master Baggins was a bachelor and he had not expressed any love interest for any of the hobbits in Hobbiton, so you don’t have to worry about any hidden competition. Don’t tell me that there is someone brazen enough to vie for Master Baggins’ attention at the camp?

With love,

Your concerned sister Dís who will go to extreme means to help you secure your Hobbit including murder, torture and extortion.

Thorin’s Hall, 2942.

=====

From Erebor, 2942.         

To my insane sister Dís whose loyalty is flattering but she will, under no circumstance, murder , torture or extort my non-existent competitors,

Why do I feel resigned to the fact that any news regarding any sort of interaction between myself and Bilbo Baggins will make its way back to you? Your obsession to see me paired up with the Hobbit terrifies me, sister. I do not remember you being this fanatic nor emotionally invested in anything, not even during that odd phase in your life where you have penned out pages of smut disguised as “tasteful romantic novellas” and then forced Frerin and I to read them.

There was nothing tasteful about those by the way. Don’t think I have forgotten how you have blatantly lied to us.

However, you are right in saying that I am…more than fond of Master Baggins. Never have I met anyone as brave, selfless and little as he who will go to such great lengths to ensure my happiness. The oddest thing is that he is not doing this because I am the King Under the Mountain. Instead, his reasons were that I am, in his own words, “a most confounded, stubborn Dwarf with an overprotective streak a mile-wide who cannot tell the difference between a warren hoe and a scuffle hoe, so kindly move over and let me do my work.”

His presence fills me with great hope for the future and I cannot imagine myself happier if he would honour me by becoming my consort.

I suppose you can be the first to hear this (and I would imagine that it would please you greatly): I have every intention to court Bilbo, but I have held myself back since I was afraid that I would scare him away with my advances. I wish there was a more subtle way in which I could use to gauge his interest.

There, now I have told you the truth. Now kindly stop harassing Bilbo’s relatives.

- Thorin

=====

To my dear older brother,

Of course it pleases me to hear that you have found someone worthy of your love and who could bring you so much joy! For the record, I cannot be happier that you have come to the decision to court Master Baggins. He seems like an absolutely lovely person and I cannot wait to meet him in person.

As for your fear of scaring him away, I think you are not giving him the credit he deserves, brother. By your own words, you admitted that Master Baggins is a brave and tenacious Hobbit who values you as his friend. I believe that if you were to take the chance and be upfront with your intentions, he would rise beyond your expectations.

Or you can take the cowardly option and slip the picture I have attached to this letter under his pillow and wait to see how he will respond.

What you are seeing is my newest label for my honey mead product. What do you think?

Your loving sister, (who will most definitely be celebrating tonight because finally, there is progress!)

Dís

Thorin’s Hall, 2942.

PS: By the way, the caravan of Dwarves from the Blue Mountains should be arriving to Erebor soon. I trust that you have received the latest correspondence from Captain Náli, who is leading the expedition.

=====

From Erebor, 2942.         

I WILL NOT SLIP A BARE CHESTED PICTURE OF MYSELF UNDER HIS PILLOW!

CEASE AND DESIST THE PRODUCTION OF THAT LABEL THIS INSTANT!

- Thorin

=====

To my brother who likes to overreact,

Before you go on your rampage, there is method to my madness. As I have told you before, my Elven competitors have created an entirely pretentious, nature-themed piece of art for their product label. Their design served to brand their product as something boring and high-end; they are basically saying that their classy beverage is for their equally classy, high-end clientele.

Their message represents everything that my company and I are against. Our brewery prides itself in being welcoming to all people no matter their age, status, sex or race. As long as a celebration is in town, we will be more than happy to provide for them. What better way to show this than through an image of an iconic, honourable, noble Dwarven king loosening up and having fun with everyone else? By having your image on that bottle in a room full of happy people, it’s as if you are there in spirit to join in their celebrations!

If you are still not convinced, I have also conducted a survey in asking some of my customers’ opinion on the label. The Dwarves praised your bravery in battle and in allowing your image to be used for our product, unlike those “cowardly, emotionless tree-shaggers who wouldn’t know fun, not even if it bit them in their arses”. In addition, 73% of the Men clientele expressed their interest to meet and shake hands with you after seeing this label, with 88% believing you to be a likeable ruler without having ever met you.

When being made to choose between our label and the Elves’, 79% of all the survey takers have chosen ours. Clearly, not only does this design prove to be much more popular than the Elves’, it also serves to increase your popularity in a positive way. 

Of course, if you are still unwilling to have your image on the label, I can change it so that someone else can be the mascot. Teleporno himself has expressed great interest to be the face of the Honey Mead line, although I am sure the Dwarves who took the survey would be disappointed by the change. I leave this entirely up to you.

Your loving sister,

Dís

Thorin’s Hall, 2942.

PS: So does that mean you will be confronting Master Baggins about your intention to court him then?

=====

From Erebor, 2942.

To my evil, manipulative sister Dís,

You may use my image on the label only if my chest is fully covered. I would also like to be depicted with my fur surcoat. The grey-brown one.

And yes, I have been communicating with Captain Náli. We are making the proper arrangements for the arrival of the Blue Mountain Dwarves.

- Thorin

PS: Yes.

=====

Dear Mother,

I hope you are doing well! A few members of the Company have some messages that they would like to pass on to you so we thought we’d combine all of these into one letter.

First of all, Master Nori thanks you for your manuscript and has included the first draft of the pamphlet (attached to this letter) for your perusal. He invites your constructive criticism and wishes you a pleasant day.

Secondly, Master Dwalin thanks you for your well wishes and your…special delivery. Unfortunately, he does not feel that he should be drugging Master Dori since it would be a breach of trust and it would lead to a bad start in what he hoped to be their peace talk.

(We tried to tell him that it’s only a breach of trust if he gets caught, but he wouldn’t listen! I felt that our reasoning was pretty legit! I can’t imagine what could have caused him to give us that look of utter disapproval.) Some Dwarves are funny in the head like that, Kíli. Pay him no mind.

Instead of using it on Master Dori, Master Dwalin is thinking of making that herbal tea for himself so that he could make this “undoubtedly bloody unpleasant experience more bloody bearable”. 

Finally, Master Ori has a question regarding the drawing that accompanies your story. He would like to know how you want Master Baggins and Uncle to be drawn (specifically, their clothing, their poses and the expressions that they are wearing). 

That’s all the messages that we have! (By the way, we all read your story and we really, really liked it! I think it’s our favourite piece out of all the stuff we’ve written!) That’s because Mum’s a great story teller. I have a feeling that the rest of the camp will like her piece as well. 

Lots and lots of love,

Fíli and Kíli

Erebor, 24 Mar., 2942.

=====

To my dear boys,

It seems like today is a day of celebrations! First off, your Uncle has finally confirmed what we all knew already: he is deeply fond of Master Baggins and will ask the Hobbit for his permission to court him.

A monumental step forward, I know. I did not even have the heart to mock him for taking so long! To be honest, I think I am still in a state of shock over all of this.

I have also shown him the label and after some persuasion, he has agreed to allow the use of his image for our honey mead product. His only stipulations were that his shirt be fully buttoned and that his characteristic fur surcoat be depicted. You no longer need to fear for your lives for possessing that label, boys!

Now, regarding the inquiries I have received in your previous letter, please pass on the following:

Master Nori – I have gone through the draft of the pamphlet and I do not have any issues. Please keep up the fantastic work and do let me know if you would like me to write another piece.

Master Dwalin – You have always been an honourable Dwarf and anyone who could call themselves your brother-in-law is truly fortunate. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavour. Try not to overdose yourself on that tea.

Master Ori – I would like you to draw the scene where the King and Master Baggins are standing at the altar, exchanging their vows. Please have the King be in his full armour, although with a more…rugged edge to him. Ask Fíli for that honey mead label (rest assured, he will understand what you mean). That is the version of the King that I feel would best fit with the story. As for Master Baggins, I would like him to be depicted as one of Yavannah’s children, so please incorporate a lot of leafy greenery into his clothing. Also, have him wear a crown of wild flowers, such as roses, buttercups, lilies, and violets for example. I leave the flower selection to your discretion.

As always, please keep me updated on the progress around the camp and at the farm! If everything goes well, we will all be able to breathe a sigh of relief that the two oblivious idiots will cease to be oblivious idiots.

All the love in the world,

Your mother

Thorin’s Hall, 2942.

Goal: To watch the slow, painful progress of Bilbo’s and Uncle’s relationship. At this point, I’m extremely tempted to interfere because this looks like it could go on for another decade with zero progress. I’d like to see them at least hold hands some time in this century, you know! (Although I can’t agree with you more, it’s better if we leave them alone. For one, we made a promise to never interfere when we first started our Project. It would ruin the betting pool and Glóin would murder us in cold blood, Durin’s heirs be damned!)

Glóin is a big enough ass to do it too! I can’t believe he’s married and to someone as gorgeous as his wife! Why is it that the mean sods get all the women?

Note: Ask Mother why the mean sods get all the women.  

  Impact of mission if successful: 

1. Mother will have her curiosity satiated and hopefully, she will be too distracted to nag at us for carrying out our plan to teach Kíli how to double wield those crossbows. We’re not giving that dream up, Mother!   

2. We will have more to report to the next meeting, which will fuel the gossip mill. Also, we hope to draw inspiration from these real life events so that we can craft our beautiful works of fiction!

3. It will keep us busy and out of sight, which will minimize our chance into running into Uncle and subsequently being dragged to do: a) more farm work, b) more paperwork, and c) more horrible sword play sessions. (We haven’t recovered from that last traumatic one with Uncle. Although he’s in a considerably better mood this time around, we have to face a very angry and frustrated Dwalin instead. I don’t know what’s better, having an enraged Uncle Thorin or an enraged Dwalin charge at us.)

I would take an angry Uncle any day. At least he couldn’t round house kick a cow to the point where cheese will come squirting out of its utters.

(Ew, Fíli. Why must you bring that up again?! Mahal!)

Oh, you love the mental picture. Don’t lie.

  Day 1

Note: Day 1 corresponds to the day that Kíli and I are present on the farm. It should be noted that Uncle and Bilbo have been working in the fields for a week already.

Duration: The whole day! And what a long but fruitful investigation this has been! (Most. Interesting. Day. Ever.)

Summary of events:

We arrived to the farms before sunrise with our breakfast half-finished and stashed in a bag. (We were late this morning and we only had time to finish our loaf of bread, five links of sausages, half a block of cheese, four fried eggs, three strips of bacon and three mugs of ale. We didn’t even have the time to snag extra servings of the meat pie or mashed potatoes! How do they expect us to work on an empty stomach?)

Once we had arrived, we spent an hour staring groggily at Bilbo, who was energetically describing to us our daily tasks.  Judging from the presence of the makeshift wooden platform and how Bilbo had immediately beelined for it before starting his talk, I assume that Bilbo does this speech giving business a lot. Meanwhile, Kíli kept falling asleep and I had to constantly shake him awake. (In my defence, Uncle himself looked like he was asleep. Mind you, he did it with his eyes open if that vacant, unseeing look on his face was anything to go by.) Yes, but Uncle was not on the verge of snoring and he was most certainly not dribbling on my shoulder. Also, he was standing perfectly straight.

(I wonder how he does that. It will be a useful trick to learn!)

This was when we had noticed the first strange event of the day – Bilbo had just finished his speech and Uncle had turned to the Hobbit to start on a new conversation.

(Whatever their conversation was about, it must be something that frustrated the Hobbit. The way Bilbo had thrown up his hands as if he was saying, “Why Mahal? Why me?” was rather telling.)

Uncle, on the other hand, just rolled his eyes exasperatedly and, upon seeing that everyone around them had left already, nonchalantly wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist and lifted him clear off the platform. And Bilbo just…carried on talking without missing a beat!

There was no blink of surprise, no stuttered speech, no struggle or loudly made complaints. Bilbo and Uncle’s conversation was uninterrupted even after Uncle had deposited him to the ground and had reached over to straighten the Hobbit’s dishevelled clothing. They were acting as if all this was a daily occurrence!

(It’s as if Bilbo was going, “Oh, what do you mean I have a majestic Dwarf lifting me up in the air like I was a heroine from those romance novels that Kíli most definitely do not read in secrecy? And what do you mean that this same majestic Dwarf is being extremely hands on with fussing over my clothing? Pish posh! Nothing to see, here!”)

And Uncle just hummed along passively and occasionally threw in some uselessly placating sayings like, “there, there”, “if that’s what you think”, “I’m sure,” and “is that so?” when to anyone else, he would’ve given them the Durin’s Glare of Death. It was an eerie sight. 

We followed the two discreetly to the work site and were careful to select a work area that would give us the best vantage point. (Not like they would have noticed if we weren’t being discreet, of course. They were completely oblivious to their surroundings. Speaking of which Fíli, did you notice how all the Dwarves and Men were staring at the two as well?) I did, Kíli! It’s good to experience firsthand the fruits of our labour!  

We spent the morning tilling, which by the way, has got to be one of the most boring tasks ever to be invented. I think the only activity that could be even more boring is reading about tilling. (Or watching the ponies.) Or watching the paint dry. (Watching the grass grow.) Listening to Dori go on about how certain types of wine has a fruity bouquet, whatever that even means. (Sitting around completely quiet while watching Ori knit.) That’s not that bad! If you stare at him all intense like, he’ll become flustered and you can get all kinds of interesting responses from him. (Huh. You do have a point. Also, why do you sound like you’ve done this before?)

Never you mind!

Anyway, while we tilled, we were able to quietly observe Uncle and Bilbo some more. The rest of the day’s odd events could be summarized by the following:

1. Uncle showering Bilbo with all these little, lingering touches (and likewise, Bilbo to Uncle as well). By ‘touches’, we meant, and have seen them give each other –

a) A gentle brush along the back,

b) A firm hand on the shoulder, and

c) A gentle squeeze along the arms.

Finally, things escalated to the point where Uncle kept a firm grip on Bilbo’s sides, which lead to the two of them leaning very, very close to each other, (and the rest of the working Dwarves, leaning very, very close to watch)…

…but absolutely nothing happened. The two jumped apart at the last minute and went back to work awkwardly in silence. The collective groan of disappointment that rang across the field could not have been more obvious.

2. The reciprocating soulful gazes that occurred after that disappointing incident. Bilbo would peer at Uncle from under his lashes and Uncle would occasionally sneak glances at Bilbo when the Hobbit was preoccupied. Dwalin was completely right about those two, they make quite the pathetic sight. (And you know you’ve hit a new low when Master Dwalin, the most awkward Dwarf in a relationship, thinks that you are being pathetic.) It’s the ultimate example of the pot calling the kettle black, which if you think about it, is quite funny in that sad sort of way.  

3. Thankfully, the awkward silence was shattered by lunch time. Uncle and Bilbo walked off to find a quiet place to dine (and since we’re the most amazing nephews in the history of Middle-Earth, Fíli and I not only declined their offer to join them, we also set up a perimeter to ensure that no busy-body Dwarf or Men could interrupt them). Mother would have been proud of our thoughtfulness!

4. After lunch, the two were in a much happier mood and they merrily went off to work some more. There was a lot of bantering going on between them and they would break into rounds of snickering (like a pair of school children!)

I never even knew Uncle could relax in public, let alone snicker. And of course, somewhere in between the jokes and the laughter, the casual touching came back.

The good news from all of this is that Uncle and Bilbo are getting along wonderfully, even though we have not yet found the proof to suggest that they have made proper use of their Love Shack. (Ew, Fíli! Ew!) But from the way that things are going, I’m guessing that we can rejoice soon! There is hope for us yet!

We shall continue to keep vigil in the farms!

- Fíli (and Kíli!)

=====

It has been exactly one week since Thorin had promised himself not to push his affection on Bilbo and instead, to wait until the Hobbit was more comfortable around him before breeching the subject.

It had also been one of the worse weeks he had to endure since reclaiming Erebor. Ironically, it was because he and Bilbo have gotten along swimmingly in the fields.  

“Thorin! We’re going to get started on sowing the barely seeds. Do you want to come and help?”

Thorin paused and looked up, his hands keeping a loose grip on the long handle of his rake. His breath hitched a little at the sight that greeted him – Bilbo Baggins had sprinted over a short distance to deliver the news and the light exertion had caused the Hobbit’s cheeks to flush attractively. The russet curls that usually fall over his forehead were darkened with perspiration and they lay plastered against his skin. Bilbo casually reached up to wipe the sweat off his face, inadvertently smearing a thin strip of dirt behind from his fingers in the process. Despite the obvious warmth that he was feeling, Bilbo was still stubbornly wearing his coat, although the sleeves had been neatly rolled up to prevent getting dirt on them.

Bilbo looked absolutely lovely. Thorin wished that he could turn his observations on the Hobbit off.

“I’m not sure how much help I will be able to provide,” the Dwarf answered bashfully and he offered Bilbo an apologetic smile. “Also, you have a little dirt there,” he pointed helpfully at Bilbo’s forehead.

Bilbo looked up, cross-eyed. “Wait, where? Here?” he futilely swiped above his brow.  

Thorin chuckled and he automatically reached over to brush away the dirt with his thumb, trailing his fingers lightly over the Hobbit’s slightly damp and heated skin. “There, now you look slightly more presentable, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and for a second, Thorin could have sworn that he looked inexplicably pleased, but the Hobbit quickly looked away and the fleeting expression changed into that of embarrassment. “Ah, sorry. I must look a right mess.”

You can be covered in mud while wearing a potato sack and I will still find you unbelievably attractive, was what Thorin wanted to say but instead, he settled with, “I was only joking, Bilbo. Although I must say, you’re looking a bit warm in that coat.”

“I was doing just fine before I ran here, but alright, I’ll take this off if it makes you feel better.” Bilbo rolled his eyes sarcastically and with great care, he undid the gold buttons and slowly worked his way out of his jacket. If Thorin happened to notice how Bilbo’s wet, white shirt had turned slightly translucent and the way it clung attractively to the Hobbit’s torso, well, he could hardly be blamed for making that observation.

He could not, however, find the proper excuse to justify how his eyes had zeroed in on the delicious patch of pale, soft skin that was peeking from beneath Bilbo’s open collar.

Mahal have mercy on his soul.

“There, better?”

Thorin swallowed dryly but he managed to croak out, “Yes, much.”

Bilbo turned around to shake out his jacket and Thorin refused to look at the way his pants stretched over his behind because damn it all, he has more self respect than that and –

Oh bollocks, he looked.  

“Well, now that we have this sorted out,” Bilbo called out while his back was still turned, “what say you about coming?”

Thorin could feel the blood immediately rushing to his face and he choked uselessly on air. “B-begging your pardon?” he spluttered, his voice slightly rising.

Bilbo turned his head around to give the Dwarf a perplexed look. “Coming with me for the sowing process,” he said slowly while draping the aired-out jacket on his left arm. He frowned and stalked closer to Thorin, “Are you feeling alright? You look a bit flushed.” He did not look convinced at Thorin’s answering, mechanical nod.  

“Yes, I’m fine. Just…too much time in the sun,” Thorin cleared his throat and desperately forced his mind out of the gutter. “Why don’t you go ahead first? I will join you shortly after finishing this up,” he gestured vaguely at the rake that he miraculously still had his grip on. Thankfully, Bilbo did not question his explanation any further and instead, left for his own field after accepting his words gracefully.

That was it, Thorin’s eyes trained on Bilbo’s retreating back as he thought in despair, there cannot be any more of this. He cannot withstand another week of this cruel and unusual torture, not with the way his control was being severely tested each and every day. He needed to find a solution fast before he snapped and end up doing something that he truly regret.   

Maybe he should ask Dís for help…

And risk facing a lifetime of mockery? Never! Thorin ruthlessly squashed that string of thought before it could fully mature. He hasn’t sunk that low where he would resort to giving his younger sister ammunition against him. Besides, how would he be able to hold his head up high in the future knowing that he had to beg for outside help to secure his own consort?

No, this would have to be done solely by him through careful planning.

Thorin leaned his forehead against the upright handle of the rake and groaned in utmost misery. He had a feeling that he will be doing a lot of praying for strength to any deity who would listen to him.

=====

Hello my dears! I am back from vacation! Sorry for the slight delay! I was unsatisfied with this chapter and I had to rewrite several scenes before finding them acceptable. The last thing I want is to submit something that I find subpar. To make it up to you, I’ve made this chapter extra long (the longest in this fic, in fact!) I hope you will enjoy it!

As always, this is unbetaed at the moment. I will upload the corrected version once I’ve received the edits back. :)

And this brings us closer and closer to the end of this fic! The next chapter will feature one last hurrah before the inevitable happy ending, because I am a sucker for happy endings. Who’s excited? I know I am!

Thank you for your lovely comments, kudos, recs, favs, and bookmarks! As always, I do read and reply to you reviews, unless you are on ffnet and you posted the comments anonymously. In that case, I can’t get back to you and I’m sorry for that.  

  Author’s Notes:

[1] Random extra information: I estimated the distance between Dale and Erebor to be around 10 miles (ie. 16 km) using a map of Middle-Earth that I googled 3rin.gs/#0.1540527,0.3100586,0.1544189,0.5658265,c,. After making the assumption that the speed of an average horse ride is around 16 – 27 km/h, my rough calculations showed that it takes under 1 hr to get to Dale, one way, which makes commuting to and from Dale every day a possible one.    

[2] Dis’ honey mead label idea was inspired from a fanart (on Tumblr) of Thorin posing as the mascot of a honey mead label, although from what I remember, he was not posing with his chest exposed, haha! Unfortunately, I seem to have misplaced the link for that fanart! I shall love you if you can help me find it as well as the wonderful artist who created such a masterpiece.

[3] Who caught that brief, re-interpreted two-liner insert of the lyrics from that Kansas song? :D

Ever the opportunist, Thráin would then slip in extra lessons on Dwarven history and war tactics, both of which were topics that Thorin had strongly disliked.  

“But you see, my son,” his father had answered at Thorin’s petulant complaints with a rare smile that lightened the heavy lines on his face, “learning about the history of our people will guard against repeating the foolish mistakes of the past.” His father’s eyes gleamed, “As for the war tactics, you will be surprised by how translatable this knowledge can be in other manners…such as in courtship.” 

Thorin only wished that he had paid more attention to his lessons. Otherwise, he might not be stuck in this idiotic predicament that he had successfully placed himself in.

“Good morning Dwarves, thank you for your help this morning!” Bilbo Baggins chirped brightly from on top of an upside down wooden crate. The Hobbit rocked on his heels in obvious excitement, “Today, I will show you how to properly prepare the soil for the different crops that we will be planting in this area. If I can just have your attention during this brief demonstration, we can get started immediately!”

The answering groans from the bleary-eyed Dwarven crowd were lacklustre at best.

Thorin stifled a huge yawn with his hand in vain. He could understand their sentiment all too clearly. Waking up at the break of dawn to travel to the fields of Dale for the sole purpose of farming of all things was not his idea of a fun morning either. He yawned widely again, this time having given up on any sense of decorum. It was not as if anyone would notice anyway, not from his partially hidden position next to Bilbo and definitely not when the rest of the Dwarves looked like they could fall asleep while standing up.

A quick glance at Dwalin and Glóin, who were standing protectively at the other side of Bilbo, showed him that they too were as equally bored as he was. The two of them had resorted to using their hammer and axe to prop themselves upright. 

Bilbo, in contrast, was positively brimming with energy to the point where he could barely keep still.

Thorin should know. He had effectively spent most of the last ten minutes staring stupidly at his Hobbit.

The Dwarven king’s gaze flickered back to Bilbo’s deft hands as he animatedly mimed out different ways to best till the land. He traced his eyes along the length of Bilbo’s arms and his deceptively slight shoulders, marvelling at the way the forest green coat – a gift he had commissioned to replace Bilbo’s threadbare blue robe – had fitted his Hobbit like a glove. He paused briefly to stare at the way the sun’s morning rays reflected off the different shades of brown, gold and red from the strands of Bilbo’s soft hair, and he stared,  mesmerized,  at the small tufts that curled around the delicately pointed tip of his ears. It was funny how on Bilbo, Thorin did not find those offensive, even if they looked distinctively Elvish.  

Bilbo’s wild flailing caught his attention and Thorin reached over just in time to steady Bilbo before he could overbalance himself on his raised pedestal. Bilbo turned around and flashed him a quick, grateful smile. He did not see the beginning of a blush that bloomed across Thorin’s cheeks.

Goodness, Thorin was stupidly, disgustingly besotted and what a world shattering experience that had been when he had finally realized the depths of his feelings for Bilbo. What was even worst was that after he came to accept this as a fact, he could not act on it; he was left to pathetically wax poetic in his head and from a distance like an infatuated teenager. Surely, if his father (and more terrifyingly, Dís) were to see this pathetic display of inaction and lack of boldness, the two would be most disappointed.

Dís would probably threaten him with violence.

Thorin bit back a growl even though his brows were already creased heavily into his characteristic, dark scowl. It’s not as if he wanted to be stuck doing nothing! That moment of almost intimacy in the tent with Bilbo had caught him utterly by surprise and in his shock, he had behaved like he always had – he had automatically retreated behind a façade of cool indifference coupled with the familiar excuse of paperwork. It was an unfortunate habit that he had adopted in his days in court against backstabbing advisors and it had served him well ever since.

Until Bilbo Baggins was involved, of course.

Because if there were things that Bilbo Baggins was good at, they were defying all of Thorin’s expectations and utterly disrupting Thorin’s neatly ordered world.

Regardless, Thorin had acted automatically in defence and when he had finally sorted himself out enough to talk to Bilbo during lunch the next day, the Hobbit had all but fled from his presence before he could even open his mouth.

The sharp ache of disappointment had settled heavily in his gut. Perhaps he was reading this situation completely wrong after all. Maybe Bilbo was not at all interested and the Hobbit was trying to spare his feelings in his perplexingly subtle, non-aggressive, and entirely Hobbitish way of his. It could also be that Bilbo was not yet comfortable with the idea of going beyond the boundaries of friendship with Thorin.

Either way, Thorin had decided to give Bilbo some space. He refused to push his affection on the Hobbit and risk losing the close friendship that he had cultivated with Bilbo. The next day, he forced himself to behave normally around his friend and he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Hobbit slowly lose his nervous skittishness around him.  

It had occurred to Thorin (much, much later) what he had done: he had voluntarily placed himself in a position where he would do nothing until he could better read his friend’s feelings and approach him without scaring him off. Mahal knows how long that could take, what with Thorin’s admittedly terrible skill at empathy and Bilbo’s irrational fear of anything that could disrupt the peace and calm in his life. There was also the fun fact that Thorin has as much patience as Fíli and Kíli with common sense, or Dís with care and compassion for that matter. Suddenly, Thorin’s noble goal to wait until it was the “right” time to approach Bilbo seemed like it was destined for failure from the get go. Worse still, Thorin could not come up with an alternative solution.

Thorin almost wished he had an army of Orcs and Goblins to slay to quell his mounting frustration. If anything, it was a much more acceptable outlet than hitting his head repeatedly against a wall.

“We’ll be splitting into five groups today,” Bilbo called out, still looking entirely too giddy for anyone awake at this Mahal forsaken hour of the day. Thorin shook himself out of his stupor and discretely straightened his spine from the half slouch he was in. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Dwalin nudge Glóin awake with his elbow none too gently. “If you can please follow Mister Haldan, he will direct you to the fields that we will be tending.”

At the sound of his name, Bard’s nervous-looking advisor snapped to attention from his doze in a mess of flailing limbs. He combed his fingers haphazardly through his mop of disarrayed, brown hair and straightened his clothes in a sad attempt to look alert.

“Uhm, yes. If you would all just follow me, please?” he squeaked out at the unimpressed crowd before spinning around on his heel to tromp off to the right. Thorin watched the man almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, twice. Glóin coughed unsubtly into his fist, his shoulders shaking in silent mirth.

“I hope that went alright,” Bilbo said quietly and a bit uneasily to Thorin. He tilted his head and gave the Dwarf a small, sheepish grin. “I know that most people don’t find farming very exciting but I hope I haven’t bored anyone else to tears with my rambling.” He jerked his head towards Haldan’s retreating back. The Dwarves were shuffling slowly to follow the advisor and Thorin waved at Dwalin and Glóin to join the crowd.

“No, not at all,” Thorin replied once he made sure that his friends had things under control. “You were very…”

Very what exactly? Thorin thought, scrambling his brains to finish the sentence. Very passionate in the way you’ve spent the last fifteen minutes explaining something that went completely over my head but I did not mind watching your lips move? Very adorable in that coat I have given you? Very admirably stubborn in the way you had insisted on standing on top of that upturned apple crate so that everyone can see you when you addressed the crowd?  

“Informative,” Thorin concluded instead.  “Some people just don’t do well in the mornings.” And just for good measure, he smiled disarmingly at a relieved looking Bilbo. 

The moment that the Hobbit turned his head away, Thorin threw a poisonous glare at the Man’s back for making Bilbo feel bad.  

“If you say so,” Bilbo hummed, satisfied with the explanation. “Now, if I can just get off of this blasted thing.”

“Would you like some help to get off the box, Master Hobbit?” Thorin asked teasingly after watching Bilbo struggle for a few seconds.

Bilbo glared half-heartedly at the bemused Dwarf. “No, Master Dwarf,” he sniffed, “I’ve got this. Do feel free to continue to – eek!”

Without warning, Thorin had wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist and easily lifted him off of the box, all the while ignoring the surprised squeaks of protests from the indignant Hobbit. 

“Stop squirming so much, I am trying to help!”

“I just said that I had this under control! Now unhand me!”

Thorin rolled his eyes and tightened his hold around Bilbo, eliciting another pathetic little squeak from his friend. He ignored the Hobbit’s familiar scent of earth and grass that tickled his nose and his pleasant warm weight in his arms. “That may be the case, but I would rather expedite this process so that we can catch up with Mister Haldan. Besides,” he added with a grimace, “I do not trust him alone with the Dwarves.”

Bilbo huffed after Thorin had finally deigned to release him on solid ground. “I doubt Mister Haldan can do much damage against the Dwarves, Thorin.”

Thorin snorted. “It’s not the Dwarves I’m worried for,” he said wryly. He turned to follow the retreating Dwarven crowd, speaking loud enough for Bilbo to catch his words clearly, “Judging from Mister Haldan’s natural predisposition to anxiety, I would rather avoid having to explain to Bard why his advisor had to be carried back to his house in a dead faint, one that was caused by the stress from being around rowdy Dwarves.”

“He does seem like the overly nervous sort, doesn’t he?” Bilbo chuckled and he jogged a few steps until he was beside Thorin again. “I thought the idea of having an advisor was to have someone around with a cool head.”

“Of course not,” Thorin huffed dismissively and Bilbo rolled his eyes lightly at the Dwarf’s haughty tone. “A great advisor is someone who can be convinced to do your paperwork for you. Bard probably chose him for that very reason.”

“Oh?” Bilbo quirked an eyebrow at Thorin, “And that must mean I make the most brilliant advisor, seeing that I volunteered to help you with your work.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Thorin quipped back, the corners of his lips curled into a small smile. “A great advisor will do your paperwork for you, but I never said a smart one will. And since you just boasted about your willingness for that task, I wonder which category you fit in –”

Thorin twisted away just in time to avoid Bilbo’s swat to the arm. He did not bother to hide the large, unrepentant grin on his face that was brought on by the Hobbit’s cry of mock outrage.

“Thorin Oakenshield! I dare you to come a little closer and repeat what you just said!”

“I do not understand why you are offended, Master Hobbit,” the innocence in Thorin’s voice was ruined by the way he was taking the pre-emptive measure to keep away from striking range. “I have paid you a compliment by saying that you made a great advisor.” Just to add insult to injury, he shook his head and tsked in admonishment, “Some people are never happy with anything.”

“I’ll show you unhappy!” Bilbo cried out and proceeded to give chase to a laughing Thorin.

That morning, the Dwarven camp was treated to the rare sight of their great king running from his tiny Hobbit advisor across the golden grass fields of the valley, laughing boisterously along the way. If the villagers of Dale noticed that the Dwarves had arrived to their destination late but noticeably happier, they did not comment on it.

=====

From Erebor, 2942.         

To my dear sister Dís,

I have included a revised list of the supplies that we will need in addition to the items you have promised to provide for my camp. Please arrange for their delivery as soon as you are able.

I am pleased to hear of your progress in the Blue Mountains. Indeed, it seems like you have everything well and truly under control. Although I cannot convince you to give up on your…business, dangerous and unsuitable as it is for someone of your royal standing, at least you have proven yourself successful with it. I suppose I can be…gracious about your decision to run the company so long as you are happy and you are using every opportunity to crush those tree-shagging Elven competitors of yours.

Show them how things are done by those from the line of Durin, sister.

On another note, we have started to work on the farms in Dale today. Bilbo has proven himself to be a most gracious and patient teacher despite the obvious lack of knowledge and experience among the Dwarves. However, his best efforts were in vain and I’m afraid that food growing was not a skill that Mahal has blessed us with. None of Bilbo’s wisdom on soil testing, amendment and preparation seemed to stick with any of us. By the end of the day, he was resigned to the fact that the only thing us Dwarves were exceptionally good at was tilling – an activity that involved mindlessly striking the earth with metal tools. Bilbo was quick to assign other agricultural activities to the Men instead. It was a compromise that everyone could happily agree on.   

Surprisingly, Dwalin was the most efficient worker today out of everyone in the farm. From the aggressive way he had immersed himself into his task, one would almost suspect that he was using this as an outlet to vent off his frustrations. I cannot begin to imagine what could be the cause for that. Perhaps Balin would know more about this.

Work has started off slowly, but I anticipate for it to go much quicker once everyone has gotten used to their tasks. Us Dwarves have always been quick to master everything (with the exception of long-distance running and long jump, but if Mahal had intended us to be good at those, he would have created us with longer legs). In addition, I trust Bilbo completely and with the Hobbit at the helm leading us, I am certain that your cold-resistant barley, wheat and rye can be sowed as soon as possible. With a little luck, we might be able to complete this task without any messy brawls or drunken rabbles.

I know, I’m not overly optimistic about the latter either, but one can dream.   

Unfortunately, dear sister, this is where I must end this letter. I can see Bilbo standing beside my desk, tapping his foot impatiently while giving me a dirty look. He has been nagging at me since this afternoon after he had found out that I have purposely stopped taking that vile medicinal tea that Óin had prescribed. In retrospect, I should have burned that satchel of tea rather than hide it behind that pile of boring accounting reports, but how was I to know that Bilbo would actually read those? Worse still, when I told him that he was being ridiculous, he went on another hour long rant about my inability to take care of my own health. This brings us to the present where he has literally just placed a fresh mug of that disgusting concoction on my desk, refusing to leave until he is certain that I have drank it all. Do you see the disrespect I put up with on a daily basis?

- Thorin

PS: The honey mead idea is fine.  

=====

To my dear brother Thorin (to whom I am playing Middle-Earth’s smallest fiddle),

You mean to tell me that Master Baggins has taken the initiative to make sure that you are alive and kicking, even if it meant that he had to go fetch your hidden medicine, brew the tea himself, serve it to you on a silver platter, and watch you drink it? I am absolutely shocked and appalled at how he is mistreating you, brother. Please, do tell me more! What other abuses has the Hobbit been heaping on you? Has he draped you with an extra, fur-lined blanket whenever he sees you shivering? Or has he chastised you politely to go get some sleep whenever he sees you nodding off at your desk?

I cannot even begin to imagine the abuse that you must be going through, Thorin. You have my utmost and deepest sympathy. I will have to send a letter to Balin and inform him of this grave situation at once so that he may put a stop to this brazen, little Hobbit! 

I am happy that the farms are doing well thus far, and likewise, I will continue to hope that your good fortune will not run out any time soon. Let us be perfectly honest – you’d be lucky if this whole mission ends with less than ten drunken rabbles and/or brawls. I think it would be much more logical for you to plan the proper apology speeches to Bard so that he will not kick you Dwarves off of his lands after the inevitable debacle. I have included a few bottles of my award winning triple distilled spirits to the package that I will be sending you. Feel free to offer those as gifts to soothe over ruffled feathers or to drown your own sorrows in them. Either way, you will probably need them.

You’re welcome.  

I would also like to remind you that you need Master Baggins’ help in order for the farms to succeed. Do try to be less of an ass to him. It would not be beneficial to anyone if he decided to up and quit on you all of a sudden. If that were the case, where would that leave you?

Your most gracious sister,

Dís

Thorin’s Hall, 2942.

PS: I am extremely curious over your change of heart over my business endeavour but I must confess that I am also incredibly pleased by your decision. I am definitely keeping tabs on my Elven competitors and like you said, I have no intention of letting them win against my company. I did, however, notice that they have recently implemented a new strategy to improve sales of their product through the creative use of their wine bottle labels. They have designed the most beautiful art for them, which served to attract potential clients. Likewise, I have spoken to my fellow Dwarves from the company and have decided to design our own label for our new line of honey mead so that our product would stand out. Teleporno has the most brilliant idea over the image that we should use.

=====

To my two lovely sons,

I have just received a letter from your Uncle. Not only has he given me his blessing to run my company, he spent a good half of that letter talking about his Hobbit. What in the blazes is going on in Erebor and what has happened to Thorin (or more specifically, between him and Master Baggins) to put him in such a good mood? I know your Uncle has started work at the farm. I want you both to refocus your spy efforts there.

Now that that matter has been established, how are you both doing? I trust that your injuries have been healed by now. How goes Phase Two of your mission? I would like to know all the gritty details you lot have put in place. I expect great things from Master Nori and yourselves. He’s a crafty Dwarf that one; I’m glad that we’ve got him on our side.

The Blue Mountains are as secured as always if not a little dull, but what else is new? I have been focusing a lot of my attention on my business as usual and have decided to push forward a new line of honey mead. In addition, I am having my workers spend more time on the design of our product label in response to the new tactics employed by my Elven competitors. They have done a complete redesign of their wine bottle labels to attract new buyers and true to their Elvish nature, they came up with something entirely pretentious, utterly boring and nature-themed. They have created what look like pieces of delicate art work.

It pains me to admit this but the buyers love the new design.  

I refuse to go down that route and after speaking at great lengths with Teleporno (who also happens to have a great eye for design, I am pleased to say), we came up with something that we both agree would serve our purposes well. I have attached a copy of the new label to our honey mead product for your perusal. Please let me know what you think. 

With all the love in the world,

Your most gracious mother

Thorin’s Hall, 2942.

=====

Dear Mother,

You’re right in assuming that Kíli and I are pretty much recovered (hello Mum! I’ve been making sure that I was back in tip top shape with my archery, although I will miss being known around the camp as that Dwarf who could shoot a fantastic shot one-handed). Just because your arm is healed doesn’t mean you can’t continue to shoot your cross-bow one-handed, you doofus.

(That’s…very true! Wait, I have a great idea! What if I double wield a pair of crossbows instead of just firing one? Not only will my level of awesome double, but my ability to lay waste to my enemies will as well! It’s a win-win situation! What can possibly go wrong?)

Can you imagine us on the battle field? I will hack away at anyone within range with my double swords while you pick off those who think they could run away with your two cross-bows.

(Clearly, we are Orc killing geniuses.) Don’t worry Mum, I’ll keep an eye on him again!

Regarding your question about why Uncle has been in such a great mood, we’ve spoken with Dwalin and according to him, Uncle and Bilbo “spent the entire bloody day making eyes at each other and flirting, never mind that hardworking Dwarves like himself had to pick up the slack”. There was also something about “chasing each other around in the meadows”, which I’m not sure if that is a euphemism for something decidedly less innocent, but before I could probe any further, Dwalin had stalked off all angry like. (Dwalin had been extremely agitated as of late. It probably has to do with the way Dori had been keeping himself glued to Ori’s side.) Poor, poor Dwalin. Clearly, he’s going through Ori-withdrawal symptoms. For the sake of everyone’s safety in the camp, I hope he’ll get his much needed alone time with Ori soon.  

Glóin was decidedly unhelpful as well. All he did was chuckle while rubbing his palms together, muttering, “I’m going to be rich!” Whatever happened in the farm had caused a sharp increase in the participants in the betting pool.

Phase Two is coming along swimmingly. We have included to this letter a copy of the pamphlet currently in circulation at the moment so that you may have a better idea on the story we’ve worked on. With the success of our first pamphlet, the Dwarves were very eager to get their hands on some fresh reading material. It also helps that this story is a direct sequel to the one from Phase One. (Already, we’ve had to republish a few more dozens of the pamphlets twice and that’s in addition to the original hundred we released! Who knew that the Dwarves would like romance so much?) There were also some commission requests that were made towards our artist but Ori refused them. Too bad, I heard that the Dwarves were ready to pay quite the pretty penny for his drawings as well. (Can you imagine anyone willing to pay three silver pieces for a sketch of Uncle and Bilbo staring soulfully into each others’ eyes? Three silver pieces! What is this madness? I don’t think I will ever understand! Also, I don’t understand why there has been an increase in demand for this current set of pamphlets. We’ve made around the same number as the ones from Phase One…)

I heard from Bofur and Bombur that our pamphlets have gotten so popular, Dwarves are guarding their copies rather jealously whenever they manage to get their hands on them. Everyone wants their own copy now! We’ve even had requests to republish the pamphlet from Phase One just so that the Dwarves could have a “complete collection”.

I think we’re going to release twelve more of those pamphlets before moving to Phase Three. If you remember, Mother, this phase is the one where we can get really creative with the story telling. In Nori’s words, this is the phase where we have to “sell it to the Dwarves that Master Baggins and His Majesty will work not only in the present, but in the future as well!” In Phase Three, we’re no longer constrained by the past and present events so we can really exercise our imagination and our story telling skills there.

(In other words, Master Nori is actively encouraging us to make things up. Everything goes with the exception of smut. He’s pretty strict about the no smut rule. Bifur continues to be incredibly displeased by this decision and he’s been caught trying to slip some…racier material in the pamphlets.)

I remembered that you were interested in participating for this phase. Have you brainstormed any ideas for the stories you would like to write?

Forever your loving sons,

Fíli and Kíli

Erebor, 14 Mar., 2942.

PS: We forgot to address this in the letter so we’ll mention it here – Kíli and I had a look at that honey mead label of yours and to be frank, we’re a bit…speechless.

(Why…is there a picture of Uncle on the label? Also, why is his shirt half- opened? I mean, I can understand why he would keep the bottle in his hand raised triumphantly to the air and I can see that having his leg propped up on a wooden barrel lends him a more confident, roguish feel, but what purpose does revealing his chest serve?) 

At least Uncle’s level of majesticness was well portrayed from his windswept hair. However, I fail to see how this label was designed to combat your Elven competitors’ artistic creation…

Have you told Uncle about this?! I feel uneasy possessing a copy of this label!

PPS:  I don’t think you should trust the words of a Dwarf who calls himself Teleporno.

=====

To my two sons who should know better than to ask questions whose answers they do not wish to hear,

The Elves created this delicate but largely impersonal piece of art for their labels that not only sapped out every drop of fun from their product, they’ve essentially sent out this message that their wine is only for classy, high-end clientele. 

Teleporno and I decided to say, “To Hell with that!” Durin’s Liquid Courage Brewery does not discriminate and we welcome everyone from all walks of life into our folds! That is why for our label, we decided to do something that’s the complete polar opposite – the Elves created something high brow to celebrate nature, we’re creating something low brow that celebrates people.

And if that means we have to do this with partial nudity via exposed chests, then so be it!

Also, nothing screams ‘fun’ more than a courageous, majestic Dwarven king happily revelling in the drunken debauchery of an evening that would make lesser men weep!

So you see, that image of your Uncle represents much more than just a label for our honey mead. When you gaze upon it, you will remember all the good times you have shared with your loved ones in celebrating life! It is a metaphor that having fun ultimately transcends all people, no matter their stature! At the same time, through our mascot, it flaunts the noble qualities that our consumers would want: courage, strength, and confidence (all the while looking ruggedly handsome). That label is much more that what you see, it is the ultimate symbol for freedom!

With that said, please do not show this label to your Uncle. Let me handle him.

Regarding the pamphlet that you have sent me, please pass on my compliments to the company members for their job well done. I can see why the Dwarves would want to become emotionally invested in your stories. People like to see love blossoming between two characters who had to jump over all the hurdles that life can possibly throw at them. It gives them hope to know that despite all the odds, goodness and love can be triumphant.

Master Ori’s beautifully done images definitely add a new depth of emotions to the stories.  I can understand why his art is so popular and it’s a shame he’s much too noble to accept payment for his work. I, myself, am half tempted to pay him a pretty sum of money for a commission!  

Fíli, you remembered correctly; I had expressed my interest in contributing my writing for Phase Three. I am currently juggling with a couple of ideas but I haven’t had the chance to work too deeply with them at the moment. Please let me know when Nori is accepting the drafts, I can probably whip something up for him in a week or so.

On that note, I shall end this letter with a reminder to the both of you to stay safe. Kíli: that double wielding crossbow idea is a horrible one and you would sooner end up with an arrow in the eye than having the chance to slay anything. Fíli: stop encouraging him! If the two of you are that bored, feel free to think of new and creative ways to get more information on what’s going on in the farms! I do not like to operate blind and I would rather get my reports from the both of you than from another source. Try not to antagonize your Uncle and for the love of Mahal, keep that label hidden from him! 

I have given you your next mission so to my two wayward sons, I say to you, “Carry on.” There will be peace when you are done. Peace from my nagging that is.

With love as always,

Your honourable mother

Thorin’s Hall, 2942.

=====

“Master Bilbo Baggins! There you are!”

Bilbo looked up in surprise as Dáin trudged determinately through the meadow towards him with his two advisors flanking him protectively on each side. The Dwarven Lord’s jovial tone rang abrasively loud across the field and to Bilbo’s dismay, rows of heads, Dwarves and Men alike, were raised from their work to peer curiously at the proceeding. 

“I have been looking for you!” Dáin repeated again, still sporting his usual grin. Bilbo can never understand how the Dwarf can be so cheery and energetic, not when his advisors constantly look like the world had pissed into their ale. 

“And you have found me, Master Dáin. Is there anything I can help you with?” Bilbo plastered on a tentative smile. He nodded at the Iron Hills advisors and greeted politely, “Master Borin, Master Frór.”

“No, no, I don’t need help!” Dáin wrinkled his nose and waved his hand to dismiss the thought at the same time that his advisors gave a small, but very grudging, nod of acknowledgement. “I’m here to congratulate you, of course!”

Then, the Dwarven Lord boldly reached over, clasped Bilbo’s hand in both of his, and began shaking it enthusiastically.

Bilbo’s eyes widened. “I – just, wait a minute! Hold on, now! Congratulate me on what exactly?”

“Why, on being the Fulla to his Majesty’s Buri!” Dáin exclaimed. “Although come to think of it, given the King’s solemn disposition, I would say it’s more like the other way around. He’s the one who’s more like Fulla so it should be you who plays Buri. Yes, that’s got to be it.” Dáin nodded resolutely to himself as if the insanity he was spouting made a lick of sense.

Bilbo yanked his hand away with a wince. Eru, his shoulder will ache by the end of the day from that vigorous handshake. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t the slightest clue to what you just said,” he replied exasperatedly. He gave a cursory glance around the fields at the eavesdropping Dwarves to see if there was anyone who could help him, but the Dwarves had all immediately ducked their heads low. Likewise, all the Men had quickly averted their eyes although their collective smirks were still painfully evident on their faces.

Unhelpful sods, the lot of them, Bilbo thought. And just for good measure, he casted a baleful glare at the crowd.

“Ah, no matter!” Dáin continued uncaringly but just as happily. He was determined to carry on the conversation with or without Bilbo’s input or understanding. “Either way, I have never seen the King look happier, not to mention, whole and hale! Whatever miracle you have performed – and it certainly looks like one, don’t you deny it – you have done him a great service, one worthy of thanks!”

“Uhm, you’re welcome?” Bilbo said in hesitation. Was that what Dáin was seeking him out for? To say thanks on behalf of Thorin for all the help he has offered the king? “It’s really no trouble at all. It’s the very least I could do,” he finished lamely.

Now it was Dáin’s turn to stare incredulously back at Bilbo. His grin was frozen on his face. “No trouble at all? The least you could do?” the Dwarf repeated haltingly, as if he could not believe what he had just heard.

The two spent a few seconds awkwardly staring at each other in silence and a sinking feeling of dread slowly bubbled up in Bilbo. Well done, now you’ve gone and said something insulting, the voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Lobelia Sackville-Baggins shrilled. Fix this right this instance!

Bilbo swallowed heavily to wet his suddenly dry mouth. Cold sweat was starting to break out on his forehead. “Ah, yes. You see, what I meant –”

A sharp, keening wail, one that Bilbo belatedly realized came from Dáin of all people, neatly interrupted the Hobbit, and the next thing he knew, he was swept into a massive, crushing bear hug.

“Oh, you sweet, blessed, kind-hearted, humble little Hobbit! Oh, come here, you magnificent creature!”

“Master Dáin, please!Not so hard –”

“Never would I have ever predicted to see this happy, happy day!”

“I’m glad that you’re happy, but if you could just release –”

“And to think, I have almost given up on my dear cousin! Clearly, I was wrong! Oh, my cousin is a lucky one to have found you!”

The Dwarf’s speech devolved into a blubbering mess of Khuzdûl. Not that Bilbo would have noticed, of course. He was struggling to breathe.

“Master Dáin, please!” Bilbo gasped out, trying to pry himself out of the Dwarf’s suffocating hold but to no success. He sent a pleading look to the stoic Dwarven advisors and desperately mouthed out, ‘help’.

Borin rolled his eyes and snorted but Frór, and Eru bless that tall, sour-faced Dwarf, took a half-step forward. His posture was as ramrod straight as ever and his hand was kept firmly clasped behind his back. “My Lord,” he interjected smoothly in his nasally voice, “please allow Master Baggins some room to breathe.”

“Oh, oh, I’m sorry!” Dáin reluctantly released Bilbo and the Hobbit promptly doubled over gasping. “I’m just so happy!” He spun around at looked at his silent advisors with arched brows, “Well? Aren’t you two happy as well? Don’t just stand there, say something!”

“We’re ecstatic,” Borin spat out bitterly. His face was twisted in a grimace of disgust that effectively robbed any of the good cheer from the conversation. “It warms my heart to see that our King has chosen this peace-loving, food-growing Hobbit over one of his own people!”

Shocked into silence, everyone could only gape at the Dwarf.

Dáin’s face instantly darkened and Bilbo was taken aback by the difference from his earlier, and much happier, expression. “Borin,” he warned lowly. His tone held the promise of danger if his advisor refused to apologize immediately. Borin, however, only squared his shoulders stubbornly and stuck out his chin further in defiance.

“What Borin is saying is that there might be some concerns over the King’s decision,” Frór hastily and nervously piped in. His cool façade and his stringent hold on formalities were broken in the tense standoff between his friend and his Lord. “Some might believe that the King should have chosen a Dwarf since only a Dwarf can have a true understanding of Erebor’s needs.”

“Wait a minute,” Bilbo cut in, offended, insulted and confused, “chosen for what exactly? As Thorin’s advisor? As his friend?”

“Ignore him, Master Baggins,” the Iron Hills Lord said pleasantly, but he did not lessen his hard gaze from his two advisors. “After all, they are certainly not insolent enough to imply that they are in any position to judge the decisions of the King, especially not against someone whom the King holds in high esteem.”

Borin’s eyes grew furious and his lips pulled back into a snarl, “No, my Lord, I am not in any position to judge! I only wish that I will never see the day that Erebor is yet again brought to ruin from the machinations of an outsider! Now if you will excuse me,” the Dwarf gave a stiff bow and before he could be dismissed, he spun briskly on his heels and marched away. The Dwarven workers and the Men that were in his way silently parted for the angry advisor to pass through.

Frór cleared his throat and muttered urgently, “My Lord, please allow me to speak to him.” At his Lord’s stony nod, he bowed low – once to his Lord and once to Bilbo – and followed hurriedly after Borin.

The silence that settled over Bilbo and Dáin was palpable with tension. Flushed with embarrassment, Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in place and tried his damndest to stare at anything that was not Dáin or his retreating advisors. He couldn’t stop replaying the stinging words that Borin had left behind. Were there any truths to the things that the Dwarf had said? Did the Dwarves think less of Thorin because he chose Bilbo as his advisor? If he had known that his involvement would have invited more trouble to the Dwarven King, he would not have accepted this position and instead, he would’ve found a different way to provide aid.

Bilbo frowned and kicked aimlessly at a loose stone on the ground. At the end of the day, all he had wanted to do was to help Thorin. It seemed like he couldn’t even do that properly.

Dáin must have guessed the thoughts that were going around in Bilbo’s head since the look he gave to Bilbo was full of understanding and sadness. “I apologize, Master Baggins,” he began softly. “Those words were uncalled for and they were spoken out of anger that should not be directed at you. Borin had lost his entire family to Smaug. The years have not dulled his grief.” He shook his head wearily and sighed, “Please pay him no mind. You are well respected within the camp. I can most certainly vouch for that.” Dáin gave Bilbo a wan smile and clapped on his shoulder lightly.

Bilbo smiled hesitantly back at the Dwarf. His spirit was only slightly lifted by the explanation but regardless, the Dwarven Lord had apologized on behalf of his advisor and Bilbo was gracious enough to accept that. “Thank you, Master Dáin. I’m sorry to hear what had happened to Master Borin. I can only wish that he could find some peace.”

“I hope so too, Master Baggins,” Dáin murmured. He turned to look wistfully at the direction that his advisors had left in. His eyes roamed lazily across the span of the valley, casually observing the blades of wild, yellowed grass that were swaying in the wind. After a few seconds, he shook himself out of his stupor and grinned apologetically back at Bilbo. “Well then, I’m afraid I have monopolized enough of your time already. I’d best be off! If you need help in any way or if you have any problems at all, please do let me know.”

With a short nod to Bilbo and one last clap to the shoulder, Dáin casually walked away, whistling a soft tune.

Bilbo managed to keep his shoulders from dropping until Dáin appeared nothing but a blurry speck out in the horizon; the moment he was firmly out of sight, the Hobbit sighed and pressed his palms against his eyes. Bilbo had always hated conflicts. Even the petty squabbles he had experienced back in the Shire would inevitably leave him drained and crabby. This one was no different. Bilbo’s enthusiasm from this morning had thoroughly vanished, leaving behind a sense of heaviness from the many negative thoughts that were circling in his mind. Sure, Borin had spoken in anger but he wasn’t wrong per se. What did Bilbo know about Erebor and its Dwarves? He didn’t even know about the Dwarves’ disgust of agricultural tasks until recently and when he had found out, he still somehow managed to convince Thorin into getting the Dwarves to farm.

Maybe it’s best if he gave up his post as an advisor.

Bilbo whipped his head up abruptly at the sound of approaching footsteps, jarring him out of his thoughts. “Master Haldan,” he greeted tiredly after registering his new visitor, “to what can I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“M-master Baggins,” the advisor stuttered, nervously wringing his hands. He licked his lips, opened and closed his mouth a few times before spewing out disjointedly, “I just. Those were some nasty words. What that Dwarf said, that is. And, well, I-I may have heard them. All of them.” He winced at his blunt delivery.

Bilbo chuckled humourlessly, “Yes. It seems like you and everyone around here has heard them, I’m certain.” The Hobbit took a quick scan of the area and saw all the workers simultaneously bent down to avoid his eyes.

“No, that’s not what I meant –” Haldan stopped himself and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. It was a nervous habit that Bilbo had observed in the advisor, often followed by a stream of incessant stammering, so he was surprised when Haldan exclaimed passionately, “What I meant is that Master Borin has no right to say anything like that to you!”

Emboldened by Bilbo’s shocked silence, Haldan ploughed on, “Look, I know how it feels like to be scrutinized constantly. I know what people say about me and I can’t blame them either. I don’t exactly consider myself to be proper advisor material either, so I can understand when people doubt…me.” He gestured to himself and his lips twisted into a small mocking smile.  

“I know how it feels like when everyone thinks you don’t measure up. But the thing is, Master Baggins, you’re not me. You’re actually doing a damn good job providing help to your people! And clearly, King Thorin must believe so as well or else he wouldn’t have given you that post, so don’t let those Iron Hills advisors get to you. They really have no basis to question why you were chosen!”

“Even if Thorin thinks I’m doing an adequate job,” Bilbo replied quietly, “is keeping me worth all the trouble and backlash?”

Haldan crossed his arms over his chest and hummed thoughtfully, “With all due respect, Master Baggins, I think you need to trust the King’s good judgement more. Surely, he would know about the threat of backlash beforehand and how severely this could hurt him. In spite of this, he hasn’t kicked you out of your position and he continues to seek advice from you.” Haldan shrugged and added, “I think that speaks for itself.”

Bilbo had to admit that Master Haldan’s words do have a ring of truth to them. Thorin is a Dwarf who is intensely loyal and protective of his people, not to mention, he is an experienced ruler. If Bilbo’s presence is more troublesome than it’s worth, he would not have compromised the safety of his people or the security of his rule by doing nothing. Surely, he would have said something by now, and if not him, then Balin or Dwalin.

Bilbo furrowed his brows and pressed his lips into a thin line. Like Master Haldan had said, he’ll just have to have faith in his friends and stand firm behind Thorin’s decision, even if he continues to doubt himself. If the Iron Hills advisors have an issue with him being chosen as Thorin’s trusted advisor, then they can personally take this up with the King.  

“Thank you Master Haldan for your kind words,” Bilbo found himself smiling warmly at his unexpected ally. The tightness around his chest loosened enough for him to breathe easily again. “By the way, I think you’re greatly underestimating yourself. You certainly offered a lot of great advice just now.” And because what Haldan had said applied to himself as well, Bilbo parroted playfully, “Surely, the fact that King Bard continues to have you in his service speaks for itself too.”

Bilbo could not help but feel pleased at the blossoming smile on Haldan’s face. This could very well be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Seated across from the pair, Ori threw one last glare at his brothers before stubbornly latching on to Dwalin’s arm, plastering himself happily along the Dwarf’s side. Dwalin passively allowed his arm to be manoeuvred to Ori’s liking, doing nothing except to lace their fingers together after the scribe had settled into a comfortable position.

Dwalin also pointedly ignored Nori’s dirty look with determined stoicism.

Look at him and his smug face, how positively hateful, Nori thought bitterly. If he had known that exposing Dwalin’s less than honourable intention would have led to this sickening display of affection and this exhausting fight between his brothers, he would have thought twice before doing what he had done.

“Come, Master Nori. Let us focus back on the meeting,” Bofur’s gentle cajoling lured Nori away from his dark mood and he found himself inadvertently smiling back when the Dwarf handed him a mug of mead. Bofur gave him a friendly pat against the arm, raised his own mug and clinked it against Nori’s.

Leave it to the kind-hearted Master Bofur to make this situation more bearable with his bright attitude.

“If everyone is ready, we can get started with our weekly progress reports, thank you!” Balin, ever the professional, announced sternly from beside his bastard of a brother and all the Dwarves slowly dragged themselves into a roughly shaped circle. This time, they had chosen to meet in Óin’s spacious tent and had managed to procure enough chairs for everyone in order to prevent any more fights from breaking out. After the last meeting where the mad grab for chairs had turned particularly vicious – Glóin almost had his nose broken and Bofur was very nearly crushed to death by Bombur – the Dwarves had learned their lesson about the chairs.

“Before we begin, I would like to say that I have met with Thorin,” Dwalin unexpectedly called out in his usual gruff tone, his brows furrowed and his expression grim as always. “I have shown him the pamphlet.”

That caught the Company by complete surprise and almost immediately, all of the Dwarves collectively sucked in their breath in horror. From the corner of his eyes, Nori could just about see Fíli dropping his dinner roll from listless fingers in frozen shock. Kíli, who was sitting to his brother’s left, turned to a sickly shade of grey. Those two poor sods would no doubt bear the brunt of their uncle’s temper and they knew it themselves.

Deep, red hot anger coursed its way through his body once Nori had gotten over his shock from this whole reveal. Fighting to maintain his cool poker face, the Dwarf clenched both of his fists tightly and chose to curse vehemently under his breath at Dwalin instead. He should have known from the way that the warrior had protested against the project’s secrecy that he would strike out on his own to do what he believed was right. Of course Dwalin would do the honourable thing and play the loyal guard.

Nori had met his fair share of people like Dwalin who, more often than not, were hired as guards to arrest criminals such as his associates and himself. The journey to Erebor only cemented Nori’s opinion that the warrior was one of those short-sighted, simplistic fools who stubbornly saw the world in terms of black and white rather than the intricate shades of grey that painted reality. People like Dwalin would uphold their duties above all else since it was the right thing to do; they would never lower themselves to get their hands dirty even when this was needed to get the real work done.

Men like Dwalin were the complete opposite of Nori, who had long ago tossed away such dubious concepts like right and wrong or honour. After all, what good is ‘doing the right thing’ or honour when you were starving in the streets?

No, Nori had never liked Dwalin. He liked him a lot less now that that thrice cursed Dwarf was throwing wrenches into his plans and blatantly cuddling up to his baby brother.

“I can’t say that I am surprised at all,” Nori drawled lazily but his eyes flashed dangerously at the warrior. “How kind of you to warn us of the hell that you have brought to our doorstep.”

“If you think that I will betray my king’s trust just for your clever little scheme, then you are sorely mistaken Master Nori. I believe I have warned you about this already,” Dwalin growled just as menacingly back.

Ori laid a soothing hand on Dwalin’s biceps, glanced nervously between the two quarrelling Dwarves and blurted out, “There won’t be any trouble! King Thorin thinks that the pamphlet carries nothing but harmless gossip.”

“Aye,” Dwalin confirmed, his anger draining away quickly thanks to Ori’s calming influence. This only made Nori all the more annoyed. “Thorin specifically said to leave all future pamphlets alone unless they are damaging to his or Master Baggins’ reputations.”    

Fíli and Kíli sagged in obvious relief. “Thank you, sweet merciful Mahal!” Fíli breathed out at the same time that Kíli exclaimed, “Oh thank goodness, we’re too good looking to die!”

“So you see,” Ori forcefully continued over the two princes, his voice pitched in the same kind of false cheeriness that one would use to calm a wild animal, “Dwalin did us a great favour! Now, the king will be less likely to suspect the contents of the pamphlets!”

The Dwarves grumbled amongst themselves but after spending a bit of time deliberating, they grudgingly accepted Ori’s reasoning. Even Dori, who was notoriously known to be difficult, could not find anything to challenge and from his sour disposition, he was none too happy about it either.

“Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk about the progress for That Project.” Balin reached into the leather satchel that was by the foot of his chair and pulled out a beautifully crafted pen and a small stack of paper. “What did you all think about the camp’s reception to our first pamphlet?” he asked as he started to scribble.

“The Dwarves in the kitchen haven’t stopped talking about it, that’s for sure!” Bombur’s said, his response slightly muffled by the mouthful of pie he had in mid-chew. As he spoke, the pie crumbs sprayed liberally across the circle with some of them landing on Dori’s lap to his disgust. “They would huddle together and reread the story whenever we had some time to ourselves!”

“The mess hall hasn’t been spared either,” Bofur added excitedly from his seat between his cousin and Nori, “I have never seen Dwarves so distracted from eating! Well done on making the impossible possible!”

Glóin clapped Fíli enthusiastically on the back, almost sending the young Dwarf flying out of his chair. “It looks like your shoddily written version of the quest was a success after all!”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that Fíli and I had to work hard for that!” Kíli laid a steadying hand on his brother and snapped, insulted, “How else did you expect us to portray you lot in such a flattering light?”

The Dwarves glanced at each other discretely in silence for a few seconds. Almost simultaneously, they roared into laughter.

“He’s got a point!”

“The princes had their work cut out for them what with you lot being so painfully ugly and unimpressive!”

“Speak for yourself. My wife thinks I make one gorgeous Dwarven specimen!”

“Well that’s got to be true. After all, she couldn’t have married you for your shining personality!”

“Well with all due respect, hardly anyone can compare when they’re standing next to our King Thorin! He’s a heartbreaker, that king of ours.”

“Aye, it’s not everyone who can pull off the long flowing locks and the perpetually brooding face like our majestic king!”

“I would imagine,” said Óin in his habitually loud and robust manner that effectively cut through the conversations in the room, “that aside from the story being a hit, Young Master Ori also had a hand in the pamphlets’ success. His beautifully drawn image of Bilbo being embraced lovingly by our King at the Carrock has been praised across the camp!”

Ori flushed and ducked his head at the eleven pairs of eyes that were zeroed in on him. “Oh, it’s…er, it’s nothing. It’s just a small image near the corner of the pamphlet. I’m surprised that people even noticed.”

Dwalin snorted disbelievingly, “Of course they would. You are amazing.”

Ori’s face lit up at the compliment and he asked shyly, “Really? You think so?”

And to Nori’s growing horror, Dwalin positively melted – as much as someone like Dwalin could melt anyway – and replied while wearing this dumb and utterly besotted look on his equally dumb-looking face, “Yes, I know so.”

The two exchanged shy gazes from beneath their lowered lashes.

Oh for the love of the Valars. 

“Yes, yes, Ori is amazing. Can we continue now?” Nori snapped irritably. Dori looked like he was ready to leap over to give Dwalin a second beating and although Nori wasn’t one to object, they did need every Dwarf healthy enough to hand copy the pamphlets. “It looks like Phase One of That Project is an undeniable success. Now, we can proceed with Phase Two. Bifur, how are you doing with the new ballad?”

Bifur stood up, brushed himself off calmly, and then promptly launched into a very loud and very spirited answer in Khuzdûl, filled with wild flailing arms and exaggerated motions. He ended his speech in a flourish by tapping his right hand against his heart twice and then tilting his head back to laugh maniacally.

Everyone stared a little at the spectacle.

Nori slowly grinned one of his dark, mischievous grins. “If it’s anything like the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins, it will spread like wildfire,” he chuckled at the thought. Thorin and Bilbo won’t know what hit them, the poor bastards.

“Great,” he continued, “we can launch the ballad first, then the new series of pamphlets a week later. This should give us enough time to finish copying out the last of them. Once those have made its round around the camp, Master Glóin can spread the news about the betting pool to reel in participants.”

“That should be easy enough.” Glóin got up from his seat and boasted fiercely, his sudden movement almost causing his mug of mead that he was holding to spill on Fíli if he hadn’t shifted away fast enough. “We can have the Dwarves bet on things like how long it will take for the king to officially announce his intention to court Master Baggins, how many gifts it will take to win the Hobbit over,” he shrugged and added carelessly, “whether or not they are shagging each other’s brains out. That will probably be the most popular one to bet on.” 

Glóin grinned unashamedly at Fíli and Kíli’s twin anguished cries. To add insult to injury, he raised his mug in a proud, mocking salute.

“Oh Durin, the mental picture,” Fíli groaned miserably.

“Why does everyone want to know if they’re shagging?!” Kíli asked desperately.

“What should we talk about in the second pamphlet? I believe we wanted to focus on the events that have occurred from within the camps.” Balin carried on with all the poise and determination of someone experienced in plowing through meetings, come hell or high water. He paused in his note taking and looked up, “Any suggestions?”

“That’s easy enough!” Óin shouted and Dori and Glóin, who were unfortunate enough to sit beside him, winced at the volume. The old Dwarf adjusted his ear trumpet and spoke softly this time, “We can talk about all those times Master Baggins have spent in the king’s tent, diligently caring for his wounds. I have seen them awkwardly dance around each other enough times to write a novella about it!”

“Bilbo not only brings Uncle his medicine, but he also brings him food and tea.” Fíli volunteered and his brother nodded fervently in support. “They like to spend their evenings in each other’s company. Kíli and I can hear them laughing easily enough from outside the tent!”

“It’s like clockwork! Every night by dinner time, Bilbo will be there.” Kíli paused briefly and corrected himself, “Except for Sundays. Sundays are for brunches and Bilbo will show up at Uncle’s tent with a platter of food and a fresh pot of tea.”

Dwalin raised a suspicious brow at the two. “And how do you come about this information? Was that what the both of you were doing that time I caught you skulking outside of your uncle’s tent?”

Fíli and Kíli exchanged guilty looks. “Well,” Fíli hesitated, “our mother wanted – ”

Balin pinched the bridge of his nose and quickly raised his hand to interrupt. “Never mind, we do not want to know.”

“In any case, what Masters Fíli and Kíli said about the food is true.” Bombur passed down a plate of diced cheese to Bifur, who proceeded to grab some by the fistful. “Master Baggins visited the kitchens regularly and he would select the king’s favourites without fail. It’s all rather sweet!”

“Let’s not forget about the extravagant gifts that the king had offered Master Baggins to thank him for his services!” Bofur shook his head in disbelief and muttered, “Golden chariots crafted by the king himself and fleets of ponies!”

Bifur grunted and signed rapidly in Iglishmêk.

“That’s right, the King offered to teach Master Baggins Khuzdûl too!” Bofur agreed readily with his cousin.

“Alright, I think I’ve got our story,” Nori stood up and declared authoritatively. He cleared his throat, pitched his voice low and started to narrate: “King Thorin has sustained grave injuries during the battle and Master Baggins spent countless days by his bedside tending to his wounds. When the king woke up, he was so touched by our Hobbit’s loyalty and brave actions that he decided to make peace with Master Baggins over their past…ah, transgressions.”

Nori gave a very pointed look to the Company members and the message was clearly received – the Arkenstone business will be edited out. The problems that sprung from that situation seemed to be resolved and from Bilbo and King Thorin’s current, flourishing relationship, they already made peace with each other over that issue as well. The last thing that the Dwarves wanted to do now was to reopen that can of worms.    

“Slowly, they rekindle their friendship. At first, Master Baggins would drop by to bring His Majesty his medicine but as the visits progress, the King and the Hobbit would talk more and more – ”

“And without either of them realizing, their conversations gradually grew more intimate as well.” Dori finished the sentence smoothly, having understood where his brother was going with this. “Master Baggins started to visit the tent more often and he would bear gifts for the king. He would steal into the kitchens to sneak in some of King Thorin’s favourite dishes to alleviate His Majesty’s dark mood from being stuck in his sick bed day and night.”

Nori nodded. A part of him was relieved to know that despite all of their differences, his older brother was still one of the few people in Middle-Earth who could pick up on his thought processes quickly. “Right you are. By that time, the King and Master Baggins had begun to trust each other deeply. This was clearly proven when His Majesty asked Master Baggins for his help with his paperwork, which we all know he guards almost jealously.”

“And thank goodness for that!” Fíli shouted with glee. “Uncle may think that he is being clever by hiding it from me and Kíli, but we know about the mountains of paperwork!”

Kíli nudged his brother with his elbow and whispered conspiringly, “If it means we can get away without doing any work, he can keep on thinking that he’s being clever!”

Balin scoffed, “I doubt Thorin would appreciate the both of you interrupting his alone time with Master Baggins anyway. Besides, they clearly spent more time joking around with each other than doing any actual work.” The Dwarf clucked disapprovingly. The countless times he had walked into the tent only to see his king and the burglar giggling like a pair of school children came to mind. Honestly, those two!

“Dwarves, if we can all focus again,” Nori said, amused by the brief exchange and at the ensuing silence, he continued, “The King soon realized that he had never thanked the Hobbit and he would very, very much like to show his appreciation, and that, my friends, is the start of His Majesty’s epic quest of lavishing Bilbo with ridiculous, over-the-top, overly extravagant gifts.” Nori’s enthusiastic storytelling earned a round a chuckle from the Dwarves. 

“Unfortunately, it is a quest that the King failed drastically what with the Hobbit refusing everything except that one, small teapot. He had to get Master Balin to help him for that one so clearly, that victory did not count.” Nori’s smile turned positively evil when he added next, “And then, he had the Hobbit move in with him all for the sake of protecting Master Baggins, or so he claimed.”

“HE WHAT?!”

Nori preened at the attention of all the Dwarves gaping at him, basking in the delicious satisfaction of the chaos he brought to the tent from his well-timed and devastating reveal.  

Not all of the Dwarves. Fíli and Kíli seemed to have known this already, Nori concluded, his eyes narrowing on the two princes. They were sitting quietly in their chair – almost too quietly, came Nori’s stray observation – and they were twiddling their thumbs, of all things.

They were entirely way too calm for this.

Come to think about it, Fíli and Kíli seem to have collected a disturbing amount of information about what was going on between Bilbo and their Uncle. They certainly have contributed a lot of their knowledge to this meeting alone. Nori supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised by that development. Their mother’s sharp mind coupled with Fíli and Kíli’s natural talent at being nosy would make them a team to be reckoned with for gathering intelligence.

How interesting. The thief made a mental reminder to swap notes with them later on to see what else he might have missed.

“When did this happen?” Balin asked, gobsmacked. From his left, Dwalin was just as equally taken aback by the news if the surprise raise of his eyebrows was anything to go by. “Are you certain that that is the case, Master Nori? Perhaps Master Baggins accidentally fell asleep while helping the king with his work, or it could be – ”

“There were additional furnishings crammed into the tent, Master Balin,” Nori interrupted smoothly, “a desk, a small chair, and a cot tucked away in the corner. And when I asked the king about the cot, he was very forthright in telling me about the Hobbit’s new living arrangements.”

“Never would’ve guessed Thorin to be so bold,” Dwalin grunted but the relaxed way he kept himself draped in his chair gave away his approval. “Shacking up with the Hobbit without wasting any time. He never was one to do anything by halves.”

“A little too bold, if you ask me! He hasn’t even presented Master Baggins with his three presents and they haven’t exchanged their love beads,” Dori groused. He shot a poisonous look at Dwalin. “And the worst of all, he had not asked the head of Master Baggins’ family for permission.”  

Dwalin opened his mouth to retort but Ori beat him to the punch, “Well maybe, the head of Master Baggins’ family is a difficult Hobbit with an unfair bias against Dwarves and he shouldn’t be the one to decide Master Baggins’ happiness! Maybe we should just hang the rules!”

“Ori is rather terrifying right now,” Kíli whispered in awe to his brother, “I’m glad we never made him this angry.”

“What the king should have done does not matter,” Nori interjected loudly to stop yet another argument between his brothers. Mahal knows that he’ll be needing a stiff drink after this meeting. “Also, the king doesn’t see himself courting Master Baggins. As far as he’s concerned, he is only providing a safe refuge for the Hobbit. We should be clear on that for the story.”

Glóin shook himself out of his stupor and muttered none too quietly to his brother, “At the rate we’re going with our story, we are making our King sound like such an oblivious idiot.” He looked up and saw how everyone had gone silent to stare at him. “What?”  

“Yes well, if the shoe fits,” Balin said flatly. Never one to feel much shame, Glóin shrugged back, entirely unconcerned by his peer’s judgement.

“Well then,” Nori stood up and clapped his hands once to sum up the end of the meeting, “I believe that’s more than enough material to work with for Phase Two for now. Time to get to work!” 

=====

“I discovered something quite interesting today,” Bilbo said as a way of greeting the moment he stepped foot into Thorin’s warm tent. The Hobbit’s bland, neutral tone made the Dwarf look up suspiciously from his never-ending piles of paperwork.

Brace yourself, Thorin. This might be dangerous.

“What is it?” Thorin asked, hoping that he came off casual sounding. He grabbed the warm cup of tea on his desk and took a small, unhurried sip to further play up his image of being cool and collected. It would not be wise to show how easily Bilbo could make him feel nervous. The Hobbit will never let him live it down.

“Remember how we had that conversation about the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins a couple of months back?”

Thorin frowned in confusion. “Yes? What about it?”

“There is a new ballad that’s out and you’ll never guess what it’s called.”

Thorin stared blankly at Bilbo for a few seconds before his eyes widened, realization dawning. “No,” he breathed out.

“Yes! The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield!” Bilbo exclaimed and Thorin promptly pressed his fist against his lips to stifle the bubble of laughter that was rising in his throat. He failed horribly; the stray chuckles that had managed to escape gave way to full-scale laughter.

“Is it as bad as the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins? Please tell me it’s not as bad.” Thorin asked a little desperately when he had the chance to catch his breath. In a futile attempt to save himself from humiliation, he pleaded, “Have mercy! Can I not hear about this?”

“Oh no, you’re not escaping from this that easily!” Bilbo crossed his arms and gave Thorin an unrepentant smirk, obviously relishing in Thorin’s embarrassment. This only confirmed the king’s belief that underneath his sweet demeanour, his Hobbit was pure evil. “I sat there and listened to the whole thing thrice just so I could remember enough of it to share this with you! You are going to listen to me talk about this in all of its horrible, sordid details!”

Thorin rolled his eyes and sighed in mock resignation, “Well if you feel that strongly about it, Master Hobbit then I suppose I could indulge you just this once.”

Bilbo rubbed his hands together excitedly. Thorin knew that the Hobbit was bursting at the seams to share this with him from the way he had completely ignored the empty chair beside him, opting instead to pace animatedly. “It is a retelling about our quest but it has a few changes to them. Apparently, I am a brave, cunning, adorable little Hobbit with a heart of gold, and for the record, I do not approve of being called ‘little’ or ‘adorable’, thank you very much!”

He paused to rock back and forth on his heels. “You, on the other hand, are the great and mighty Thorin Oakenshield whose majesty is only enhanced by your skill with a sword, your unwavering dedication to do the best for your people, as well as your long flowing locks, and piercing blue eyes.”

It took all of Thorin’s inner strength not to flinch. “Long flowing locks and piercing blue eyes?” He repeated, testing the words on his tongue. Nope, they did not sound any less ridiculous when he had said them. “Where are they coming up with these sorts of things?”

Bilbo gave him a quizzical look, opening and closing his mouth a few times and stammered, “Well, it’s just, you do have this presence to you. A striking one, really. Rather hard to ignore you when you walk into a room.” When he saw the growing smile on Thorin’s face, he rolled his eyes and went back to his pacing, “Oh stop looking so pleased with yourself!”

“Why thank you, Master Baggins.” Thorin practically purred out, feeling inexplicably satisfied. He shifted fluidly to lean into the padded armrest of his chair, propping his face up with a fist, “You flatter me with your compliments – ”

“That was clearly a lapse of judgement on my part. Honestly, I wasn’t sure what I was thinking when I said that!”

“– I mean, by all means, do continue to call me handsome! And in such an eloquent manner too! Be still my beating heart.”

“You are impossible, Thorin Oakenshield, and I am continuing with this story whether you want to or not.”

Thorin smirked widely and waved a regal hand in the air in a motion that told Bilbo to continue. 

“As I was saying,” Bilbo huffed, “They talked about you and me, or at least some bizarre reinterpretation of us. The rest of it is about all the supposed greatness we had accomplished together. Apparently, we form quite a legendary partnership, one that ‘puts all other alliances in the history of Middle-Earth to shame’, what with our uncanny ability to escape from certain death time and time again.”

“So far, the ballad does not sound that bad.” Thorin mused. He immediately realized his mistake from the way that Bilbo’s eyes lit up in challenge, and he watched with dawning horror when the Hobbit, with his hands clasped behind his back, began to recite in a clear, loud voice:  

“The Dwarven king had swept in the Hobbit’s home,

To seek aid in reclaiming his kingdom’s gold.

With his long flowing locks and his piercing blue eyes,

The majestic king was a sight to behold.”

  Thorin coughed awkwardly to disguise his grimace. “Alright,” he finally admitted, “that was pretty terrible.” He wasn’t ready to let Bilbo win this round though, so he added stubbornly, “At least it’s only the one verse that I had to suffer through. This ballad is still not as bad as the Ballad of Bilbo Baggins. For one, there were no references about fuzzy, woolly toes.”

“That may be true, but there were certainly a lot more in this ballad that went on about your rugged handsomeness.” Bilbo countered with a wicked little smile no less, “I just couldn’t remember how the other verses went. There was something in there about your ‘strong, manly arms and impressive build that made the maidens swoon’. Whoever wrote that had quite the imagination.”  

Thorin shuddered. It sounded a lot like one of those short stories that Dís had written in her youth when she was trying her hands at becoming a writer, if Thorin remembered correctly. Frerin and him were often bullied into reading her ‘works’, which were more like thinly-veiled smut of dubious quality, to their great embarrassment. It was a lesson that taught Thorin to be terrified of his sister’s mind.

The Dwarven king groaned deeply, burying his face into his hands in abject misery. “I just…why?” he asked, flabbergasted.

Bilbo walked over and gave Thorin a pat on the back and the Dwarf found himself automatically leaning against the touch, seeking the warmth from Bilbo’s soft hand. “If it makes you feel better, there were a couple of verses dedicated to calling the Elves ‘tree-shagging, scum-sucking sods’,  among other things.”

Thorin turned to the Hobbit and looked noticeably happier. “I stand corrected. This ballad is wonderful and whoever wrote it is a genius.”

Bilbo chuckled, his fond expression highlighted by the soft curl to his lips and the warm glow of his eyes. “Should have figured that that was all it took to win you over.” The Hobbit sighed and added endearingly, “You’re hopeless, utterly hopeless. What will I do with you?”

That last sentence was murmured so quietly that if Thorin had not seen his lips move, he would not have heard the words. Bilbo’s smile widened and he brushed a loose strand of hair away from Thorin’s face, tucking it neatly behind his ear with his free hand.

Thorin dimly registered the spots of heat that Bilbo’s hands had left along his back and by the curve of his jaw; he found himself craving for the Hobbit’s touch not for the first time since Bilbo had moved into the tent. Just as he finished that line of thought, Bilbo began to rub small circles on his back, slowly spiralling his touch from his spine out towards his shoulder blades. Thorin automatically dropped his shoulders, losing his proud posture. He wondered if Bilbo even realized his effect him.

“And you know what else they are calling us now?” Bilbo’s voice was as soft as ever. The pleasant lilt of his Westron accent was all the more apparent and Thorin felt utterly, hopelessly mesmerized.

“What is it?” he asked, voice gone hoarse.

The Hobbit’s smile morphed back into a familiar smirk, one that was so quintessentially Bilbo Baggins. “They are calling our partnership, Team Bagginshield.”

 “Team Bagginshield?” Thorin laughed under his breath and he revelled in the look of happiness on Bilbo’s face. “That’s absolutely horrible. I would’ve given us a name that wasn’t such a mouthful.”

Bilbo tilted his head inquisitively and Thorin felt himself reaching over, as if in a trance, to place his large hands over Bilbo’s hips. He pulled the boneless, unresisting Hobbit closer and angled his head to look up into Bilbo’s warm brown eyes.

“I would have chosen to call us Thilbo, of course.” They were close, so close that Thorin could smell the natural scents of earth and grass that cling to his Hobbit like a second skin.

Bilbo gave a small huff of laughter, stopping his hand in its soothing motion on Thorin’s back. Instead, he clenched lightly around the rough-spun cotton of Thorin’s shirt. “Thilbo is just as ridiculous sounding as Bagginshield,” he breathed out.

Bilbo licked his lips and Thorin felt heat flooding through him at the flash of tongue against pink, soft lips. It would be so easy for Thorin to just lean forward a little and pull the Hobbit down towards him until the they were pressed flushed together, the space between them nonexistence, until they could just –

 “Uncle! Are you in there? Balin wanted us to leave this with you!”

The jarring sound of knocking shattered the moment of intimacy. Bilbo and Thorin released their hold and sprang away from each other in reflex.

Bilbo cleared his throat, his cheek dusted with light pink. “You should get the door. It wouldn’t be good to keep Fíli and Kíli waiting,” he said awkwardly. He gave a weak little smile and turned away abruptly before the Dwarf could respond.

Targets: Uncle and Mr. Bilbo Baggins. We don’t have to worry about Dwalin and Ori anymore because we have solved that mystery! (Our self-preservation instincts are also telling us not to bother Ori when the poor Dwarf had just gone through a very traumatic “talk” with Dori…if that is even the right word to describe that horrible encounter).

Basically, what happened was this: Dori trapped Ori into a corner after the meeting and proceeded to screech at his poor brother. (There was also a lot of flailing involved). Ori took everything with surprising aplomb and did not even hesitate to yell right back at the older Dwarf when push comes to shove. Like all family fights, it quickly escalated into both Dwarves recounting the others’ past failings.

(During all of this, Dwalin hovered around the two Ri brothers, torn between wanting to stop the fight or to stand back to avoid getting hurt. I don’t blame him. Dori in his mother hen mode is downright terrifying. He also has a mean right hook). The fight reached its peak when Ori defiantly announced that he was “half-way through making Master Dwalin a jumper,” one that matches with Ori’s favourite one in fact, and that “there’s nothing Dori can do to stop him!” (Dori just stared at him, utterly flummoxed, and before we even realized it, he had latched himself on to Ori and delivered what looked like a crushing embrace). Then, Dori started to bawl really, really loudly about “What happened to my sweet, innocent Ori?!” and something along the lines of, “too late to save your virtue, I have failed you as an older brother!!”

As for poor Dwalin, who had clearly given up on this situation at this point, he spent the rest of the argument looking like he was sending a fervent prayer to Mahal to strike him from where he stood. He would have gladly launched himself in front of a stampeding oliphaunt if it meant he could be spared from all of this misery.

(Well, unfortunately for him, Mahal did not answer and Dwalin lived to see Dori’s display. All this drama for a sweater…I don’t think I can ever understand the Ri brothers). Me neither, Kíli. Me neither.

Goal: To observe Uncle Thorin and Bilbo’s interactions carefully to see if they have finally done something that would make Mother happy. (And by that, we meant have dirty, raunchy sex.) Frankly, I rather not think about Uncle having sex with anybody let alone Bilbo. In fact, the added knowledge that Mother was actively seeking to find out about Uncle’s love life only made things much more mentally scarring. (Sometimes, it’s best not to ask why.)  

Impact of mission if successful: 

At this point, who the heck even knows? We’re just doing what we’re told! (Yes, because spying on Uncle is clearly the lesser of two evil as opposed to defying Mother’s orders.  It is also the choice to make if you want to keep breathing. To ignore Mother would automatically mean that you have forfeited your life).

  Day 5

Meeting time duration: Night time after our Epic Meeting of Epicness, nine o’clock

Summary of events:

After spending a good amount of time dividing up our tasks in detail and fleshing out our Battle Plan, we called it a night and dispersed rapidly from Ori’s tent (once we were sure that Dori would not murder Dwalin gruesomely that is. He should be just fine! Balin was there as his backup).  Kíli and I were walking back to our tent when we spotted Bilbo from a distance, carrying his customary pot of tea on a wooden tray. (He only used that particular pot whenever he planned on visiting Uncle so it was clear where he was going). Which pot? Are we talking about that really fancy one made from cut crystal? (Yes, that’s it! It’s the one with the gold handle and spout, and it has all those precious gems on it as decorations. Fanciest pot I have ever seen. I wonder why Bilbo kept using it whenever he was dropping by Uncle’s place.)

Oh, I know why! I heard from Balin that Uncle gave that to Bilbo after having found it in the vault. Remember that time when Bilbo refused those gift offers of ponies and golden chariots? Apparently, Uncle took it as a personal mission to find something that Bilbo would like, which should surprise nobody, really. It’s common knowledge that Uncle really doesn’t do well with rejection. (Well no wonder he got rejected! What can Bilbo possibly do with a golden chariot and ponies anyhow? Uncle clearly isn’t very good with this whole gift giving thing.) And that is exactly why Balin had to step in to help! He’s good at dispensing his wisdom, although Balin had asked Uncle to give Bilbo a less extravagant teapot. Clearly, Uncle disagreed. He was hell-bent that his gift had to be golden, for whatever reasons. (Well, what does it matter? Bilbo accepted it anyway!) He probably did it to spare our poor Uncle’s feelings or to stop Uncle’s mad quest to prove himself.

(And thank Mahal for that! I don’t think I can take another spar session from Hell if Uncle decides to sulk over Bilbo again. Next time, I think I’m just going to make a run for freedom and hide under Bilbo’s bed.)

 Anyway, we spotted Bilbo with that ridiculous teapot of his and after having spent so many times spying on the Hobbit, it had become an automatic response to dive for the nearby bush at the sight of him. (We dove expertly. Dwalin would have been proud of our awesome stealth abilities if he wasn’t so worried about getting castrated in his sleep by Dori.)

Once the coast was clear and once we really made sure that Bilbo was heading in the direction for Uncle’s tent, we dusted ourselves off and followed him. It took us a lot longer to get to the tent than we had anticipated. (That’s because Fíli picked the worst possible path to get to Uncle Thorin’s and we ended up fumbling in the dark, knocking into all manners of crates and barrels. I’m surprised that Bilbo hasn’t caught wind of us; we weren’t exactly being very stealthy at this point!) The path that I took was supposed to give us the best cover in the dark! I was thinking about tactics, which clearly is something you lack in! Besides, I didn’t hear you complaining about time when we detoured for food and blankets! (What? I like food! And that last stakeout without food was a horrible one! If I’m going to sit around and risk getting emotionally scarred, I should at least be well fed!)

We went back to our hideout, the one by the barrels, and we built a small fire to make ourselves comfortable. As stakeouts go, this one was probably the best one we had. We were warm, we were fed (we cooked over the fire) and we were occupied with our work on the story. Here was what we came up with:

(Bilbo Baggins was having a pleasant dinner when his quiet evening was disturbed by the unexpected arrival of twelve Dwarves and Gandalf the Wizard. Although confused, the Hobbit’s gentle, kind heart could not bear to turn away anyone hungry, so he decided to let them in.)

Oh, don’t forget to add this bit in – Bilbo had also met Gandalf in the past so the Hobbit was much more agreeable to let this group of strangers into his home with the Wizard present.

(Alright, we’ll fit that in somewhere. Anyway, the grateful Dwarves thanked their kind host and in return, they kept themselves composed most admirably. Why, Middle-Earth has probably never seen such well-mannered, poised, and intelligent Dwarves as this group! They even offered to do the dishes after they were done!)

Don’t forget handsome! It’s very important that everyone knows about our handsomeness.

(Yes. Middle-Earth has never seen such well-mannered, poised, devilishly handsome, and intelligent Dwarves as this group, with special emphasis on the two princes who have devastatingly rugged good looks.  I like where this is going already, Fíli!)

Meanwhile, a confused Bilbo pulled Gandalf aside in hopes to gain some sort of explanation to why the group was in his home, but like all Wizards, Gandalf only said cryptically (and rather unhelpfully) to be patient.

“All will be explained after the last guest arrives,” Gandalf said wisely while stroking his beard, because he’s Gandalf the Grey and everything he says comes off simultaneously wise-sounding and confusing. That’s probably his wizard power, along with the penchant to set things that ought not to be on fire, on fire.

(He can also do this thing with the smoke rings and turn them into butterflies.)

Yes, clearly the extent of Gandalf the Grey’s powers can be summarized by: confusing people into thinking that he’s a lot wiser than he actually is, his talent for pyrotechnics, and making butterflies out of smoke rings.

(A series of loud knocks cut through the relaxed atmosphere of Bag-End and Bilbo, who was not only an adorable and kind little Hobbit but was also a fantastic host, went to open the door.)

Standing on his front step was a Dwarf more majestic than Bilbo had ever seen and the Hobbit was left gaping silently at the stranger, drinking in the divine sight that was in front of him.

(Really? Divine sight? That’s laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?)

I’m doing this for dramatic effect! Leave it alone! And can I continue now, or do you have more to criticize?

(Alright, alright! No need to be so sensitive.)

As I was saying, the first thing Bilbo noticed was the Dwarf’s impressive build; not even the thick layers of his clothing could hide the Dwarf’s large, broad shoulders. Bilbo continued looking up, tracing his eyes along the stranger’s long, thick cascading locks, those piercing blue eyes, the long, elegant nose and the neatly cropped beard. Why, without a doubt, the Dwarf has got to be the most handsome being that Bilbo has ever laid his eyes on!

(Which is not true at all. Some would even argue, with good reason, that the princes would give the stranger a run for his money in the looks department, but clearly, the Hobbit was unreasonably biased.)

Then, the tall, dark, and mysterious Dwarf tossed his mane of glorious hair, casted Bilbo a smouldering look and said in his deep, spine-tingling, shiver-inducing baritone voice, “Are my companions inside?”

There were only so many surprises that the normally reserved Bilbo could take in one evening. Feeling lightheaded, the Hobbit squeaked out an answer before pitching dramatically to the side. Panicked, the Dwarf lunged forward just in time to catch the wilting Hobbit in his protective hold.

And that’s all we have worked on so far. Shortly after that, Kíli and I fell asleep, and it wasn’t until the dawn chorus that woke us up (bloody loud birds). It was a lucky thing that we did! Otherwise, we would not have seen Bilbo leaving Uncle’s tent in the wee hours of the morning.

Bilbo obviously had stayed the night.

In Uncle’s tent.

Bilbo stayed the night and he was all alone except with Uncle! And they had tea, which for all we know could lead to other unspeakable things!

(He came out wearing a new set of clothes as well! What does this mean? Does this mean what we think it means and what mother wanted it to mean? Or does this mean something entirely different than what we thought it meant and probably unrelated to what mother wanted it to mean as well? Or maybe it does mean what we want it to mean, even though Uncle and Bilbo will probably deny that it had meant anything like Mother wanted it to mean. For all we know, it could very well mean nothing at all, or that we’re all horribly wrong, which only leaves Uncle and Bilbo to know what it had really meant. Argh! I’m so confused!)

This is too good to pass up. Mother needs to know.

- Fíli and Kíli

=======

MOTHER! WE BRING YOU THE NEWS YOU’VE BEEN WAITING FOR!

Kíli and I have been diligently keeping an eye on Master Baggins’ visits to Uncle and this morning, we caught Bilbo leaving the tent after spending the night there! We have included a summarized version of our spy adventure with this letter, which should contain our observations in more detail. Hopefully, the Raven hadn’t had too much trouble carrying it all to you.

So I guess that settles it, right? We’ve got our definitive proof that Uncle and Bilbo are definitely, positively together, having the time of their lives in their –

(Don’t, Fíli!)

Love. Nest.

One of these days, I will write a song and it will be called ‘Love Nest’ just to see you squirm uncomfortably. I even have one line of the song penned out just now! It will go something like this: ‘The Love Nest is a little old place where they can get together’.

Huh. Something is a bit off. Maybe ‘Love Shack’ will sound better than ‘Love Nest’.

(I hate you, Fíli.) I love you too, Kíli.

(Also, can we stop spying on them now, Mum? I don’t want to sleep in the cold anymore, not when we have nice, cozy tents set up for us! I’m hungry and I’m bored!)

On another topic, things at the camp have been pretty tense lately. After Uncle had announced his decision to send Dwarves to help out with the farms, the camp had been divided into those who supported Uncle and those who did not. Many of us from the Company were afraid that the anger will build to a point where the Dwarves would not only attack each other, but they would also attempt a revolt against Uncle as well. Luckily, Master Nori, our spymaster, has come up with an ingenious solution that will not only distract the Dwarves but will also serve to unite them. 

Last night, the Company members (minus Bilbo and Uncle Thorin) had a meeting and Kíli and I found out that practically everyone knew about Uncle and Bilbo. (That was a relief! For a moment there, I was starting to believe that Ori, Fíli and I had gotten their relationship all wrong. If everyone else could see it, then clearly that’s not the case!) Nori then suggested that we should use Uncle and Bilbo’s relationship as a way to distract the public. “Think of them as characters like Fulla and Buri,” Nori had said, “Their love story is by far one of the most popular ones among the Dwarves. We can do the same here with our king and our burglar. We just need a good story teller to pen down their budding romance and a way to promote the hell out of it!”

During the meeting, the Company had agreed to tackle this project in three phases – Phase One will be the release of a highly romanticised account of our journey (with emphasis on Uncle and Bilbo’s legendary encounter), Phase Two will be a dramatic retelling of the things happening now, and Phase Three is when we get to invent all sorts of fun scenarios for their future. At the moment, we’re working on the written draft for Phase One with Ori in charge of illustrations and pamphlet design. Bifur is working on a ballad.  

(We have no idea what to call this project yet! We couldn’t settle on a name without breaking into a massive fist fight, so we’re going to leave it as ‘Epic Untitled Project Where We Bring Together Two People Whose Names We Shall Not Mention’ for now. We like to refer to it as ‘That Project’ for short!)

We really need a better name for this. Also, would you like to help, Mum?

With lots of love,

Fíli and Kíli

Erebor, 22 Jan., 2942.

P.S. It looks like you’re doing well in the Blue Mountains and with the business! Kíli and I are glad to hear that you are beating the Elves in sales with your new product. Do you have any plans to expand your operations? 

Thorin casually reached back to grab the form from Bilbo’s hand without leaving his seat. “We Dwarves like our contracts because they enable efficiency in our projects.” Thorin answered distractedly while quickly skimming over the words on his newly acquired document. “The Men from Dale, in contrast, like contracts because of their sick, perverse love of all things involving more paperwork.” He frowned and squinted at the text, “I’m pretty sure I signed this already. Why are there two of the same documents?”

“Nope,” the Hobbit drawled, “the one you signed was ‘Project Green Dale, Crops Listing Version 3.3’. This is ‘Project Green Dale, Crops Listing Version 3.4’. You will find that this new form has the slight but very important correction where it has re-categorized tomatoes as ‘fruits’ instead of ‘vegetables’.”

Thorin made a noise of frustration and tossed the document on his desk. “Why does it even matter if a tomato is a fruit or a vegetable? Couldn’t they have just put everything together into one massive list and save us all the hassle instead?”

“Like you said: sick, perverse love of paperwork.” Bilbo yawned and stretched until his back cracked. “You know, I always imagined that kings would lead a much more glorious life than this.” The Hobbit wrinkled his nose in disgust at the slowly dwindling pile of paper on his desk. “Do you suppose that Fíli and Kíli know what’s in store for them?”

Thorin coughed awkwardly, “I try to focus on the more positive aspects of ruling with my nephews to keep them from being intimidated…what?” He paused when he noticed Bilbo’s look of scepticism.

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at Thorin. “So basically, what you’re saying is that you omit the part about spending hours behind a desk, doing tedious work so that they won’t try to abdicate in a desperate attempt to save their own skins.”    

Thorin’s face was washed with red. “I’m not…that is…well,” Thorin floundered. “Maybe?”

The two looked quietly at each other until Bilbo burst unashamedly into laughter. Thorin scowled.

“Maybe! That’s horrible Thorin!”

“Oh stop that! I am only looking out for the best interest of everyone involved.”

“No, you are looking out for your own best interest by sparing yourself from a Fíli and Kíli induced headache,” Bilbo bluntly pointed out, still sounding entirely too amused for Thorin. “What will Dís say if she finds out?”

“She wouldn’t have to say anything because this was her plan to begin with,” Thorin retorted miserably. “Technically, I haven’t omitted anything per se. I do let them attend to a lot of my meetings.”

“Yes, but how many times have they had to sit by your bureau and trudge through all these documents with you?”

Thorin’s pinched expression was enough to trigger a fresh bout of laughter from Bilbo.

“You are horrible, Thorin,” Bilbo repeated, still chuckling lightly. “Sooner or later, your nephews will have this figured out and they will retaliate by making your life a living hell. When that happens, I will be there to tell you, ‘I told you so.’”

Thorin rolled his eyes and countered, “Not for a very long while if I can help it. I’m afraid you’ll just have to stay in Erebor for a few more decades if you want that satisfaction.” 

“Why, I’m only welcomed for a few more decades?” Bilbo teased, his tone light and his eyes still bright from the tears of laughter, “I am hurt and insulted! I might just take my leave right here and now!”

Thorin found himself choking unexpectedly on air. Even though he knew Bilbo was joking, he had never given a serious thought to Bilbo Baggins leaving and having the Hobbit speak of it so flippantly had left his chest feeling tight. It’s not as if Bilbo had ever brought up plans to return to the Shire either, what with Dís’s promise of keeping Bag-End safe. The Hobbit had seemed happy enough to stay and help Thorin on his restoration projects, but then again, Bilbo had never explicitly said how long he would be staying either. This realization filled Thorin with a sudden, cold sense of dread. What if he was wrong in his naïve assumption that Bilbo was staying?

Was Bilbo planning on going when the farms are established? Or maybe even before that? Thorin could not bear the idea of seeing his friend’s retreating figure with each step he takes away from Erebor, away from Thorin. Mahal knows how long they will even see each other again, if ever.

“No! You can’t leave now,” Thorin said a little too desperately and Bilbo’s eyes widened at the honest panic on his face. Realizing that he might have revealed too much, Thorin forced himself to relax and joked weakly, “What shall I do without my advisor and my food smuggler? I foresee a slow, painful death by starvation or by being crushed underneath all this paperwork.” He smiled shakily, “I also think Fíli and Kíli will throw a tremendous fit if their pie supplier up and leaves.”

“Oh Thorin,” Bilbo breathed as he stared helplessly at the Dwarf. The Hobbit got up from his chair, walked up to Thorin and, to the Dwarf’s growing surprise, pressed his forehead against the king’s in a move so achingly familiar and so full of affection that Thorin was left powerless to do anything else but to sink into his hold. Bilbo snaked his hands around the Dwarf and gently cupped the back of Thorin’s head to support his craning neck, bringing the two together even closer and Thorin, who was already swimming in the heady warmth and the spicy scent that could only belong to Bilbo Baggins, closed his eyes and exhale shakily.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bilbo murmured softly and like magic, Thorin felt the coiled tension in his chest finally start to loosen. His hands that were left clutching tightly at the fabric on his lap slowly relaxed, letting his fingers unfurl.

“Good,” Thorin whispered back, “I would hate to see you go.” He kept his eyes shut so that he could commit to memory the feel of Bilbo’s slim fingers carding through his hair and the warmth of soft skin where they remained touching. He wanted desperately to reach up and hold the Hobbit and the thought of his large hands spreading across Bilbo’s hips was enough to send a dark, possessive thrill through him.

Thorin frowned and snapped his eyes open in shock. Where did this need to possess the Hobbit come from? 

His thoughts from what felt like a lifetime ago suddenly came rushing back to him –

I would rule Erebor happily as long as Bilbo Baggins stays.

Oh, Thorin thought dazedly, finally making sense of the swirling emotions that were clouding his head. He must have subconsciously realized a long time ago that Bilbo brings him a very rare sense of happiness and peace, and like all Dwarves, he reacted instinctively to safeguard the rare things in his life. It was only natural then for Thorin to cling so fiercely to his friend if it meant he got to preserve those rare feelings.

Satisfied with his rationalization on his uncharacteristic clinginess, Thorin relaxed into a smile and let his eyes slip shut again. See? There was a perfectly logical explanation to his odd behaviour. It was just his Dwarf side taking over.

It would be much, much later when he realized just how wrong he was.

  =======

VIII. Nori

To the untrained eyes, the Dwarven camp would look like a drab, disorganized mess of sound and movement. Dwarves of all sizes and in all manners of dress were shuffling about in different directions, each tasked with a job that would ultimately contribute to the restoration of Erebor. Nori, who was casually sitting on an upturned crate with an apple in hand, watched the flow of traffic on the dusty road in front of him. He looked like the shining example of relaxed boredom as he slowly buffed his apple on his shirt before taking a large bite out of the fruit, but to the Dwarves who knew him well, they would have spotted the nervous way his eyes were continuously flitting about, studying his surroundings with suspicion.

Nori was anything but bored or relaxed. Nori was worried.

The Dwarf wiped his mouth with the back of his hands, lost in thought. He had just received the latest news about the gossips that were being spread around the camp, and things were not looking good for Thorin. Just as he had predicted, the king’s public announcement about his decision to send Dwarves to the farms had caused quite the stir, and opinions for and against it had been evenly split. However, with every new day, the tension between these two opposing fractions grows stronger. It will not be long before all this comes to a head and a violent, messy fight will break out.

Nori continued munching on his apple but his brows were furrowed. A divided camp was bad enough as it is, but to also have half of the Dwarves in said camp angry towards Thorin was dangerous not just for the king, but for the company members as well. At least Thorin had the foresight to warn them of the potential danger they could face so that they could shore up on defence. This wasn’t the best solution but it was better than doing nothing.

The thief hoped that someone, either Thorin himself or Balin, would come up with something more effective in addressing the actual issue at hand. 

Either way, Nori decided firmly, I need to report my findings to Thorin. I’ll let him figure out what he wants to do with this information. Tossing the apple core to the ground without a care, he got up from the crate and wiped the sticky apple juice from his hands on his clothes. He spared a passing thought at Dori’s disapproval over the mess if he found out and grinned. Maybe after his meeting with Thorin, he could pay his older brother a visit to rile him up.

=======

Nori could only blink at the surreal sight in front of him.

What in Durin’s beard was going on?

Since the last time he had visited the Dwarven king, his tent had become something of a war zone. In the dimly lit room, Nori could make out the large, looming stacks of paper placed everywhere – along the walls, against the desk, under the chairs, there was barely enough space for a Dwarf to walk from Thorin’s desk to the entrance unhindered. A smaller set of furniture (a cot, a chair, and a desk) were added, which not only made the tent significantly more crowded, but its presence also puzzled Nori greatly. Is there someone else in here? The thief thought and he immediately gave the area a quick once-over. Aside from Thorin’s great surcoat that was piled haphazardly on the smaller desk (most of it ended up spilling into the chair that was tucked in the desk, Nori automatically noted, the king must have been in a rush if he hadn’t even bothered to fold his clothes), there was really nothing out of the ordinary.

What an odd development, especially when the last few times he had reported to Thorin, everything had been organized with military precision.

Thorin waved at him to take a seat on the stool (that’s strange, Nori’s mind whispered again, why couldn’t he have moved his coat off the chair and offered that to me instead?) and asked with uncharacteristic softness, “What news do you bring from the camps?”

Nori filed away all the odd little details for later and said, “I have received the latest gossips that were being spread in the camp and I think we will be running into some…complications.” He launched into a detailed retelling of the things he had heard, including his fears about a divided Dwarven camp and the escalating hostility they should come to expect if things were left to fester. Thorin’s furrow grew more and more severe but he did not look particularly surprised. Good, Nori thought approvingly, our king is not foolish enough to let his guard down even among these people whom he calls his allies.

Nori always did appreciate finding a healthy dose of scepticism and suspicion in others.

Thorin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shall set up a meeting with Balin and Dwalin at once to see what actions we should take,” he said quietly. He inclined his head forward in a regal nod and added, “Thank you for your report, Master Nori. Please continue to monitor the situation – ”

Nori jumped up from his stool, unsheathing the small throwing knives he had hidden in his tunic. “What was that?” He said in a harsh whisper. Thorin followed his gaze to his coat on the desk, stared at it for a few quiet seconds, before looking back at the thief in confusion.

“What was what?” He asked, slowly.

“That!” Nori pointed frantically to Thorin’s coat with his knife. “Your coat, it moved!”

“My coat moved…oh.” Nori could have sworn that Thorin almost looked sheepish, but the Dwarven king turned away before the thief could catch a better glimpse at his expression. Instead, Thorin tiptoed to the pile of fur that was his coat and pealed it away until a familiar head of curly, russet locks was revealed and –

“Is that Master Baggins?” Nori stared, and sure enough, there was Bilbo Baggins slumped over the desk in deep sleep, buried under Thorin’s large coat. “Wait, has he been here the whole time?”  

“Ah, I thought you knew he was here,” Thorin replied almost apologetically and Nori barely refrained from doing a double-take at that. Imagine that, Thorin Oakenshield apologizing to him! Nori wasn’t sure if he had experienced anything more unbelievable. Luckily, the Dwarven king did not see the thief’s poor attempt at recollecting his composure; he was distracted in his task to tuck his coat snugly around the Hobbit. “He has been helping me with my work,” Thorin offered simply, brushing his hand over the coat that lay over Bilbo’s curved back. The Hobbit shifted a little and unconsciously curled his hand over a discarded quill on the table nearby. Thorin chuckled softly under his breath at the sight. “Stubborn Hobbit,” he breathed, his eyes molten in the flickering candlelight as his hands continued stroking rhythmically along the length of Bilbo’s spine. Bilbo let out a quiet whimper and sighed.

Nori found himself inexplicably blushing at the painfully intimate moment. Honestly, couldn’t Thorin continue with…whatever this was after he had left? Did the king even notice that he was still standing in the tent, for that matter?

Feeling more awkward than he had in decades, Nori tucked his knives back into his tunic and hesitantly cleared his throat to get the king’s attention. When Thorin continued giving Bilbo what was undoubtedly a very longing gaze, Nori tossed caution to the win and gave what was equivalent of a coughing fit.

Thorin jumped back, “Oh, Master Nori, is there anything else that you need?” He sounded so surprised by Nori’s presence that the thief had to draw from his well of inner strength to refrain from rolling his eyes.

“No, that is all I have to report tonight, although…” Nori is going to regret asking this question but his curiosity has always gotten the best of him, “I can’t help but notice the extra cot. Is that for Master Baggins?”

Finally, Thorin deigned to pay him enough attention to aim a frosty glare in his direction. “Master Baggins did not like the guards posted by his tent and have, instead, agreed to sleep here as a mean to protect himself if he were targeted.”

Nori held up his hands in a placating motion, “Of course, Your Majesty. I did’t mean anything by my question. Just curious is all. It’s always better safe than sorry.” He smiled as charmingly as he can and bowed lightly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty, it’s best for me to head on out. I reckon you should get some rest yourself.”  

He was so eager to get away from the tent that he barely heard Thorin’s response before making his escape. Well, well, well, he thought smugly as he sauntered his way to Dori’s tent, this evening has proved to be full of fun discoveries.

A dangerous grin slowly spread across his face.

He has a brilliant, horrible plan that will solve their problem.  

=======

Part IX. Everyone else in the Company

“I have a brilliant, wonderful plan that will solve our problem!” Nori crowed out triumphantly once all the Dwarves had settled comfortably in a circle.

Next to him and sitting at the foot of Ori’s cot, Dori scoffed derisively, “I don’t understand the need for such secrecy. Really, showing up in pairs, five minutes apart like we had done when we were at Beorn’s? What’s going on and why are we all meeting in Ori’s tent?”

The young Dwarf in question looked up when he heard his name. He was sandwiched uncomfortably between Dori and Dwalin on the cot, and he flinched when his oldest brother fired him a suspicious look. Dwalin automatically reached over to pat Ori’s knee and the young scribe gave him a sweet, grateful smile. 

Never one to be cowed by his older brother, Nori snapped back, “The need for such secrecy is required because of the topic we are about to discuss, you pompous windbag. Also,” he spoke over the undignified sound of outrage that Dori made, “we would be drawing entirely too much suspicion if all eleven of us marched right up into Ori’s tent like a merry band of Elves out on a picnic!”

“As to why I have chosen Ori’s tent as our meeting place, our Ori has been known to entertain guests over tea time in the past, so it’s not unusual for him to have a few visitors, here and there.” Nori then added with a hint of steel, “Why, by the frequent way that Master Dwalin has been showing up, most would assume that he lives here!”

“WHAT?!” the look that Dori gave to Dwalin was so full of murder, the others visibly prepared themselves to restrain the oldest Ri brother. Ori covered his hands over his face and did his best to let his cot swallow him whole while Dwalin refused to back down. Keeping his posture ramrod straight, the warrior ignored the heavy blush that stained his cheeks and fearlessly stared back at Dori. Amongst the chaos, nobody except Bifur saw the glint of vindictive glee in Nori’s eyes.

“It’s not like that, Dori!” Ori mumbled pathetically, “Master Dwalin is kind enough to visit me and all we do is talk! Nothing is going on!”  

“Like hell there is nothing going on!” Dori snarled. His arms quickly snaked out to grab his baby brother and he protectively clutched the struggling Dwarf close his chest. Ori yelped at being manhandled. “You are switching seats with me. I will not have you next to that…lecher!”

Before Dwalin could open his mouth to object, Ori pushed himself roughly out of his brother’s grasp. “No, Dori!” He cried out angrily. He flung himself in front of the flabbergasted Dwalin and spread his arms out to protect the Dwarf, “I will not sit by and have you insult Master Dwalin! He is kind, loyal, honourable, and he doesn’t make fun of me for talking about silly things and…and…I like knitting him things! So you leave him alone, the both of you,” he levelled a glare at Nori, “or I will never forgive you!”

All the other Dwarves had to bite the insides of their cheeks to keep from laughing at Dori and Nori’s betrayed expressions. “I see you have won yourself quite the protector,” Balin muttered from his comfortably padded chair and he nudged his preening brother in the ribs.

On the ground across the cot, Kíli and Fíli were watching the spectacle unfold with rapt attention. “Oh!” Kíli exclaimed quite suddenly, “So that’s what Bilbo had meant!”

Fíli wacked his brother on the back of his head and hissed out, “Now is not the time, Kíli!”

“Yes, now is not the time,” Glóin repeated impatiently beside Fíli. He shifted in his chair, one of three in the room, and he had taken his from Óin by winning an impromptu arm wrestling challenge. Óin was still sulking on the ground beside him and Balin. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather be kept in the dark regarding Master Dwalin’s love life!”

“Perhaps we should all let Master Nori speak,” said Bofur reasonably. He paused to look to his left at Bifur, who had stolen the last chair simply by being swift, and nodded after his cousin had delivered a slew of khuzdul. “I agree. The matter must be of great importance if he went to such lengths to get us all together like this.”

“Thank you, Master Bofur,” Nori gave one last hurt-filled look at his baby brother and turned to the rest of the group. “I shall be frank; the Dwarves around here are pretty divided over Thorin’s recent decision about the farms and this has created a lot of tension in the camp. Those who oppose have already stirred up a lot of anger towards Thorin and if we let things stew, who knows what messy consequences will await us.”

A cry of outrage rose from the Company members.

“It is sad that the concept of loyalty is lost on this miserable lot!” Bombur spat out. He handed a plate of food to his neighbours. Never the one to refuse food, Kíli plucked a piece of cheese from the platter and promptly popped it into his mouth in great gusto.

“This is everything that I have been afraid of,” Balin groaned. “Thorin has just spoken to Dwalin and I about this and we still haven’t come up with a reasonable solution.” 

“So what purpose does this gathering serve exactly?” Dwalin spoke up for the first time in the meeting. “We all have some idea on how bad things are out there. It seems like a waste of time to tell us something we know already,” the Dwarf narrowed his eyes at the thief, “unless you are proposing a solution.”

The grin that Nori flashed at Dwalin was not a kind one. “I do believe I have a solution, although I’m sure that Thorin will not like it. That’s why I’m having this talk with you first.”

“I will not plot behind my king’s back!” Dwalin stood up violently, his fists clenched tightly by his side, “And how dare you – ”

“It’s about Bilbo and Thorin’s relationship.” Nori interrupted, unconcerned by the warrior’s anger. “This will play a very integral part of this plan and that, my overly angry friend, is why Thorin will not like it.” The thief tsked admonishingly, “Honestly, I’m as interested as you all are in keeping the king alive and well so do give me the benefit of doubt before you fly off the handle.” 

Under Balin and Ori’s soothing ministrations, Dwalin grudgingly sat back down. It was a very confused Glóin who interjected next, “Wait. Relationship? Between the Hobbit and our king? What is this madness you speak of?” 

Nori sighed. Right, he should have double-checked to make sure that everyone was on the same page as he was. In a blunt tone, he asked, “Who here knows about the growing mutual attraction between Master Bilbo and our king?”

The room went completely silent. Then, a wave of hands simultaneously shot up in the air; in fact, almost everyone had their hand up except for poor Dori and Glóin.

Nori raised his brows in surprise and the room exploded in excited gossip.   

Dori gaped at Ori and asked, voice laden with heart-breaking disappointment, “You knew about this? Why didn’t you tell me? What else have you been hiding from me?” He squinted suspiciously at Dwalin. “Are those new gloves? And the scarf?” Dori’s face went pale when he wailed out, “You made him a matching set using a new pattern!”

“Wait,” Glóin said, who chose to ignore Dori’s increasingly loud cries of distress. He looked down incredulously at his brother’s raised hand. “How on Middle-Earth did you find out?”

Óin rolled his eyes sarcastically, “I’m deaf, not blind! Anyone who spent enough time around them can see! I am their medic. I was there all the time!”

“Well then, this sure defeats the purpose of keeping things a secret!” Fíli said brightly to Kíli, “At least mother will be pleased to know that everyone else has picked up on this. She can probably use more minions to do her bidding.”

Dwalin whipped his head away from a panicking Ori and looked at the crown prince in horror. Lady Dís knew? Mahal have mercy on them all!

The loud chatter in the tent was cut short by Bifur, who jumped on the seat of his chair and delivered his usual rapid fire khuzdul.

Bofur cleared throat at the now silent room, “Yes, I still fail to see how this has anything to do with, well, anything.”

Nori leaned forward and spoke in a low conspiring tone, “Well, in my opinion, the problem lies with a divided camp that’s tearing itself apart over this farm business. What I am saying is that we find a new way to keep everyone busy, one that will unite the camp together.” He grinned mischievously, “Give them something that everyone can get fixated on, something they can collectively rally behind.” He shrugged and straightened himself, “At least until we have enough of our own people from the Blue Mountains here who have pledged their fealty to King Thorin.”

“So what you are saying is to present Thorin and Bilbo’s relationship to the public as a distraction?” Balin shook his head, “I don’t see how that will work.”

“No, no, I am not just saying that!” Nori made a slashing motion with his hands but his voice was tinged in excitement, “What I am saying is that we give the audience a show, a story to really sink their teeth into. Here, think of it this way,” he walked over to Bofur and held his hand out. The Dwarf looked up in surprised, shrugged and let himself be pulled up by Nori from his seat on the ground.

Nori continued with flourish, “I am an exiled king, who struggled for decades to restore the glory of my people. Long years have I worked to keep my people from starvation until finally, I have a chance to do what is right by reclaiming our long lost kingdom. To aid in my journey I have hired a burglar.” Nori waved a dismissive hand at Bofur and the Dwarf gave a meek little wave and a small bow to the delight of his friends. “A burglar who is soft, gentle, well-mannered, utterly unspeakably adorable,” Nori spat those words out like a curse and behind him, Bofur diligently mimed out what was said. At ‘adorable’, he pulled his hat off, held it to his chest, and batted his lashes at the crowd. The Dwarves roared in laughter.  

“For the longest time, I felt that the burglar was dead weight to the quest. He got himself into all manners of trouble and I could not understand why I have decided to hire him. That was, until – ”

“Until the Orcs and Wargs attacked and the burglar came to your rescue, sword swinging fearlessly at the enemies!” Dori chimed in and Bofur pulled Nori behind him, desperately waving a leg of lamb that he had snatched off Bombur’s plate to mimic the fight.

“Yes! And from then on, I began to see all the good in the gentle burglar – his bravery, his tenacity, his sweetness, his tendency to give people a verbal lashing when he’s particularly cross!”

“And he is still as bloody adorable as ever!” Óin called out amidst the cheers of his peers.

“And the burglar?” Kíli asked playfully, “How does he feel for the king?”

“Why, the burglar has always admired the king. Rather hard not to when you look like this!” Nori made a ridiculous eyebrow waggle, cocked his hips to one side and gestured loosely down the length of his body. Bifur keeled over laughing in his chair.

“The attraction between the burglar and the king only grows stronger as the journey wears on until the two are so close together, they are practically attached by the hip!” Nori wrapped an arm around Bofur’s shoulders and brought him close. “Alas, the journey has plenty of obstacles to distract them from examining the depths of their emotions and it isn’t until now that they could confront where they stand with each other.”

Nori pulled away and said dramatically, “But will they take this opportunity? To the others, it is obvious that the burglar and the king like each other, but do they even realize what they are truly feeling themselves? Also, can the king lower himself to court a commoner or will the burglar’s inevitable return to his home put an end to any hope for their love to flourish? Will their story end happily or in tragedy?”

Everyone in the room watched with bated breath. Nori crossed his arms and spoke evenly, “People like a good story and this one is a very good one that is happening right in front of them.”

“And all we have to do is sell it to the public, get these people emotionally invested,” Balin nodded in understanding. “It will certainly present the king in a different light. He will seem much more relatable.”

“As for those who are less inclined to invest emotionally, get them invested financially. We can start a betting pool!” Glóin stood from his seat and hoisted his axe up, “I can get that started!”

“This is so exciting!” Bombur rubbed his hands together and smiled a sunny smily. “This is exactly like ‘The Eternal Love of Fulla and Buri’ except it’s real!”

It was as if a dam has been broken and the tent was flooded once more with chatter:

“How will we get this story out though? We need to find a way to spread this tale quickly!”

“Oh, we can make pamphlets! Ori is a great artist, he can probably draw something!”

“Well, I…I guess I can try?”

“I can’t believe you actually read Fulla and Buri, you sap!”

“Oh shut up, practically everyone has read Fulla and Buri. I’m the only one who’s secured enough with my masculinity to admit it!”

“Who will write the story? We need someone who can do a fantastic job with storytelling!”

“Kíli and I can do that! I think mother will probably like to help too!”

“We can also have this as a song! Bifur is really talented with composing songs!”

“I still don’t like this. All this scheming without telling the king, that’s not right,” Dwalin muttered darkly to Balin and glowered at the excited Dwarves. “I don’t think Thorin will like how everyone knows about his private affairs.”

“Well that’s where you’re wrong, brother,” Balin answered just as quietly, “the events that Master Nori has told us are hardly kept a secret and Thorin has been more than open with his display of affection.” He hummed at Dwalin’s sceptical look, “Remind me tell you what happened at the meeting with Bard later on.”

“Alright, alright, settle down! We need to lay out some ground rules for everybody.” Nori patiently waited until the noise died down and for everyone to retake their seats. “First off, we can’t have anyone interfering with Master Bilbo Baggins and King Thorin’s love life. Our job is to observe what is happening only. We may all secretly cheer them on, fawn over what they have done right or despair over the way they tiptoe nervously around each other, but under no circumstances do we mention any of this to them.”

“Secondly, keep the published material tasteful! We want to portray Master Baggins and our king positively. This is not an excuse to churn out smut!” The Dwarves snickered at the rule and Bifur made a rude gesture behind Nori’s back.

“Thirdly, we should meet regularly to coordinate our efforts. I’m thinking once a week but we can work on the date and time later.”

“Is everyone in accord?” A chorus of affirmative “Aye’s” answered back and Nori nodded in satisfaction. “In that case, let’s get started.”

======

A/N:

Holy moly guys! Thank you so much for coming back and reading this. I’m sorry this has taken so long to churn out. My RL has definitely been very busy as of late but I am glad to announce that things are starting to settle. Hurray! Thank you so much for your patience and I hope you all will enjoy this extra long chapter to compensate for your long wait.  

On another note, my birthday is in a few days and nothing will make me happier to read your comments, so as always, please review/kudos/favourite/bookmark if you’re enjoying this! I know I am having tons of fun with writing this and I can only hope that you all are still finding this remotely interesting. <3

  Notes about this chapter:  

[1] I’ve been referring to this chapter as the one where Nori decides to make Bilbo and Thorin everyone’s OTP.

[2] ‘The Eternal Love of Fulla and Buri’ was mentioned in the last chapter in Dis’ letter. She accused Thorin of loving the book. She was right; it’s a bit of his secret shame. It also happens to be a secret shame for a lot of Dwarves too.