Chapter Text
#Bilbo#
The Baggins family has always been respectable. The Took family, despite being the closest thing to royalty the Shire allowed, was not.
Still, Bilbo Baggins was a part of both families and the Tookish genes in him itched. He wanted to be at that meeting rather than outside it, kicking his feet up off the ground where he sat on the bench while his relatives—Tooks and all the families married into the Took family—haggled with the Dwarves.
Even the dwarves over in the corner, as restless as he was though clearly much younger by comparison (he knew they were older by years, but in maturity, they were equivalent to perhaps…thirteen to sixteen years of age by hobbit reckoning).
Bilbo was thirty-three. He was still treated like a child despite being a newly accepted adult. Even so, he loved the newfound freedom being an adult brought. But he also realized there were some limitations.
And none of those limitations he liked. He was expected to buy his food rather than steal it from the farmers’ fields. He couldn’t go sneaking off to have a romp in the middle of the party with whoever had propositioned him last (unless he was expected or intended to marry them). Worst, he was expected to be sociable.
Bilbo did not like being sociable.
He could be cordial. He could be mature. He will smile at dinner parties, talk about Aunt Myrtle’s rheumatism and manage to look interested though he really would rather go hang himself on the party tree. But to actually be sociable?
Bilbo could not be sociable. Not even when trying his hardest—
The door opened and Bungo stepped out. “Bilbo, come inside.”
Bilbo blinked. “Why?” His father narrowed his eyes. “Okay,” he says, admitting defeat. It isn’t wise to defy the command of one’s father, no matter how good of a father he is. Bilbo knew this and his father was a very good Hobbit.
It is also unwise to defy one’s mother, but he was sure his mother would have been less demanding and would have at least tried to explain the shift of Bilbo waiting outside to coming in and joining the ruckus.
The hall was separated by the Hobbits and the Dwarves. Mostly it was the Tooks, but there were also the spouses of the Tooks’ children. Bilbo was the only one present out of his many, many cousins.
Hobbits divulge in large families. Some don’t. Bilbo was an only child. He never quite understood why, though there was talk of a difficult pregnancy…or something along those lines.
“This is the only one you can give?” An elderly dwarf asked, eying Bilbo intensely.
“He is of age and is not betrothed,” Old Took said. “And that was the condition we agreed on, Mr. Balin. And you yourself the sex need not matter.”
Bilbo did not speak. He knew he ought to, but he didn’t want to say anything until he fully understood what was going on. So he looked around for someone to explain.
Someone tell me what’s going on!
A Dwarf stood and approached, cupping his chin in his large hand, forcing Bilbo’s head to stop moving and look at him. Bilbo tried not to fidget in the Dwarf’s grasp. The Dwarf was sharply featured. Every bit, even his ebony hair, seemed chiseled. His eyes were like lapis lazuli, a rare blue stone Bilbo’s mother had earrings made out of.
“He’ll do,” the Dwarf said. Bilbo blinked. His face was released and the Dwarf took Bilbo’s small hand in both of his large ones and kissed it.
Bilbo was stunned. Then he was confused. Now, he was pissed. He pulled out of the Dwarf’s grasp and backed away.
“What in the name of Yavanna is that supposed to mean?” he shouted. “He’ll do?! That’s only goddess knows how many levels of insulting! I know I’m awkward,” he snapped at his shocked relatives, “But I’m not stupid. Tell me what’s going on?!”
He did not expect his outburst to be met with wry grins from the Dwarves. The uneasy glances his relatives had were expected though.
Only the Old Took seemed to be enjoying the spectacle as much as the Dwarves were.
Old Took stood. “Bilbo, my lad, a moment in private would be nice, eh?”
Bilbo followed the elder Hobbit into a sitting room.
“I’m afraid we’ve…er…arranged an alliance with the Dwarves of Erebor.”
“I don’t see how that has anything to do with what…oh…oh.” Bilbo blushed. “Er…I didn’t think that my…preferences were known.”
“Hm…parents are more observant than young’uns think. And it is true you’re of age and unbound to anyone, lad or lass. And my brain’s not so far gone in old age I never caught you’re distress.”
Bilbo twiddled his thumbs and bounced on the balls of his feet, looking anywhere but at Old Took. “So I’m to be wed to a Dwarf.”
“They’re desperate, it seems. Their settlement in the Blue Mountains isn’t as hospitable to them as one would expect. I’ve met with Mr. Balin on many occasions. It’s taken a lot of work to get this far on both Hobbit and Dwarf sides for the alliance between our people and theirs. The Dwarves of Erebor need a home. We need protection. Most Hobbits won’t like it, so we agreed on a solution the other families will at least accept.”
“Which is an arranged marriage between two males?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not going to go over well.”
“But you’ll be happy. His majesty the king isn’t good with words, apparently, and neither are you, so I thought it would be an excellent arrangement—”
“KING?!” Bilbo shouted, looking up at Old Took. “The—that—he—the—Yavanna! Goddess above—why—what po—wha—how?!”
“Breathe, Bilbo. It’s not all bad. He likes you, at least. He wouldn’t have been willing to accept the arrangement if he didn’t. King Thorin is, from what I’m told, a very stubborn Dwarf. Almost as stubborn as you are, Lad.”
Bilbo stared at Old Took as though he’s lost his head.
“Bilbo?” Old Took said. “Are you all right?”
Bilbo blinked. He squared his shoulders, smiled. His vision was blurring and everything was swimming horribly around him.
“Nope,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure it was vocalized, and everything went black.
#Thorin#
The Descendants of Durin the Deathless are strong, noble, and enigmatic.
Thorin is no exception. He is the eldest son of Thrain, the eldest son of Thror—King Under the (Stolen) Mountain.
But a king without a kingdom has very little to offer. Thorin learned a lot about humbleness in his exile from Erebor, the home his people were robbed of.
The march west was rough and many died. When they settled in the Blue Mountains, it was hard. They were outcasts among their own kinsmen. Thorin may have had his pride, but he was not fool enough to let the wounds he felt fester.
He took to working as a blacksmith wherever work would have him to feed his sister and sister-sons who were the only family he had left.
But tension spread rapidly in the Blue Mountains. After many years, Thorin decided it would be best to find another place for his people. If they were unwelcome, then they were unwelcome and there was nothing to be done about that.
Balin had told him of his friend who was revered as “Old Took.” Thorin had been envious of the Hobbits living east of the mountains. They were peaceful. They did not know strife or war.
But Balin had taught him a little bit of their history and a lot of their culture.
They were sturdier than Thorin gave them credit for. These tiny creatures—smaller than his own people and softer with curls and large, unseemly feet and pointy ears and beardless chins—were amazingly hardy.
“I’d like nothing more than to give whatever land we may have to offer to your people in exchange for protection,” Old Took had said when they met. The old Hobbit smoked his pipe while he talked, eying them with interest and mischievous wisdom. “However, our people are simple and do not see need for protection beyond what we have. I know it’s needed. Most of my family does.”
The ones Thorin could identify as Tooks nodded.
“Then what do you suggest, Master Took?” Balin asked, also puffing his pipe.
Thorin thought it funny. He couldn’t see how this was a meeting. It looked more like two fussy old men having a smoke outside in the park to him.
“Hmmm…have you a member of your royal family who is unwed and of age?”
Thorin frowned. He was the only one who was of age and unwed. His sister-sons were still too young. Balin looked at him.
“Our king himself.”
“Balin, you overstep your boundaries!”
“I was under the impression you were willing to do whatever it takes for your people, my king. Besides, your sister-sons are still children and you are unwed.” Thorin glared. Of course Balin would play that card. Still, Balin was way out of line.
“Sir,” one of the Hobbits said. “You’re forgetting that all the daughters with connections to the Took family are either betrothed or underage.”
“That’s fine,” Balin said. “The King’s spouse need not be a female.”
“Is that acceptable?!” a lady gasped.
“For Dwarrows, it certainly is, if you’d allow it.”
“Well, then,” Old Took said, his mischievous grin becoming more mischievous. “We’ve the perfect candidate then. Bungo, my lad. You brought Bilbo with you?”
“He’s outside, Sir.”
“Well, last I checked, he’s of age and unspoken for. Bring him in to meet his majesty.”
When “Bilbo” entered, Thorin was taken aback by this Hobbit’s beauty. Bilbo looked about for answers. He was as fair as his kin. Copper curls tucked behind his pale ears and his nose turned up a little. His eyes were hazel in color and Thorin couldn’t tell if he was reminded more of jade or tiger-eye by those eyes.
Bilbo was, also, unmistakably male.
Granted, he probably shouldn’t have said, “He’ll do,” before kissing the Hobbit’s hand. However, Thorin didn’t know what else to say.
He was insanely awkward in these situations and rarely ever spoke.
And as Old Took led Bilbo aside to explain to the poor Halfling what was going on, Thorin kicked himself.
Should have kissed his hand first…maybe…better yet, shouldn’t have done anything.