Five times Thorin Oakenshield met Hyacinth Baggins

You can't learn everything about a person in just one day. It takes many meetings, many situations, many struggles to learn the core of a person, and that isn't even everything. It took Thorin Oakenshield a long time to learn all the different facets of Hyacinth Baggins, but there were some defining moments.

Innocence

When a small hand found his and tugged, Thorin Oakenshield was obligated to look.

A small child looked up at him, huge eyes glistening with a pink button nose. The little thing was dwarf-sized, but a thick halo of blonde curls shone even in the dismal weather. Blondes were rare enough, but curls were practically unheard of.

The child bounced up and down, which brought Thorin eyes to their feet. Strangely big, hairy feet. Hobbit, then.

"M-mister? I can't find my momma."

Thorin couldn't contain his sigh. The market in Bree was busy, full of men and horses and wagons. It would be hard enough to find anyone, let alone a hobbit. At least he only had to find the mother, not the tiny child that didn't even reach his hip.

"Would you like my help, Halfling?"

The little thing nodded furiously, curls bouncing and gleaming like gold. The little sniffle did him right in; most races consider hobbits utterly adorable, but the children? Though Thorin would never admit it, even to himself, this creature was the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

"Alright then, up you go."

The halfling gave a wet little giggle when he tugged them up on his shoulders, and their hands came up and buried themselves in Thorin's hair. Thorin started walking the perimeter of the market, peering into the crowd for a small figure or the bounce of curls.

On their fifth round, a shout came from behind them.

"Hyacinth!"

The Hobbit child twisted and shouted, sending a knee right into Thorin's jaw and pulling painfully at one of his braids.

"Momma! Over here, Momma."

Once those big feet touched the dirt, the little thing was off, pumping those tiny legs and jumping right into the hobbit that hurried towards them. They had a strange conversation of trills and rubbed noses, each with a hand on the other's face.

Suddenly, the mother's face changed drastically, from utter relief to fond exasperation. Another few trills and the child pouted with more effectiveness than Fili or Kili had ever achieved in their many years of mischief and punishments.

That pout turned to Thorin and transformed into a bright smile.

"Thanks for helping find my momma, mister."

The mother tugged and fidgeted with her hair before pulling out an embroidered ribbon and holding it out to him.

"Should you ever find yourself in the Shire, you are welcome to my hearth and home. With this, any hobbit could point you in my direction, towards Bag End. Just tell them you are looking for Belladonna Baggins."

Thorin wasn't sure what came over him, but he took the ribbon and muttered something appropriately grateful.

As the mother and child walk away, a small head popped up and waved with all the exuberance of forgetful youth. It was as if the whole situation had never happened, not a hint of sadness on their face.

"Bye mister!"

Thorin waved back.

Sensuality

Ale was a sweet blessing after such a long day in the forge. The plate of meat and potatoes was only lukewarm, but Thorin was hungry enough not to care. He shoveled food into his mouth as quickly as possible, trying to ignore the din and the headache pounding between his ears.

"Here, take a sip. You look like you need it."

The hobbit lass next to him, who Thorin was trying valiantly to ignore, shoved an open flask towards him. When he didn't take it, she huffed, took a swig of her own, and slammed it back down on the bartop.

"Look, its not even poisoned."

If Thorin was anyone else, he would have choked. It was the strongest alcohol he'd ever had, and this little hobbit was downing it like water. As it was, his eyes watered a little and his voice went hoarse, unnoticeable to anyone who wasn't paying attention.

"What is this?"

"Moonshine. My gardener makes the strongest brew in the Shire, but I made a few modifications. I think I've got the perfect balance of lavender and bergamot without compromising the burn."

Thorin hadn't tasted anything of the sort, but was willing to take her word for it.

She turned on her barstool to face him, still eating her second plate of food, which looked much better than his own plate. Thorin couldn't keep his eyes on her face. Instead, they swept down to take in all her curves. She was soft where dwarrow were strong, exposed where a dwarrowdam would be covered. Her bare toes curled around the bar stool while her hair shifted forward and back like a tumbling river of gold. By Mahal, Thorin liked it.

"So, what's your story, Master Dwarf?"

"Who said I had one?"

"With that scowl, you have to have a good story. Besides, I could really do with a good distraction."

With the way she took another swig of her moonshine, Thorin could believe that. She drank like she was trying to forget. For all her good cheer, her eyes were blank and dead, smile half-hearted.

"A story for a story."

"I can drink to that."

Thorin took another bite of dinner and contemplated what he could say without giving too much away. Nothing of Erebor, certainly, or his name. No, he would say as little as possible and hope she didn't ask any questions he couldn't answer.

"I'm a blacksmith. I travel around and use forges where I can, sending money back to my family. There's no shortage of metal workers under the mountains, so I do what I can with what I have."

"How long has it been since you've seen them?"

"Two months. By the time I return, my sister-sons will have come up with new reasons to go out with me. They are eager for adventure and ignorant of the hardship it brings."

"A difficult combination to be sure. I am very aware of the dangers outside the Shire. In fact, this is the furthest I've ever been. It took a week to walk here."

She wiggled her toes at him. Thorin couldn't imagine walking so long whilst barefoot. Strange indeed. It brought on a whole conversation of traveling, the best places to see and people to meet. The hobbit wasn't very experienced, but had more than enough to say as she barrelled through another plate of food and pint of ale.

"And why are you here, in Michel Delving, little hobbit?"

The change in her was extreme. From mostly happy-go-lucky and open, she suddenly shrank into herself with a dark cast over her face.

"My father died two weeks ago, and I've already gotten five marriage proposals and three courtship offers. I've never even met two of them. They think that because I'm alone now that I'll accept? No. I guess you could say that I'm running away, just for a while."

That definitely wasn't what Thorin was expecting. She took a few long gulps from the moonshine, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. The bottle seemed to empty faster and faster, betraying exactly how desperately she wanted to stop thinking.

"I didn't tell anyone I was leaving, but I left a note. They would have tried to stop me. Is it so bad to want to escape?"

She looked up at him with big blue eyes that came alive in the worst of ways. Alive with pain and grief and suffering. It seemed like little hobbits were Thorin's weakness, for he couldn't even fathom walking away.

He stood from his stool, dropped a few coins on the counter, and held out his hand. She took it without even a second of hesitation. She was even smaller than he thought, only coming up to the middle of his chest.

"Where are we going?"

He ducked around a few rowdy men, singing and drinking, towards the stairs.

"Let me help you forget."

She forgot under his hands and lips and tongue. She forgot while her hair fell down to brush his chest, swaying with every motion. She forgot when she tugged at the faded hobbit ribbon tying her hands together, begging, dying to touch. She forgot until there was nothing left, nothing but Thorin and pleasure and sensitive skin.

And when Thorin was so tired he couldn't even move, he looked over to his dozing little hobbit lass and couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face.

Stubbornness

The odd round door opened, and Thorin could not have been more surprised. His hobbit lass was there, the one he had spent the night with at Michel Delving, years ago now.

She looked so different, but not different at all. Her hair was even longer, past her hips. Maybe it was the silky nightgown and robe, but she seemed even softer, big hips and tiny waist and….

Thorin dragged his eyes back to her face, and he could see his own surprise reflected back at him. A flush started at her cheeks, hit the very tips of those ears, and spread down to disappear under her nightgown.

"May I introduce the leader of our company? Hyacinth, this is Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin, meet our burglar, Hyacinth Baggins of the Shire."

The introduction was unnecessary. Thorin could distinctly recall how he had kissed his own name into her mouth and exactly how it sounded when she used it, gasping and shaking. He had growled her name into her golden hair, snarled it against her thigh, traced the runes along her spine with his tongue.

He grabbed up her hand in his and brought it to his lips. Her skin still tasted the same.

"A pleasure, Miss Baggins."

"The pleasure is all mine, Master Oakenshield."

Her eyes bore into his own, never looking away despite the tremble he could just barely feel. Minx and maiden, trapped in one body. Her nails had dug lines into his back all while she kissed him sweetly. She had barely touched his skin, but licked her lips and gasped like a dying woman.

Thorin shook himself out of the memories and turned to greet his kin, but didn't let go of her hand. The dwarrow stared and muttered to one another, but no one said anything outright. Kili made to say something, but Fili smacked his hand over his brother's mouth before he could speak.

They all made their way to the dining room and Thorin tugged Hyacinth into the chair to his right. What followed was a long, depressing conversation only briefly punctuated with stew. Thorin nearly punched Bofur when he started going on and on about the dragon, but Hyacinth beat him to it.

When the dwarrow finally settled in for the night, Thorin made his way deeper into the smial, where he had seen Hyacinth disappear. He tried every door until he stumbled across her robe crumpled on the floor and her nightgown thrown across the bed. The bedroom was connected to its own bathing chamber, and that's where he found her.

Hyacinth was lying in the largest personal bath he had seen since Erebor. It was sunken so far into the floor, Thorin could only see the very top of a pile of curls. Sweet smelling steam rose up and fogged the looking glass, making the tiles slick. Thorin left his clothes in a pile over his boots and made his way down the steps and into the water.

She watched him with wide eyes, but a little smile curled around her lips. Once he had settled in across from her, their legs tangled, she offered him her glass of wine. It was undoubtedly elvish, but he took it anyway.

"Not quite moonshine, but I think it's more fitting, no?"

"Aye, there's nothing I want to forget about tonight."

Thorin pulled her into his lap, dug his hands into her hair, and it was like not a day had passed since he last ravished her. And by Mahal, did he want to ravish her. When he had her gasping and trembling, that's when he mounted his attack.

"I want you to stay here."

"Not… not in a thousand lifetimes."

He commanded her in his kisses, whispered directives into her skin. He tried to deny her until she submit. He pleaded. Hyacinth would even say he begged, though Thorin would never agree. And yet, no matter how mindless she was, Hyacinth always said no.

He told her to stay when she packed her bag. He told her to stay when she made up breakfast. He told her to stay when she changed into traveling clothes.

Thorin only admit defeat when he settled her firmly on a pony and she looked at him with that triumphant smile.

Ferocity

Thorin could admit, if only to himself, that he was capable of making stupid decisions. Engaging Azog with no one at his back was one of those stupid decisions.

When he woke, all Thorin could think about was Hyacinth. The only thing he could see was the way she stood over him, letter opener at the ready, until Gandalf's wizened face swam into view. He took a gasping breath, pain lancing through his chest.

"Hyacinth!"

Thorin tried to lunge upward, mind spinning, but small hands pressed him back.

"Shh. I'm here, Thorin. I'm right here."

She was right there, kneeling by his side. Blood was splattered over her face and her hair was escaping the braids he had weaved, but she was alive. Her cheeks were flushed and eyes bright, and she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"I… you… why?"

She huffed a little and traced her little fingers over his brow, cupping his cheek.

"Well, it's not like I could just let that orc kill you. Who would lead the company, lead Erebor? If you hadn't noticed, I've almost become fond of you. You're my lover, my king, and no one is going to take you from me."

Her eyes blazed, and he almost thought the heat would set him on fire. With her little sword in her lap and blood everywhere, he believed her. The only thing Thorin could do was prop himself up on one elbow, bury his other hand in her hair, and kiss her. He kissed her like the world was ending, as if he'd never kissed her before and never would again.

The rest of the company cheered, but Thorin ignored them.

Hyacinth kept that look in her eyes when they climbed down the Carrock, when Thorin insisted they keep going, when they made camp for the night. It was only when he finally sat down, groaning, that she melted. She was ever so gentle when she cleaned his wounds and laid compresses on his bruises. Thorin barely felt cloth when she wiped at his dirty face.

Before his very eyes, Hyacinth transformed from his little hobbit to a warrior then back again.

She brought him soup, tucked a blanket around him, and positively snarled when Fili started juggling knives a little too close. She fussed at his bandages and quite literally poured tea down his throat. When he tried to get up, she pressed him back down, then growled when he wouldn't stop.

When the camp finally went quiet, Hyacinth buried herself in his uninjured side.

"I almost lost you. I can't. You don't get to come into my life, flip it all upside down, and then leave. That's not how it works. You have to stay. You have to stay right here, with me."

He smiled toward the treetops.

"Aye, I will."

"You better."

Regality

Oin had just given him begrudging approval to walk, and Thorin was pressing his luck.

The council room was a floor below the royal chambers. Thorin knew otherwise, but the stairs seemed to go on forever. Every step was jarring to his mostly-healed ribs, but he couldn't risk lingering forever or someone would come and send him back to bed. Thorin was tired of staring at the ceiling.

Hyacinth wouldn't let him do anything she considered strenuous. That included all his paperwork and council meetings, so she did it in his stead. Every time he tried to look over her shoulder, she would smack him over the head.

Thorin was frustrated and bored enough to try going to her, instead of waiting for her to bring the work to him.

He finally made his way through the mostly-intact back passages to the king's entrance of the council chambers, and leaned against it to catch his breath. He could already hear the murmur of voices through the door, and it wasn't a good sign.

Thorin cracked the door open, just wide enough to see inside, and was hit with a flood of noise. Hyacinth was too short to see over the back of the King's chair, but she must have been there since Dwalin stood behind it, hand twitching towards his axe. Balin and Kili were on her right, Fili on her left. The rest of the table was filled with Dain and his people, temporary councilmembers until the convoys arrived and Thorin was officially crowned.

They were all talking over one another, yelling and threatening and blustering. They carried on for a long moment before the King's chair scraped backwards. Hyacinth must have stood, if the sudden silence was any indication, but she was so tiny he still couldn't see her.

"If you are all quite done…. The delegation of Mirkwood elves will be met by myself, Balin, and Prince Fili. We will establish a preliminary treaty for food and trade, to be renegotiated at harvest time. This is not up for discussion. I will meet with the elves, and we will come to an agreement. Unlike you all, I will not allow the citizens of Erebor to starve this winter. The council is dismissed."

Thorin did not scramble away for the door. No he did not.

The moment the door closed behind her, Hyacinth started mumbling under her breath in that odd hobbit language, fingers rubbing the skin just under her betrothal braids. She opened her eyes and spotted him. Her face became even more thunderous.

"What are you doing?"

"Now, Hyacinth…"

"Don't you Hyacinth me! How could you be so stupid? A week ago you couldn't sit up without fainting, and now you decide to roam Erebor on a whim? Mahal save me from the stubbornness of dwarves."

She stormed past him.

"Come."

Thorin followed, awed and cowed all at once.