Chapter 1: Thor Is Still A Troll
"Tell us a story, Elder Ori!" chimed in a toddler from Dale as the old and ancient Ori was gently eased into the armchair next to the roaring fireplace by his son. Sighing in contentment, Ori nodded his thanks at firstborn, and with that, the burly and gray-haired Dwarf walked away before leaning against the doorway to the parlor with a relaxed smile.
Watching his father, the beloved Storyteller of Erebor. Watching the numerous children crowding around him with puppy eyes and adoring expressions.
One female young Hobbit handed Ori a large cup of nutmeg tea (Ori's favorite) as the other young Dwarves, humans, Hobbits, and Elves clamored eagerly.
"Oh, yes! Please do! Yes, tell us a story! Tell us a story! No one can tell stories like you Elder Ori! Please?! Make it a long one!"
Ori pretended to think about the request, long and hard and scratching his frizzy and patchy beard. But Ori's son, who was watching this from the doorway, knew his father could never refuse to the young ones. Except for rare cases when he was sick, Ori always never failed to give in and retell an entertaining chronicle once a week.
Especially during the dark days of the War of the Ring, Ori was seen telling stories to the scared children as the combined armies of Erebor, Dale and Greenwood fought against Sauron's armies and the Easterlings.
This room, this weekly occasion, was a sacred and providential time for everyone.
It was amazing how much excitement and warmth could come from a single cavern within the Lonely Mountain.
"All right, all right, you young scamps have convinced me…" Ori chuckled before he motioned the crowd to sit down with one withered hand, which they all did so eagerly on the Warg-skin rug, tightly packed like canned sardines. It did not matter if the children were sitting with their own race or not. Elves sat with Dwarflings, human boys and girls eagerly made space for the smaller Hobbit progenies to sit in their laps, and one female Elf even allowed a male teenager Dwarf to cuddle against her, the two of them smiling exactly like Kíli and Tauriel when they courted.
No matter what their race and culture, it was a time they could all enjoy Ori's tales together, without fighting and as a community.
If Bilbo were still alive, he would have been immensely proud.
Taking another sip and reveling in the warmth spreading to his creaking bones, the Dwarf scribe enjoyed the comfort before he asked the innocent question.
"Now, which story would you all like?"
This immediately set out a round of suggestions and demands.
"Tell us the story of Lady Darcy Lewis, Black Panther, and Prince Legolas' journey to Mount Gandabad!"
"That's boring! We should pick an exciting one! Like when Lady Tilda and Lady Sigrid earned their roles as the Wasp and the Bumblebee from Mister Pym!"
"How about the Kree Invasion of Isengard?"
"No! I want to hear how Prince Kíli and Fíli rode Lockjaw to win the Battle of Helm's Deep!"
"We heard that last week!"
"Well it's my favorite. I wish to hear it again."
"Sod off! Elder Ori should talk of when Captain Marvel and Quicksilver traveled with Arwen to the East!"
"Tell us when Sir Coulson teamed up with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins and Tom Bombadil to take out an entire army of Variags single-handedly!"
"Personally, I would love to hear the tale of how Master Hawkeye saved Haldir's life and became an Elf-Friend. It's been so long since I last heard that one."
"I'm in the mood for a funny story. Oh! How about the time when Lady Galadriel turned Tony Stark into a woman?!"
There was immediately silence when Ori weakly raised a hand; it was amazing how much presence the old Dwarf could command from the children with just one gesture. Ori then put out a suggestion.
"How about I tell the story of Thor Odinson? Of when he returned to Erebor after the Battle of the Five Armies with his good friend, Steven Rogers?"
From the background, Ori's son smiled underneath his beard.
All the children cheered and clamored excitedly before they became silent as Ori began to speak, wistfully relishing the memories. The old Dwarf started off his tale as he leaned back against his easy chair and cradled his hot cup of tea.
"It was a little more than a year after Erebor was reclaimed and after the Battle of the Five Armies," Ori narrated, "We did not know it at the time, but despite what Thorin Oakenshield claimed, the arrival of Thor Odinson and Steven Rogers was a blessing from the Valar…"
"Dwalin, please!" Ori pleaded as he tried to plead with the muscular Dwarf.
"I am sorry, Beloved," Dwalin said as he finished fastening his armor around his torso, "There have been reports of another Goblin raid on the city of Dale, and Tauriel just informed me that there were sightings of a Warg pack close to the northern borders of Mirkwood. I must perform my duty."
"But you promised!"
"Next week, when there is a reprieve then."
"That's what you said last week!"
"Ori, my duty is to my King and to the safety of Erebor. That includes the Company, Thorin, the Dwarves immigrating from the Blue Mountains, and you…"
"This is the fourth time you had to cancel! Please, Dwalin! We barely have enough chances to spend time in private as it is! Why not have Palli or Grugim take charge for once?! They are some of your second-in-commands!"
"Ori, no. This job requires my expertise."
"Dwalin…" Ori pleaded as he gently but tenderly took one of Dwalin's massive hands, the scribe's smooth fingers tracing over the spiked knuckledusters, the varicose veins, the callused flesh and skin which sent shivers up Dwalin's arm. With great restraint and disappointment, Dwalin gently removed Ori's hands from his.
"Ori, no."
"Please. This means so much to me."
Dwalin now was frowning at Ori, his eyebrows furrowing together like bushy, agitated caterpillars.
"No. That is final."
Ori then lost patience as he shot out irritably, "You just want to use this as an excuse to get out of me sketching your portrait!"
The scribe was waiting for a denial, a heated refutation, a rebuttal with Dwalin swearing that he would always keep his Beloved's matters and principles foremost in his mind as much as his own. So imagine Ori's shock when there was a hesitant and awkward silence from the grizzled Dwalin, with Dwalin lowering his gaze to the ground, unable to meet Ori's eyes as he idly fiddled with a loose string from his armored tunic.
"You are!" breathed Ori out loud in a combination of offense and indignation. Dwalin mentally cursed, wondering why was it he had trouble keeping secrets from his fiancé.
"You know how uncomfortable I am about this whole beautifying rubbish."
"It's not rubbish!" Ori snapped before he continued in a more cordial and placating tone, not wanting to start an argument, "You've seen how well I've done all the other portraits of the Company, and the chronicles of our journeys show them in a wonderful light! Even Tauriel and Galadriel commented on how skillful my drawings were!"
"Love, when trying to convince me, in the future it would best to not use the praise of Tree-Shaggers as an example," grumbled Dwalin as he began to stride out of their apartments. Ori then dashed forward before he purposefully got in front of Dwalin's path, keeping him from leaving.
"It's nothing to be ashamed about! Don't you want your deeds to be chronicled in history, in legends?"
"I'm not comfortable with it," Dwalin sighed with fatigue, not wanting to delve into this discussion any further, "Your chronicles of the retaking of Erebor will stand for ages, open for all to see. You shouldn't feel the need to preserve the image of a hideous, ugly Dwarf for future generations."
The image of so many young Dwarves and children, snickering and laughing outright at the image of a frowning and scarred Dwalin on paper in the history books, with his oversized nose and grumpy, sour demeanor, looking so much like a constipated Warg or a pathetic donkey…
"I don't think you're ugly…" Ori whispered as he gently held Dwalin's hand.
Dwalin growled, already at the end of his patience, "Enough. I do not want you to draw me."
"Perhaps…if we both were in a particular state of dress while I drew you…" Ori suggested, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Dwalin was both tempted and impressed at Ori's audacity and naughtiness.
And to think that Dori was still in denial of how his youngest brother was a moral, chaste, unsullied and mannerly Dwarfling until "that shit-faced bastard" corrupted Ori with the courtship.
Still…
Dwalin sighed as he gently removed Ori's hand from his.
"Regardless, I will not allow it. I am the Captain of the Ereborian Guards. My reputation means much to a Dwarf in my esteem and position, and I do not wish to be prettied up and drawn like a twittering, virgin female. I'd be the laughingstock of the entire Lonely Mountain, and I am simply not comfortable with that. Please respect my wishes."
"Really? Such as how you're respecting mine?" Ori shot back accusingly.
Dwalin glared, unable to find an agreeable retort, before he tried to gently brush past Ori. He was so sick of this talk now.
Ori tried to soothe his lover and One as he placed a hand on Dwalin's broad and hard chest, sending tremors down the guard's spine as Ori leaned closer.
"I think it would do wonders for your self-esteem if I could draw you the way I see you."
Frowning, Dwalin gently removed Ori's hand before he snorted, "I doubt that. Please, respect my wishes, Ori. My reputation means much to me. Leave it at that."
With that, the Guard Captain left their quarters, leaving Ori despondent. Within a few seconds, a familiar figure emerged from the parlor closet after eavesdropping on the entire disagreement. Ori rolled his eyes, not even bothering to turn at the sound and knowing full well who it was.
"Oh dear, trouble in the courtship," sighed an annoying voice from behind Ori with lugubrious sarcasm, "Oh well, Dwalin is hardly a significant loss. It's not too late to call the whole thing off, dear brother. Dori will certainly be ecstatic and break out the good ale if you would finally remove that blasphemous eyesore from your hair."
With that, Nori playfully reached for the courting bead embedded into Ori's braid, only for Ori to squawk and pull back and swat his brother's hands irritably. He fondly remembered how nervous Dwalin was as he offered it to Ori, how much his hands were shaking like a nervous Dwarfling as he braided the bead into Ori's sandy hair, how much Dwalin whispered sweet nothings into Ori's ear afterwards as the two curled up intimately next to the fire, skin against skin and Ori's nuzzling Dwalin's hairy chest…
Ori blushed at the recollection, his face now turning a brilliant shade of ruby as he glanced at the smug and knowing smile on Nori's face (the Dwarf Spymaster was no fool). Hurriedly, Ori just quickly left his apartment, muttering over his shoulder, "I'm going to the library."
"Good. I'll come with you," Nori replied, his grin absolutely sanctimonious.
Ori knew better at this point to try to tell his aggravating older brother to leave him alone during his unpleasant mood.
Entering the library, Ori sighed with familiarity at the sight of the towering yet bare shelves, the neat rectangular tables of steel and wood with miniature candles and inkwells (complete with quills) placed at the end for guests, the soft and plush armchairs set around stone fire-pits and crackling, warm fireplaces, and the inviting colors peach, red, and soft sunset-yellow of the walls and cloth tapestries hung throughout the upper and lower stories. This chamber, this archive of tomes, scrolls, parchment and ink…it was still a long way off from being completely refurbished and finalized, but the Royal Scribe knew that within a decade, the Ereborian Library would be a monument of envy even to King Thranduil and Lord Elrond.
Still in a poor temperament, Ori began his duties as he began re-shelving tomes and books, filling the empty spaces bit by bit. Nori however lazily sank into a nearby chair and table and began picking his fingernails with a small dagger, not saying a word and once or twice glancing at Ori on the ladder.
"You could help me, Nori…" sighed Ori after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. Nori rolled his eyes, but then to the scribe's surprise, Nori got on his feet and actually assisted in collecting the strewn books around the library, just to aid his younger sibling.
Ori was appreciative of the gesture as he smiled.
"Dare I ask if you're here because you're hiding or because you have nothing else better to do?"
"The latter…" grumbled Nori as he hefted a stack of heavy volumes to hand over to the Royal Scribe, "After the dead end of seeing if any of our kin or our neighbors are somehow influencing the sudden appearance of Orcs, I'm bored! Complete, utterly, absolutely, without a doubt bored! Thorin has no missions for me, my fellow spies have turned up nothing, there is nothing definite I can report, there isn't anyone or anything I can kill, and the worst of all, I can't spend my newfound free time by betting!"
"So they finally banned you from participating in the pots?" Ori asked nonchalantly without surprise as the descended carefully down the ladder.
Nori gave his younger brother an incredulous look of outrage.
"You knew?!" Nori barked.
Ori didn't look the least bit sorry as he straightened and reordered a pile of scrolls.
"Glóin said that many in Dale, Mirkwood, and Erebor started refusing to participate in the betting pools unless there was a guarantee that you would no longer be included. All the Dwarves and Men and Elves were getting sick and tired of you winning ninety-three percent of the time."
"Bollocks! You made that figure up!"
"Actually, Glóin showed me his calculations, and he triple-checked his figures."
Nori let loose several foul curses in Khuzdul that would have had Dori dragging Nori out of the Royal Library by his ear before scrubbing the Spymaster's mouth out with soap.
Ori then tried to explain as he took several manuscripts out of Nori's arms and placed them in alphabetical order on the shelves, saying, "Perhaps it would not be so uncalled for to be gracious in this, Nori. They simply did not like it that you kept being the victor, and many of the Elves, Men, and Dwarves kept accusing you of manipulating the odds in your favor. Your winning streaks are far too unfair for them. In fact, Thorin promised everyone to bar you from bets in order to appease them from doing something drastic like shaving your beard."
"Sore losers…" grumbled Nori.
"Can you blame them? The fact that you kept succeeding made them suspect cheating."
"It's only cheating if they can prove it," snapped Nori as he straightened out the chairs of a nearby table.
Ori wasn't sure if this was an admission or not, but he cordially bit his lip and decided not to comment. Still, Nori couldn't help but continue on about the injustice of the whole prohibition.
"This is about as much of a pain in the rear as a Tree-Shagger's arrow! I need to think of a way to earn some money!" griped Nori. Ori paused, blinking, before he turned to his brother with an incredulous look.
"Nori…" Ori began slowly for emphasis, "You don't need to earn any money. You're a Dwarf Lord who owns one-fourteenth of the treasury of Erebor. You have more riches, treasure, and coin than most of the Dwarven Lords of the seven Dwarven families put together. In fact, you do not have to work for a single day in your life ever again."
"It's the principle of the thing," sniffed the Dwarf Thief without shame.
"Well, if you're bored, you can always go and help Dori with his shop," suggested Ori, sighing. Secretly, if anyone could bring a much-needed spike of patrons in Dori's new teahouse, it would be Nori.
"I'd rather help you out," grumbled Nori, sniffing derisively.
Ori decided to take that statement as a compliment.
Suddenly, there was a loud commotion as Fíli entered raucously into the library, sprinting through the wide entrance and looking wildly around before spotting Ori and Nori. At a run, he hurried over to the two Ri brothers.
"Quickly, come to the throne room!" Fíli exclaimed, "Gandalf is here, and he has summoned a meeting! With all of us from the Company!"
"Really?" Ori asked, titling his head. Since when did Fíli seem so excited about meeting with Tharkûn? The golden haired Prince then smirked as he dropped his bombshell.
"He brings news about Thor Odinson, the warrior one who owns the hammer of Mahal that helped us in the Battle of the Five Armies! I think Thor will be coming for a visit!"
"Really?!" gasped Ori as he clambered down the ladder excitedly. Thor Odinson? The fabled visitor from the stars in the kingdom of Asgard? Ori felt his face flush with eagerness and anticipation; he never could forget those stunning dark eyes of blue, the chiseled face and arms as if they were cut from stone, the shining hair pouring out from underneath his helmet, his deep voice that sounded both inspiring and terrifying.
And if he got a chance to sketch the God's portrait…
Nori gave a suspicious look to his younger brother before he flatly stated his observation.
"You both seem awfully excited."
Ori reddened as he did not meet the Spymaster's eyes while they walked. Fíli's eyes just twinkled with mischief.
"I'm looking forward to seeing the look of jealous discomfort on Kíli's face. I could use the entertainment."
Speedily, Fíli, Nori, and Ori managed to bustle into the massive throne room of Erebor with its high vaulted ceilings and metal walkways, realizing that all of the other members of the Company have already congregated. However, it turned out it was not just the original Company of Thorin Oakenshield in the gathering. Dís, sister of Thorin and mother of Kíli and Fíli, was alongside Tauriel as she watched her brother with a pure expression of amusement. Bard, the King of Dale, was also present, standing respectfully next to Balin and Gandalf, and even young Gimli (a Dwarfling with muttonchops and a tuft of red hair on his chin) was standing next to his father, Glóin, eager and excited for the incoming news. Dwalin, surprisingly, seemed to have desert his earlier mission to investigate the Goblin attacks as he stood next to Thorin's left alongside the throne as a true friend and protector.
Ori stared at his fiancé, trying to get Dwalin to meet his eyes, but Dwalin simply pretended to not notice as he gazed ahead. Ori was crestfallen.
On their respective thrones of rock sat King Thorin Oakenshield and his Consort, Bilbo Baggins. Thorin was wearing his crown of dark, polished stone and steel and dark furs and blue fabric while Bilbo, in contrast, was smiling and seated properly in his red tunic and cape with a gold crown made lovingly by Thorin in the shape of a wreath of leaves with budding roses. Bilbo seemed just as pleased and eager to hear Gandalf's news while Thorin was actually fuming darkly, as if he wanted nothing better than to toss the Istari out of the front gates. In fact, Thorin was sitting on the throne, arms crossed over his burly chest, back ramrod straight, and…
"…is Thorin, our King and ruler of Erebor, actually pouting?" whispered Ori to his brother, Dori, who was nearby.
"Do not comment if you know what's good for you," Dori answered.
Gandalf coughed meaningfully at Dori and Ori, causing the two Dwarves to clam up hurriedly.
"As I was saying," Gandalf lightly said as he held up a pristine scroll of paper in one hand, "I wished to inform everyone that I have a letter from Thor Odinson himself. The Prince of Asgard has requested me to dictate its contents to all of you since he remembers Bilbo Baggins quite fondly. And because of a slightly more serious issue: Thor has a friend who needs help, and he beseeches any assistance you can offer him."
"How can we be of service?" Tauriel asked.
Kíli's face soured as he crossed his arms and mentally griped.
Gandalf unrolled the thick parchment and began to verbalize the words scribbled inside. The Gray Wizard narrated, "Greetings to the blessed and magnificent Dwarves, Elves, and Men of Erebor. I, Prince Thor, son of King Odin Allfather and Queen Frigga, Prince of Asgard, hopes that this letter finds you all well, hale, healthy, and happy…"
"Boot-licker…" grumbled Thorin under his breath, only to be silenced by a slap on the shoudler by Bilbo.
"Unfortunately, this letter has a rather dire reason, and I reach out to my fellow Mjolnir brother and his friends in desperation. If only my situation was not so grim that you could perhaps provide a sliver of aid and restoration. In a distant world called Earth where I currently reside and which is populated almost entirely by the race of Men, there has been war and chaos. A group of evil cowards and turncoats pledging allegiance to an organization most foul of craven and sadistic warmongers called 'Hydra' has slaughtered innocents and stuck against my dearest friends. They have injured and killed many blameless men, women, and children in a blink of an eye, attempted genocide in a misguided and depraved ritual to cleanse the planet, crushed hope and resistance by ruthlessly striking against loved ones and families. Yet the most unforgivable crime was the deed they have performed against one particular friend who is my dearest brother-at-arms: Steven Rogers who also is known as 'Captain America' on the battlefield."
There was silence as the entire group listening to this was horrified.
Gandalf continued gravely, "My friend, Steven, is a devoted and reliable soldier of steadfast heart and gallant soul and morals. Never have I been prouder to accept him as my most trusted brother-at-arms who I would gladly sing praise and escort to Valhalla of the most esteemed warriors such as Bilbo Baggins himself. In fact, Steven is not that much different from my Hobbit brother; their mannerisms and good hearts are very much alike."
"By Mahal, two Bilbos…" murmured Bombur, blinking and trying to picture it. Bofur couldn't help but smile at the thought.
"Unfortunately, the war against Hydra has damaged Steven Rogers physically and emotionally. It turns out that his past friend and soulmate, Bucky Barnes, was enchanted by Hydra, allowing these evil scoundrels to take control of his mind, forcing Bucky to become Hydra's most bloodthirsty assassin called 'The Winter Solder'. Many deaths were perpetrated by Bucky's own hand as he was driven mad from the evil machinations. Steven was devastated for though we eventually won the war against Hydra, Steven was forced to choose doing what was right over his childhood friend and comrade, fighting with the Winter Soldier and nearly losing his own life."
"Poor lad…" Balin murmured.
"By the grace of the Gods, Steven managed to free Bucky from Hydra's influence, but the joyous reunion was not to be. Unable to cope once his mind was free and upon witnessing the destruction caused by Hydra, in shame and self-reproach, Bucky ran away, fleeing to destinations unknown. After months of searching, Bucky has made it clear to Steven that he will never return with him nor forgive himself for his crimes against humanity. Bucky has ended things with Steven, despite the years of love and friendship the two have shared and Steven pleading and arguing with Bucky for over three days. Now, Bucky Barnes has vanished, so well that even our most skilled soldiers have little hope of discovering Bucky's location. Steven has been languishing, his heart rent asunder, both physically and emotionally, as he toils to try to help cities rebuild from Hydra's attacks while refusing to take time to rest, recuperate, and heal. He does not eat, he does not sleep, he will not confide in anyone, and he has distanced himself from myself and the other Avengers to the point where I fear Steven may commit suicide. In fact, I worry that Steven cannot properly grieve for I have yet to see him shed a single tear or lament."
"What are 'Avengers'?" Óin muttered, wondering if he needed to clear out his ear trumpet.
"I wish for Steven to reconcile and mend in soul and heart, and the other Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D brothers have agreed. Steven is of no use to us if he continues to put himself in this state, and it would damage our efforts for rebuilding as well as Steven himself. He should not remain where there was death and loss to remind him of his own pain. Then I recalled being told that due to Mjolnir assisting my fellow brother, Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, in the Battle of the Five Armies, I would be granted any favor and assistance should the need arise."
Thorin bristled. Neither he nor anyone in the Company made such a promise when Thor Odinson last visited Erebor. Although he had a sneaking suspicion that a particular wizard made that offer without his permission…
"I was also told that recently, the Orcs and Goblins and creatures of the dark have suddenly been amassing around Erebor and its neighbors. This also distresses me, for I will not allow more individuals similar to Hydra to cause grievance to Brother Bilbo and his loved ones. I would like to request a favor and a trade: allow Steven and I to stay in Erebor where the distance and new environment and among noble heroes such as Bilbo Baggins and his Company to heal the scars on his soul, and we shall help fight alongside and rid your lands of this evil. If you can grant us sanctuary in your home among warmth and love, I bow down and thank you endlessly for your kindness and generosity. Inform Incánus of your decision, and he will send me your reply posthaste as swiftly as the falling stars. Sincerely, and with hope and gratitude, Prince Thor, Son of Odin and Frigga AllFather, Royalty of Asgard."
There was a tense and thoughtful hush as Gandalf finished before Thorin then coughed meaningfully and spoke in a controlled yet dismissive voice.
"That was quite a sad tale, Wizard, and rest assured, my sincerest condolences go out to Thor and his friends. However, as tragic and appalling as these events are…"
"Of course we shall help, Gandalf," jumped in Bilbo, getting to his feet and rising from his throne, eyes full of compassion and understanding. Thorin whirled on his husband, his eyebrows raised high in rude surprise as one shocked eye started to twitch.
"What?" Thorin hissed.
Gandalf's eyes twinkled like stars as he smiled underneath his bushy beard and declared, "Excellent! I shall begin to write a reply and immediately pass your acceptance to Thor Odinson is Asgard posthaste. I suspect that it would take several days before Thor can settle and finalize matters back on his world with the other Avengers before he arrives here with Steven. Shall Thor be staying in Erebor?"
"Gandalf, I'm afraid we cannot - !" began Thorin again, his powerful voice louder and trying to make himself heard, but to his dread, everyone else in the room began to add in to Bilbo's affirmation.
Dís announced, "I will start with having the servants and staff set up the finest guest rooms for the two warriors. Since they will be staying with us for an indefinite amount of time, we must ensure that they feel welcome and at home in our kingdom."
Tauriel nodded, adding, "I shall report today's meeting to King Thranduil. No doubt that the Mirkwood forest would also like to extend invitations of hospitality."
Kíli muttered darkly under his breath, "I'd rather this Thor Odinson just stay in Mirkwood entirely."
"What was that, dear Kíli?" Tauriel asked sweetly that did little to hide the warning iron underneath as both she and Dís slowly turned to the dark-haired Prince with neutral looks.
"Uh…I said…why bother? Thor should stay in the Lonely Mountain as our guest entirely!" Kíli lamely covered. Both Tauriel and Dís let it pass.
"Excuse me!" barked Thorin, trying to make his disapproval known, but to his ire, nearly everyone ignored him save a select few who clearly had the same sentiment and opinions of Thor as he did. Dwalin clearly wasn't enjoying the sight of Ori excitedly rocking on his feet back and forth, his face giddy.
King Bard of Dale then spoke to Balin, "We need to prepare ideas and strategies that can incorporate Thor Odinson and his friend in our efforts to track and fight the Orcs and Goblins. If they are unfamiliar with our terms and lands, time spent in preparing to educate them of the terrain, our neighboring cities, and our world history could be beneficial."
The portly Dwarf advisor nodded, saying, "I shall convene with Dwalin and Dain and see if we can collaborate. We need to ensure that we can effectively work with Thor Odinson and his hammer without hindrance or the risk of accidentally injuring our own kin during combat. I still haven't gotten entirely over my fear of lightning since Bilbo used the hammer on the spiders."
"Let me join in too!" Gimli pleaded in the background (only to get a swift slap upside the head by his father).
"Now wait just a damned minute! I did not - !" Thorin tried to interject, but no one was listening.
Fíli then spoke to Nori, "Nori, it may be best to spread this news throughout the Lonely Mountain. With the arrival of the God who actually wielded the hammer that killed Azog, if there are any of our kin who are spies for the Orcs and Goblins, it may cause them to panic and act hastily once they learn of this announcement. Which might - "
"…make it easier for me to spot and track their movements and intentions down? Consider it done, my Prince," Nori finished for the blond-haired Dwarf, a smile gracing his lips.
"That is enough!" Thorin tried yelling above the babble, "We are not - !"
"I can start putting in requests for additional items to be bought at Mirkwood and Dale," Bombur suggested as he waddled forward towards Bilbo, "If there's anything that cheers up a warrior, it is a good feast. Perhaps it could help this Steven Rogers if we presented him with a hearty meal."
"Though more trade is always welcome, resources may be a bit limited in the city. We're just beginning to rebuild," Bard pointed out.
"I am sure that perhaps the Hobbits in Hobbiton and the Shire would be more than happy to provide some of their plentiful Spring Harvest for some modest gold," Gandalf offered, "Radagast and his Rhosgobel Rabbits would surely be able to make the trip to there and back to the Lonely Mountain with supplies in time for their arrival."
"Excellent!" piped up Bilbo excitedly, "Pay the Hobbits with funds from my share! And have Radagast bring enough for both Erebor and Dale! The Valar only know that the Shire will welcome the gold and will have enough to feed both cities! I shall help assist with the cooking then! Goodness, if this Steven Rogers is as big as Thor, they may have the appetites of Hobbits themselves!"
"Allow me to help as well, Master Baggins. I can decorate the banquet halls and supply everyone with tea from my shop!" Dori said.
That was enough. Thorin was at his absolute end as he shot up from his throne, took a golden wine goblet that was sitting on the armrest, and hurled it against the wall, scattering alcohol as it made a loud clatter that temporarily rendered the assembly silent.
"NO! I FORBID IT!" roared Thorin, his face now turning a dangerous shade of purple, "I AM THE KING! MY WORD AND DECREE IS LAW! AND I WILL NOT ALLOW THAT COCKY, ARROGANT, SHOWBOATING, AGGRAVATING IDIOT IN EREBOR WITH HIS FRIEND AS IF MY KINGDOM IS SOME SORT OF INN! AS IF THE MOUNTAIN IS A TAVERN THAT ACCEPTS STRAYS TO LEECH OFF ONE'S CHARITY! THOR ODINSON WILL NOT COME HERE AS LONG AS I STAND! THAT IS FINAL!"
"So how long was it before Thor Odinson arrived to Erebor with Captain America?" leered a teenage Dwarf.
"The following week…" answered Ori with a smile.
The entire crowd laughed with glee.
"Damned sister. Damned wizard. Damned Thor Odinson. Damned Company. Damned majority veto. Damned Arkenstone being the one thing my Beloved can hold over my head…" griped Thorin darkly under his breath, fuming.
Bilbo graciously did not reprimand or rebuke Thorin, but he did discreetly ram his elbow into Thorin's side to keep him quiet. The King suppressed his grumbling, but his dark glare softened with Bilbo slid his hand into the Dwarf's, his hand bringing a sense of comfort to the King of Erebor.
Bofur noticed this with a sad and wistful look as Thorin leaned over a whispered something in Bilbo's ear that made the Hobbit blush and giggle as he leaned into the comfort of Thorin's bushy cheek. Bifur, observing this, nudged his brother's hand before signing in Iglishmêk with one palm.
Do not torture yourself like this, signed Bifur.
Bofur nodded as he gazed straight ahead.
The Company of Thorin was standing alongside the two Royals of the Lonely Mountain at the front entrance as a welcoming reception. They were actually not alone, for Dís, Gandalf, Radagast the Brown, King Thranduil of Mirkwood, and King Bard of Dale stood with them. As well as a massive crowd of Dwarves, Elves, and men and women, all of them forming a ring around a wide, circular area of dirt and stone as an invitation for Thor to teleport and arrive without causing any panic or injury. The swarm was zealously enthusiastic, keenly impatient as they waited for the grand entrance of the fabled warrior who owned the hammer that single-handedly won the Battle of the Five Armies.
It was as if for that moment, they could all forget about the impeding catastrophe of the raiding Orcs and Goblins.
"Why are there so many people?" Glóin asked, tilting his head at the massive throng who were waiting in fervor, many of whom really did not have much of a reason to be a part of the soirée. Even Bard's daughters, the Princesses Sigrid and Tilda, were in the mass.
Balin rolled his eyes, but the elderly Dwarf managed to find some humor in the whole situation as he clarified, "It appears that Thor Odinson has garnered a little bit of a fan-base, especially from the female subset of the population."
Indeed, upon a closer look, Glóin could see that what Balin said was true for over half of the congregation. Ladies and women, Dwarrowdams, and female Elves from all three empires were tittering and whispering with anticipated gaiety, their eyes shining brightly and with such elated smiles that one would have to wonder how unsettling it was to show that much eagerness. Even Glóin's own wife, Täli, was waiting with clasped hands to her chest, much to Glóin's annoyance.
Two young women from Dale were whispering quietly and franticly amongst the crowd.
"Do you believe that Thor would be willing to visit Dale if we asked him?" a woman named Mafria asked.
"It is possible," her friend, Bea, assured, "I just hope this Captain Steven Rogers is just as much of a brave and stunning hero as Thor!"
"Um…I hate to break your vivid hopes, but I would like to remind you that since Thor Odinson was making sweet on Bilbo Baggins, who is most definitely a male, you are most likely setting yourselves up for disappointment," Bain commented, only for Sigrid to slap her younger brother upside the head.
"Oh be quiet!" snapped Sigrid.
"To be fair, it's not every day we get a visitor from another world, and a God at that," Fíli mused as he grinned at a fuming Kíli (who was next to the Crown Prince), "Plus, it is sort of entertaining to see if this Steven Rogers is just as much of a troublemaking yet charming scamp and heartthrob as Thor. It would be noteworthy to see how my dear brother would handle there being two superbly gorgeous rivals."
"Go suck on Dwalin's warhammer…" growled Kíli grouchily at his brother, with his arms crossed over his chest and a grumpy expression on his face as he scowled at the sight of Tauriel smiling and explaining to young Gimli about Thor Odinson.
Indeed, Kíli wasn't the only one who was unhappy. Legolas as well as a number of Men and male Dwarves and Elves were grumbling and showing similar expressions of reluctant displeasure like Kíli, Dwalin, and Thorin Oakenshield. Even Bard was giving a side-eyed glance of worry at Sigrid's eager glee. King Thranduil however was smiling (a rare occurrence ever since the King of Mirkwood lost his hair and eyebrows due to a certain hammer last year).
"Ada, why are you so merry?" Legolas asked his father, one eyebrow raised.
"The look on Thorin Oakenshield's face," Thranduil stated. Legolas nodded in understanding upon seeing the great King of Erebor sulking and puckering as if he was sucking on a lemon or something sour and bitter.
Suddenly, Gandalf raised his head, bringing the attention of the people nearby. The Gray Wizard intoned loudly, his voice amplified by his magic for everyone to feel as it echoed eerily throughout the lowland.
"He is coming…"
Immediately, there was a massive flash from the cloudy sky before a peal of thunder rang throughout the entire atmosphere. Straightaway, a cylindrical column of multicolored light erupted from the clouds before slamming neatly into the middle of the clearing thoughtfully spaced out by the mob. The crowd gasped and made various exclamations and cheers of surprise and amazement as the rainbow bridge pealed and surged with roars of an unfathomable din, shining so brightly like a star. And the might and force of the prismatic wonder invoked a small typhoon all around them as the air churned and whistled significantly.
"It's so beautiful!" Tilda gasped, her eyes wide and eager. Bard grabbed the back of Tilda's collar before his youngest could give into the temptation to go running into the enchanting kaleidoscope.
Within several seconds and as suddenly as it appeared, the rainbow abruptly vanished, leaving two figures standing amid the telltale circle of scorch marks amid the dirt and stone. One was Thor Odinson, wearing a sleeveless, armored tunic, breeches with metal leg-guards, and his trademark red cape. Thor was without his helmet, however, allowing his blond hair to flutter around his broad shoulders and rugged, bearded face. Nevertheless, Thor's eyes shone like the deep blue sea under the midday sun as he broke out in a wide and profound smile upon seeing the crowd.
Everyone in the cluster immediately hushed in awe.
Thor broke the silent contemplation as he ambled forward and cheered, raising a bulky arm and waving, "Incánus! Bilbo Baggins of Bag End! King Thorin of Oak's Shield! Well met! And to everyone in this world, we give many thanks for your most welcoming tidings! I am greatly honored by such munificence!"
Thor bowed slightly, angling his head. The female folk tittered and smiled.
Thorin was starting to wonder if it was too late to immediately grab Bilbo, renounce the crown to Fíli and Dís, and retreat off to the Shire forever.
Scowling but respectfully remaining silent, Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo, Gandalf, and the members of Thorin's Company ambled forward as the crowd of Elves, Men, and Dwarves parted respectfully to have the Lord and Rulers of Erebor greet Thor and his guest. Enthusiastically, Thor grabbed his quiet and reluctant companion by looping a burly arm around the Man's shoulders before nodding.
"Allow me to present my friend and a trusted shield-brother, Steven Rogers," Thor boomed.
Everyone was graciously non-judgmental as they studied the stranger next to Thor.
Steven Rogers was tall, only an inch or two shorter than the Asgardian himself, with blond hair of wheat and straw that was cut short and combed meticulously. Like Thor, he wore no helmet, but one could notice a blue one with eyeholes and a chinstrap hanging off his multi-pouched belt (Nori had to marvel at how much he could steal and store with such an accessory).
Conversely, the foreigner donned the most bizarre armor and clothing. It was not made of metal but more like bulky cloth with a hardened shell, dusty but well-worn, colored in the queerest pattern of red, white, and blue, and complete with boots, gloves, protective pads on his shoulders, knees, and elbows, and many, many straps of brown leather. The most conspicuous bit of Steve's attire were two wide straps of leather looped over his shoulders and under his arms, similar to a knapsack, only it held a circular shield of metal, colored alternatively with rings of red and white and blue with a white star in the center.
Dwalin frowned. A shield but no sword?
What kind of addled warrior was this friend of Thor?
However, Steven was impressively built and muscular, his physique evident despite the layers of clothing he was wearing. It would have been a safe guess that he was a fierce and accomplished combatant, and Balin could discern with his eyes that the Steve was antsy, on the balls of his feet as if waiting to move, watching this unknown soldier being acutely aware of his surroundings and the people surrounding him without even turning his head. His face was lean, square-jawed and solemnly blank, but his mouth set in a flat line and tight-lipped as if anticipating danger.
It was clear to Balin that the lad had been through a devastating war; these sorts of details could not be faked by a novice.
Yet what was the most intriguing about Steven Rogers were his eyes. Unlike Thor's which were dark blue, like the color of a bottomless ocean, Steve's eyes were clear and light, as if the pure, cloudless sky of dawn from the mountains descended down and swirled in his pupils. They should have shone like the sharpest crystal. But unlike the vibrant and enthusiastic Thor, these light blue eyes were glassy, lifeless, as if he no longer had a soul. And underneath his eyes were dark bags, clearly due to a lack of sleep, and so full of misery.
Bilbo suddenly felt the urge to give the suffering legionnaire a comforting hug.
Bofur couldn't help but be a little disappointed; this Steven Rogers was as different from Bilbo Baggins appearance-wise as one could possibly get.
"It's nice to meet you. All of you," Steve said, his voice surprisingly easy-going and polite. It wasn't as deep and powerful and ostentatious as Thor's but more amiable, agreeable, and good-natured. In fact, Bilbo could have easily said this Steven Rogers easily reminded him of Hobbit tweens who looked after their younger sisters and brothers like a true responsible role model, the type who was faultless, reliable, and could always be on call to help or babysit.
Steve looked at Thorin before he stood at attention and bowed respectfully, stating, "King Thorin Oakenshield, Your Majesty. Thank you for allowing us to stay in your kingdom. Both Thor and I will do everything we can to assist you in any way or in any way Gandalf suggests."
"Perhaps both of you leave immediately and go back home…" grumbled Thorin under his breath, but a quick and surreptitious kick in the shins via Bilbo made him school his face into a less hostile expression as he nodded.
"You are welcome to stay as long as you both need to," Thorin replied.
"The welcome also extends to the Kingdom of Mirkwood and the city of Dale," King Bard broke in with Thranduil giving the barest of passive nods, "We could truly use some expertise in fighting the sudden uprisings of Orcs and Goblins."
Steve nodded, showing his thanks before he reached from one of the pouches from behind his belt and brought out a large bag of seeds before offering them to Bilbo and Thorin, bowing and stooping down a bit so that he could politely hand his gift to the Consort of Erebor.
"Oh, thank you," Bilbo said with sincere interest while Thorin narrowed his eyes in suspicion.
"Thor told me that Hobbits love to grow plants and flowers, and these peanuts have been designed by S.H.I.E.L.D to be hardy and strong and can flourish in any sort of soil, which would make it perfect for the rocky dirt here in your kingdom. I'll help you grow enough so that the first crop can provide a lot of food and oil for Erebor, Dale, and Mirkwood," Steve explained, and Bilbo was truly touched at the evident thought and deliberation in the offering.
"Shield?" blinked Óin as he looked suspiciously at his brother and at his ear trumpet, "Did I catch that right or was I mishearing things again?"
"How can his shield make seeds?" Bombur whispered, completely misunderstanding Steve Rogers' statement.
"Maybe it's a magical shield, like Thor's hammer!" chimed in Gimli excitedly, quickly to duck before his father could swat his son upside the head and having Glóin's gloved hand narrowly miss Gimli's head.
Then Thor none too gently ambled forward, nudging Steve a bit to the side as he bowed before Bilbo with a flourish.
"And this is mine," Thor said with honor and respect as he brought out a potted plant from the folds of his billowing cape, holding out the ceramic container to the Hobbit as he intoned, "Bilbo Baggins, fellow Brother of Mjolnir, I present to you my promised item: a flower with your namesake. Feast your eyes on a flower blessed by the finest of all Asgardian botanists…the Bilbo Blossom."
Resting in the red-clay pot was a mess of tender leaves and baby ivy, and in the very center was a flower. Thick-stemmed, the size of a man's finger, the bloom rose above the dirt and ivy only to form a large orb that swayed gently from the breeze. Upon a closer look, Bilbo was amazed to see that the head was actually comprised entirely of little miniature flowers, each one urceolate and in the shape of an urn with small pistils sticking out of each mouth, similar to the blossoms of a snapdragon. And at each opening was a small drop of clear, succulent nectar that gave off a pleasant smell of honey and sugar. Yet what was most extraordinary about the flower was that each miniature globe-shape segment was glowing and alternating in colors. It cycled from a soft pink to a warm peach to a stunning hazel to a deep indigo to a florescent red over and over, like a moving rainbow.
Bilbo sucked in a breath as he whispered with reverence and wide eyes, "Oh…Thor, it is absolutely beautiful! Thank you!"
Indeed, the gift was fit for the Consort of the Lonely Mountain if not for a King. Many of the Elves were murmuring to themselves about such a wondrous sight, and King Thranduil looked a bit envious. Even the Men and the Dwarves (who usually did not care for such fragile objects) could see the rarity of such a gift.
"It is a poor gift for one so noble of heart to love his fellow brothers and to be chosen by Mjolnir," Thor stated as he handed over the Bilbo Blossom before taking one of Bilbo's hands and gently kissing the Hobbit's knuckles.
Bilbo stammered a bit, wide-eyed and blushing, but he wasn't offended or scandalized.
Thorin Oakenshield, however, felt the nails of his fingers dig into his skin as his hands clenched into fists, one eye twitching ever so slightly. Inhaling sharply through his nose, the Dwarf King reminded himself to take joy in Bilbo's happiness and pleasure in the gift and to be cordial in Thor's benevolent souvenir and that they needed Thor and Steven Rogers alive to help with the growing problems of the Goblins and Orcs. But just before Thorin could utter a retort, Thor then dropped another surprise.
"And of course, I have a present for King Thorin Oakenshield as well," Thor announced.
There were quite a few murmurings of disbelieving amazement from the crowd all around as Thorin blinked, stunned.
A present? For him?
Considering the last time Thor and Thorin met, they did not part on the best of terms. And yet…
Suddenly, Thorin could somewhat feel a bit ashamed as he realized that perhaps (just perhaps) he was a little judgmental on Thor Odinson.
Balin let loose a sigh of relief he had no idea he had been holding in.
Thor's blue eyes gleamed a bit as he draw out a second object under his cloak with a flourish.
"King Thorin of Erebor, we have also created a flower under your namesake. I present to you…the Oakenshield, a flower that suits your attire and personality."
Thorin's face and expression froze in horror as he stared.
In Thor's hands was a large slab of wood, artistically ripped and hacked off the trunk of an oaken tree, and growing out of the exposed wood and bark were three thin flowers, with frail, curled leaves and baby vines like those from a pea plant. One flower was the color of the brightest pink the Dwarf had ever witnessed, bell-shaped and hanging downwards. The second flower was light blue, like the sky, and had its petals open up like a trumpet, with a bunch of yellow pollen at the opening. The third flower was star-shaped with six thin petals curled in feminine magenta with a peach-colored center.
Yet what was most extraordinary was that each time the petals of the flowers moved or shifted in the wind, they tinkled.
Like tiny bells of glass and silver. Ringing in a high pitched and annoyingly chiming cacophony of dandy wind chimes.
In short, Thorin's gift was the most feminine and garish flowers he had ever seen in his life.
That tinkled.
And Thor christened the subtle insult under Thorin's own name.
Everyone else in the Company as well as Bard the Bowman internally winced.
Gandalf's eyes twinkled as he did his best to not smile (although the corners of his mouth were twitching underneath his white whiskers). Dís however couldn't help but chuckle to herself while Gimli was full out holding his stomach and howling alongside Bain (despite the warning glares from Glóin).
"Da?" Tilda asked her father, "Why is King Thorin turning red? Does he not think the musical flowers are so pretty?"
"Cover your ears, Tilda," Bard sighed, deflecting his daughter's question as he brought his youngest over and covered both sides of Tilda's head with his callused palms.
Thorin felt one side of his head buzz in pain as an ugly vein popped up and throbbed in growing outrage.
Given the snickering and attempts to cough to disguise their growing laughter from the other Dwarves, Men, and Elves in the audience, nearly all were finding the alien flower absolutely hilarious. Thranduil wasn't laughing, but he had an absolutely smug smile as he leered at Thorin, enjoying his embarrassment. Steven, to his credit, looked a bit uncomfortable.
And right now, Thorin was trying his best to not give in to the murderous urge to tackle that damned Asgardian and beat him into a bloody pulp, starting with his handsome and perfect face. He couldn't help it; all reasoning and assurance that Thor simply meant no harm went directly out of Thorin's consciousness. Thorin's face and cheeks flushed deeper and deeper into a crimson color, his teeth starting to grind and jar against each other and his nails began to dig into the skin of his palms as he clenched his hands into fists.
All Thorin Oakenshield, King of the Lonely Mountain, needed was just one excuse to kill Thor Odinson.
Just one.
Bilbo coughed as he then said politely and gently amid the disguised chortling all around, "Er…as...as generous as your offer is, Thor, I must ask: why did you decide to create a flower to honor my husband as well?"
Thor grinned with a look of feigned innocence, showing some of his teeth.
"Because I know that the both of you adore Elves."
"Oh dear…" groaned one of the Dwarflings, flinching.
All the other children made squeals and exclamations of surprise.
"He didn't!" gasped a Hobbit girl in shock, hugging herself in anticipation.
"On my word, and I swear by each and every book in the Erebor Library, Thor Odinson said exactly that to Bilbo and Thorin's faces," Ori chuckled.
"That must not have been pretty," commented one of the Dale children.
"If I recall, it was quite violent from what I was told by some of our guards who bore witness to the brawl," one young Elf piped up, frowning, "They told me that it led to the infamous Food Fight Battle of Erebor between Thorin Oakenshield and Thor Odinson."
"Actually, you are incorrect, young one," Ori butted in with a smile, "That led to the Great Pummeling of Broken Noses and Hair Pulling between Thorin Oakenshield and Thor Odinson …"
"Well, I certainly hope you're pleased with yourself…" admonished Balin, not making an effort to hide his displeasure.
He was glaring at his King, who at the moment, was lying on his back of the soft feather mattress in one of the guest bedrooms close to the Royal Wing. Despite having a bruised eye, a fractured and twisted nose, and a broken rib (with his bare, hairy torso wrapped with bandages and soothing herbal ointments thanks to Óin), Thorin was actually smiling, paying little heed to his advisor.
Balin continued, ticking off each worry with a finger, "You have initiated an embarrassing scandal with a God and a Prince who resides from the stars, thus staining the good name of Erebor's hospitality. You have made an embarrassment to yourself, to Bilbo, to Gandalf, and the entire Company in front of the populations of Erebor, Mirkwood, and Dale. Your fight could have been possible grounds of triggering an interstellar…by Mahal, I cannot believe I just said that. But yes, an interstellar incident that would have been perfect grounds for war between ourselves and Asgard. Your actions have forced Bilbo to kick you out to the royal bedroom as punishment for attacking his friend Thor in such a disgraceful manner, and now it shall be a while before your injuries heal, which not only prevents you from contributing in the battles against the sudden Orc uprisings but also from being intimate with Bilbo. Especially a given, considering our deal Consort is quite furious at your immature conduct toward his friend whose hammer is the only reason why you and your nephews are still alive as of this day, need I remind you."
Balin then finished this with a stern sigh as he crossed his arms and glared at Thorin, who was still grinning like a satisfied cat that just ate the proverbial canary and clearly not the least bit repentant.
"Why are you still smiling?" Balin demanded.
Thorin merely raised one clenched fist, showing a lock of silky, blond hair (with a bit of bloody scalp at one end) before bragging smarmily, "I managed to rip a chunk off that ponce's head."
"Ouch…" murmured one Dale child upon hearing that.
The young she-Elf frowned a bit to herself before she commented, "How strange. I could have sworn my Elders informed me that the Great Food Fight of Erebor happened around that time-frame."
"Oh, it did," Ori chimed in as the Dwarf nosily slurped his tea, "It was the morning after…"
Pink roses for admiration and appreciation…
Red roses for deep love…
White tulips for forgiveness…
All encased in winter's daphne for desiring to please his beloved…
Thorin couldn't help but chuckle with complacent fulfillment as he ambled towards the Royal Kitchens, mentally patting himself on the back. Even though it was early in the morning and two hours before sunrise, he could smell the wonderful aromas of baking bread and spices and knew Bilbo would be helping Bombur and his wife with breakfast. Bilbo would be truly ecstatic and excited to the brim with joy when he would just glimpse at Thorin's magnificent bouquet of flowers (which was almost as large as the Dwarf King himself).
And that was not including the lavender, violet flowers, and yellow rose petals the King scattered on their bedsheets in the Royal Bedroom, perfect for the mood once Thorin dragged Bilbo back to their bed for a vigorous and intimate round of lovemaking and apologies.
Thorin's smugness made him think rather uncharitable thoughts as he was about to step into the entranceway to the cookhouse.
He'll show that stupid Thor Odinson what a true royal does to please Bilbo.
He'll show that damned Thor Odinson how to actually make flowers impressive.
And he'll also show that self-righteous jackass who truly had Bilbo's heart and adoration right before Thorin and the Royal Guard toss that useless lump of muscle out of the mountain –
"Oh my! Oh my! Oh my!" Bilbo gasped softly with unexpected bliss.
Thorin felt his heart freeze and clench with chains of icy horror as he went still, right in the middle of the doorway.
"Oh, Thor!" groaned Bilbo in delight, "That feels absolutely wonderful!"
The massive bunch of flowers dropped from the Dwarf's twitching and numb hands, collapsing ungracefully into a messy heap on the stone floor.
"Am I using too much pressure, Brother Bilbo?" Thor said gently, his deep voice reverberating throughout the bustling kitchen, "Shall I instead work on the back of your head and temples again?"
Thor's eyes glazed over as his lower eyelid in his right eye began to throb and pulsate worryingly.
"No, right – oh! Right there! Oh yes! That – oooohh!" Bilbo moaned with relished pleasure.
All the usual chatter and cooking activity hesitantly crawled to a standstill as the tense and worried Bombur and his staff glanced uneasily at the figure of King Thorin, his face frozen in a permanent grimace, teeth bared and eyes so wide one would see the gaze of madness in the shiny whites all around his dilated pupils.
There, right next to the ovens in the scullery, was Bilbo, sitting backwards on a wooden chair and with his stomach leaning against the backing and chin resting on top of the crest. Bilbo was without his waistcoat and wearing only his breeches and thin dress-shirt, but his eyes were closed and Bilbo was sporting the most idyllic and blissful smile Thorin had ever witnessed.
Primarily because the lumbering Thor Odinson, shirtless and without his cape, but wearing a giant apron which did little to hide the muscles in his arms and shoulders, was kneeling behind Bilbo and gently massaging the Hobbit, invoking whimpers of delight and pleasure as Thor rubbed the Consort of the Mountain. His back, his shoulders, his neck, and even his head with his fingers raking through Bilbo's curls of gold, Thor kneaded and pressed against Bilbo's tense muscles artfully, tenderly, and with the same softness and care as a lover. Despite the barely-noticeable bald spot amid his blond hair or his swollen nose from Thorin's punch yesterday, Thor was smiling and looking like he was appreciating every instant of being in close proximity to the Hobbit as he leaned closer, his chest nearly squashing against Bilbo's back and whispering in Bilbo's ear.
"Do not worry about taking up my time, Brother Bilbo," purred Thor as he used his thumbs to hit the tender and small spot between Bilbo's shoulders that made Bilbo feel like he was melting, boneless, and strangely limp like overcooked noodles, "I am simply content in making you smile which is reward enough."
Bilbo then opened his eyes to see a petrified Thorin, white as a sheet, standing wordlessly and bug-eyed in the doorway. Though Bilbo knew what this looked like, at this point, he couldn't really have cared. By Yavanna, an entire army of Orcs could have invaded the canteens right then and there, and Bilbo still wouldn't move from having such a heavenly bodywork session.
"Oh, Thorin!" Bilbo whimpered in relished leisure, "Thor knows how to give wonderful massages! Something called 'shiatsu' something or other! He came down here before sunrise and helped around with lifting our heavy supplies and crates before he helped Hilna with her tense neck!"
"He gave all of us back rubs!" sighed Hilna, Bombur's wife, as the jolly Dwarrowdam turned to her husband and asked eagerly, "Was it not wonderful of Master Thor to give all of the kitchen staff massages for our aching shoulders and backs? Was it not simply divine?"
"Um…well…it was…all right?" Bombur offered meekly, not sure if joining in on his wife's accolades was going to earn him a swift and painful death. Given the look of simmering and shocked wrath on Thorin's face, Bombur was not in the mood to risk his life considering the King appeared as if he was going to execute everyone in the scullery within the next second. Still, despite the hazard, many of the workers and cooks were smiling contently at the memory.
Thor leaned closer to Bilbo's ear and whispered, "Brother Bilbo, when I am finished, perhaps you can grant me the honor and privilege to massage your husband as well? As a token of appreciation for his generosity in allowing myself and Steven to reside in Erebor?"
"Uh…Master Thor? I daresay that may not be…prudent…" gulped an ashen Bombur as he nudged his wife backwards a bit cautiously, away from the incoming explosion.
Thor then maddeningly leered with pure self-righteousness at Thorin Oakenshield, showing his teeth and as jovial and light-hearted as one could be.
"Nonsense, Master Bombur! I would be delighted to! After all, I have magical fingers…"
"Oh by Eru and all of the Valar…" groaned one Elf, covering his face with one hand in embarrassment as all the children and teens laughed and guffawed at Thor's statement. Even Ori's son snorted in the background, his voice a deep bass compared to the light-hearted tenor of the chortling youngsters.
Ori smiled as he said, "That led to the Great Food Fight between Thorin Oakenshield and Thor Odinson. Along with the Fight of Painfully Misplaced Kitchen Instruments."
"…'painfully misplaced'?" echoed one Dale girl in confusion. Ori smiled as he sipped his tea.
"I shall explain it to you when you children are older."
"Wait…" piped up one young Hobbit boy, "Is this the reason why the Royal Kitchens has a skylight in the ceiling?"
"It was the only way we could fix the hole," Ori confessed with a smile.