Title: of a word unknown
Written By: NikoArtagnan
Genre: Humor/Romance
Rating: K
Summary: It will be a long time before Bilbo would ever learn the meaning of that word. [Prequel to The Introspective Thoughts of a Mr. Bilbo Baggins]
Warnings: Minor angst, prequel of sorts to my series The Introspective Thoughts of a Mr. Bilbo Baggins, copious amounts of fluff
Author's Note: So the lovely ewebean reblogged a prompt on Tumblr and I thought "Well, why not?" It sounded like a great deal of fun.
So, without further ado, here's my take!
"The hafling?" Thorin's voice is weak, raspy. Bilbo swallows painfully, unable to drag his gaze away from Thorin's blood-stained face as the Dwarf's eyes opens.
"It's all right," Gandalf says, voice gentle. "Bilbo is here and safe."
Bilbo barely notices the rest of the Company being set down by the Eagles around them, subconsciously moving closer to Gandalf as Dwalin and Fili help the King stand.
Thorin's eyes, as blue and dark as the sky during a fierce storm, are fixed on Bilbo's face. The intensity, the determination, the sheer presence that Bilbo has always been uncomfortably aware that Thorin exudes with every inch of him, is focused on Bilbo now.
The only time Thorin had ever looked at him so thoroughly (as though he meant to see inside him) was back at Bag End, and then Thorin had not looked at him more than a few breathless moments, had only looked at him and dismissed his worth in a single disdainful sentence.
But now, those storm eyes are for Bilbo and Bilbo alone, and there is no disdain in them now, and Bilbo isn't quite sure what to do with that.
"What were you doing?" Thorin asks, and Bilbo starts as Thorin yells at him for his foolishness, yells about how he is a burden, advancing on the Hobbit until Bilbo wants to yell back "Well, I saved you, didn't I!"
The hurt the wells up in his heart is matched only by the anger that this impertinent Dwarf's words engender in his belly, and then-
Bilbo can't help the squeak that leaves his throat as warm, strong arms pull him close to a broad chest.
It is warm and safe and lovely beyond measure, and Bilbo has to restrain the urge to squirm away instinctively from Thorin's hug. He is not used to such gestures. Only his parents had ever been so free with their hugs, and after they'd gone, well…few others were.
"I have never been so wrong in all my life," Thorin's whisper was hoarse and full of gratitude and something warmer, and oh.
Oh. Bilbo melts in the circle of Thorin's arms, resting his forehead gratefully against the crook of Thorin's neck. He doesn't know what this newfound gentleness in him is, but it's wonderful, and he thinks he feels the same in Thorin's arms.
"Inmi!" A voice yells from below them, and as Bilbo jerks from the trance he has fallen into. It's Kili's voice, he thinks wildly. Thorin stiffens.
"Inmi! Inmi! Inmi!" Fili's voice joins his brother and Thorin jerks away from Bilbo so fast the Hobbit staggers. A great burst of laughter that is only a little bit shaky with relief erupts from the
When he manages to find his balance and looks back up at Thorin, he finds something he never thought to see on the normally so distinguished, so noble Dwarf's face. A dark flush of embarrassment is very clearly present over the King's cheeks, and for several moments Bilbo finds himself hovering on the edge of "What in Yavanna's name is going on here?" and a rather perilous thought that had come out of nowhere "Oh, he's so adorable!"
"Ah, Thorin?" Bilbo asks, feeling a bit off balance and determined not to give into a sudden, fearsome inclination to coo at Thorin. "What does in…inmi mean?"
If it was at all possible, the flush grows darker, and Thorin promptly averts his eyes.
"Ah, it…Master Burglar, it is of no importance," Thorin says.
Now Bofur and several others have taken up the chant alongside Fili and Kili, and Bilbo – even though he has no idea what's going on, can feel a blush rise in his own cheeks, recognizing the leer on Bofur's face.
"Thorin, it really does seem important," Bilbo asks, feeling a bit annoyed.
Gandalf has covered his mouth with his sleeve, but there was a twinkling in his eyes that he could not disguise. The old wizard is laughing at him – though that is nothing new.
"W-we should get moving," Thorin ordered, though the order is tempered by the higher octave his voice has ventured into.
Gandalf clutches his side with the hand not covering his mouth, as though it will disguise the furious laughter.
"Thorin, what exactly is going on?" Bilbo asks, putting his hands on his hips, glaring at the King.
"Look, in the distance!" Balin cries out, and Bilbo can see the way Thorin slumps in relief as the attention of the dwarves is taken off the two of them. Bilbo turns his glare on Balin, who avoids his eyes as well.
Gandalf, still chuckling, says "Ah-heh-that is Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. Last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-Earth."
"Our home," Thorin whispers, and Bilbo sighs.
It would not be right, to distract from such a momentous occasion. He will ask later what that word means.
"I do believe the worst is behind us," Bilbo says mildly, stepping up to Thorin's side.
He has survived this long, and won the friendship of an exiled King in the doing so. He will survive the rest of the way, to see Thorin seated on the throne of his ancestors. Perhaps he is no real burglar, or even a great warrior, much less a hero…but he is a Hobbit, a Baggins through his father and the son of Belladonna Took.
And his loyalty to those he lo-he cares for is without question.
After the battle, he finds a book with common words of Khuzdul translated to Westron set out by his cot.
He finds the word with some searching.
Kiss.
Bilbo Baggins, splattered with orc and dwarf and elven and human blood alike, his eyes red from weeping, throws back his head and laughs and laughs and laughs.
Then he cries.