A Kingly Gift

Bilbo felt nervous, but he tried to hide it from the other dwarves. Most of them were preoccupied by the treasure around them, so it wasn't difficult. Kili, Fili and Ori didn't seem quite as enamoured as the older members of the Company. The brothers were currently examining a pair of golden harps and gently moving their fingers across them, finding that the strings were still in good condition. They hadn't expected that.

The melody drifted around the room, bringing a smile to Bilbo's face. Despite how raucous the young heirs could be, they did have a certain quality about them that made them very approachable. They had been the first of the dwarves who had been friendly to him, and he remembered how Kili had addressed him by his surname (even if he had got it wrong). Bilbo had appreciated that politeness, and figured it had been because of the young heir's upbringing.

But he still couldn't relax; the Arkenstone was safely hidden away in his pack and he wondered what would happen when Thorin realised that it couldn't be found. This was the treasure room, and Thorin had described how his grandfather had lost his grip on the stone before they'd fled. He dreaded Thorin finding out that he had it, but he had a plan in mind. He didn't want there to be any more fighting, so maybe he could use it to negotiate peace. Now that the dwarves had the mountain back and Thorin stood to be crowned King, there was no need for fighting.

Speaking of Thorin, the King was currently looking towards his nephews as they played; an expression of what could only be described as love on his face. Bilbo thought about the dragon sickness that had plagued Thorin's grandfather and the possibility of it passing on to Thorin. By extension, the same thing could happen to Fili when he came to sit on the throne. But as Bilbo watched, he felt hopeful that the three of them could prevent it from ever happening. Thorin loved his nephews and they were strong enough to at least try and keep him from going mad. Throughout this journey, Bilbo had got the sense that the young heirs meant everything to their uncle.

Bilbo sighed and continued looking through the treasure; Thorin had told him that he could take his pick as his share, but he had no idea what to choose. The gold and jewels were beautiful, but they didn't mean much to Hobbits. It would be nice to take something home and maybe leave it to his younger relatives or something, though.

"Bilbo?" asked a familiar voice near him, and he jumped. Thorin was standing right there, holding up what appeared to be a shirt made of silver. "Here."

"What's that?" he asked curiously. This appealed to him more than the gold.

"This shirt is made of mithril rings," Thorin informed him, holding it closer to Bilbo so that he could see the individual rings on it. Light as a feather, and hard as dragon scales. Mithril can only be found in Moria, and this was fashioned long ago. It's worth ten times its weight in gold, as such material is almost impossible to come by in this Age." Bilbo could see the white gems around the collar and he felt very humbled to receive such a gift.

"Thorin...it's beautiful," he said softly, running his hand over it. "I don't know what to say..."

"Well...it's not to be counted as part of your share," Thorin informed him, smiling slightly. "This is...a personal thank you. Without you I would not be standing here today; you have saved my life more than once and it is because of you that we are able to reclaim our home. You have proved yourself to us many times over, and I apologise again for doubting you."

"It's alright," Bilbo replied, shaking his head. "You had every reason not to trust me, since this quest was so important to you. But I'm glad that everything has worked out."

"As am I. You are one of us, Bilbo. Even when you return to the Shire, I hope that we will still see you. I can assure you that you would be more than welcome in my halls, for as long as you live. Generations of dwarves will know the story of the small burglar who helped to reclaim a mountain." He held out the shirt and Bilbo gingerly took it, taking in the intricate work and marvelling at how light it was. Was it really as tough as Smaug's scales?

"Thank you," he managed to say, trying to push down the guilt he felt. How was Thorin going to react when he found out? "Thank you very much..."

Thorin nodded. "Bilbo...when everything settles down there will be my coronation. It would honour me greatly if you could be here to witness it before you leave."

"Oh...um, okay," the hobbit replied, feeling flustered. He hadn't expected that. "Of course, I would love to attend. I am not familiar with such occasions, but..."

"It does not matter to a single person in this room," Thorin assured him. "Anyone who speaks against you will be dealt with. Thank you, Bilbo." He bowed to the hobbit and then headed over to talk to his nephews, who had stopped playing by now and were examining a pair of daggers.

Bilbo watched him with a heavy heart, wondering if he should extract the Arkenstone from his pack and then pretend to find it in the treasure. That would surely erase his guilt, but what about Thorin? What if he held the stone in his hands and fell victim to the sickness? Bilbo didn't want that to happen; the dwarves deserved a King of sound mind, and Thorin was his friend.

He had no choice but to hold on to it and hope that everything would work out; perhaps Thorin would understand his reasons. If not...then he would certainly no longer be welcome within the mountain.