Chapter 2

The Door Where We Began

The Eastern Balcony might not have the spectacular view of the western one, which favoured the least of the Desolation, and overlooked Raven Hill and the deep vale between the two westernmost spurs of the mountain. That balcony, with its polished floors of inlayed blue agate sheathed in crystal and bisected with silver runes, had been a favoured place for gatherings and entertainments of the court, once. It was a wonder that the West Balcony had escaped the worst of Smaug's wrath when in his wroth over Bilbo's theft of the cup, he destroyed half the mountainside and blocked up Durin's Door. It remained still as a beautiful remnant of the past, but being there brought up too many memories to suppress - memories of fire and death and of hunger and humiliation, for Thorin to take any leisure there now.

Instead, the eastern view was soothing, if a little unvaried, and suited his current mood. It would still be some weeks before spring came to this part of the world, though they all were optimistic that the lands of the Desolation would show signs of vitality once the snows finally melted. The evening air was still chill, and the stone benches scattered artfully amidst carven stone and sculpted metal were covered in fine sheets of crystalline frost. If the sun was still in the sky, he could have made out the grey-blue smudge on the horizon that would have been the foothills of the Iron Hills. Instead, the wan moonlight showed him only shadows cast on hard granite floor by the hewn railings, and nothing but a dark unrelenting mystery spreading out below.

The night air might be cool, but Thorin's dwarven blood hardly noticed it. It had been three months since what was now being recorded in Ori's book of Mazarbul as The Battle of Five Armies, and Thorin finally had everything he had set out to achieve so long ago. He had a home to give to his people. He had restored their pride and honour. He had a birthright to offer Fili and Kili, one rich with history and accomplishments. He was finally home.

Yet, he was unfulfilled. And it was all one rather unassuming hobbit's fault.

It was probably childish to blame Bilbo for his discontent, he knew, but let that go in favour of having the privilege to lose himself in a bit of a royal sulk while there was no one about to witness him doing so. Even as he entertained feelings of being Mahal's most favourite victim, he knew that this was all just a diversionary tactic to avoid thinking about the problem seriously, because frankly, it frightened him as precious little since the dragon had.

People without a home, those who had, at times, to rely on the charity of others, learned to make quick assessments. They learned to trust their instincts about others and to take in much and show little in return. His initial evaluation of Master Baggins had indeed shown him a soft, pampered gentle-hobbit, one who probably took many of his comforts for granted while Thorin had sold and debased his skill so that his sister would have enough food for the table, and his nephews, crown princes of Erebor, could wear new, if only serviceable, clothes. He was ashamed to admit that there may have been more of resentment than assessment in his comments to their burglar that first night.

And yet, despite that biting bitterness, Bilbo had shown surprising strength, and a refusal to wilt or cringe under its weight. His generous spirit and his insistence to see the dwarves home, people he had never met before the lot of them had trod mud into his heirloom carpets, challenged Thorin to re-assess the slightly podgy little creature, until, quite suddenly, he realized he didn't just not resent him anymore, he respected him. He began seeing things in the hobbit that had been obscured before, noticing his solicitous nature to all his companions, his courage and his quick wit, both in planning, and in jest. He couldn't pinpoint when it happened, but by the time Smaug was defeated, he could no longer imagine his kingdom without the halfling at his side.

He could feel the gentle invasion of the changes Bilbo had wrought in him; could feel the way his thoughts and soul had begun the pleasure-painful stretch of making room for his hobbit inside his very essence. But it was too soon! No courtship had been given, nor accepted! When he had first realized his feelings, time had not been his ally. With the awesome threat of the dragon still hanging over them, no such arrangements could even be considered; the distraction would likely have proven fatal to them all. With the Chiefest Calamity dead, he could finally take the time to court his hobbit, to convince him that Thorin, son of Thráin was a worthy life-mate.

If only I could figure out how to do it.

Thorin heard boots crunching in the delicate frost; they stopped respectfully behind him, just outside the arched doorway. He had been out here for hours now, time he should have been spending on those Mahal-cursed Reclamation Reports, so it really wasn't much of a surprise that it was Balin who eventually tracked him down.

"I suppose you're getting an early start on surveying your kingdom for tomorrow - Or shall we just go ahead and be honest, and call this a bit of brooding?"

Thorin didn't bother to answer that bit of disrespect with more than a grunt.

For a long moment, nothing more was said between them, though he could feel Balin eyeing him appraisingly. When he finally spoke, it was with a gentleness he had not heard since he was twenty-two years old, and his father's best advisor was coaxing an extremely uncertain young prince of the worth of his all-important first craft. Even then, Thorin had found Balin's calm to be soothing to something rough and uncertain inside of him.

"What's bothering you, lad?"

"Only you would be so soft as to call a dwarf in his one-hundred and ninety-fifth year a 'lad'," he snorted, sardonically. "I wish to be alone." He glanced over to his right, to see Balin give this grousing the attention it deserved; that is to say, none.

Briefly, Thorin considered ordering him away. Probably wouldn't do him any good. Balin knew he was far too skilled to simply banish, and calmly wielded this certainty as both axe and shield, when required.

"You've not been yourself this last fortnight or more - you've been surly, withdrawn and taciturn. Even more so than usual, I mean." Thorin glared out into the darkness, feeling a little sullen. He wasn't that difficult, certainly?

"The company is worried; Nori had to forcibly eject Kili from your wardrobe - he'd had hopes you might talk in your sleep. Oin is more direct; he's preparing a concoction of jasmine flowers and poppy milk to have you spilling your guts."

Startled, Thorin spluttered, "I trust Dwalin has taken steps?"

"Yes, my King," Balin answered, seriously. He clasped his hands behind his back, and wandered over to the railing, to look out into the unbroken darkness below. Thorin relaxed; glad he could count on Dwalin and Balin to put a stop to any such nonsense. He permitted a small smile to escape his control, when he caught the other dwarf peering at him from the corner of his eye.

"I believe," he said, with a smug ring in his voice that had warning bells going off in Thorin's head, "I believe that he has offered his services to Oin - to hold you down."

Scowling, Thorin huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "I am surrounded by traitors. I need a new guard captain, obviously," he muttered mulishly.

"No, you don't. What you need is to let the dwarves who have followed you so loyally help you with whatever it is that has crawled up your royal behind, and be glad you have such good friends."

Asking for help had never been easy for dwarrow pride. As a king, from a disgraced line at that, it was near impossible to admit that kind of vulnerability to another, even a trusted advisor who had known you since before you had donned your first plaits.

He shoved himself off the railing, a dismissal on his tongue, and the intention to get back to work; to put this longing behind him, or at least shove it as far into a corner of his mind as he could and pretend it wasn't there.

On the other hand, mind, there were very few dwarves as canny as Balin, and if the aged advisor were able to help him win the hobbit, he would swallow mine-carts full of pride. Balin would see to it that he did, he was sure. The older dwarf had always been there to take him down a bit when he felt his prince's pride threatened to get to big.

For a moment, he held Balin's eyes, faded blue now, but clear and keen as they had been when he'd first taken rule of a kingdom in exile, and Thorin swallowed his command. Gradually, he let the energy bled from his body until his shoulders slumped, fractionally. By the Valar, he was just so tired.

Concerned, Balin reached out, grasping his left shoulder gently. "Is it the hobbit?"

Thorin wasn't surprised to have it confirmed that Balin knew, or at least suspected, the depth of his regard for their burglar. What did surprise him though, was that he would actually speak of it. Dwarrow were a secretive lot by nature, and speaking of such a thing aloud by any but the most close of kith or kin was considered a terrible breach of privacy.

Making his decision, he turned his back on the yawning darkness below, and turned instead to face Balin, and his mountain kingdom. Shoulders set, he was surprised to find instead of the turmoil of the last six months, he was finally at peace. Bilbo cared for him; he had to trust in that. He had seen his regard grow during their journey, and had to believe that their moments of deeper connection were not just of Thorin's own making. With patience and Mahal's blessing, he would fan that regard into something greater. "I must make arrangements for the Confinement. I would forge the halfling to my side, if he will but have me."

Balin rocked back on his heels in surprise, though he took great care not to react more than that. He eyed his king carefully as he thought. For several long moments, his quiet breathing and the whisper of cloth and armor as Thorin tried to contain his restlessness were the only sounds to be heard. "Are you absolutely set on this, lad? You haven't exactly worn your heart on your sleeve where the hobbit is concerned."

Balin had the decency to blush at Thorin's incredulous stare. Truly, he had to privately concede, the king had made a bit of a spectacle of himself within the company with his constant protective awareness of their hobbit companion. "We-ll, not in a way a soft creature like Master Baggins is likely to have noticed, anyway," and here, Balin sighed. He hated to see the man he had come to love as his own son set himself up for failure; a failure that would forever cost him the ability to court anyone, ever again. Once given, a dwarrow heart could not be taken back.

"I admit he likely has no notion of my affection," Thorin acknowledged. "I do not know how other races court, let alone gentle-hobbits, but I have no choice left. He is in my very soul, and my heart can accept no other." Broad shoulders bowed under the weight of his thoughts, and he spoke softly, but held Balin's eyes as if in plea for understanding. "I have already felt the threads of my thoughts fraying. This has stretched on too long, and I don't know – I don't know for how much longer I can continue to make rational decisions. I am possessive of his time and person. I cannot think of anything else when he is from my sight." The admission was no less powerful for being made so softly, and for the first time, Balin felt real fear begin to stir in his heart as he realised he would not be able to talk his king from this path. "I may not be able to remain king much longer if I do not take steps to rectify this situation."

"He's never going to understand, Thorin! The surface races court differently than the children of Mahal- couldn't you just talk to him? Forgo the rituals, and just give the boy some flowers instead?" He spoke more from a desire to see him safe than any real conviction; forgoing the rituals, indeed!

"Forgo the rituals? Even if I could, I would not. Do you not understand, Balin? These rituals are not for me, but for Bilbo; and for the people of Erebor." Thorin turned his back on his advisor, to gaze instead on the ruined city below. Balin wondered if he was seeing again the all-consuming dragon fire burning into the night sky, or instead looking to the future finally; or possibly just seeing the hard labour it would take to restore his ancestral home. The chill in the air, which was beginning to penetrate even dwarven hide, was clear and crisp, and he could plainly hear soft night noises in the stillness; little sounds of life returning to the mountain after ruin.

"I would have him by my side forever, if he would but allow it." Though his tone was melancholy, his shoulders remained set, his determined stance an almost exact replica of the one that swayed Balin two years ago, when a throne-less king had declared his intention to take back his mountain with nothing but a half-daft handful of misfits and his own burning pride. He had been convinced then that his king could accomplish anything, if he but reached forth his large hands to grasp it.

With one last look out over his city, Thorin turned back to him.

"How will my people respect their Royal Consort whom their king did not even deign was worth the effort of winning?" he asked softly, still not meeting the eyes of his advisor who tried to search for reason in his gaze. "For whom their king did not move the very mountain but to gain his favour? I would not have them in any doubt as to Master Baggins tremendous worth, and his right to rule them; in truth, to rule me."

Something in Balin's old heart shrunk at the shear impossibility of the situation, even as a desperate flame of hope was kindled in his belly. He owed him his loyalty, now more than ever. "Well, lad," he said finally, reaching out to clasp the taller dwarf's shoulder, "I'd say you're going to need a good healthy dose of cunning. Though in truth, the flowers probably wouldn't hurt, either."

Balin used his grip on his king to gently push him back through the balcony doors, and into the presence of his patiently waiting company.

And, with the help of his companions, Thorin began to plan.

-..-

Though the room they were in now was grand, and they were thirteen, and not fifteen, and certainly had no need to crowd around a too-little table, Thorin was sure he was not the only one reminded of another gathering, fourteen months ago or so, in a cosy smial far to the west.

And if they did crowd a little more than was necessary, not one of them would mention it. They had a racial reputation to protect, after all.

He wasn't exactly sure what this room had been used for originally – he had vague memories of this wing being rather uninteresting as a lad, though he thought Balin could oft times be found down this way, so it was probably the part of the kingdom where things were actually accomplished, instead of just talked about, which ruled out council chamber rather neatly. Some of the torches still amazingly held oil after all this time, and when Bombur lit them, a merry glow suffused the room, but still managed to hide the dust from sight. It was the first time in weeks that they had all been gathered together at once like this, though he saw them all singularly or in small groups as they all pushed to assess what was left of their kingdom. Thorin felt himself relax, a tiny bit of wariness he hadn't even been aware he could let go of leaving him in the company of dwarrow he trusted so unreservedly. In that moment, he felt rich indeed, and even Dori's fussing was welcoming instead of tiresome.

"I think he's not so indifferent – I mean, he's always making meals for you, going on about it being some great Auntie's recipe, or cousin's or whatever. Food is obviously important to him, it stands to reason he might try and win your attention by feeding you." Bofur had stood, one furred boot planted firmly on the seat of his chair as he surveyed the table hopefully, looking for support.

Thorin cocked his head minutely as he considered this, and tried to quash any hopeful fluttering in his belly. Did Bilbo perhaps seek his favour through cookery? It seemed far-fetched, but he was a hobbit after all –

Dwalin's rough growl cut through these musings. "The hobbit cooks for all of us. He helps Bombur in the buttery, and the kitchens. Besides, who would court through food?" He stretched out to give the leg of Bofur's chair a heavy nudge with his boot, causing the whole chair to wobble and Bofur to almost lose his perch, points of his ridiculous hat flapping along with his arms as he regained his balance with a squawk.

"But he always gives Thorin the best portions!" Bofur spluttered, two hands holding the brim of his hat protectively as he glared at his attacker, clearly equally convinced of the hobbit's betraying regard and Dwalin's general untrustworthiness.

Dwalin snorted, inelegantly, and made a rude gesture. "That's because he's the king, idiot!" Kili joined in the spirited bickering that followed, and Thorin groaned, reaching up to rub his face in one large hand when Bifur was dragged into the ruckus with a completely irrelevant speculation of a personal nature about Master Baggins – and his anatomy. It was not an image Thorin needed to focus on.

Not until he was in a position to find out for himself, anyway.

"Donna worry so, laddie," Balin spoke over the noisy rumblings of his younger brother and the rest with ease of long practice. "Mayhap Master Baggins does show his regard as Bofur suggests, more likely it's just that he likes being useful and seeks to help out where he may, but I have no doubt that regard for you he does have—"

"I thought you were against this?" Thorin asked, amused at his one-time tutor's apparent flip on the subject. The pre-supposition of the hobbit's regard he carefully ignored as a kindness.

Balin merely gave him a look, as though he were being obtuse. "That was before," he said loftily. "I know it's a struggle, but do try to keep up, your Majesty."

"I should have you replaced with a clockwork mechanism," he grunted sourly.

"No fear of that," the aged advisor retorted easily. "But at least with Master Baggins at your side, I might finally be able to retire." Thorin scowled when he heard Fili coughing. It was a distinctly snigger-sounding cough, after all.

Dwalin reached across Gloin to swat the young prince with one meaty palm. "Mind your manners, you," he rumbled absently, not looking away from the conversation going on around him. The redhead didn't even skip a beat in the heated discussion that seemed to have grown to include not just Bombur, Dwalin and Oin, but now Bifur, Kili, and Dori. Thorin resigned himself to the fact that his courting success - or even lack thereof, was likely to make at least one of his company moderately richer. Not that any of the filthy sods needed it.

Nori, who had remained uninvolved and watchful during the general ruckus, cleared his throat quietly. It was a mark as to how much each dwarf there respected his abilities that he gained their instant and complete attention. "Now, I'm not a nobby- nob, and the 'Ri family is not usually so high in the step that we would instigate a formal Khebabel Azyungaz," he paused here to smirk at his older brother, who had crossed his arms over his broad chest and silently fumed at this assessment. "We'd just make do with a room in our family home, and be done with it. But it seems to me that our King is right – our burglar deserves to be made a big deal of in front of all the old council members and other nobs, who are going to have things to say about some top-lofty little baggage from the Shire thinking he can get his pudgy little hands on a Dwarrow King."

Thorin's hands clenched white-knuckled around his tankard, and Nori was personally convinced he could actually hear his teeth grinding from where he sat. "Not twice, they won't," he gritted out.

"Ah, right then," the thief hedged, suddenly a bit nervous as what had started as a way to tweak his brother's braids provoked such a heated response. "We're going to need to find the proper place to set this up – something sufficiently grand, to set the right impression."

Ori spoken up hesitantly, "I do not think Master Baggins cares much for grand, brother."

"Not for him; for the oldsters – the ones who are going to want to come back here and have things all their own way again." The rarely used patience in Nori's tone was only ever directed at his youngest sibling. "We have to show them that Master Baggins is off limits to their scheming."

Ori waved one tightly clenched fist, looking positively as fierce as one could look, while still wearing that much knitwear. "They'd better not try. He's our burglar." Instead of getting a scolding from Dori, there was a rumble of protective agreement from around the table. From under his heavy brows, Dwalin looked at the younger dwarf with startled approval.

"The Great Hall of Thráin would set a powerful message," Oin mused. "And the refuges are down there, too, so there will be a few chambers for use so that you won't be required to find comfort in a treasury," he glanced around the table, and noted the speculative looks on several of the company's faces as they obviously tried to find the difficulty in being comfortable in a treasury. "Comfort for the hobbit, at the very least," he amended.

Bifur opened his mouth, obviously intent on adding his thoughts to the use of those chambers, when Thorin clamped one calloused hand on his shoulder, hard.

"Don't," he said.

Bifur leered at him instead, clearly not nearly intimidated enough. Bofur moaned quietly in embarrassment at his cousin's antics and buried his face in his hands.

"Besides, I should think that given the absence of one, a latrine would seem as beautiful as the Arkenstone itself, and more heavily wished for." Oin finished practically, either not hearing, or simply ignoring the byplay. Thorin rolled his eyes, somehow dishearted to be discussing chamber pots in relation to his courting strategy.

"Alright," Nori took charge of the discussion once again. "I know we've got more and more refugees arriving from Ered Luin every day, but outsiders have no place in family business." Several nods assured him he had their agreement. "Bombur, you'll continue to get them settled and assigned tasks that will keep them out of our way. It wouldn't hurt if you mentioned the hobbit, and how much you admire him; don't lay it on too thick, but give them something positive to think about."

"Aye, praises sprinkled like seasoning to flavour the dish. All come to my kitchens at some point, to feed their bellies and to fill their minds; all the gossip comes to me eventually," Bombur grinned slyly, and patted his roundness where it rested against the table's edge.

"Exactly," Nori grinned. "As the only Cantor among us, Bifur should go down there to sing to the chambers, and find out if everything is still stable. When he gives the go-ahead, Bofur, Dori- you two head down and start any repairs that are needed. Clean out any rubbish, and prepare things the way Bifur tells you for the ritual. Oin – I don't imagine we've got a store of anointing oil laid by, so you had better start preparing some. It's going to take a barrel-full to do a chamber that size. I shall take care of acquisitions and trade from Laketown for anything we're missing – I'll take Dwalin with me. Balin and Gloin, you two head up the what there is of our council; you'll be needed to make sure everything continues running smoothly and no one pays us too much attention. Ori, you can continue your work with Master Baggins in the Record Hall and the library- maybe drop a word or two about our king in his pointed ear; see how he reacts."

Thorin flushed and glared at the auburn-haired thief, most certainly trying not to look too interested in the idea of murmuring anything in said pointed ear.

"What about us?" Kili threw his arm around his brother to include him in his protest at being left out.

"You two shall be with me," Thorin said grimly. "What time I do not spend in meditations and preparations shall be spent in your instruction."

"Instruction? For what?" Kili asked, warily.

"To rule, while I am confined."

Fili gulped, looking around the chamber a bit wildly.

This didn't sound fun, at all.

-..-

Deep within the mountain, a hobbit slept peacefully, and dreamt of comely things, completely unaware of how much his life was about to change.


Author's Note:

I admit to being nervous when posting this, and I was overwhelmed with the positive response, here and elsewhere! Thank you all for being so tremendous :)