Twenty-Six Too Little

B – Braids.

Summary: Thorin doesn't think he'll ever live it down.


When Bilbo Baggins of Bag End opened the door he had been full of excitement – absolutely and positively full of anticipation and he'd admit with some prying that he had in fact been pacing a hole in the rug in the hallway waiting for those few little raps on his front door. Yes, it had been a while. It had been a long, long while since he'd received a visit from the dwarves of Erebor and so when he'd received a letter some weeks previous that he could be expecting one certain guest on his doorstep within the next few months he had been waiting eagerly for this day. When he'd thought about having this one… particular visitor come to stay, well, that had only made him even more restless.

He'd played out all the scenes in his head; imagined all the scenarios, though he would never admit it. He pictured himself striding up to his door and he imagined the many ways in which he would greet them, greet them all, but, more importantly, how he would greet him.

But what he hadn't imagined was this. No. Not in the slightest.

"Well," Bilbo said, his voice forcibly cheerful, yet at the same time utterly and completely stunned. "This is a surprise!"

Before him, the King under the Mountain tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "I assume you're not talking about the company."

It wasn't a question. Bilbo swallowed, somewhat uncomfortably awkward under Thorin's knowing gaze. "Come in!" he exclaimed a bit too cheerfully and gestured for every dwarf to come inside and make themselves at home.

And so they all piled in one by one, giving him quick, amused glances as they passed him by and they most unusually left Thorin until the last. Bilbo's eyes met his for about a second before he had to lower them and he let him pass before hurriedly excusing himself to go and search the kitchen for the refreshments his guests would no doubt be expecting. He managed to busy himself in there for no more than a few minutes. As a hobbit incredibly fond of guests, many of the various cakes and breads and other nibbles were already sat there waiting for him. He cursed his organisation skills and gathered everything up on plates, started the drinks and so forth and all the while he kept glancing back anxiously over his shoulder to the doorway. He heard the many conversations and jests of his friends in his sitting room, but he had to keep checking, as if he were sure that a certain dwarf would make his way through and sneak up behind him. The hobbit pushed the thought away, still stunned from his encounter on the doorstep, and eventually mustered up the courage to take the long-awaited elevenses through to his guests as a good host should do.

It was not until the tea was hot and poured into the cups of his thirteen guests that Bilbo was finally forced to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The conversation between the dwarves had settled from the topic of Ered Luin from where they had just journeyed – there had been a great gathering of their kin and of the Dwarf Lords, hence King Thorin Oakenshield and his company passing through the west – and as silence fell about the room Thorin once more focused his attention on Bilbo who, at that point, had no other option but to give in.

"So…" Bilbo began, quite uncertain of how to proceed, his tone cautious and steady. "Thorin…" All attention was on him now. There was no backing out. His palms began to sweat. "What's..?"

'Come on, Bilbo Baggins, don't be a fool – just get it over with!'

The pause stretched uncomfortably long until, finally (finally!) he let out a snort of laughter. "Thorin, what on earth is with that beard?"

Several of the dwarves sniggered. Thorin's nephews covered their faces with their hands and at least tried to be conspicuous whereas many others just outright burst into roars of amusement.

Yes, it had to be said. Thorin had indeed grown a beard in the time he'd been away from Bag End and his peculiar hobbit, but it was… long – far longer than was deemed necessary. It was thick; it was so thick and bushy that it made his face look unbelievably small like the tiny face of a robin with a puffed-out breast. It was long enough that it had been tucked into the King's belt and so voluminous that it had been split into two like the prongs of a snake's tongue and each prong had been pushed to the sides so that it did not get in the way of his front. Thorin's arms and hands poked timidly out from behind its sides and the image was just so new and unreal and the change was so unbelievable that Bilbo could not help but feel the tears of laughter gathering in the corners of his eyes. He held his stomach as he laughed and added breathlessly;

"Thorin Oakenshield what has come over you?"

For a few moments, the sitting room of Bag End was alive with guffawing although Thorin simply sat there, looking indifferent and unaffected and when the noise had finally started to die he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world; "I am the King. It is the custom that the King must have such a beard."

"Well–well, yes, but –"

"But what?"

Bilbo's stammering stopped and his heart all of a sudden fell at the piercing icy eyes of the King that bored into him from across the room. "We-Well…"

Oh where to start? It made him look so round; so puffy

But Bilbo could never have brought himself to say it so blatantly. So, of course, from that moment, the hobbit found himself in quite a tight and awkward situation. In fact, it was so uncomfortable that Bilbo dropped the subject immediately and quite quickly (and probably a little too obviously) tried to steer the conversation in an entirely opposite direction so that for some time they went back to talking about the comings and goings between Erebor and the other dwarven kingdoms or about the happenings in the Shire… And they were so absorbed in trivial conversation for so long that the hobbit almost forgot entirely about any beard-related chatter.

Until, that is, when the dwarves offered to lend Bilbo a hand with his garden. Hamfast the new gardener was unwell and there was wood-chopping for the winter that needed to be done and, of course, dwarves would not grumble half as much as hobbits would when it came to such physical labour, so off they went into the outdoors. But, unfortunately for Bilbo, it was then that Thorin appeared at his side in the hallway and silently ushered him into a quiet corner.

"You don't like it." Thorin said quite suddenly and Bilbo blinked for a moment, unsure what he was talking about.

"What?"

There was a pause during which the King gave him a cold, hard look.

"Oh."

Bilbo squirmed in the corner, unhappy to have returned to this sort of uneasy talk.

"The beard," Thorin interrupted the silence. "You don't like it." He stated. His eyes pierced into the hobbit, his eyebrows low in an expression that Bilbo might have thought for a second was one of defeat, but all too quickly it changed and the King under the Mountain shifted, tilted his head and looked on him expectantly, silently demanding an answer. It was clear that this was not the reaction to his new look that Thorin had expected, but surely he had to have expected some sort of shock, hadn't he?

The thought that he had most likely deeply offended the dwarf hit Bilbo all too hard. It was like a stab in the gut and his heart fell at the realisation that he had unwittingly stepped straight onto Thorin's pride and sense of honour – two of the things he held most highly in regard. It was something he never wished to do to anyone, much less Thorin Oakenshield! All because of his careless humour! How low he felt in that moment – how awfully the guilt gnawed away at his stomach at the thought.

Suddenly feeling very guilty for his initial response to this new… situation, Bilbo opened his mouth and then closed it again, searching for the words to appease the dwarf.

"Thorin…" he began softly. "Thorin, I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry for laughing like I did, but it's just…" He trailed off for a moment, searching in the other's face for any sign of emotion, but Thorin could be like a closed book when he wanted to and so Bilbo found nothing of use. "It's just new, okay? And it's not that I don't like it. It's not necessarily that I hate it either. It's just new."

There was a moment in which the dwarf thought over this reaction. "Of course," he said eventually; "I understand."

But then an uneasy silence had settled over them. The seconds ticked by slowly until;

"There must be many things this beard is useful for." Bilbo added uncertainly, now very, very eager to make up for all the damage he'd caused and trying desperately to think of a way to compliment the mass of coarse hair sprouting from the King's face.

Thorin gave him a sceptical look.

"No, no, I mean it! Like, uh…" the hobbit trailed off as he wracked his brains for some sort of use one might have with a ridiculous amount of facial hair. "Um… Like you could…" Thorin watched on in half-amusement until, just as he was about to give up, all of a sudden something caught Bilbo's eye and he exclaimed; "Ah!" He reached forwards, towards the dwarf, and lifted from the mane of hair a great, golden bead engraved with runes he could not read. Two of these there were to separate the King's beard into two and to hold them in place and they shone brightly in the sunlight from the window nearby.

"You see, these," Bilbo began, pleased with his quick thinking; "Some nice decoration could be done with this. These would look very nice all woven and braided into a majestic dwarven beard like yours." And he smiled a cheery, sunny smile that had Thorin's chest fill with warmth and his heart thump loudly beneath his shirt.

"Well, Master Baggins," a smile began to twitch at the corner of his lips, but he tried his best to keep it under control; "perhaps I shall take your advice on the matter one day. Perhaps you'd like to make a few suggestions as you appear to know something about the braiding of beards?"

It was a teasing comment, Bilbo knew and he couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of the King's beard all bunched up in pretty beads and little gems and the like.

"Well, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to give it a go!" the hobbit laughed and, to tell the truth, it was a completely empty suggestion, but…

Thorin stiffened. A complete look of seriousness had overcome the others face. It was a warning sign not to be ignored.

Bilbo's eyes for one brief moment flickered over to the kitchen table. There in a small, decorated bowl there sat a small mountain of flowers. Tiny, dainty little fresh-picked flowers given to him just the other day for attending a younger cousin's birthday party. Thorin looked over at the flowers and then back at him.

"Bilbo."

The hobbit grinned mischievously.

"Bilbo no."

"Thorin,"

"I'm telling you, Bilbo–"

"Just this once!" his voice sounded controlled, trying to keep the laughter at bay as he scurried over into the kitchen, dragging the dwarf behind him and Thorin would have probably have protested if the gentle feel of Bilbo's hand on his wasn't enough to make his mind draw a complete blank. He cursed himself as he was sat down at the table and he sat there still as a statue because if there was one thing he'd learnt about hobbits… It was that they'd get their own way sooner or later. And Bilbo was particularly good at leading Thorin round like a puppy on a lead. He cursed himself again. Since when did he get so docile?

He brooded over this for quite some time as he waited for the hobbit's fun to end. Bilbo stood over him, trying to choke back giggles as he wound the stems of the little flowers through every hair he could – twisting and weaving them in between the masses of facial hair and making his own pretty patterns and colour combinations. Thorin was sure he'd want to die of embarrassment by the time all this was over. He'd have to remove the lot before the other dwarves came back and saw him – him! Their King! – all made up and undignified and –

"Thorin!"

His heart could have stopped.

"Uncle!" Kili choked on his own words, stumbling through the doorway in front of the other dwarves – all thirteen other dwarves! – who had all apparently chosen this moment, this exact, inconvenient moment to make their entrance!

"Well, Thorin!" Bofur and his stupid hat popped out from behind the doorframe. "Don't you look pretty!"

"It's not–"

"Not what it looks like?"

"No, it's–"

"Very tasteful, I must say. Although personally I'd have thought to add a little more red,"

"Or some bigger flowers? Maybe some clover?"

"Right you are, Fili, but I think the King still ought to have a bit of gold. Perhaps you'd better as Dis when we get back to the Mountain? She likes her gold beads, doesn't she Thorin?"

"Maybe you could finish off the look with a flower crown?"

And at that the dwarves all burst out into laughter, Bilbo among them, roaring with such cheer and mirth that, had it not been at his expense, Thorin might have joined them. But there was something that stopped him from rising up and punting each and every one of them out of Bag End. He looked over at the hobbit; looked over at the tears that gathered at the corners of his eyes; at the bright red of his cheeks and the amused glint in his eyes and he stopped. He hadn't meant it. Thorin knew he hadn't meant to wound his pride. He knew that, if anything, Bilbo was of good-heart. He was kind and mild-mannered (when he wanted to be) and as gentle as a cool breeze on a summers day. His burglar had meant no harm and the grin on his face was one he'd have done anything to see.

Thorin glanced at the mirror on the opposite wall at his new braided look and sighed, defeated as the Company picked at his pride, and Bilbo, still sniggering at the look of disdain on his face, gently pulled him to by the ends of his beard and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.


A/N: Kinda wishy-washy? I don't know. I wanted it to be more drabble-y, but it was late anyway and I just wanted to publish some more already.

But anyway I was recently reminded of one of the many interviews for the Hobbit in which Richard Armitage explains that the only way he felt at ease with Thorin's lack of a beard (as was described originally in the book) was when he read that Thorin left the Lonely Mountain with his beard singed from the flames of the dragon. He says that he would have kept it short in remembrance of all the dwarves who died that day, but would eventually grow it back when he became King and reclaimed his homeland. So, of course, when I saw the prompt 'braid' and thought of Thorin re-growing his facial hair… this happened.

Also to the reviewer who called me out on my crappy grammar in the title – chill, chill I know it's half-assed and incorrect, but have no fear because I meant to change it in the first place when I thought of something better. Although that might be a while. Because, you know, I'm pretty bad at thinking up titles, so I just gotta take some time to come up with something better and I'm sticking with this for now.

I'll try get today's actual C prompt up when I can.