"Write often," Belladonna sniffed. "And keep safe."
"You know I will, Mum," Bilbo said, trying to sound anything other than disgruntled. "I'll write as soon as I get to Erebor. Tell you all about it. I don't know if I'll be able to write sooner than that, but I'll try to."
Belladonna placed a large, wet kiss on his cheek.
Bilbo tried not to act disgusted and embarrassed. He was thirty-three, for goodness sake!
Mothers…what can be done about them?
Bilbo turned to his father. Bungo held his hand out to him and Bilbo grasped it firmly. No words were exchanged between them.
What need be said that wasn't already?
We love you.
I love you too.
Keep safe.
I will.
Write often.
I'll do so as soon as I'm able.
Bilbo approached the pony laden with his things and climbed on top. The pony gave him a look. Bilbo wondered if he ought to be afraid for his life. He held firm and urged the pony forward. He proved to be better behaved than Bilbo expected.
He rode beside Thorin and dared to look back once when they reached the bottom of the slope outside the gates of Ered Luin.
He couldn't see his parents anymore.
"Something the matter?" Thorin asked.
"Just wondering if I'll see them again."
"If you wish to, you certainly may return to the Shire with an escort."
"Good. But I think I won't be back for a while," Bilbo said, returning to Thorin's side. "It's not customary for a Dwarf King to take a Hobbit as consort."
"No."
"So I'll probably have to stay a while so people can get used to the idea. Or at least, that's what I was thinking."
"It's a good idea," Balin said behind them. "Most of them are expecting his majesty to return with a Dwarrowdam not a hobbit lad."
Bilbo fumed.
"I'm an adult, you know."
"Aye, that you are, but thirty-three is still considered quite young by our people."
"We tend to live an average of three hundred years," Thorin explained. "Thirty-three years for Dwarrows is approximately twenty-five for Hobbits."
"Oh. So…thirty-three to Hobbits is…"
"Seventy, when Dwarves are considered adults."
"Ah." Bilbo said.
This made sense. But it also made real a certain predicament.
"Is it wise to wed outside your race then? It's inevitable that I'll die before you?"
Thorin blinked. "Rather grim."
Bilbo nodded. "I guess so, but that's curiosity for you. There's a reason it is said curiosity kills the cat."
Thorin snorted. "I know that saying well. It's been applied to me many times before. I'm nearly two hundred, Bilbo. I don't think there is anything you need to worry about."
"Oh. Okay," Bilbo said nothing more after, his curiosity sated for now.
A few minutes passed before another tingle of curiosity attacked him.
"What ought I expect of Erebor?"
Thorin smiled broadly. "Your curiosity will be the death of you, âzyungâl."
"Joke all you like. I prefer to be prepared for anything."
Thorin's grin widened. "Erebor is a single mountain peak. My kingdom is greatly respected and has been since my grandfather, Thror. Our economy is vast and not one person goes hungry. There is prosperity for everyone and everyone you will meet is generous.
"Sadly, there is a case of gold sickness among my line, so most of the gold made for our treasury goes outward to people in need. Erebor is as wealthy as it is charitable and my people are rewarded by Mahal for our generosity. It is not something most Dwarves are accustomed to, but greed poisoned my family. I do not wish to repeat the same mistake, so I do not. It is rare to find anyone without a roof over their head. Everyone is able to work in one way or other. We have a mighty garrison, led by Dwalin.
"Our food is not like the Shire's, but you will not be displeased with it. Our people value meat. Roasted meat and ale. Our celebrations are rowdier than that of the Shire, which are more festive. You're used to celebrating birthdays and weddings solstices and equinoxes, but we will celebrate for any reason we can find.
"We have our own festivals, but we also celebrate victory in war and will feast to that victory in honor of the fallen and in honor of the veterans. We celebrate the arrival of guests, to show our hospitality to them."
"So I should expect a grand welcoming?"
Thorin laughed. "A very grand welcoming," he answered. "You are to be my consort, that is: my husband. While it is true that many will wish you to be a Dwarrowdam, none will question my decision openly. You will feel most welcome, I assure you and hopefully you won't get too drunk. Our mead and ale is quite strong."
"Great, I can hardly handle the ale of the Shire now. I'll just steer clear of Dwarfish mead in copious quantities until I am able to drink as mightily as a Dwarf."
Thorin laughed again. Bilbo smiled. "So…as consort, what will be expected of me?"
Thorin hummed. "Not much, I'm afraid. You're welcome to do whatever you wish, though you will be expected to be by my side at social functions. You may also be by my side when I admit audience with other rulers, but you do not have to.
"You are also welcome to seek audience with me if there is something you wish to discuss with me that you believe may better the kingdom. I make the final decision where Erebor is concerned and in that setting you will be expected to treat me as your king, not your husband. You are also expected to host other husbands and wives of lords who will come to Erebor."
Bilbo groaned. "It sounds very dull."
"I will not lie, âzyungâl. It is horrifically dull. But, as dull as they are, they are important and you do not have as much to do as I."
"I'm sure. Will I be allowed to learn Khuzdul?"
Thorin's smile vanished.
"I guess not," Bilbo mumbled. "But, Thorin, if I am to be Consort, wouldn't it be advantageous if I know the language? Even if just to know what's being said if someone decides to insult me?"
"I wish it were that simple, Bilbo."
"It can be."
"Bilbo, Khuzdul is a sacred language to my people. It is very rare for us to divulge it to anyone."
"Even to your husband?"
"I'm afraid so. It is not because I do not trust you, âzyungâl, because I do trust you and I love you. To teach you Khuzdul would be sacrilege. There is fear that outsiders will abuse the knowledge the language gives. You'd have to prove yourself to my people before it could be allowed and even then I do not know if they'd be willing to let you learn our sacred language."
"Not even to simply read it?"
"No. To learn to read it means you must learn to speak it as well, otherwise the knowledge does not sink in as well as it should."
"But you're the king."
"I am. That doesn't mean I can go against Mahal's edict. If I were not a king, I would teach you Khuzdul regardless…maybe…"
Bilbo frowned. "You wouldn't. You fear your god too much."
"Bilbo—"
Bilbo pulled back until Dwalin and Balin were ahead of him, deciding to sulk for the time being.
Not be allowed to learn Khuzdul? How did Thorin think he'd abuse the language? How does one abuse a language anyway?
They arrived in Bree by dusk.
Thorin tried to coax Bilbo back, but the Hobbit refused to listen to any plea he had. Bilbo refused to leave his room, despite the growing hunger. It would not do for him to not eat.
Someone knocked on the door, jolting Bilbo to look in that direction.
"Bilbo?" Thorin called "Are you awake?"
Bilbo opened the door for Thorin. He came in, carrying a tray of food and set it on the table. Bilbo tore his gaze away from it, though his mouth watered.
He retook his place on the bed, legs pulled to his chin and arms wrapped around them.
Thorin sat on the bed.
"Bilbo, I am sorry I angered you. Please try to understand. I do not deny you our knowledge willingly. I would teach you Khuzdul myself if it was permissible, but it is not. You are precious to me, âzyungâl. I love you. Bilbo look at me," Thorin took his hands in his own. Bilbo did not look at him. "Bilbo, I need you to know that I would not deny you anything you did not wish, but what you ask is too much for me to grant at this time. Perhaps in the future, I can allow it, but right now, it is too much to ask."
Bilbo did not answer.
Thorin kissed both his hands, rubbing a thumb over Bilbo's skin.
"Will you at least eat? You'll need your strength for the journey, âzyungâl."
Bilbo bit his lip, thinking. The food did smell good and he was hungry, but he did not want to eat. Not as angry as he felt.
After a moment, he decided it would not do to nurse this anger and try to see Thorin's point of view.
He looked at Thorin. "You'd teach me if it was allowable?"
"I would, âzyungâl."
Bilbo tilted his head to the side. "Is that Khuzdul? 'Âzyungâl'?" He asked.
Thorin smiled, kissing his hands again. "Yes. It means 'lover.'"
"It sounds better in Khuzdul."
"I think so too."