So this is the chapter that was supposed to have been posted on the 5th. The ending is crap, I wanted to actually go into detail but it started to get late and I just wanted to get it done. When I had started writing it Thursday I had planned on having a full out conversation between Fili, Kili, and Bilbo about the situation with Thorin and Bofur, but it was getting too long and once again, I just wanted to get it done. But essentially the boys, mainly Kili, are a little naive when it comes to what a King can and cannot do and how a King must present himself.
WARNING: RITUALISTIC ANIMAL SACRIFICE IS MENTIONED but not really described. At least not in detail.
As usual, not edited.
"So, what is this luck...look...luk-"
"Lukhud Siginbult."
"Yes, that. What is it exactly?"
Dwalin ran a hand through his beard thoughtfully as he lead Bilbo down to the lowest levels of the mountain. "It's sort of like a ceremony, or maybe a celebration...no...not quite a celebration though there will be partying after all the official bits. I'm not really sure what you'd call it but it's tradition. It should have been done last year to properly start the forges and get everything ready for the new year. But you remember how it was." He glanced over his shoulder at the smaller man trailing behind him.
And Bilbo did remember. Dwarves from nearby settlements pouring into the mountain with little but the clothing on their backs, needing food and shelter and work; and news of even more arriving from further away come warmer months. There had barely been time to properly mourn those lost in the Battle of the Five Armies before the forges had been lit and what mines that were safe enough were opened. A few had grumbled about proper ettiquitte with these things but had been quickly silenced by the sheer need of those living in the mountain. There was simply no time to stand on ceremony for these things. Apparently they were going to be done right this season though.
"And what does this tradition entail?" Bilbo continued his questioning. The Company had dragged him into formal ceremonies unprepared one too many times and there were only so many times one could be shocked or unintentionally insulted before one started to take precautions. Cultural misunderstandings had become a common occurence between Bilbo and the Company lately.
"Didn't you ask the lads about it earlier, when you were looking for them?"
"Yes," Bilbo sighed. "but they got distracted with the topic of Thorin and didn't really answer my questions."
"Ach, those boys have been arguing with Thorin over that for months," Dwalin informed him. "They don't seem to understand the constraints he's under now that he's officially crowned."
"The social gap is a major issue," the Hobbit agreed. "I can't help but feel that this is going to end in hurt feelings all around."
"And then Thorin will take it out on those boys for pushing them together and raising his hopes."
"Sadly. But we seem to have gotten off topic as well, you were telling me about this Lookid thing?"
Several Dwarves who were close enough to hear his attempt at Khuzdul sent him scathing looks, hands fisting tight around the handles of weapons. The whole Arkenstone debacle had invitably gotten out to the general population and of course his involvement had been a central part of the story. No ammount of public pardons and general goodwill from Thorin could repair his imagine in the eyes of Erebor's citizens. Fortunately all direct threats and most of the grumbling were circumvented by Dwalin's presence. Though he got some nasty looks when he chuckled at Bilbo's mangling of the Dwarven language.
"Basically Thorin will say some pretty words, there'll be chanting, we'll kill a few boars for tomorrow's feast and then he'll light the First Log, to start the forge fires again," Dwalin explained as he guided Bilbo through the ever thickening crowd. "And from that new flame, the hearth fires in the dining hall and kitchens will be lit."
Bilbo thought over what Dwalin said. Most of it sounded innocent and normal enough for Dwarven practices, except for one little, "Wait, 'kill a few boars'? As in...sacrifices?"
They started to descend the final, winding staircase into the bowels of the mountain, where the main forges that heated the mountain and made the majority of the mountain's goods and weapons were located.
"Pretty much. We spill the blood on the anvil to honor Mahal so that he will bless our forges and hearths."
"Oh."
Dwalin stopped on the steps, the Dwarves behind them grumbling when they were forced to go around, to scrutinize Bilbo's face, presumably to look for any signs of distress or fainting spells. He placed a hand on one of the smaller man's shoulders, giving it a firm squeeze. "You going to be okay with that?" he asked, his forhead deeply creased in worry.
Bilbo took a moment to analyze his own feelings about this and figure out if he would embarass himself (and the Company by extension). He decided that if he didn't watch the sacrificing directly, but maybe cast his eyes to a less bloody part of the room, he would be okay. "Of course," he said confidently.
"You sure?" Dwalin asked again. "We can go back to your rooms if you're uncomfortable with this."
It made Bilbo smile that Dwalin would miss out on one of his traditions being celebrated in Erebor for the first time in over a century just because one little Hobbit was uncomfortable. "Yes. After all, you've been putting up with all of my silly little traditions, I think I should participate in yours."
Most of the frown smoothed away from Dwalin's face. He smiled at Bilbo, giving him another sqeeze of the shoulder before turning around and continuing down the stairs to the large chambers that housed the forges. The room was packed, shoulder to shoulder, with Dwarves, Thorin at the back of the hall next to a large anvil and forge. A line of boar were cornered behind him, waiting for their part in the proceedings. Bilbo took Dwalin's hand in his and laced their finges together as Thorin began with an opening speech. He soon switched to Khuzdul though for the chants and songs that Dwalin whispered were asking Mahal to accept their sacrifice and bless their livelihoods. Bilbo carefully averted his eyes when it was time for the actual sacrificing and only barely caught the silver glint of the spear as it swung through the air. After the boar carcasses had been hauled away there were a few more chants, this time from the whole assembly that echoed around the hall until it felt the mountain itself was shaking. The sound cut off abruptly as Thorin took a torch from Balin and approached the forge where what looking like a whole tree trunk, carved with runes and symbols and covered in the holly that Fili and Kili had gathered day's earlier, lay. The roar that shook the hall when the log caught fire almost immediatly would have blown Bilbo off his feet if Dwalin hadn't caught him.
Bilbo looked around at the gathered Dwarves, many of whom were still roaring their approval or had broken out into song, grabbed the nearest Dwarf and started dancing. He noticed among the rowdy celebrators that several were crying, some silently, some with their faces buried in their hands, and still others clinging to family and friends, sobbing loudly. He could only imagine what it must have been like, to feel like their creator had abandoned them, punished them for some wrong doing and now that they're home, to have the Siginbult catch fire so quickly, it must have been a good sign. A sign that their creator once again looked favorably upon them, blessed them and loved them again. What a relief that must be.
He looked up at Dwalin next to him and caught the fiery reflection of tears on his cheeks and in his beard. The sight shocked Bilbo. He didn't think he had ever seen Dwalin cry, even when they had thought that Thorin and his nephews lay on their deathbeds. Bilbo turned to the distraught Dwarf then, pulling him down while he went up on his tip toes to presh his forhead to Dwalin's. He rubbed the tears on his cheeks away and pressed soft kisses to damp skin in their wake. Dwalin clung to Bilbo, pressing his face into the crook of his neck after the last kiss and weeping. His lips moved against the sensitive skin of Bilbo's neck in what could have been a pray to the Dwarven Creator or a thanks to Bilbo himself for helping them regain the mountain, Bilbo was never sure. He just held Dwalin as tightly as he could and let him cry on his shoulder for Erebor's rebirth.
