Thank you very much to the Rockstar Reviewers of chapter 24: readpink, readergirl4985, and Robinbird79. Thanks also to Vicki who reviewed chapter 23 after my last update and to Alaksandra, Amarix, and jubes-zeg for favoriting/following!

25. Declarations

So far, things were going well.

Larkspur had been quite nervous about her father and the younger three joining her and Bilbo and his houseguests for the Yuletide meals, especially after Dwalin had told her he would pleat her courting braid that night. It was not that she didn't want them to know—their knowing she had accepted his suit was inevitable—it was that she genuinely feared what they might say about it.

Tooks they might be, with a touch of natural wanderlust in their blood, but no one in her family had actually stepped foot out of the Shire since Bullroarer—save for Bilbo. And while they'd been fascinated by Bilbo's adventure enough to be more welcoming than some to his friends, the fact that she'd chosen a dwarf and not a hobbit might not sit well with them.

Still, thus far the time had passed amicably. Her father and brothers (the older four having chosen to remain in Michel Delving due to the snow) and the four dwarves were conversing good-naturedly about the differences between living in hobbit holes versus living in a mountain. She and Dwalin had stolen glances and shared secret smiles, and no one in her family had noticed.

Except for Bilbo, of course. She'd caught a few knowing looks from him, and deemed it time to head into the kitchen to finish up the last of the food.

Footsteps sounded behind her as she was preparing to put a cake in the oven. Larkspur turned around and found Bilbo watching her with his hands clasped behind his back.

"I'll have the jamberry wine out in a moment," she said as she turned back to the counter.

"That can wait," Bilbo said as he came closer. "Lark, I want to talk to you about something."

She lifted a brow as she looked over. "About what?" she asked. Stupid question, she followed it silently. You know exactly what he wants to talk about.

"It's uh… It's about you and Dwalin," he said slowly. "Your father and brothers might not have noticed the way you two have been looking at each other, yet, but they're not going to be blind to it all night."

Larkspur felt her cheeks flaming even as she smiled. Before she could say anything, however, Bilbo laid a hand on her arm and asked softly, "Are you sure this is what you want?"

With a sigh, she nodded. "I am sure. I can't rightly put my finger on it, Bilbo, but there is something that draws me to him I cannot say no to. And I do like him—he's been nothing but kind to me, putting up with my nonsense."

"Fíli and Kíli put up with your 'nonsense', as you call it," her cousin pointed out. "Thorin does as well. Why not one of them?"

She chuckled. "Because Fíli and Kíli are too much like me and Thorin tolerates my brashness as he does theirs—like a doting uncle."

Turning to him fully she asked, "Is there some reason you don't wish me to be courted by Dwalin? Has he done you or someone else some grievous slight that makes him unworthy in your eyes? What's wrong with him that would make one of the others a better choice?"

Bilbo sighed and dragged a hand over his face. "Dwalin's done nothing wrong, not to me or anyone else so far as I know," he said. "He's as good a choice as any of the others—and before you ask it's not the age difference, as Thorin's older than he by more than twenty years and even the lads are old enough to be your father."

Larkspur crossed her arms. "Then I fail to understand your objection."

Her cousin crossed his own arms and stood with one hand stroking his chin, appearing to think how best to put his thoughts into words. At last he looked to her and said, "It is not so much that I object to him as a potential suitor—I don't bloody care that he's a dwarf and you're a hobbit. It's just that I suppose I've never imagined him even desiring to marry. He's so…gruff. He doesn't trust easily and suffers fools not at all. He can be mighty dangerous when crossed."

Bilbo sighed, his expression becoming tender and concerned. "Dwalin's loyalty to Thorin, in my experience, comes before all else. Forgive my concern, Lark, but I fear that despite his assurances, he will choose to follow him when Thorin and the lads depart in the spring, leaving you standing on the border of the Shire with your broken heart in your hands."

"Do you truly trust me so little that my word of honor is not good enough?"

The sound of Dwalin's deep rumble caused both of them to jump. Larkspur recovered quickly and smiled at him; Dwalin returned the gesture briefly, then his eyes returned to Bilbo.

"For Yavanna's sake, Dwalin, don't do that!" Bilbo exclaimed, then wrinkled his nose as he tilted his head to the side and studied him. "Matter of fact, how did you do that? I've learnt the tread of every one of you dwarves in the last two weeks—how'd you sneak up behind us like that? I didn't even hear you."

"I can be light of foot when so desired," the dwarf replied, then uncrossed his arms and walked over to stand next to Larkspur. She looked up at him with another reassuring smile and slipped her hand into his.

Her heart sped up when he flexed his fingers ever so slightly around hers. His eyes, however, remained on her cousin, and so she looked back at him as well. Bilbo glanced down at their joined hands, then sighed as he ran a hand through his curly hair.

"Dwalin, you have to understand… When we first met, you didn't trust me," he said. "None of you did. And I'll be honest in that I found it hard to trust you all."

"But we all learned to trust each other in the end, did we not?" Dwalin asked.

"Aye, we did, but it's been four years since I've seen you," Bilbo replied. "For that matter, it's been four years since I've even heard from you or anyone in the company. I haven't even seen Gandalf but once in the last four years, and that was more than a year ago when I was in Rivendell.

"It has not even been a full fortnight since your return. You barely know each other and your feelings could change by the time spring comes 'round."

Dwalin shook his head firmly. "I told you last night that Larkspur is my One," he said. "When a dwarf meets that one person chosen for him or her by Mahal, there is never anyone else. My heart and mind are set."

"And I told you, cousin, I like him," Larkspur added. "But you're right—we don't know each other that well, which is why we've decided on a proper courtship, to give our feelings for each other time to grow."

"And what about when they leave, hmm?" Bilbo pressed, looking between them. "What happens then?"

"I told you it would be her choice whether to stay or to join us, and that if the former was her desire I would remain in the Shire with her," Dwalin said.

"And I honestly can't say what I'll do at this point," Larkspur told him. "I know I said I wanted to go on my own adventure someday, but even then I always imagined I'd return home. I know this is going to be different—that leaving with Dwalin and his kin would be leaving the Shire behind forever. I can't make that decision now, but by the time they're ready to go, I'm sure I will have."

Bilbo studied them both for a long moment, then heaved another sigh. "Please forgive me," he said. "It's just that I can't help being concerned for you. You're still so young, Lark, and you're the most like me of anyone in the whole of the Shire. If you leave with him, who else will I share my stories with? Who will accompany me to Rivendell every year?"

Ah, so that's what this was really about, she mused. While she was certain some of it was concern for her heart, at the core of it all Bilbo was afraid of losing his closest friend. Larkspur rushed forward and threw her arms around him. After a moment's hesitation, he returned her embrace.

"Cousin, I make you this promise," she said, feeling emotion beginning to tighten her throat. "Should I go with Dwalin to the White Mountains, I'll make him bring me back here every year. I won't let it be forever."

"Nor will I," added Dwalin. "I would not dare to keep my love from her home and her kin."

She felt Bilbo's arms tighten around her momentarily before he let her go and stepped back. A hand was then raised to his eyes and a little sniffle escaped him.

"You've been chopping onions, I think," he said. "They're making my eyes water."

Larkspur grinned. "I'll get them into the stew before I bring out the wine," she said.

"Good, good." Drawing a breath and squaring his shoulders, Bilbo looked up again, and at last she saw him smiling. "Believe it or not, I am happy for you, Larkspur. You will find no better protector in all of Middle-earth than Dwalin."

With that, Bilbo turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen. Larkspur sighed and turned around to find Dwalin staring at her.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"If Bilbo's so concerned, what do you think your family will say?"

Her brows drew together. "Does it really matter?"

"To me, no," he said. "I don't care if they like me, I only care that you do. But I'm fairly certain their opinion will matter to you. I wish you to be comfortable with your choice. To be sure I am who you want."

Stepping up to him, she took his hand again. "I do want you," she assured him. "I'll admit I've some concerns about what Papa and the boys will think, but while their opinions do matter, this is ultimately about what I want, what will make me happy. And just so you know, I'm not one of those fickle girls who only wants a fellow right now but worries her feelings could change in a few months. When I want something, I usually go for it. I'm not going to concern myself with the future just yet—I want to live in the here and now, and right now I'd very much like it if you'd kiss me."

Dwalin thankfully did not hesitate to comply—with a little tug of her hand he drew her to him, then lowered his head to capture her lips. Larkspur smiled against his mouth and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. She happily let him.

It was with a deep groan that he pushed her away a moment later. "Kardûna… I must go before I lose myself in you," he said, his voice thick with restraint.

She had felt the proof of his desire against her belly, and while intrigued by the feelings his hard flesh stirred within her, she was still not quite ready take that step—not to mention that she had a houseful of hungry males to feed and hadn't the time even were she so inclined.

"But before I leave you, I want to give you this," Dwalin said then.

Larkspur looked at the hand he held up, in which lay two small silver cylinders, each inlaid with a red stone.

"Is that…is that a ruby?" she asked.

Dwalin smiled. "Aye, 'tis the same ruby, split in two," he replied. "Unless you no longer wish me to wear a braid and show everyone I am yours?"

"Oh no," she said with a grin. "I'm not letting you get out of it. Now who goes first?"

"Well, as males do not typically wear a courting braid, I shall give that honor to you, my dear."

Her grin widened and she eyed his beard with a discerning gaze. He wore it split in the middle, but the middle seemed the best place to her to put a single braid. Larkspur turned toward the sink and quickly wet her hands, then returned to him and gathered his beard, drawing it together. Dwalin closed his eyes and breathed deeply as she ran her fingers through the hair to make it more compliant, then deftly wove a short braid down the exact middle of his chin. She then took one of the small silver clasps and opened it; wrapping it around the end so that the ruby was in front, she closed it and then smiled.

"All done," she said softly.

He opened his eyes and looked down, then lifted one eyebrow. "Doesn't look so bad," he said, then looked up at her and smiled. "Now, turn to the side if you will."

Larkspur did as he asked. Having worn her hair down in preparation for this moment, she breathed deeply as he asked her to hold the second clasp. When she had it in hand, Dwalin carefully sectioned a swath of hair over her right ear and much to her surprise—given the thickness of his fingers—nimbly pleated her braid. When he finished and had put the clasp around the end, he lifted it to his lips.

"Now you are mine," he said.

"Now you are mine," she echoed, then looked down at the braid laying over her shoulder. "I gather I'm not supposed to take this out at any time?"

"Only to wash your hair, and then it must be immediately remade," Dwalin answered.

"And do I wear my hair up or down?" Larkspur asked. At his questioning eyebrow lift, she added, "Well, you're sacrificing your comfort to give me a proper courtship, Dwalin. I want to honor what you are doing for me by adhering to your customs regarding what to do with the braid I wear."

He smiled widely at her. "It pleases me more than I can put into words that you desire to follow our customs," he said; she noticed that when he spoke it caused the braid in his beard to dance. "Your hair can be worn up or down as you like, so long as the braid and clasp are visible. Many a dam who goes through courtship will often leave their braid hanging over their shoulder when their hair is up."

"I'll remember that," she said with a nod, then looked around the kitchen. There was still so much food to be prepared for the last meal. "You should go and leave me to my misery now. I've so much more food to make for all you hungry buggers to try and fill those empty pits you call stomachs."

Dwalin laughed, then placed one hand at her neck to hold her still as he touched his brow to hers. "Welcome to life with dwarves, my love," he said softly, then he kissed her before he left her alone again.

While she worked the kitchen heated up, and so Larkspur pulled her hair back with some string, leaving her new courtship braid over her shoulder. It was not long after she began bringing in the completed dishes to the atrium—where two tables had been placed end-to-end to accommodate the ten of them—that the youngest of her brothers took notice.

"Oi, sis, what's that?" asked Irving, pointing at her dangling braid as she set a large pot of stew on the table.

Larkspur straightened as her father said, "Yes, where did that come from? I don't remember there being a braid in your hair, deary."

She glanced at Dwalin, then Bilbo, and then back to Dwalin before taking a breath and looking to her father once more. "That's because there wasn't one, until a short while ago," she said slowly. "'Tis called a courting braid, and it shows everyone that I am now spoken for."

"Wherever did you get that silly idea?" asked her brother Loras.

"Who's the lucky hobbit?" her father queried.

Larkspur noticed that all the dwarves bristled at her brother's question. It annoyed her as well, and ignoring her father for the moment, she fisted her hands on her hips as she glared down the table at her parents' sixth-born son.

"I'll have you know, Loras Took, that it is not a silly idea at all! It is an ancient courting tradition that dates back thousands of years!" she declared, her eyes flicking to where Dwalin sat next to Thorin, both of whom nodded slightly in confirmation.

She drew a breath, prayed to Yavanna for courage, and turned to her father to say, "And it is not a hobbit who courts me. Master Dwalin has asked for the privilege and I said yes."

Her brother Merroc shot to his feet. "I told you she was spending too much time over here, Father!" he declared loudly. "Our foolish cousin and his miscreant friends have corrupted Larkspur!"

At this, all four dwarves jumped to their feet, as did Bilbo. Loras and Irving stood as well and a loud argument ensued. It raged for several minutes, Larkspur holding her father's stern gaze all the while, until she felt tears threatening and she looked away from him. She then grabbed the wooden spoon from the pot of stew and began to bang it against the side, harder and harder, to be heard over the ruckus. The last strike caused the spoon to break in half, one piece launching into the air to the startled amazement of the arguing males.

"That is enough!" Larkspur yelled. Her gaze roamed over each of them, lingering on her brothers. Her angry, hurt expression had Merroc blinking as she said to him, "Merroc Took, you owe Bilbo an apology. You owe his guests an apology. And you bloody well owe me an apology. They have none of them corrupted me and as a grown hobbit it is my own choice whom I should accept as a suitor!"

She shook her head and looked toward the ceiling, her pain once again causing tears to prick the backs of her eyes. Larkspur fisted her hands at her hips as she blinked rapidly to dispel them. Unfortunately, the moment she looked back at Merroc she lost the fight and a tear fell from each eye. Movement to her left told her that Dwalin was coming around the table, but she kept her focus on her rotten brothers.

"How dare you?" she seethed. "How dare you come into another hobbit's home and insult him—insult his guests? How dare you insult your own cousin or your own sister? And for Yavanna's sake, how bloody dare you insult the memory of our beloved mother by behaving so abominably? She would be so ashamed of the three of you right now."

Merroc, Loras, and Irving had the grace to actually look ashamed. The three of them glanced down at their plates, no longer able to meet her withering stare. At the moment she felt Dwalin's warm hands come to rest lightly on her shoulders, Isembold Took stood from his seat at last.

"Boys, you head on home now," he said.

His sons did not argue. The three trudged silently down the hall and turned into the entryway; moments later, they heard the door open and close.

"Mister Dwalin," said Larkspur's father, drawing everyone's attention to him once more. "I would like to have a word with you, if I may."

Larkspur looked over her shoulder at him. The look he sent her was probably meant to be reassuring, but it did nothing to soothe her sudden worry or the pain she felt at her brothers' actions. Especially Merroc, that horrible little snipe…

Dwalin touched his lips to her temple briefly before saying, "I shall return shortly."

She nodded, then watched with trepidation as her father turned and walked in the direction her brothers had gone. She watched as Dwalin followed, and it was not until they heard the door open and close a second time that she dropped into the nearest chair, her lips trembling and tears falling silently down her cheeks.

Thorin quietly directed his nephews to retake their seats, then he did the same. Bilbo also sat at last, and all four of them turned their eyes to her.

It was Bilbo who spoke first. Reaching for her hand, he grasped it tightly. "Do not worry, cousin. All will be well."

Larkspur sniffled. "He should not have said that. He was horrible."

"Aye, that he was. I must say, I did not think Merroc had such a low opinion of me."

"Or that he was prejudiced against dwarves," she added bitterly, then turned her eyes to the three that remained. "I am so terribly sorry you and your people were insulted."

Thorin smiled softly. "Do not feel you must apologize, Madam, for the words were not yours," he said. "In fact, I thank you for speaking so passionately in our defense."

Kíli stood and handed her a napkin. Larkspur nodded her thanks and used it to wipe her eyes, then she blew her nose. "I'm worried now. I'm worried that Papa won't let me visit anymore, that he won't let me continue a courtship that hasn't even really begun."

"Would he really do that?" asked Fíli.

"Can he actually do it?" wondered Kíli.

Bilbo cleared his throat. "By hobbit custom, no," he said. "As Larkspur is of age—and has been for five years—she no longer requires his permission. The choice of whom she courts is hers. He can, however, make things difficult for them. The Tooks, for all their eccentricities, are a large and powerful family among hobbits. Uncle Isembold knows a lot of people in the Shire and if he so chooses, he can see to it their courtship is not a pleasant one."

She wanted nothing more than to sob on hearing those words, but Larkspur fought the urge. She could not stop more tears from falling, but she would not completely fall apart in front of Dwalin's kin lest they think her unworthy of him.

How much time had passed since her father and Dwalin had gone out the door was lost to her, and it was all she could do to remain in her seat when they heard the door open again at last. She frowned on hearing only one set of footsteps—Dwalin's heavy tread—and when he appeared she rose slowly.

His eyes held hers as he walked to her and took her hands in his. "Kardûna, do not weep," he said. "Your father and I have come to an understanding. He has given us his blessing."

"But why did he not come and tell me so himself?" she asked.

A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Because he desired to go home and… How did he put it? 'Burn the seats of my sons' britches', I think he said."

The other dwarves and Bilbo laughed, and even Larkspur felt a chuckle escape her. "I'd like to see him turn them over his knee," she said. "He'll not actually do it, of course, but they'll probably wish he had if he's really that angry."

The next thing she knew, she was in Dwalin's arms and he was cradling her head beneath his chin. Larkspur sighed and closed her eyes in contentment, barely aware of the departure of the others.

"Probably not a good idea they left us alone," Dwalin murmured a moment later.

"And why is that?"

He cleared his throat. "I had to make a concession to your father, in order to receive his approval."

Larkspur stood back. "What concession?" she demanded.

"Though he acknowledged you are of age and he's no longer in a position to dictate your choices, your father requested that we be…chaperoned."