Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) J.R.R. Tolkien.

Act III: The Diplomat

Chapter Five

When the meal finally came to an end, Bilbo slipped out of the hall without anyone noticing and asked a nearby guard to escort him out of the palace. He knew that he was being very rude by leaving without saying anything to Thorin and the rest, but could not bring himself to care very much. He did not want to spend any more time playing the sideshow attraction to a bunch of strangers while sharing intimate details of his people with them. Even his father—the very personification of manners—would have agreed that that was a bit too much to ask for.

"It's official—rich people are pricks," Bilbo declared when he came marching into the 'Ri home later that day. He pulled off the outer layer of his robes and tossed them to Ori, who caught it with a brow raised in silent inquiry for more details. He sat at the table with parchment and books spread out before him and his hair unbound from their usual braids.

"I was invited to the palace for lunch," he began to explain while trying to untie the ridiculous amount of laces at his waist in order to take off the next layer of robes. "Prince Fíli made the offer and I couldn't say no to all that free food, right? So I went and ate with all those nobles and ended up being gawked at, questioned, and insulted—all within the space of five minutes!"

"Sounds like a marriage interview," commented Ori, folding up his robe before gesturing for Bilbo to come closer so he could help him. "Or a night with Dori's tea cup friends."

"As soon as the meal was over I scrammed. I didn't even bother to stick around to see if they were going to serve snacks! That's how annoyed I am!" he snarled, throwing his arms up to give Ori room to work.

"I would have never guessed," droned the Dwarf, fingers easily sliding through the laces and knots.

Bilbo flicked his ear. "Why aren't you at work?" he asked, realizing that it was far too early for the young Dwarf to be home.

"Master Balin gave us the day off because he had to go to your horrible luncheon," Ori explained, glancing up to meet his eyes before looking back to his task. "I've been using the free time to catch up on a few things."

"Oh, that's right; I met your Master Balin today," he recalled as the memory of the polite Dwarf popped into his head. "He seems nice and friendly. What is the work you're catching up on?"

"Boring stuff," dismissed Ori, making a face of contempt at the piles of parchment and book logs. "Master Balin deals with all war affairs and that includes the creation of new weapons and armor. His second in command, Master Pátrin, gave me his log books and told me to go over the cost of each success and failure, and mark how much it's costing us. Easy enough to do—just repetitive and boring."

Bilbo's brows shot up in surprise. "I didn't know Erebor has so much interest in war," he commented, tugging off his sash as Ori finally finished untying it. "Thought that was a hobby more common with the Iron Hills."

Ori shrugged as he took the white and black sash from Bilbo to place it with the robes on the table. "Master Balin is just fascinated with inventions and improving upon the weapons we possess now," he explained simply. "So did you get to meet the Dwarrows from Orocarni?"

"Yes. They were... very colorful," the Hobbit said, carefully choosing his words.

Ori snickered behind his hand. "Dwarrows from Orocarni like very bright colors. I think it's because they're surrounded by a desert and got sick of only seeing brown everywhere."

"Is sand brown? I thought it was lighter," he wondered, curling his foot around the leg of a chair and pulling it out to take a seat.

Ori shrugged, looking largely unconcerned. "I have no idea. I've never seen sand before. I'm only going by what I've read."

"It's definitely lighter than brown. More like a tan shade, I think. It's been a long time since I've seen it so I can't quite remember."

"Who did you meet from the Orocarni party?" Ori asked, leaning forward in his chair with an eager gleam to his eyes.

"I met the Grand Vizier Sözen and his children—Pasha Sermet and Lady Hafsa. Pasha was annoying but Lady Hafsa seemed nice," Bilbo recounted, thinking of the stiff expression on Lady Hafsa's face. "Kind of feel sorry for her. She didn't look too happy to be here."

The Dwarf nodded in sympathy. "No, I don't expect she would be. Orocarni is very far and very different from Erebor and the Iron Hills. It's going to be hard for her to adjust to it all. Even the languages are different."

Bilbo hummed in agreement before Ori's words caught up to him and had him sitting up straighter. "Wait, what? I thought you Dwarves all spoke Khuzdûl?"

"Not quite," said the scribe, running his tongue over his canines as he stared up at the ceiling in thought. "See, Khuzdûl is a term we use to describe the family of Dwarrow languages that all share the same starting point—Khuzdûl. No kingdom really speaks the exact same language anymore—too much has changed for it to remain constant. Now we just have tongues that follow the same patterns and share words."

Bilbo could only gape at his friend, feeling unfairly betrayed by the world. "I can't believe I never knew any this. I'm usually so good at picking up different accents! How could I have missed this?"

Ori patted his knee in sympathy. "Don't feel too bad. The knowledge that there are different forms of Khuzdûl isn't really shared with outsiders. Our language is also very harsh sounding so it really does all sound the same if you don't know any better."

"So what do you all call the tongue spoken here in Erebor?"

"We speak Sutumkhuzdul and it's the closest to the original Khuzdûl out of all of the others. It's used a lot in the royal court and trade and is the most well-known."

"And in the Iron Hills? Orocarni?" he pressed, hungry for more information.

"The Iron Hills speak Zirinkhuzdul and you can spot it by the way they sort of drag their letters out when they speak," described the Dwarf, wrinkling his nose a bit to show what he thought of that. "Orocarni uses Barazkhuzdul which has a uvular trill and a habit of rising in pitch when it comes to pronouncing the last syllable of a word."

"Can you understand them all?"

Ori nodded. "Pretty much. Erebor has a lot of Dwarrows from all the kingdoms so I've learned to tell them apart. Speaking it is a bit harder but I can get by."

"Wow. That's incredible." Bilbo felt a rush of longing flood through him as he wished—not for the first time in his life and unlikely to be the last—that he could learn Khuzdûl. Words—whether written or spoken—would always be his passion in life no matter what his trade was, and Khuzdûl was the ultimate treasure cove to him.

"You're doing it again," Ori suddenly commented, leaning closer to poke the Hobbit in the forehead a few times. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" he questioned, batting the hand away and leaning back so he wasn't in clear range.

"Being sad." Ori sat back into his chair and studied Bilbo with his bright green eyes. Out of the three brothers, he had found Ori's gaze to be the most difficult to stare down because there was such depth to them that he feared he would fall in if he stared too hard. Dori's eyes reminded him of frozen lakes and Nori's of murky swamps but Ori was the ocean—deep and mysterious and entirely unpredictable.

As expected, he could only hold that green gaze for a few seconds before looking down at his hands. "I'm not sad, not really. Just thinking sad thoughts."

"Stop thinking them then," ordered the scribe, leaning over until he could rest his forehead on Bilbo's shoulder. "I don't like seeing that look on your face. None of us do. It makes us feel... helpless."

Bilbo couldn't think of anything to say to that so he ran a free hand through Ori's thick hair instead. "Would you like me to brush out your hair?" he asked quietly as his fingers snagged on a few knots. "Nori's been teaching me how to do some of your fancy braids."

Ori snorted and shifted so that his cheek rested on Bilbo's shoulder and he could look up at the Hobbit. "It figures that Nori would be the first to let you braid his hair. Dick. Why does he got to be so greedy?"

"I didn't know it was a competition," he commented, having zero understanding of what his friend was speaking of and even less interest in learning.

"Everything's a competition between siblings," the Dwarf stated imperiously, rising to his feet and holding out his hand. "C'mon. I'm going to teach you how to weave in beads and ribbons. He hasn't taught you that much right?"

Bilbo shook his head as he took the Dwarf's hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. "What about your work?"

"Nothing that can't be finished later," dismissed the scribe, easily dragging Bilbo off for their room without hesitation. "This is more important than anything else right now."

"Because you have to beat Nori?"

Ori laughed, and gave him the sort of smile that made Bilbo want to both hug him and clip him behind the ears. "Yeah. That's that reason."

Bilbo had hoped that, with his obligation to Fíli fulfilled, he would be left alone by the upper-class scion for the foreseeable future. Surely the nobles had better things to do than harass foreign Hobbits looking for work. His hopes were quickly dashed though when he came down for breakfast the next morning and found a fancy letter waiting for him on the table.

"The messenger said it's from Grand Vizier Sözen," Dori said before he could ask. He seemed to be the only brother awake and was cooking eggs over an open fire.

"Great. I wonder what he wants now," Bilbo muttered, breaking the red wax seal and unfolding the letter. As his eyes skimmed over the slanted letters, he couldn't help but groan and begin to lightly bang his forehead against the table.

"Bad news I take it?" Dori asked mildly without looking away from his task.

"He wants to meet with me again today," the healer whined, continuing to bang his head with the hopes of knocking himself unconscious so he wouldn't have to deal with such nonsense. "Why can't these Dwarves just leave me alone? Don't they have jobs to do?"

"No. They're nobles," Dori deadpanned as he slid the eggs onto a plate and brought it to Bilbo. "Eat something now before Ori gets in here and devours it all."

Bilbo paused in his self induced punishment to cast a questioning look at the older male. "Wait, where's Nori? Didn't he come back last night?"

Dori's lips thinned into a straight line. "He came home alright but it was very, very late. He wouldn't say where he was either but claimed it wasn't anything illegal. Like I've believed anything he's told me since we were tots. He also left early this morning before the fifth hour and still didn't say where he was going."

"Could he have found a new job?"

"Unlikely. He doesn't hide his work from us so why start now? He's up to something I'm sure, but I just don't know what it is yet."

Bilbo shrugged a shoulder as he began to scoop up his eggs. "I'll see if I can get anything out of him whenever he gets back," he promised between bites. "Maybe guilt him with the bail money and pull out the big, teary eyed look."

"If it doesn't work, flash him a look at the scar on your leg. That should get him talking," suggested the weaver, and went back to cooking more eggs for Ori who could nearly match a Hobbit for appetite.

Bilbo lingered as long as he could at the 'Ri home but eventually had no choice but to drag himself back up to the palace. He got a few looks for his appearance when he arrived, but the guards didn't stop him when he showed them the letter from Grand Vizier Sözen. One escorted him through the halls to a new section of the palace that he dimly remembered Óin referring to as the guest quarters. It was there, in a bright room of yellow, green, and blue that he found the foreign Dwarf waiting for him.

"Master Bilbo! Thank you so much for coming!" the Grand Vizier greeted warmly, rising to his feet with a smile that split his face in half. He came forward and eagerly took both of Bilbo's hands into his own and squeezed them gently. "I am happy to see you got my letter!"

Bilbo gave an awkward smile and subtly tried to pull his hands away. He really didn't like touching people he just met. "Thank you for inviting me," he said stiffly. "I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye to you and your family yesterday. I had some work to see to."

"No apologies needed. I completely understand," the Vizier promised, patting one of the smaller hands in his before leading Bilbo to the table he had been sitting at. "Come, please, join me. Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can have the servants bring something."

Bilbo was tempted to say yes but resisted as he wanted to get the whole meeting over with as quickly as possible. "No thank you. May I ask why you sent for me?"

"Hmm? Oh, of course, of course! I have a request to make of you," the Dwarf explained, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingertips together.

The healer narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like this. "What is it?"

"I was hoping that you would consider acting as a companion to my daughter during her stay here in Erebor," the Vizier said with a small smile. "She is very curious about your people and would like to hear more of them. She is also quite alone and has no one close in age to keep her company throughout the day. Your presence would be a great comfort to her."

Bilbo stared and then blinked very slowly. "Um, would that even be... acceptable?" he asked, brain scrambling to comprehend what he had just heard. "I'm a foreign male and... not exactly highly ranked here."

"You are a respected friend and guest of King Thorin and his family—such high esteem is not given so casually," the Vizier replied, smiling kindly at the confused Hobbit. "You are also a prince of your people, and as for your gender... it is not an issue as you are so... small."

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. "What."

"I don't mean to offend you," the Dwarf reassured, holding up a hand. "I simply mean that you would pose no physical threat to my daughter's honor as she is taller and stronger than you. She also has a bodyguard with her at all times so even if you did manage to overpower her, you wouldn't get very far before he killed you."

The Hobbit could only keep staring before huffing and falling back in his chair. There was no point in getting angry with someone so dense that he didn't realize he was still insulting Bilbo while apologizing. "What would I be expected to do?" he asked instead, moving the topic along.

"Oh nothing too difficult. Just sit with her, tell her stories, perhaps even accompany her on her visits as she gets to know the Dwarrows here," the Vizier explained, his smile growing larger. "It would only be during the day and I will compensate you for your time, of course. Please, I know it would mean so much to her."

Bilbo stared at the eager Dwarf before letting out a deep sigh and banging his head back against the chair. "I... suppose I can keep her company," he said reluctantly, trying not to show his annoyance. As if he ever really had a choice. "If only for a short while and as long as I'm paid for the work I'm missing."

The Vizier clapped his hands together with a hearty laugh. "Wonderful! Let me pull up the contracts then!" he said, rising to his feet and walking over to a ruby studded chest with golden birds chiseled on it. "We'll have you start tomorrow as to give you time to inform your master of your new obligations. I can also inform my daughter of the situation and give her time to make the proper arrangements."

"Lady Hafsa doesn't know about this?" the Hobbit said with no small surprise. Did Lady Hafsa have any sort of control over her life?

"No, I didn't see the need to tell her unless you agreed," replied the Dwarf as he returned to the table with two thick scrolls that he spread out between them. "Please read over the contract and sign both at the bottom. You may keep one scroll and I will keep the other."

Bilbo grudgingly pulled one of the scrolls over to him and began to read it with only half of his attention. The other half was wondering exactly what the hell he had just gotten himself into.

Bilbo left the Vizier's chambers an hour later with a rolled up contract in one pocket, a pass for the palace in another, and a growing headache from reading so much small print. His intention was to hunt down one of guards and ask them for help in escaping the palace, but found himself sidetracked by a Dwarf dressed in a plain maroon tunic and green leggings. His brown hair and beard were braided simply and he wore only the barest of jewelry on his person.

"Are you Master Baggins?" the stranger asked him bluntly, voice tinged by the rough accent of the Iron Hills.

Bilbo eyed him warily and quickly took note of all possible exits. "Possibly. What's it to you?"

"Lord Dáin sent me to fetch you," the Dwarf explained blandly, looking unconcerned of the look. "He wishes to speak with you. If you would follow me, I will take you to him."

Bilbo sucked his cheeks in as he weighed the possibility the offer was true and genuine against the chance that he was being tricked and about to be murdered by someone who thought maroon and green looked good together. Finally he shrugged in defeat and made a shooing gesture to the stranger. "Fine. Lead on then," he said, resigning himself to either possibility.

To his relief, the stranger turned out to be trustworthy and did not lead him into an ambush, and instead brought him to the living quarters of the Royal Family. There he found Lord Dáin waiting for him in a casual attire and reading a long scroll. When he saw Bilbo, he set the scroll down on a nearby table, and gestured for Bilbo to take a seat on one of the stuffed chairs placed around the room.

"Master Baggins, thank you for taking the time to see me. I apologize for the sudden invitation but I wasn't sure when I would get the chance to see you again," the Dwarf said, waving his servant away with one hand.

Bilbo gave a half-smile that felt awkward and fake on his face. "Um, of course, it's no problem. So why did you call for me?"

Lord Dáin walked closer to him and suddenly gave a deep bow that had his long hair sweeping the polished cream colored floor. "I wish to apologize for my behavior at the luncheon yesterday," the Dwarf said, his baritone voice honest and clear. "I was rude and disrespectful to you when I should have been welcoming and kind. I have brought shame upon my kingdom and myself with my immature behavior and I beg for your forgiveness."

Bilbo stared down at the bowing noble until he realized the Dwarf was waiting for his reply. "O-Oh, yes, apology accepted, no harm done," he said quickly, getting to his feet and reaching down to help the other to his feet. "Please, get up now. There's no need for you to go so far as to bow to me."

Lord Dáin allowed the Hobbit to pull him up, the edge of his lips creeping up into a lopsided smile. "You are far too kind just as Frerin said," he commented lightly. "What a novelty to see in this day and age."

"You need to get out more. Nice people are not as rare as you assume," he disagreed, thinking of his friends in the lower districts.

Lord Dáin's smile grew into a complete one. "It says much about your character that you believe so, Master Baggins," he countered, gesturing for Bilbo to return to his chair while he took a seat in a nearby blue monstrosity that looked like a cross between a throne and a bed. "So tell me of this mission of yours. Both Thorin and Frerin have brought it up in conversation and keep hinting that it's something I would be interested in."

The Hobbit made a mental note to scold both brothers for being gossipy gossips. "Well I don't know about that..."

"Share it with me anyway," the Dwarf lord said, waving an encouraging hand. "Please, I would like to hear it."

Bilbo shrugged and did so. At the end of his tale, Lord Dáin's smile had grown into a grin and one of his brows was raised slightly in intrigue.

"So you've come to us Dwarrows for help then? Smart of you. We are the best at making war and have more experience with dragons than any other race." The Dwarf drummed his fingers against one of his knees as he stared off at the distance. "I think I can help you, Master Baggins. My engineers have been working on a new weapon and a dragon would be the perfect test subject!"

"Um, you do understand that dragons aren't small right?" he questioned, eyeing up the rather alarming grin growing on the noble's face. "And that they breathe fire? So he's not exactly a safe 'test' subject."

"Good because this weapon isn't small," retorted the Dwarf before laughing at the look Bilbo gave him. "Don't worry, Master Baggins, nothing is set in stone; it's just a thought. I can't promise you warriors just yet but I will look into it. I'm sure I have a few hundred I can spare."

"Anything you can offer would be more than enough, milord," the healer said honestly, giving a small bow of his head. "Thank you for even considering the idea. There are no words to express my gratitude."

Lord Dáin shook his head making his braids bounce against his face. "On the contrary, it is I who should be thanking you for all the work you've done for Erebor since you arrived," he disagreed as his expression softened. "Frerin has told me of all your services and how you saved Kíli on more than one occasion. Such deeds are priceless."

"O-Oh, you're welcome then. I... didn't think they would mean so much to you," Bilbo admitted before wincing as he realized how rude his words were. "Err, no offense."

"None taken," Lord Dáin reassured, making a sweeping gesture with one hand. "I care because other than my mother and son, I have no other family but the ones here in Erebor. To lose even a single one would be..."

"I understand. I too have lost a lot of family over the years due to our lifestyles. I know how important it is to treasure the ones you still have," the Hobbit said quietly, thinking of the endless and unmarked graves of his kin that dotted the land.

Lord Dáin's bright eyes—the same shade of blue as Thorin's which made Bilbo feel a bit more relaxed with the Dwarf—tempered down into lighter shades. "It seems we have something in common then, Master Baggins," he said quietly, an unspoken sorrow lacing his words.

"So it seems," he agreed before impulsively adding, "And you can call me Bilbo. Everyone else around here does."

"And you may call me Dáin," said the Dwarf, rising to give another sweeping bow that had Bilbo giggling, "as all my friends do."

Friends, huh? Guess it wouldn't hurt to have a few more of those.

Hello everyone! I'm finally back with an update, sorry to disappear on all of you like that. Real life became a bit hectic so I had put things on pause for this story. I apologize if I made anyone worried or anxious. I promise I'm fine and that this story has not been abandoned.

Also I have a question for all of you. So I like to leave hints and clues of plots/plot points throughout the chapters but I'm concerned I'm not making them clear enough? Like they're too vague and obscured so it doesn't seem important to remember for readers? If that is so please let me know so I can try to write them clearer.

Finally, I don't recall if I have said this yet, but all credit for the different terms/meaning/anything involving Khuzdûl goes to The Dwarrow Scholar who has saved me soooo much time by breaking down Khuzdûl into vocabulary, sentence structure, grammar, etc, etc. Seriously, I cried in relief when I realized they even have the varieties of Khuzdûl available. I kept putting off the conversation between Bilbo and Ori for months because I didn't want to deal with the issue of breaking up the language based on region, history, background, etc. Seriously, tears of joy here, folks, tears of overwhelming joy.

Silver pup