On the fourth morning after the battle, Balin appeared in the chamber, his brother standing silent behind him. He looked down at Bilbo, who had been engaged in finishing off his breakfast and wondering when there would be enough food in the mountain for a proper suite of meals, and frowned.

"That coat's seen better days," he said. "Do you not have anything else to put on?"

Bilbo glanced down at his beloved jacket. The buttons were long gone, now, though he had rigged up a set of hooks and loops that almost did the trick, and what was left of the rich burgundy fabric - which was not a great deal, for much of the coat was patches now - was all but invisible under a thick patina of grime and blood. Better days, indeed.

"Er," he said. "Well, no, I didn't bring my spare dinner suit with me, I'm afraid."

Balin tutted. "And we won't find anything to fit you here," he said.

"No," Bilbo said, feeling quite confused now, "I don't suppose you will."

"It is no shame to wear battle clothes, brother," Dwalin rumbled, and Balin chewed his lip and then nodded once.

"You are right, of course," he said. "And there is nothing to be done anyway. We can wait no longer. We should not even have waited this long." He narrowed his eyes at Fili, who sat on the edge of the bed, and Kili, who was propped in the corner. "Can you and your brother walk, laddie?" he asked.

"Slowly," Fili replied. The two of them had limped around the chamber a few times that morning, Fili groaning with the stiffness of his muscles after so many days holding his brother. "And if it is very far then Kili should be carried."

Bilbo was about to put in that Fili should be carried, too, because his knee was in an even worse state than Kili's, but Dwalin interrupted his thought.

"He'll want to walk for this," he said.

"Walk for what?" Bilbo asked.

But nobody answered him.

It was two hours later when Bilbo found himself being led down into the mountain by Balin, Kili leaning heavily on his shoulder while Dwalin assisted Fili. Both the young dwarves were wearing new clothes provided by Dain's men, and although they were neither fine nor rich - and Kili's were too wide in the shoulders for him - it was nice to see them both looking mostly clean and presentable, or at least not like they'd been dragged through a hedge backwards. Bilbo, of course, was still dressed in the frankly rather disgusting clothes he had been wearing for months, though he had taken off the jacket after catching sight of himself in a mirror, and he had done his best to clean away the last of the grime from his skin and hair. He still didn't know where they were going, but he was quite used to the secretiveness of dwarves by now, and so he didn't let it worry him overmuch. If nothing else, it was good to get all three of them moving, exercising their sore muscles, and Bilbo simply let himself enjoy the walk.

The enjoyment came to a sudden end, though, when they turned a corner and found Thorin standing before them, dressed in clothes that were almost fine and somehow making them seem like they were fit for a king. Fili stopped suddenly, face darkening, and Kili took a half-step back, bowing his head.

"Thorin," Fili said stiffly, and perhaps he might have said more - might, Bilbo thought, have said things that were quite painful and unnecessary - but Thorin took three steps forward and sank to his knees before his nephews, and that stopped whatever words might have come from any of them, so deeply astonished were they.

"I am sorry," Thorin said, bowing his head. "I am sorry, my nephews. I hope that one day you may forgive me."

Kili glanced sideways at Bilbo, looking completely baffled. Fili's mouth was gaping, but a moment later he closed it with a snap, looking mutinous. Balin laid a hand on his shoulder.

"It is not the time, laddie," he said softly. "You do not have to accept him, but you must put aside your anger now, at least for an hour."

Fili's jaw tightened, but after a moment he nodded quickly, and Balin turned to Thorin.

"Rise up, my king," he said. "It is time."

By this time, Bilbo was quite, quite lost, and so he was surprised to be led inside the very forge that he and Fili and Kili had been clearing of rubble not so many days before. It was lit, now, and the room was sweltering in half-darkness, but Bilbo saw that all the rest of the company were there, stationed around the walls, even Bofur solemn-faced. Kili hesitated on the threshold, staring in some uneasiness at the great fire of the furnace and the many ironworking tools that were laid out on the stone table, but Bilbo gently urged him on, and he stepped inside without further protest. When all were gathered, Dwalin muttered something in Fili's ear, and he frowned, then gently wrapped his arm around his brother, pulling him away so that Bilbo stood alone in the middle of the floor. Bilbo turned to Balin.

"I take it we're finally going to get those wretched chains off, are we?"

"Not yet, laddie," Balin said. "There is something else that must be done first."

Bilbo frowned and was about to protest that he could think of nothing more important than finally freeing Kili, but Dwalin gave him a thunderous look and he subsided. The air in the forge seemed thick and heavy with shadows, and Bilbo suddenly had the sense of being in the presence of something very old indeed.

Balin turned to him, facing him squarely, and cleared his throat. Then he paused.

"You have not forgotten the words?" Thorin asked.

Balin made an irritated face. "I said that this ritual had not been performed for over five hundred years," he said. "I did not say that I had forgotten the words." Then he looked up at the ceiling and raised his hands as if in supplication. A moment later he began speaking the dwarven tongue, the broad, earthy sounds rolling and booming around the chamber and seeming to intertwine with the roaring of the great furnace. Bilbo had heard the tongue spoken before, of course, many times, but although it had always seemed solid and serious, now it fell on his ears with an extraordinary majesty, as if it was the voice of the very mountain itself. The hairs began to rise on the back of his neck, and he stared up at Balin and wondered just what it was he was saying.

Balin's voice rose and fell, and the other dwarves stood silent and listening in the shadows, until finally Balin closed his eyes and said one short phrase. This phrase was repeated from all throats bar Bilbo and Kili, and then Balin lowered his gaze to the little hobbit.

"Our ceremonies are not usually performed in the common tongue," he said. "I'm afraid the translation may be a little unpolished."

Bilbo shook his head, wide-eyed. He was amazed that the dwarves were allowing him in here at all for what was clearly a very private occasion among this most private of races, and now to hear that there would be a translation for him? He found his confusion growing all the greater.

Balin nodded, and then raised his hands again.

"O mighty Mahal," he intoned, the words now comprehensible but the tone almost as awe-inspiring as when he had been speaking the dwarvish tongue, "you made the dwarves first-born of Middle Earth. You hewed us from the very rock of the mountains, and we cleave to you until the remaking of the world that forms our bones. We are your only children, and you made us strong as stone, for we have no other kin on which to rely. You bade us keep our counsel and our secrets, and we have done your will with all our hearts.

"O maker, grant us also wisdom to see that there are some few who may be called to you, although they are of flesh and not of stone. We pray that you will accept this one who stands before me now, although he is a Child of Iluvatar. We ask that you remake him of stone and of iron, and that you call him dwarf-friend, for we have seen ourselves in him."

"This we pray," he finished, and the assembled dwarves repeated this, while Bilbo, quite astounded now, stood gaping up at Balin.

But Balin now lowered his gaze once more and folded his hands before him. "Bilbo Baggins of the Shire," he said, "do you consent to stand always at the side of the dwarves as though they were kin, and to call them so in your heart of hearts?"

Bilbo tried to force words past his throat, but there was some kind of obstacle blocking the way, and it took a surreptitious elbow in the ribs from an unseen dwarf to dislodge them. "I do!" he squeaked. "Of course, of course I do!"

Balin nodded solemnly. "And do you swear never to betray our secrets to any who is not dwarf-kind, though you live until the remaking of the world?"

A light began to dawn in Bilbo's mind at that. "Secrets?" he said. "Do you mean the iglishmêk? Am I to be allowed to learn it?"

Balin frowned at him, and Bilbo straightened up quickly. "I do," he said, and then got rather carried away. "My mouth is like a mountain fastness," he said.

Balin raised his eyebrows. "A simple yes will suffice, Mr. Baggins," he said, and Bilbo subsided, feeling a little foolish.

"Well, yes, then," he said.

At this, Balin turned to the assembled dwarves. "Who here will vouch for this Child of Iluvatar?" he asked.

Immediately, Dwalin stepped forward. "I am Dwalin, son of Fundin," he said. "I will vouch for this Child of Iluvatar. He stands with us as kin, though he is flesh and not stone."

Bilbo felt tears begin to gather behind his eyes, but the ceremony was not yet complete, and now Fili stepped out of the shadows. "I am Fili, son of Dis, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror," he said. "I will vouch for this Child of Iluvatar. He stands with us as kin, though he is flesh and not stone."

One by one, then, the dwarves all stepped forward and vouched for Bilbo, and it was all Bilbo could do to keep from weeping openly (which he felt might not be a very dwarvish thing to do and might prejudice his case with Mahal). Finally, after everyone else but Balin and Kili had spoken, Thorin stepped into the firelight, and he looked down on Bilbo with a sober face, but laid a great hand on his shoulder.

"I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror," he said. "I will vouch for this Child of Iluvatar. He stands with us as kin, though he is flesh and not stone."

Balin raised his hands again at this. "You have heard our prayer, O Mahal our father," he said. Then he took a pair of blackened tongs from the stone table and opened the door of the furnace. The blast of heat was quite extraordinary, and Bilbo had to force himself not to step back (another thing he suspected Mahal might not like). Balin drew out a stone cup filled with molten metal, and he poured it into a mould that lay ready on the anvil. Then he began to chant once more in the dwarvish tongue, and now the other dwarves joined in, their deep voices twining around each other in dark, earthen harmonies that seemed to crackle across Bilbo's skin, as if their words brought the very stifling air to life.

When the song was ended, Balin lifted the now solid metal from the mold with the tongs and thrust it into a nearby water butt, steam billowing up with a great hiss. He turned back to the assembled company, and to Bilbo, and he held out the metal. Bilbo saw that is was a small blade, as of a dagger, quite plain and unadorned.

"You may take it," Balin said. "It will not burn you."

Marvelling, Bilbo took the blade in both his hands. It was warm to the touch, but not hot, and he bowed a little, wondering what he was supposed to do now.

"Thank you," he said.

"Turn it over, laddie," Dwalin rumbled, and Bilbo looked around to see that all the dwarves were watching him intently. He turned the blade over, and saw that the other side was etched with dwarvish letters.

A great murmur went up from the company, then, and Balin's face split into a smile. He clapped Bilbo firmly enough on the back that Bilbo almost staggered.

"We thank you, Mahal, for accepting our petition," he said, and all the dwarves repeated this. And now Balin took Bilbo by both shoulders. "Welcome, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, dwarf-friend," he said, "first to bear that title in more than five hundred years."

And now the other dwarves came forward, too, slapping him on the back and shaking his hand, congratulating him heartily. Fili beamed at him, and even Thorin smiled.

"But what do the letters mean?" Bilbo asked, when he could finally get a word out without his voice cracking.

"It is your dwarvish name," Fili said. "True name, we call it. You must tell no-one who is not a Child of Mahal."

"Well, since I can't even read it myself, I don't think that will be a problem," Bilbo said. "But I have the feeling that there will soon be a lot of things I can't tell anyone who is not a Child of Mahal."

Fili grinned at this. "That is how you know you are a dwarf!" he said. "And we will teach you to read it, don't worry. We can teach you everything, now."

Bilbo felt a strong sense of relief at this, for although he knew that Thorin had forgiven him for everything he had done, he had still wondered about the iglishmêk and how the dwarves would cope with that problem. And he turned to Kili to tell him the good news - for he was sure the little dwarf had understood even less of what was going on than he had - but saw that he was surrounded by Balin and Dwalin, who were carefully pulling gloves over his hands. He was not resisting them, but his head was bowed and he looked a little too hunched for Bilbo's liking.

"Now, then," Bilbo said, crossing quickly to the little group and putting a hand on Kili's shoulder. "Do not scare him!"

Fili stood now at his shoulder. "That is dragon hide," he said, looking at the gloves, and when Bilbo glanced behind him, he saw that the young dwarf's eyes were shining in the light from the furnace.

"Aye, not just any dragon, either," Dwalin said, and Balin turned to Bilbo.

"We will need you to keep him calm, Mr. Baggins," he said.

Bilbo nodded quickly, putting one hand on each side of Kili's face and lifting it so he could meet his eyes. "There is nothing to be scared of," he said firmly. "The dwarves will not hurt you. They are your friends."

Kili looked doubtfully from Balin to Dwalin, and then back to Bilbo.

"What happen?" he asked.

"I don't know," Bilbo said, and turned to Balin himself. "What is happening?"

Balin stood back, having somehow wrestled the dragon-hide glove so that it was between Kili's manacle and his wrist. "Something you would not have been able to witness, were you not a dwarf-friend, Mr. Baggins," he said. "It is a coming-of-age ceremony for a prince."

Bilbo's eyes widened, and Balin gave him a self-deprecating smile. "Somewhat modified, of course," he said, "but we do what we can. Now, where is that hood!"

It was some minutes before all was prepared for the second ceremony, and Bilbo stayed with Kili throughout, keeping a gentle hand on his arm as Balin and Dwalin wrestled him into a dragon-hide hood. He thought he had some idea of what was coming next, but what form it would take, he was not sure at all, and he hoped Kili would not be too terrified. At last, though, all was prepared, and Bilbo found himself standing once more in front of Balin, though now Balin was facing Kili and Bilbo was merely a bystander. The old dwarf cleared his throat again, and the room fell silent, the air beginning to thicken just as it had before, as if in anticipation of what was to come.

When Balin opened his mouth this time, it was not to speak, nor even to chant, but to sing. His voice was clear and deep, and it echoed in the shadows above them until it seemed that there was a whole army of dwarves singing point and counterpoint. Kili watched him with shining eyes from under his hood, and seemed not in the least frightened, but only awed. Bilbo felt much the same way, the song seeming to thrum in his bones and belly, and he wondered if somehow Mahal had remade him so that the dwarvish language spoke to him as it had not before.

When the song was done and the echoes had died away, there was a long silence. Then Balin spoke up.

"O mighty maker," he said, "we present to you this dwarf who was once a child and is a child no longer. He has shown himself worthy in battle and in life, and we ask that you accept him as your own. We ask that you make him strong and steadfast, loyal and courageous, and that when he falls, you bear him to the halls of his fathers, to await the remaking of the world." He paused a moment, then cleared his throat a little. "And we ask that you keep him safe," he added. "This we pray."

"This we pray," said the dwarves, and this time Bilbo joined in, the words heavy and powerful on his tongue.

"Are there any who would pray for this dwarf?" Balin asked then, and Dwalin stepped forward again. But he did not speak immediately, going instead to the furnace and reaching inside, and Bilbo saw that he was wearing a dragon-hide glove of his own. He drew out a knife, the blade glowing white-hot. It was not of metal, but of stone, and it was so bright it almost hurt to look upon it. Dwalin stepped back to Kili's side and turned to Balin.

"I am his guardian," he intoned. "I pray that he will be as steadfast as the stone of the mountain."

And he took Kili's right wrist in his hand and drew the stone blade across the manacle, pressing down hard. The black orcish metal did not yield at first, but Dwalin kept the blade against it until it began to glow, red first, and then white, and then the blade cut through it like clay. Dwalin laid the blade down and took the manacle in both hands, wrenching it until the gap he had made was large enough to slip it from Kili's wrist. Then he pulled it gently away, letting it fall to the floor with a clang.

"This we pray," he said, and all voices responded.

Thorin stepped forward, then, taking the glove that Dwalin offered him and going to the furnace, retrieving a second stone blade. "I am his uncle," he said, his voice gruff with feeling. "I pray that he will be as fierce as the fire of the forge." And he pressed the blade against the manacle on Kili's left wrist, holding it there until it slipped through to the dragon-hide. He, too, wrenched open the manacle, but he did not merely drop it, flinging it to the floor with great fury on his face and then bowing his head a moment.

"This we pray," he said, and he was answered fervently.

Fili was third, and when he came back to his brother he laid a hand gently on his shoulder and murmured something in his ear, then laid the blade against the side of Kili's collar. Kili was wide-eyed and sweating, but he did not move, and Bilbo gripped his arm reassuringly.

"I am his brother," said Fili. "I pray that he will be as mighty as the hammer of Mahal."

The iron of the collar was thicker and more sturdy than that of the manacles, and it took some time for the blade to melt through it. And when it had, Bilbo saw that there was no way that even a dwarf would be able to wrench it open. But Fili did not try, pressing his forehead against his brother's instead.

"This we pray," he murmured, and Bilbo had barely finished uttering the words when Fili turned to him and offered the glove. Bilbo blinked in astonishment, but Fili raised his eyebrows, and Bilbo reached out a hesitant hand and took the glove from him. It was too large for his little hobbit hand, of course, and it actually smelt rather dreadful, but Bilbo supposed such things were inevitable for something that was made of the inside of a dragon. He approached the furnace with some trepidation and swung open the door, almost fainting from the heat that assailed him. But there was a sense of something else, too, something more powerful than heat, that seemed to push not just against him but through him, making him aware as he never had been before of the blood coursing through his veins and his heart beating fast in his chest. He swallowed and reached into the fire, amazed that his hand inside the glove felt cool and comfortable, though the rest of him felt rather like it was being grilled. He closed his hand around the handle of the last stone knife that lay on the coals, and then stepped back and swung the furnace door shut with some relief.

All eyes were on him as he moved back to Kili, and he raised the knife and remembered suddenly that he was supposed to say something.

"I am his friend," he said, and then quickly cleared his throat. "I pray that he will be as cheerful as the sun on the daisies."

There was a startled snort from somewhere to his right, quickly stifled, and Balin gave him something of a scandalised look. But after all, whether he was a dwarf-friend or not, Bilbo was still a hobbit, and the things he wished for his friend were not the same as the desires that lay dark and heavy in the hearts of dwarves. He did not take his prayer back, but simply pressed the knife against the intact side of Kili's collar, holding it there until the metal finally gave way. Both sides of the collar then dropped from Kili's neck, and Dwalin caught them deftly before the hot metal could touch any part of Kili that was not swathed in dragon hide, and then dropped them to the floor with a great clatter. Kili turned shining, astonished eyes to Bilbo, and Bilbo smiled at him and pressed his hand in its dragon-hide glove.

"This we pray," he whispered, and the refrain was taken up with a great roar from all around him. Bilbo himself felt an odd jolt as he spoke the words, as if he had been standing too close to a tree struck by lightning. Then Dwalin and Thorin pulled the gloves from Kili's hands, and Fili pulled the hood from his head and lifted him to his feet. Kili stood, eyes huge in the firelight, and stared at his wrists, naked now and marked only by a thick, white ring of scar tissue. He raised hesitant fingers to his neck and brushed his fingertips against the answering scars that could be seen there, and then he turned to Bilbo, open-mouthed but silent.

"Behold," Balin said then. "Here is a dwarf who was once a child but is a child no longer. Now he is a dwarf indeed!"

And now Thorin stepped forward, standing by Kili's side and laying a hand on his shoulder. "Behold," he said. "Here is a prince of Erebor."

At this, Dwalin sank immediately to one knee. "Behold, a prince of Erebor," he said. And now Balin knelt, too, and the other dwarves came forward one by one, each murmuring the words as they knelt before Kili. Kili shifted uneasily, glancing at Bilbo, and after a moment he tried to kneel, too, but Fili caught his arm and held him up.

"Not this time, my brother," he murmured.

And now Bilbo was unsure himself, for he was accounted a dwarf-friend, and he did not know if that meant he should kneel or not. Deciding discretion was the better part of valour, he began to lower himself, but Kili caught urgently at his arm and pulled him back to his feet, shaking his head. Bilbo looked to Thorin, and Thorin smiled at him.

"It is not usual," he said, "but it is his honour to bestow, if he will."

And so Bilbo did not kneel, but merely smiled at his friend, and Kili clutched at his arm and stared at the kneeling dwarves with great confusion. And after a moment's silence, Fili cleared his throat.

"On behalf of my brother, I bid you rise," he said, as if only just realising that Kili would not know the correct words to say.

The dwarves got to their feet, then, and they were all smiles and laughter, the heavy atmosphere of the forge seeming quite drained away as they came one by one to congratulate Kili, though they did not slap his back and shake his hand as they had with Bilbo. Only Fili touched him, standing for a long moment with his forehead pressed against Kili's and his hand laid gently on the back of Kili's neck, as if somehow to prove to himself that the collar was no longer there. But then Thorin stepped forward, and to Bilbo's surprise, he, too, leaned his forehead against Kili's, and Kili did not step back, though his gaze skated away.

"Welcome, my nephew," Thorin murmured. "Welcome home."

Bilbo heard Bofur saying something about a feast, which was met with a great deal of cheering and the beginnings of a raucous song, and then the dwarves spilled out of the forge, and Bilbo found himself and Kili standing almost alone in the heat and the sudden, shadowy silence. Only Fili waited for them, a broad smile on his face.

Kili turned to Bilbo, his hands creeping up again to his neck. "Hobbit," he whispered, "iron is gone."

"Yes, my dear lad," Bilbo said. "The iron is gone. It will never come back, now. You are free."

Kili raised his hands and stared at his wrists. "I not understand free," he said.

"This is free," Fili said, pointing at his wrists. "You do not have to do what other people want you to. You are not a snaga any more."

"I not snaga," Kili said, and then looked at Bilbo. "I dwarf."

Bilbo laughed at that, and laid a hand on the back of Kili's neck himself, feeling the thick, raised knots of the scar tissue under his palm. "Yes, you are," he said.

Fili smiled at his brother and took him by the shoulders. "Behold," he said. "Here is a dwarf indeed."