Dís arrival turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Not only did she give Bilbo something legitimate to do other than sit in on councils he couldn't understand, or spend time in the company's section of the mountain, she also had quite a way of lifting everyone's spirits when nothing else could. Her good humor and warm smile were infectious and Bilbo could see now why her kin had spoken so highly of her. With Dís' presence, Bilbo finally found himself pulled out of his rooms and into the life of the mountain once more. He was more than a bit shocked at what he had missed out on while he'd been hiding out. There was so much life that he hadn't realized had come back to the mountains.

The markets, though even the dwarves within assured him they weren't, seemed to have sprang back to their original glory, their stalls already filling with wondrous crafts. There were fabrics there so rich that his missing hand ached. Oh, the things he could make with such fabrics. So many bright colors and patterns! He was just telling Dís of what he would have made with a beautiful green and yellow-gold brocade when they were interrupted by a tailor.

"Pardon me, My Lord," the tailor said, stepping into their path and sweeping such a deep bow that his long red beard brushed the floor, "I couldn't help but overhear. Glor, son of Dwor, at your service."

"And what service would that be, Glor, son of Dwor?" Dís asked coolly, her manner calling her brother to mind more than her more private and open personality.

"My Lady," the dwarf said sweeping her a bow as well, "I merely meant to offer my services. You will find no finer tailor in the Mountain, My Lord, My Lady. I heard what you were describing, My Lord—"

"Bilbo will suffice," the hobbit cut in, uncomfortable with the, in his mind, unnecessary formality.

"My Lord Bilbo, then," Glor replied. "I heard what you were describing and I believe that I would be more than up to the task of creating it. If you will merely step over here, I will measure you and have the finished project delivered to your door by the end of the week."

"No," Bilbo said pulling his arms in on himself and backing away slightly. "I. . . I couldn't—"

"Enter into a contract with someone whose work you've never seen," Glor finished for him. "And I wouldn't expect you to, My Lord Bilbo. We can just get your measurements today and I will, of course, take charge of purchasing the fabric and overseeing the creation of your garment. Should you find it wanting in any way I will, as is proper, assume all costs as my own and all you need do is return the garment to my stall. When you find that it exceeds expectations, then you and I can discuss a negotiation of payment." Before Bilbo could utter another protest, the dwarf had a tape round his chest and was taking the first measurement before lifting the hobbit's arms and grasping his left hand to extend his arm to its fullest, measuring this as well before moving to the right. He only paused in his chatter a moment at the feel of the wood in his hand before he continued, "a bit longer on the right than the left, not all that uncommon, My Lord, I assure you. Now, would you like emerald buttons to match the green or citrines to match the gold?"

"Emerald buttons?" Bilbo stuttered, wondering just what was wrong with brass and trying to find the words to ask when the dwarf nodded.

"Very good choice, My Lord," he was saying. "Emeralds set in gold, I know just the jeweler to set such stones. I think I have everything I need, carry on with your shopping and expect the finished product before the week is out."

As suddenly as he had come, the tailor was gone leaving a flabbergasted Bilbo in his wake. "Wh-what just happened?" he breathed turning to Dís, who was looking at him in amusement.

"You've just met you first dwarven artisan," Dís replied, laughter coating her words. "Next time, either just keep walking or tell him firmly that you are not interested or that you already have a tailor. Unless you wish to have garments delivered like this."

As they continued through the market, Bilbo found himself accosted by no fewer than twelve merchants before he finally learned to say no in a firm enough tone to get them to leave him in peace. Dís was less than no help, standing back in favor of watching in amusement the entire time, and left Bilbo wishing adamantly for his mate who he had no doubt would have run the merchants off with nothing more than a glance. While he'd enjoyed his day out of the council chambers, he was never more happy to see his own door in his entire life. After a hasty goodbye to Dís, he dashed through the door and closed it behind him leaning against it with a sigh.

"Rough day, Gishavel?" Thorin asked quietly from beside the fire, glancing up from his book. As many times as he'd seen it, he couldn't get used to seeing Thorin in nothing more than a soft undershirt and breaches. Even seeing the dwarf king in nothing didn't feel quite so intimate. Just that sight alone was enough to make Bilbo feel he was home, the stresses of moments before melting away.

"Remind me never to go to market with your sister," Bilbo sighed, sinking down next to his mate and leaning against him and laying his head on Thorin's shoulder. "She's no help at all." He was shocked to feel a laugh rumble beneath his cheek.

"How many packages should I tell the guards to expect?" Thorin asked. Bilbo looked at him in shock, much to Thorin's amusement. "Dwarven merchants . . . they never change. Any of their wares that are not to your standards, we can return them. It they give you any trouble, simply let me or Dís know and we can intervene. However, do not return the well-crafted items. It would be crass to offend the makers."

"I had best avoid the market in that case," Bilbo sighed. "Else wise I'll have no funds before the mountain is even fully settled."

"My dear hobbit," Thorin laughed, "funds will never be an issue. No matter how many wares you buy. With our combined wealth we could purchase your homeland many times over. The mithril you wore to battle alone is worth twice the Shire."

"What?" Bilbo breathed, feeling that he'd been slapped. Balin had told him it was valuable but not that valuable. How had Thorin thought that was an acceptable present? Rather than reply, the dwarf hummed.

"Also, when you go, do not fail to haggle for prices. They will ask more than they want, but give them a fair price as they won't fight you too hard being who you are," Thorin continued.

"Perhaps you'd better come with me," Bilbo sighed, feeling overwhelmed. He'd haggled with hobbits before, but dwarves were so much louder and more brash and with so many commissions expected at the same time, he wasn't certain that he was up to the task.

"I can do that," Thorin agreed. "I've been meaning to inspect their progress rebuilding the markets. I also have a bit of negotiating to do of my own. I commissioned another gift for you. Us, actually." At Bilbo's raised eyebrow, Thorin rose and pulled a small box from his coat sitting beside Bilbo once more before placing it in the hobbit's lap. With a wry glance at his lover, Bilbo untied the bow and lifted the lid to find . . . blue silk.

"Thorin?" Bilbo asked, lifting the first of the straps, feeling the material slide against his fingers as he did so. He didn't miss the way Thorin's eyes—the exact shade as the fabric—followed his movements.

"You once expressed a desire for blue silk, did you not?" Thorin said, feeling trepidation stir in his stomach at what he was saying and proposing. He may have purchased them but he was still not certain how well he would cope with carrying out what he was suggesting. He still found himself unable to wear jewels around his wrists or even to buckle his cuffs and as a result he'd seen more than one person stare at the scars that remained in view, but for Bilbo he was willing to attempt this.

"I . . . I did," Bilbo agreed, sensing the tension in his mate. "But . . ." he trailed off attempting to find a way to get out of it for Thorin's sake without calling the dwarf on his aversion to things around his wrists. "But I can no longer tie ribbons, Thorin."

"Look closer," the dwarf replied. Upon following that command, Bilbo saw that the straps had been fixed with metal snaps that could be done and undone with one hand, and—he was guessing—overcome from within if the need arose.

"Thorin," Bilbo sighed, stroking the silk once more, "we don't have to do this. I know you said we could if I got us out but . . ." Bilbo put the lid on the box once more and pushed it aside. "I won't make you uncomfortable for a . . . a twisted pleasure we had once. Not when I can see what that time in bondage did to you every day. I would not even risk forcing you to relive it for even one moment, no matter how wonderful that moment might be. Thank you for the gift but I cannot accept it."

"What of me?" Thorin whispered, looking up at Bilbo with sad eyes. "Broken as I am can you still accept me?"

"Of course I can," Bilbo replied instantly. "You accept me, lacking though I am. How could I reject you?"

"I was beginning to wonder," Thorin muttered. As Bilbo's confused expression, he sighed. "Since the battle we don't make love. Not like we used to."

"Just the other day—"

"There's a difference between sex and making love, Bilbo," Thorin said simply. "We had sex. That's all we've had since Laketown. I just . . . I'd hoped that by . . . I'd hoped . . . I wanted to offer you something different in an effort to . . . I don't want you to get bored of me, in or out of bed, and decide you no longer love me."

"I still love you, you foolish dwarf," Bilbo replied with a fond smile. "Why else would I stay?" Thorin didn't say what he was thinking; that Bilbo couldn't very well go home to the Shire missing a hand. Instead he looked at his hobbit with a crooked grin and said, "Then show me." Bilbo said nothing but instead raised up and pressed his lips to Thorin's, the kiss tender and at the same time filled with passion.

"Better?" Bilbo breathed without pulling completely away when they came up for air. Thorin hummed his approval, pressing forward once more as his hands began coasting over Bilbo's clothes, undoing any fastenings he came to before moving on. The hobbit allowed it, his own hand attempting to do the same to the buckle holding Thorin's breaches, moving on and roaming once more when it proved too difficult. Bilbo gave no resistance when Thorin pushed his shirt off his shoulders, it was only when the dwarf reached for the buckles that held his prosthetic that he pulled away.

"I want it to be just us," Thorin purred. "You and me, in naught but our skin as it once was. Please?" Bilbo nodded and with a sigh extended his arm for Thorin. Starting at the shoulder, Thorin kissed his way down to the first strap before undoing it and kissing the skin beneath, repeating the gesture with the second, and then slowly pulling off the prosthetic, giving the hobbit time to pull away, while pressing his lips to each bit of flesh at it was revealed.

"You're perfect, Gishavel," Thorin breathed, his fingers tracing the silky, uneven scar gently, his eyes burning with intensity and desire. Bilbo looked away, knowing the words to be a lie, only to be stopped by Thorin's hand on his chin. "I mean what I say, Bilbo," he said firmly, reading the doubt in his mate's eyes. "Never do I say things that I do not mean, this is no different. This," he continued holding Bilbo's arm before him, "this does not make you imperfect in my eyes. It never will. What makes you perfect to me is not your body, though I will admit that I have no complaints there, it is you. Whatever it is inside you that makes you who you are. I love you. Not your hand, you. The foolish, courageous hobbit that you are. You are perfect, Bilbo Baggins and I will repeat it a hundred times a day until you believe it."

"I believe that you believe it," Bilbo muttered.

"That's a place to start," Thorin replied, kissing Bilbo as though he could pass his certainty of his mate's perfection through into him with that kiss. He then proceeded to tell the hobbit with his body what he refused to believe from his mouth.

ooOO88OOoo

Hey :) so new chapter up and going. I thought this was going to end up being longer than it turned out to be. But . . . well, I think the next chapter's the last on this fic. I can either post it the day after tomorrow or later this evening depending on what y'all want. So . . . let me know.

Stickdonkeys