A/N: Hello my lovely readers~! I have an interesting little fact for you all as well as a question. First, the fact: For the month of March, this story had a total of 1,945 views and yet, there were only 481 unique visitors. Also, this story has consistently held the highest stats of my three current fics for views, visitors, and followers. Evidently, some of ya'll are really liking this story!
Now, some background for the question: As I've mentioned before, I've been having a bit of a hard time writing of late, which is why the stories are on a once-a-month upload schedule now. After being frustrated about this and trying to figure out what the problem was (because it wasn't burn out. I could still sit down and crank out a good chunk of words). Turns out, the problem is the length of the chapters. Both my hobbit fics average 20 pages/9k-10k+ words a chapter and I think the length is finally wearing me out a bit, especially when my PotC fic's chapters are barely 5k at most.
My question is: How would you feel if I started writing shorter chapters? Shorter chapters would mean I'd get the chapters done faster and I could go back to more frequent uploads. They wouldn't start for a while, though, as I've managed to build up a small buffer.
Oh, and one last thing: There are two scenes with Thorin and Baylee I think you all will really like ;D
The Master's home was located in the middle of Laketown. Tall and intimidating, it was the largest of the buildings Baylee had seen yet. It was also gaudy, being painted in garish colors that were now faded and eaves covered in flaking gold-leaf.
'Well, Tilda and Sigrid were saying that the Master is an overly opulent man,' Baylee thought with a frown. 'Those sorts of people tend to enjoy flaunting their wealth, even while those around them are suffering…' Shaking her head, she continued to follow behind Soury, feeling Bofur's hand on her shoulder to make sure she didn't disappear on them.
As they came closer to the building, the group of dwarves and their hobbit could see that a crowd had gathered out in front. That was really all they could see, however, as the humans stood taller than all of them. They were all bundled up, as if they had expected to be waiting out there for some time.
'I'm glad Tilda gave me these clothes…my old dress would be letting in so much cold right now…' Despite her thoughts, Baylee still rubbed her arms in an attempt to chase away the cold.
Being led through the crowd, the group could feel the staring eyes of the curious humans, who were loudly whispering to one another. They were trying to guess how such a large group had managed to sneak their way into the city and why such a group would want into Laketown in the first place. Some of them, upon seeing how small Baylee was, even started questioning why they had brought a child with them.
"Do you think we're going t' end up in another prison?" Ori quietly asked.
"I hope not. Something tells me that human prisons are worse than elvish prisons," Gloin muttered.
"They are," Dori and Ori chorused.
Once they past the crowd, the group could see Bilbo and the other dwarves standing in front of a set of stairs. Standing atop the stairs was quite an ugly pair of human men. The taller of the pair, who they assumed was the Master of Laketown, given his finer clothes, had stringy, reddish hair, a wispy mustache, and was quite fat. The shorter of the two was somewhat hunched over, clad in all black, and had a rather prominent unibrow. Neither had a pleasant air about them.
Baylee silently slipped past the guards, moving to instead stand beside her father. Bilbo, however, hardly noticed when she held onto his arm.
"Now that the rest of your merry little troupe has arrived," called out the Master, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "what is this all about?"
A soldier, older than Soury and wearing a fancier helmet than him, stepped forward. "We caught these thieves breakin' into the armory, sir. The rest were hidin' away…no doubt planning to raid the treasury."
"Actually, we were sleepin'," Balin grumbled, though his voice went unheard.
"Ahh, enemies of the state then?" the Master said, his brow rising.
"This is a bunch of mercenaries if ever there was, sire," his companion stated. Baylee almost immediately recognized his voice: He was Alfrid, the wretch from yesterday.
Dwalin growled. "Hold your tongue. You do not know t' whom you speak." He stepped forward, glaring up at the pair. He then held his hand out towards Thorin. "This is no common criminal: This is Thorin—Son o' Thrain, son o' Thror."
As the crowd started to murmur, Thorin stepped forward. Despite the raggedness of his clothes and how disheveled he appeared, Thorin stood with an air of regal confidence. Neither Bilbo nor Baylee had seen him stand in such a proud way for quite some time—not since that night in Bag End months ago.
"We are the dwarves of Erebor and we have come to reclaim our homeland," he called out, his voice echoing around them. "I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay harbored, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake—This was the center of all trade in the North!" As he spoke, he started to pace, keeping the crowd's attention on him. "I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!"
Instead of watching Thorin, though, Baylee was keeping her eye on the Master and his manservant. When Thorin had started speaking about gold and the promise of vast riches, she could see the Master's expression change from one of amusement to one of greed. 'Well, Thorin certainly piqued his interest,' she thought. Alfrid, too, wore a hungry grin at the thought of treasure. She looked around; the humans around them seemed more eager to return to happier days.
A new voice suddenly pipped up. "Death! That is what you will bring up on us!" Turning, the company watched Bard emerge from the crowd; he was still in his night shirt, but he had also thrown on his trousers, coat, and boots. "If you awaken that cursed worm, it will destroy us all with dragon-fire and ruin!"
Baylee didn't like the sound of that—not at all. She already saw dragon-fire often enough in her nightmares; she didn't want to see it in the waking world, too. Even more than that, she didn't want to see it raining down on the very people who had helped her and the others.
"Smaug hasn't been seen in decades," Alfrid retorted. "How do we even know if there is still a worm there to awaken?"
The master nodded in agreement. "That is quite true. For all we know, he could have died and is nothing more than a pile or bones!" He let out a hearty laugh, setting a hand on his stomach as he did so.
Bard shook his head. "All of you! Listen to me! You must listen!" He called out, turning to face the people of Laketown. "Have you forgotten what happened to Dale? Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm!?" His frustration with the situation was obvious and Baylee didn't blame him in the least for feeling such. "And for what purpose? The blind ambition of a mountain-king so riven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!" He felt a bit of relief when a good portion of the townsfolk started to agree with him.
"Now, now, we mustn't be too quick to lay blame—any of us," the Master countered. "Let us not forget that it was Girion, Lord of Dale—your ancestor, Bard—who failed to kill the beast in the first place!"
The dwarves looked at Bard before beginning to whisper amongst themselves about how they should have suspected such, given his reluctance to help them.
"It's true, sire," Alfrid agreed. "We all know the story by heart—even the littlest of kiddies. Arrow after arrow Girion shot, each one missing its mark."
Baylee's frown grew; the crowd was now starting to jeer at Bard. While she wasn't sure why he was so against Thorin reclaiming the throne of Erebor, she knew that he shouldn't be getting treated like this. Especially when it was their fault all this was happening in the first place. She wished they would leave him alone.
Thorin turned to face the Master. "I speak to the Master of the men of the Lake," he said. "Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people?"
"Prophecy?" the hobbit lass murmured. It wasn't the first time she had heard this 'prophecy' mentioned by the dwarves, but she still had yet to learn just what it foretold. 'I'll have to ask about it later—if we don't end up imprisoned, that is…'
"Make ready a house for our guests!" the Master called out. "Bring them the comforts that heroes such as them so rightly deserve!"
The group had been given temporary lodgings in a recently foreclosed inn, as it was the only place with enough rooms for everywhere—as well as enough privies and a kitchen large enough to keep them fed. Most of the Company slept in until nearly noon the next day and, when they awoke, they found that the kitchen had been stocked with food and that Baylee had already cooked up quite the hearty breakfast of porridge, sausage, and eggs. Bilbo, however, got a different meal: His breakfast consisted of loose porridge, hot tea, and orders to go straight back to bed as soon as he finished eating.
But now Baylee stood atop a chair, a frown on her face as she kneaded bread dough despite there being no need for her to make bread. Having not kneaded anything for quite some months, her shoulders burned from yesterday's dumpling making, but she pushed past the pain. Her mind was racing with angry thoughts. Thoughts about how unfair they had been to Bard and his family; how they didn't deserve to be catered to in such a fashion when they hadn't done anything of worth yet; how she wished she knew of a good way to apologize to Bard and his family that would show how sincere she was…
A round of raucous laughter arose from the common room and she scrunched her nose up, grumbling to herself. Moments later, she heard the floorboards creak behind her and, turning her head ever so slightly, she spotted dark hair streaked with silver: Thorin.
"What're you doing all the way back here, Mouse-Lass?" he questioned, amusement in his voice. "You should be up front with us, celebrating."
"What's there to celebrate?" she retorted, her voice a bit on the cool side.
Thorin's brow rose at this and wondered if, perhaps, her tone was a result of the exertion she was putting into the dough. "Plenty of things…That we have the aid of the people of Laketown. That they've seen fit to give us food, lodgings, and clothing instead of throwing us in prison. That we'll make it to the mountain in time for Durin's Day." He walked over and, crossing his arms over his chest, leaned back against the counter so he could watch her.
"All of which we don't deserve."
His brows now furrowed and, looking up at her, he found a most unusual expression on her face: A scowl. "What do you mean? Of course we deserve this, Mouse-Lass! We've traveled so far and have gone through so much—"
"Yes, that's all fine and dandy, but we were just fine, sleeping on the floor of Bard's home," she interrupted. "We were just fine, keeping ourselves hidden away in his home like he instructed us to do until it was safe. We were just fine with the amount of help Bard was giving us. But no, it wasn't enough for the lot of you."
He was taken aback by the anger in her voice. "Mouse-Lass, we needed better supplies than what he could give us."
"Then why not just wait until morning and go speak with the Master?" She turned towards him, her hands on her hips as she looked down at him from atop the chair. "Why not use negotiation to get us help instead of breaking into the armory of all places? It wouldn't even need to be all of us who went—it could have just been you and Balin!"
She let out a sigh of frustration. "Bard risked so much to smuggle us into this city, Thorin. Not only that, but we ate through a good month's worth of food from his pantry, he did his best to find us warm clothes and blankets, and he gave you weapons. No, they weren't the best weapons, but they were the best he could do, given all other weapons being locked up. And how did we repay him for his kindness?" She paused to not only give him a few seconds reflection, but to also brush a lock of hair from her face. But before Thorin could speak, she quickly silenced him by starting to talk again.
"We repaid him by causing guards to burst into his house in the wee hours of the morning and he was ridiculed by the people of Laketown earlier," she continued. "Not only did they wreck the place, but they left Bard's children utterly terrified! Poor little Tilda was a nervous wreck! And before you say that we paid him—yes, we paid him for getting us into the city and out of sight of the guards. That was the agreement. But he didn't need to feed us. He didn't need to clothe us or give us blankets to stay warm. All of that was kindness. Kindness that we dropped in the mud and stomped on!"
A variety of emotions were coursing through Thorin, who stared at the hobbit lass in shocked silence. He was more than a little surprised by her outburst; embarrassed by the fact such a tiny thing was scolding him; annoyed by how naïve she was about their situation and its delicacy; guilty about how, nevertheless, right she was; and impressed by how much compassion she held towards near-strangers.
Clearing his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away from her. In the corner of his vision, he could see a few of their companions were poking their heads around the corner to listen in. When they saw him turn his head, they ducked out of sight once more, hoping he hadn't seen them.
Hearing a sniffle, he returned his attention back to Baylee only to find her struggling to keep the angry expression on her face thanks to her now-wobbling jaw. Tears had also started spilling down her flour-dusted cheeks, leaving little trails along her skin. The guilt he felt started to grow more intense and a defeated sigh left his mouth.
"I'm sorry, Baylee," he said, voice soft. "You're right. We could have done better by him and his children." Reaching up, he cupped her small face in his hands, thumbs brushing the tear trails from her cheeks. He watched as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. "When Erebor is reclaimed, we'll give them a handsome gift as thanks for what they did for us. Does that sound acceptable?"
She sniffled again, but nodded. "It does," she murmured. Her hand rose up, coming to rest overtop one of his to hold it in place against her cheek; it looked so small compared to his. "It's not quite enough, though."
"What else would you have me do?"
"Help me make some breads and meat pies for them." Sniffling, she opened her eyes and looked down at him. "I want to make sure they have some hearty food for the next few days at the very least."
A small smile came to his lips and he nodded. "I'm not very good in the kitchen, but I will do my best to help you."
"Luckily, Fili says I'm a good teacher." The corners of her mouth turned upwards slightly before she closed her eyes again.
"And Bofur was right about how, for such a small thing, you can be quite intimidating when angry." His free hand left her cheek in favor of wrapping around her hips. Lifting her from the chair, he brought her down so that he could hold her against his chest. "He and the others told us of how you treated the soldiers like a group of extremely naughty children."
"I was so mad at them," she said, her voice muffled by his chest. "So mad…They purposefully flipped over furniture and made a mess of things—I'm sure they'll claim it was because they were trying to find us, but we were eight dwarves and a halfling laying in plain sight." She wrapped her arms around his neck, her eyes closing; she was quite surprised that he wasn't upset with her for being angry. "They're lucky I didn't have the broom within reach."
"Something tells me, had the broom been close enough, those soldiers would have quite a number of bruises from you." He quietly chuckled, rubbing her back. "You're going to make a fantastic queen one day, Mouse-Lass," he then murmured. "For one so small, you've such an enormous heart and you care so much about people—even ones you barely know."
She exhaled a quiet sigh. "I'm sure being a queen requires more qualifications aside from caring about people," she mumbled, a bit of amusement to her tone.
"You're right…a good queen also knows how to put the king in his place when he's being hot-headed and stubborn. She's also quite skilled in the art of disappearing at random, even when she doesn't mean to."
A smile came to her lips and she leaned back slightly so she could look at his face. "And it would seem the king has a hidden talent for sucking up to people when he knows he's in trouble," she chuckled. Reaching up, she brushed a stray lock of hair over his shoulder.
"It's a skill that takes years to perfect." He lightly pressed his forehead against hers. "I can only hope it's worked in this case."
"So long as you keep your word and help me with these breads and pies…then yes, it's worked." She felt her cheeks grow warm when she realized that Thorin was starting to tilt his head closer to hers and her heart fluttered slightly.
"What do I need to do first?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. She could feel his breath against her lips and it sent a shiver down her spine.
Her eyes unconsciously fixed themselves on his lips as they came closer and closer. "Y-you need t-to…um…You ne-need to…"
Just when his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers, someone cleared their throat from the opposite side of the kitchen. Still holding Baylee against him, Thorin turned around only to find Bofur standing there with a sheepish smile.
"Sorry t' intrude, but Bilbo was wonderin' if you might have any broth goin' yet, lass," he said. He glanced away innocently when Thorin shot him a small glare.
"Not yet, no," Baylee replied, having to look at him from over her shoulder. She knew her cheeks were bright red; they were burning hot. "I'll be getting it going soon, though. Does he want some tea in the meantime?" Thorin set her back down on the chair and she made quick work of brushing her apron and skirt back into place.
"Aye, he'll take some tea—but don't trouble yourself, lass. I'm capable enough t' get it for him." He made a small shooing motion at her before going to retrieve a cup and some tea from one of the cupboards. "I can say it smells good in here, though. What do you have cookin'?"
"Nothing, really…it's just the leftovers from breakfast staying warm by the fire." She then looked back down at Thorin and pointed a finger at him. "You, master dwarf, need to go wash your hands, and you need to wash them well." She heard Bofur snicker at her command.
Nodding, Thorin moved across the kitchen to do just that.
"Leftovers, you say?" Bofur questioned. "So, you don't mind if I steal a few o' these sausages an' strips of bacon?"
"The sausage, feel free. But I actually have plans for the bacon, so I'd appreciate if you left those alone."
"What're you goin' t' do with it?"
"I'm going to make bacon-cheese biscuits with them." Poking the dough, she found it to be kneaded enough. Grabbing a nearby tea towel, she covered the bowl before picking it up and carrying it over to a warmer spot to rise.
At that, Thorin leaned back so he could look at her. "Bacon-cheese biscuits?" he repeated, his brow rising. "I've never heard of such a thing."
"Oh, they're quite good, though I usually like to add in some chives. But given that it's the wrong season for those, we'll just have to make do with what we have."
Bofur quietly laughed, his brow raised somewhat as well. "I'm sure it'll be good no matter what ingredients you put into it, lass," he said. Picking up the kettle of hot water, he filled the clay mug before dunking in the tea strainer. Once it was full, he returned the kettle to its spot and, reaching past it, grabbed one of the sausages from the pan. "I'll see the two o' you later. Thorin, don't ruin too many loaves o' bread, alright?" Taking a bite from the sausage, he grabbed the mug of tea and left the room.
Rather than go to the common room where almost everyone else was, however, he headed up the staircase. Upon reaching the landing, he ventured off into a hallway on his right until he reached the third door on his left. He lightly knocked before opening it a little bit.
"Bilbo? I've got some tea for you," he said, poking his head inside.
"Oh, good," came Bilbo's stuffy-sounding reply. "I'd ask what flavor, but something tells me I won't be able to taste it either way." He sat up so he could look at his lover.
A soft laugh left Bofur's mouth when he got nearer to the bed; it was a human sized bed, so his hobbit lad looked smaller than normal. It didn't help that the pillows were large and seemed to swallow him up. "Hopefully the heat o' the drink will loosen up some o' the junk in your throat an' make it easier for you t' breathe."
"I hope so, too." He turned his head, watching Bofur come over to the side of the bed. "Does Baylee have any broth going yet…?"
At that, he shook his head, setting the mug down on the nightstand. "I'm afraid not. She'll be workin' on it in a bit, though. From the looks o' it, the townsfolk gave us enough food that she'd be able t' make you a whole bathtub full o' broth." He chuckled, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"Darn…oh well. The tea will tide me over, I'm s—" He was interrupted by a small, unproductive coughing fit. When it subsided, he groaned and flopped back against the pillows. "Please tell me she hasn't caught my cold…" Turning his head, he looked at Bofur, who saw that his nose was red and raw.
"No worries there, love. Her nose is as clear as a whistle—at least, from what I can tell. She was workin' in the kitchen, makin' bread."
Bilbo's brows furrowed in confusion. "Why in the world is she making bread when we've been gifted plenty of the stuff?"
"From what I gathered whilst listenin' to her tell Thorin off, she wants t' make some food t' take t' Bard an' his family as an apology for how he was treated last night an' this morning."
He slowly nodded, a small sigh leaving his mouth. "I should have known she would try to do something like—" He suddenly paused, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Wait, did you just say she was telling Thorin off?"
"Ooh, you missed her givin' him quite the scolding!" He grinned mischievously and snickered. "Put him right in his place she did, just like she did those soldiers."
"B-But why did she tell him off?" he stammered, his hand quickly pulling out his (or rather, Baylee's) handkerchief. A few seconds later, he sneezed into said handkerchief only to groan in misery afterwards.
"Because o' how Bard got treated," he explained. Frowning, he leaned over and helped Bilbo sit up a bit more before handing him the tea. "I don't know if you noticed last night—or was it this mornin'? It's all a bit o' a blur t' me, t' be honest—but when Bard argued against us goin' t' the mountain, practically the whole town started jeering at him an' reminding him how it was his ancestor who couldn't slay Smaug."
"Admittedly, I didn't pay much attention," he sighed. "I was too busy trying to not pass out from exhaustion as well as trying to not burst into a five-minute sneezing fit." He blew his nose again before tucking the handkerchief away in his pocket. "Bard's ancestor really tried to slay Smaug?" Bringing the tea up to his face, he blew across the top of it a few times before taking a sip.
Bofur shrugged. "I guess so. He was apparently also the lord o' Dale."
Bilbo's burrows furrowed as he sipped the tea. "Wait—Bard is royalty?"
"Descended from it, but royalty no longer. Otherwise, he wouldn't be strugglin' so much." He watched Bilbo take a few more sips of tea before taking the mug from him and setting it on the nightstand. "When he was arguin' against us reclaimin' Erebor, though, it was obvious he's inherited the royal charm. Before Thorin started talking about treasure an' spreading the wealth, Bard had nearly the entire city against the idea o' us heading north."
"Most people would be upset when they find out someone's against their cause, you know," Bilbo said, his brow rising slightly. "You seem rather impartial."
He shrugged once more. "T' be honest? Bard had a point. If Smaug does live, there is a chance he'll just kill us before he comes t' wreak havoc down here on Laketown because they helped us." Taking off his hat, he rubbed the top of his head. "But if he's dead, then Thorin's the one who's got a point—this land will, hopefully, return t' being prosperous city-states. The only way that can happen, though, is by us goin' up there and doing a bit o' poking around."
Nodding slowly, Bilbo pulled the blankets up to his chin; his jaw was beginning to shake as a chill ran through his body. "Do you know how long we're staying in Laketown, by the way?" he asked, his voice a bit wobbly thanks to his quivering jaw. A small squeak left his mouth as Bofur suddenly plopped his hat down atop his head.
"A week at least. Thorin wants t' give you a chance t' heal up from this cold o' yours an' Kili the chance t' let his leg heal up a bit. He also wants t' make sure we get some proper rest an' now that we have beds for all o' us, that'll be much easier." A small, pitying smile came to his lips when he saw the hobbit snuggled back into the pillows. "Speakin' o' rest, I should leave you be so you can get a nap in." Reaching over, he brushed his knuckles against Bilbo's warm cheek.
His hand slipping out from underneath the blankets, Bilbo took hold of Bofur's hand, keeping it pressed against his cheek. "I'd rather you stay with me for a while yet," he mumbled. Despite being cold, he enjoyed the coolness of the dwarf's fingers and palm against his cheek.
"If that's what you want, then that'll be what you get."
A yawn left Baylee's mouth as she started to wake up. Not feeling quite ready to join the waking world, she pulled the blankets up to her chin and snuggled down into her pillow while attempting to will herself back to sleep. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this warm and comfortable and she really didn't want the feeling to come to an end.
It was just as she was beginning to fall back asleep that she realized something: She didn't actually remember going to bed. In fact, the last thing that she remembered was showing Thorin how to do a simple-yet-decorative crimp on the crust of a chicken potpie.
Frowning, she opened her eyes and found herself in a mostly-dark room. There was some light coming from behind her and, as she rolled over, she saw an oil lamp sitting on the bedside table.
"When did I get brought in here?" she murmured, rubbing her good eye. A few seconds later, another yawn left her mouth. "And what time is it…?" Throwing back the covers, she crawled to the edge of the bed before slipping down onto the floor. Though the room wasn't particularly cold, a shiver ran through her body thanks to the cool floorboards.
Baylee turned the wick up on the lamp a bit, brightening its glow and better illuminating the room before she went over to one of the windows. Upon throwing open the curtains, she found that she really couldn't see much—and not just because she could only peek a few inches over the windowsill. It was dark outside and the room she was in was either above the surrounding buildings or looked out over the lake.
'Quite late, I see,' she thought with a small frown. 'Oh dear…if I fell asleep before the potpies were done, I do hope someone remembered to take the ones baking out of the oven before they got burnt!' Biting her lower lip, she retrieved the lamp from the nightstand and, after opening the door to the room, she started making her way towards the kitchen.
It took her longer than expected to reach the kitchen; since she didn't know which room she had been put in, she went the wrong way at first and ended up at the far end of the inn. She eventually made it down to the first floor, however, and was almost to the kitchen when she realized she could see a sliver of light poking out from underneath the door. Her brows furrowed; given that she had heard many dwarvish snores on her way down, she had expected everyone to have been asleep.
Pushing open the door, she was more than a little surprised to find that it was Thorin who was still up.
Seeing the door open from the corner of his vision, he looked over at her only to smile. "I didn't expect to see you until morning, Mouse-Lass," he said, setting down the bowl he had just finished drying. "How was your nap?"
"Surprising," she replied, her cheeks turning a bit pink. "I didn't even know I had fallen asleep. The last thing I remember was showing you how to crimp pie crust."
He quietly laughed, his brow rising. "You fell asleep in the middle of telling me I was doing a good job with my crimping. Quite literally, mind you."
Her cheeks grew even warmer, but she quietly laughed and her brow rose. "Really?"
"Aye. I'd say you could ask Fili and Bombur, but they're both in bed."
"Did the pies get cooked…?"
"Aye, they did. And then I had Bofur and Fili deliver them, along with all the bread, to Bard and his family." He glanced at her in time to see her open her mouth to protest this, but he quickly cut her off. "I know you wanted to deliver them yourself, Mouse-Lass, but they wouldn't have lasted more than an hour here. The others badly wanted to eat them. I told Bofur and Fili to make sure they emphasize that we're sorry for how we treated them."
She nodded slowly, a quiet sigh leaving her mouth as she crossed her arms over her chest. "How did they react? Do you know?"
"Well enough once they were told the food was made by you. Fili said they hadn't very keen on taking it before that, though." He folded the towel up and set it on the counter. "Are you hungry, Mouse-Lass? Bombur made roast chickens for dinner and there is some left."
Her mouth opened with the intent of accepting the offer, but her stomach growled loudly before she could utter a single syllable. Cheeks reddening once again, she smiled bashfully. "It would seem that yes, I am hungry."
Quietly laughing, Thorin went over to the oven and opened the door. "When was the last time you ate? Your stomach sounds as if it hasn't had anything in it for days."
"I…think I nibbled a little bit of bread throughout the day today," she replied, watching as he pulled a wooden plate out of the oven. On it was a chicken breast and some roasted vegetables. Given that he was able to hold the plate with his bare hands without any sign of pain, she knew the oven had to be relatively cool. "I think it was yesterday when I last had a full meal."
Thorin frowned at this and, in a somewhat scolding tone, said, "No wonder you fell asleep in the middle of making a pie—you had no food to keep you going!"
"Nor did I have very much sleep, either." She pulled herself up onto one of the counters, smoothing her skirts out over her legs as she crossed her ankles. As Thorin handed her the plate, she thanked him; it was pleasantly warm to the touch. "The last two days were…long, to say the least." Shaking her head, she started to tear a bit of meat from the breast. "How long was I asleep for?"
"About five hours. You fell asleep around midafternoon." As she ate, he moved to get her a cup of beer; he had come to learn that, unless they were going to cook with it, the people of Laketown drank weak beer and ale instead of water. It was so weak, in fact, he and the other dwarves didn't even considered it alcoholic.
She nodded in understanding, chewing a bite of chicken. When Thorin set the cup beside her, she nodded in thanks, giving him a small smile.
"Your father got some broth, by the way," he added. "Since you fell asleep before you could make some, Bombur made a large pot of the stuff. It took a great deal of willpower for him to not add much seasoning aside from salt, though."
"I'll have to thank him in the morning." Feeling a yawn coming on, she preemptively covered her mouth with the back of her hand. "I know it's not the hobbit broth da' was expecting, but it should still help him feel better." The yawn came just as she finished her sentence. "How much did da' have?"
"Two tankards' worth." Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the counter beside her. "Mind you, these are mannish tankards, so it was quite a bit of broth." He watched her take a drink of the beer only to laugh at her confused expression.
Her brows furrowed as she looked down into the cup. "What is this?" Hesitantly, she took another drink—the liquid didn't taste bad, but it didn't taste like anything she recognized.
"It's beer," he chuckled. "A really weak beer. The Lakemen drink it instead of water most of the time. Do you not like it?"
She glanced over at him. "A really weak beer?" she repeated. He nodded and she looked back into the mug. "Huh. I guess that's sort of good, given that it won't leave me drunk after one round." Shaking her head, she put it back down. "It tastes alright, though it's not my favorite." She popped another bite of chicken into her mouth.
"You might want to get used to it. Except for stronger brews, wine, and tea, this is pretty much all they have here."
Her nose scrunched up. "It sounds like I'll be getting my fill of tea in, then." She took a bite of a roasted carrot before wiping her fingers on the end of her apron.
"You and your father can have your leaf water," Thorin gently teased. "That leaves more alcohol for the rest of us."
A soft laugh left her mouth, but after that, a peaceful silence fell between them. She continued to eat while Thorin stood beside her, both simply enjoying the other's company. Glancing around the kitchen, she found that it was relatively clean—the messiest part was the lineup of drying dishes along the opposite counter. At the far end of the counter she was sitting on, she could see a few lumps under tea towels—loaves of bread. Her brows furrowed, but before she could ask about them, Thorin answered.
"They're breads given to us by the people," he explained, having seen her look at them in confusion. "They're not the ones you made—those all went to Bard's family, I assure you."
Nodding in understanding, she took another drink of the beer. "Good, good…do you know what kind of bread the people gave us?"
"Both are just standard loaves. There had been three other loaves, as well, but those had quickly been devoured." He scratched his beard. "Oh…I forgot to mention: The Master would like to have lunch with you, my nephews, and me tomorrow."
At that, her brow rose. "I can understand you, Fili, and Kili, but why me?"
"You're the future queen of Erebor," he told her. "Therefore, he would like to dine with you as well."
"I'm not so sure I'd like to dine with him," she mumbled, hoping he didn't hear her.
Thorin, however, did hear her. "You find him to be a repulsive man, don't you?"
She cleared her throat. "I would have phrased it differently, but…yes." Sighing, she looked down at the dwarf, a bit of a guilty expression on her face. "I don't like the look of either him or his manservant. I know it's best to not judge books by their covers, but in this case, I think there are no covers to judge by."
"I agree with you. As soon as I mentioned gold, his entire demeanor changed." He let out a quiet sigh. "It's one thing for the people of the city to be swayed by gold—especially when they look as impoverished as they do—but when the city's leader, who is wearing expensive furs and velvets, is swayed by gold…?" Shaking his head, he closed his eyes.
"Not to mention, he looks like he hasn't bathed in months."
His brow rose and he snorted. "I don't think I've ever heard you insult someone like this, Mouse-Lass. The sight of this man must really detest you."
She pursed her lips in a small pout. "Like I said, I think there are no covers to judge when it comes to this man and his servant. They look like the villains from all the fairytales da' would read me as a child." A small sigh left her mouth. "But, if I must have lunch with him, then I will—and I will keep my thoughts to myself." She ate another bit of roasted carrot.
"If you don't wish to join us, you needn't force yourself to go, Mouse-Lass."
Shaking her head as she chewed faster, she soon swallowed the bite and said, "If I end up as queen like everyone thinks I will, this is something I'll have to get used to. I know I won't like every foreign dignitary that pays the realm a visit and I won't always be able to politely decline the invitation to dine with them."
Thorin quietly laughed, his brow rising. "You say that now, but I assure you, when you meet people you don't like, you will try your hardest to find a way around having to dine with or converse with them. Being that you'll be queen, you'll more than likely get away with it, too."
She giggled, her brow cocked. "I'm not sure how it is for dwarves, but aren't queens the ones who are supposed to be the gracious and accommodating hosts towards visitors?"
"Yes…but there is no law stating you must be a gracious and accommodating host for the entirety of the guest's visit. Mahal only knows what sorts of people we'll have visiting in the future." He chuckled softly and tilted his head back; as he did such, he could both hear and feel a few of his neck bones crunch as they shifted back into place.
Once more a gentle silence fell between them. Stealing a peek over at the king, Baylee smiled, though with how still he was, she was left wondering whether he was awake or not. Her answer came when he shifted his weight to the opposite foot before covering his mouth as he yawned. Being the contagious things yawns were, she yawned shortly after.
Thorin opened his eyes when he heard the soft sound of Baylee sliding off the counter and onto the floor. Her plate in hand, she walked across the kitchen where she hopped back onto the counter so that she could reach the wash basin. "I could have done that for you, Mouse-Lass."
"I know, but you already fetched me the food and drink," she told him, dunking the plate into the soapy water before using a cloth to scrub away the bits of food that remained. "I didn't want to make you work too much."
He gave her a bland look. "I think you're just making an excuse so you could get in one last chore before returning to bed."
"I am not," she protested with pursed lips. When he made an 'Mhm' sound, her pout grew a bit. "Alright…maybe I did want to get in one more chore," she sighed. "But, can you blame me? I've slept the majority of the day!"
"You have not slept the majority of the day," he told her, a bit of amusement in his voice. Uncrossing his arms, he began walking towards her. "Five hours isn't nearly enough sleep for worn out Mouse-Lasses."
Focused on the task at hand, Baylee didn't notice Thorin walking towards her until it was too late. She squeaked in surprise as he suddenly scooped her from the counter and she dropped the plate into the washbasin. Holding her bridal-style, Thorin kept her close to him as he started to carry her towards the kitchen door.
"And just what do you think you're doing?" she asked, her tone jokingly scolding. When they walked past the lamp, she reached out and grabbed it.
"I think I'm taking my lovely queen-to-be off to bed so she can get a bit more rest before the morning comes," he replied. He carried her through the mostly-dark common room and towards the stairs. As he walked, Baylee turned the wick of the lamp down a bit, not wanting to blind either of them.
She lifted a skeptical brow, but let out a quiet laugh. "All this just for washing a dish…Why, if I had known that that'd be such a bad thing to do, I would have left it until morning and asked Nori or Bifur to give it a quick scrub for me." Her cheeks grew warm when Thorin kissed her temple.
"I think you and I both know that that would never happen," he murmured against her temple. He started to ascend the stairs. "You would probably sneak back down here when you thought everyone was asleep just to make sure the plate got washed and put away."
"There's nothing wrong with wanting to start the next day off with a clean set of dishes."
"As true as that is, you've done enough work over the last two days to warrant you a week's worth of rest." As he glanced down at her, a mischievous smile came to his lips. "Which, while it would be nice, I know won't happen. You're always worrying about taking care of the rest of us."
"If I don't, then who will?" she replied before covering her mouth as she yawned again.
"Ourselves." He gave her temple a second kiss. "And I did tell the others that this is as much of a rest period for you as it is for them. Just because they expect you to do a majority of the cooking doesn't mean you must do it. Bombur can cook, the city is giving us plenty of ready-to-bake foods, and if all else fails, Bofur knows how to make a very good sausage gravy." Reaching the door to her room, he managed to open the door with one hand. "And I do want you to rest."
"But what if I consider cooking a way to rest and relax?" she questioned with a playful pout.
He rolled his eyes, though a smile remained on his lips. "You know what I mean," he murmured.
She set the lamp on the bedside table before Thorin set her down on the bed. "Alright, alright…I'll be a good lass and take it easy while we stay here. Except when it comes to da'. With him being sick, I'm allowed to fret over him."
"So long as you aren't the only one helping to care for him, I can allow that," he said, half-joking, half-serious. His brow then rose as he noticed the distance between her feet dangling over the edge and the floor only to let out a laugh. "Just when I thought you couldn't look any smaller…"
Leaning forward, Baylee peered over the edge of the bed only to chuckle. "That is quite the distance," she admitted. "No wonder it had felt like I jumped off a cliff when I got out of bed earlier." Her eyes closed in contentment when he set his hand on her cheek.
"When we're married, I'll have to have steps made for you so you can get into our bed with ease," he gently teased, a tender smile on his lips. He watched as she set her hand over top his, keeping it in place. "Though, the thought of watching you try to climb up into our bed is quite amusing…"
"So is the thought of you trying to squeeze into a hobbit bed," she retorted with a giggle. "Your feet must have stuck out quite far that night."
"Not horribly so, but then again, I slept diagonally." Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against hers while his thumb gently caressed her cheek. "And speaking of sleep, I should leave you to get some more sleep."
"Stay just a moment longer, please," she murmured, enjoying his closeness too much to want to let him go. Partly because she loved him, but also partly because of how warm he was.
He let out a soft laugh. "Alright, just a moment longer," he murmured in agreement. He didn't mind staying, of course, as it gave him just that much more time alone with her. When her eyes opened partway, he breathed a soft sigh; it was like looking into a bright emerald and the palest of green amethysts. "Maralmizun, 'ibinê abnâmul."
"I love you, too, Oakenshield," she replied, her voice soft. She could feel her heart starting to flutter when she noticed that Thorin's face was starting to get closer to hers for the second time that day. Though it was late and she knew it unlikely, she sent a silent prayer to the Valar to keep any interruptions from happening.
But it appeared that the Valar were listening.
Thorin's lips pressed against hers just as her eyes drifted shut. Her own lips curved into a bit of a smile as she kissed him in return, trying to not giggle at how his beard and mustache tickled her skin. It felt quite different from the kiss she had shared with Halfast all those months ago: Despite being quite a bold move, Halfast's kiss had felt almost timid whereas Thorin's felt confident.
She wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted, but when Thorin drew back, she knew it hadn't lasted nearly long enough for her liking. Her eyes opened partway once again and she looked up at him only to find a smile on his lips as well.
"I have been waiting ages to do that," he quietly chuckled.
"Me, too," she admitted, her cheeks a bit flushed. "I'm glad we didn't—" Before she could finish her sentence, however, Thorin leaned his head forward and kissed her a second time.
A moment later, he drew back again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cut you off," he told her. "I just couldn't stop myself."
Baylee nuzzled his cheek with her nose. "It's fine," she assured him. "I don't mind it in the least." Part of her wanted to ask him to stay the night with her, but she knew that would be terribly inappropriate. It was alright for them to cuddle up together when they were sleeping out in the open and surrounded by the others, but when it was just the two of them in a shared bed…
"As much as I'd love to stand here and keep kissing you, I should leave you to sleep," Thorin murmured, his voice drawing her from her thoughts.
"I'm afraid you're right," she agreed. "The last thing we need is for someone to wake up and catch you in my room like this."
He quietly snorted and lifted a brow. "If they knew what was good for them, they would keep quiet about whatever it is they saw." As she giggled, he kissed her forehead. "Now get some more sleep. I'll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight, Oakenshield." She smiled when he placed a second kiss on her forehead before stepping away from her. "Sleep well."
"Sleep well, my Mouse-Lass."