Chapter 2
Once more, I do not own anything that has to do with Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.
A moon has passed since Thorin had brought Bilbo into the room in the heart of the Lonely Mountain. And yet the hobbit still lay upon the silks and furs unmoving, unresponsive, and in that, unyielding. The dwarven king has devoted time every day to go to the room and check on his treasure, spending hours near his bed if permitted by his duties. More and more priceless artifacts were being brought in from all corners of the kingdom, and the half-forgotten mines of the mountain. Chests overflowing with gems and jewelry; rolls of material and fabrics, seen only on the royalty of men and ether kin; art and metal work of great creators: all not worth even a curl on the head of the one Thorin was staring at.
The king sat reverently at the cushion placed next to the bedstead, as not to ruffle the slumber of the one occupying it. He shed his long coat and dropped it carelessly on the floor, leaned down, and brought to his lap a small box, adorned with carvings of flowers and twines. Opening it, Thorin's gaze stopped at the assortment of rings settled on the velvet inside. He picked up one, made from mithril, with the square cut stone the color of fresh honey set in the middle and reached across the bedspread towards the hand laying on it. Hesitating momentarily Thorin grasped the palm as gently as he could and slowly lifted it, bringing it closer to himself. He marveled for a moment at the softness and texture of it as his fingers slid from the wrist to the digits of the hobbit. Ever so slowly he brought the hand to the edge of the bed and placed the dully reflecting ring on one of the fingers. It sat there, fit to perfection, as Thorin himself made sure it would, and beckoned him to continue. Heading the call the dwarf took another ring from the box, this one of heavy gold, filled with inlays of rubies so bright, they shone as ambers in the fire even in the smallest of candle lights. The act unremitting as Throrin picked more and more rings from the box, always choosing the best ones, with the most exquisite of stones and craftsmanship to adore his hobbit's hand. Soon there was no more space on it, and Thorin gingerly stood up, not letting go as he gazed upon the face of his treasure. Slowly his scrutiny switched to the hand he was still in possession of and the king lowered his head and brought up the soft palm, placing a kiss on the knuckles, feeling the slowly warming metal of the adornments he had placed there on his lips. He let the hand don on the furs and went on the other side of the bed, continuing the ceremony until all but one finger was left uncrowned.
Thorin glanced at the box and found it empty, and then he looked at his own hand holding the hobbits and at the ring that sat upon it. The heavy metal, inlayed with the blue stone, and silver work twisting together into the seal, that proclaimed him as the sovereign and King Under the Mountain. Not hesitating even a second his fingers take it off, leaving a pale band on his finger and place it on Bilbo's ring finger, the only one still shy of the brilliance of the jewelry Thorin had placed there. And in his eyes it is only right for the hobbit to wear his ring, for there should be no other worthy to be his, and be asserted as the one to hold power over him as the one who lays motionless on the bed.
Thorin stands but remains bend down towards his jewel. The Arkenstone is nothing compared to him, his hobbit, and he wished to forever retain and possess the small being, kept in his hear, and the heart of the mountain. Thorin's lips slowly descend upon Bilbo's brow, shifting the tiny gems that adore his curls, and press there in a kiss, tasting the sweet that is never to be sampled by other if he has any say on the matter. The king knows that Kili and Bofur, and even Balin had expressed the desire to visit their burglar, to ascertain his health, but he can not bring himself to comply and break the solitude he had endorsed upon the other. Not after looking at the face of his dark haired nephew the first time he had brought him and his brother in, as he trickled the gems down Bilbo's head, and seeing his eyes hold the same hunger and desire as his own. No, better that he keeps them away, and busy, unable to tarnish his burglars rest. After all, the body knows what it needs, and if his hobbit feels safe enough to rest when only Thorin can provide for him, then who is he to argue. Bilbo chose him as his protector, and Thorin shall forever comply with his wishes. For who else is he to obey but the Heart Under the Mountain.
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