Thorin can't help his smile; the corners of his mouth are as willful as his hobbit.
He looks down at his empty hands, flexing them slightly, studiously ignoring his shaky breaths.
If, he'd said.
Thorin tries to groan as he leans against the doorframe, but his throat is dry and empty. He knows it's foolish to panic; Bilbo had come on the first trip, in the face of Thorin's disapproval (bullheaded, idiotic dwarfling that he had been). Surely he would be further coaxed this time by friendliness?
Perhaps, though, just now, they'd flirted (a term Bilbo had acquainted him with in their time at Beorn's), and Thorin couldn't bring himself to regret it. The feeling of it was so familiar, so reminiscent of Laketown. He sent another twisting smile to his hands.
"Uncle?" Thorin turns to see Kili padding towards him, smiling wide, "Gandalf says you should come join us in the dining room. Important quest knowledge, contracts to be presented, the like."
Thorin nods, closing his eyes for a moment and taking in a fortifying breath. When he opens them again, Kili stands in front of him, peering up at him. Thorin can't say what or why, but something in the gaze feels...unsettled.
"What is it, gimlith?"
"I..." Kili's brows knit together, and Thorin aches to see such an expression on his young face. Thorin knows the feel of it well, and the thoughts that generate it better.
He is a fool and a poor uncle still.
A few more Khuzdul words escape him as he draws Kili close, lightly pushing their foreheads together and muttering the same assurances as those he gave at Kili's first breath.
Kili does not stay in his embrace as long as he might once have. The young dwarf backs out of Thorin's arms, shakes his body vigorously, as if trying throw off enemies, "They will have everything decided without us by now, Uncle!"
They return to the dining room, where Thorin finds his plate untouched and Kili slides back next to Fili. Thorin catches a glimpse of Kili, brow still furrowed, brushing his fingers along Fili's jawline, exactly where the goblin, that final goblin, had...
Nori leans across the table, grabbing at one foodstuff or another, and when he leans back, the two brothers are laughing uproariously and Gandalf is trying to hand him his father's map.
"A little more light, perhaps, Bilbo," the wizard says, and Thorin steps back into familiar territory.
Bilbo does not faint this time, but neither does he agree to come, and Thorin is left staring into the fire, trying not to bite off the stem of his pipe.
"The lad hasn't said no yet, Thorin," Balin says, placing a hand on Thorin's shoulder, "And if he does, I cannot believe the quest will not suffer any true loss."
Balin does not aid in his attempt to keep his pipe stem whole.
After a moment, Balin merely sighs and joins his brother on the other side of the room. Almost on cue, Bilbo enters the room through the doorway nearest Thorin, carrying a stack of quilt he can barely see over. Thorin takes it upon himself to help Bilbo distribute them, staying silent as Bilbo tells the dwarves the arrangements he has made for them, directing a few to guest rooms and telling the rest they'll have to make do with the floor here in the sitting room, as "no hobbit hole is built to fit 13 dwarves and a confounded Wizard, not even the biggest in all Hobbiton."
"Thank you kindly, Master Baggins," Thorin says once Bilbo is finished, taking the final blanket from the hobbit. Bilbo's eyes widen as Thorin's hands linger over his, and he beats what seems to be a hasty retreat. The rest of the company nod their thanks, and Thorin returns to the hearthstone.
Soon, Bilbo is laughing along with the dwarven antics, and Thorin resists the urge to brace himself against the warmed stone.
Oh, how he has wanted this night.
He only needed once, when he first saw his husband and heard him laughing down at him. The sting of humiliation had been enough to keep him sane (his common sense having completely vanished, likely crushed into oblivion by Bombur), prevented him from gathering the hobbit into his arms, but only just.
Then Bilbo had turned to him, all blush and fluster, and Thorin wanted.
No, not the desire of the body. He's carefully guarded against that, trained by decades upon decades of restraint. His training had not encompassed the desires of the heart (great Mahal, they would take away the right of being a dwarf if anyone knew him capable of such drivel), and it is these Thorin grapples with.
Foolish dwarf.
There, in the kitchen, he wanted, and again now, in this cozy room, he wants with all the strength his weary heart can muster; wants to worm past Bilbo's tight armor of flush and bluster, sit with the others to learn what makes him laugh and what makes the others laugh with him, wants to hold him tight and promise the sky and the stars and the Misty Mountains laid down at his feet as stepping stones.
In the course of his wandering thoughts, the room has gone still, the desperate joviality of the gathering abruptly wearing out. The weight of the coming months is a stone on his chest again, and it's the worse for knowing his kin suffers too.
From some unidentifiable source, a different sound comes swelling, more honest and true than before; and it is suddenly a chorus, the deep rumble of all dwarven song intermingling with the sorrow that has tainted his folk. The dark wildness of him awakes, and Thorin thinks only of his home burning, of his life's path twisting in on itself, and naught of his husband behind him.
I'm so sorry about the wait, guys! shit got really intense at school. but I just took my AP test today, so that'll free up a lot of time! :)
I tried to stretch out this chapter, because you guys definitely deserve longer chapters, but Thorin was fighting me every step of the way.
gimlith is khuzdul for the star that is young. this is an extension of a headcanon for Fili and Kili; I'm thinking about writing a little fic about it, as they'll appear in this series. also, I found a super comprehensive neo-khuzdul dictionary, so expect to see some dwarvish terminology! :) I'm pumped.