Thorin closed his eyes as he heard the door open and the hall fill with the sounds of welcome and of cloaks and baggage being shed. He would rather face a horde of rampaging orcs once more than face his kin. This was a meeting that he had meant to postpone not to have the same night. Even so, he stood and faced the entry, his back straight and proud as he tried to fight down his feelings of guilt and unease.
"Started the party without us, eh?" Bofur asked, his voice unchanged by time. Thorin smiled at the familiarity of it.
"No," Bilbo replied, sounding decidedly flustered, "but before you go in there I must tell you something."
"It is not a mess," Bofur replied, his voice closer than before. "I promise you. Even a mess by your standards is clean by ours."
"Wait!" Bilbo cried, appearing in the doorway with his arms wide as he attempted to bodily stop the dwarf from padding.
"We'll mind the rug, lad," Balin said with a pat to his shoulder.
"No!" Bilbo said attempting to grab the dwarf as Bofur walked around him. "you don't understand!"
"Don't worry," Bofur said as he dodged the grasping hand of the hobbit and walked around him. He didn't understand why the hobbit was so insistent that they remain in the entry. "We'll be careful of the an—"he stopped speaking abruptly as he caught sight of Throin.
"What is it, lad," Dwalin asked as he, too, shouldered around the now defeated hobbit. "Is it a—"
"What's the matter with you two?" Balin asked walking around Bilbo. "Surely it can't be that bad, can it?"
Had the situation been different, Thorin would have laughed at the expressions—or lacks-there-of—on the faces of his old companions. As it was, all he did was offer them a sad smile.
"Hello, my friends," he said slowly, trying to break the shocked moment that had continued entirely too long. He almost regretted it.
The next few moments were filled with chaos and the shouting of ideas and accusations—including that Bilbo had been conspiring with the Necromancer—and that if this was his idea of a joke it was a tasteless one. Everyone was talking all at once and no one could hear what anyone was actually saying over the din.
"Enough!" Thorin finally yelled when Bilbo's quieter attempts to silence the irate dwarves had gone unheeded. "Yes, I am alive. No, Bilbo had nothing to do with it. And this is not a cruel joke."
"Impossible," Balin breathed. The dwarf in front of him looked just like Thorin. He sounded just like Thorin, but it couldn't be him. He was dead. This had to be a ghost, or some kind of illusion. Almost of their own accord, his feet began to move him forward until he could feel the heat emanating from the body of the apparition. He slowly reached out a trembling hand and was surprise when it encountered solid flesh. He had halfway expected it to pass through.
"Thorin," he whispered, tears beginning to prickle his eyes at seeing his old friend alive again. In his excitement, he forgot that the dwarf in front of him was a king. He forgot protocol and pulled the larger dwarf into a hug—which Thorin returned with a laugh.
"It is good to see you again as well, Balin," Thorin said with a laugh.
"But how?" Bofur asked. Thorin looked at the dark-haired dwarf and felt a stab of pain in his chest. On the quest, he, Fíli and Kíli had worked together to provide humor—even when Thorin hadn't wanted it—and seeing him alone only emphasized their loss.
"That is a long, complicated tale," Bilbo said edging around the flabbergasted dwarves to return to his dining room. "I, for one, would like something to eat before we get into it again." At his words, Thorin had to smile. He had no idea hobbits ate so often. No wonder they tended to be so wide. Even so, he gladly followed Bilbo and the others into the dining room. If nothing else, it would give him time to collect his thoughts before he had to explain how he was back once more.
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The supper dishes were still on the table even though hours had passed since the meal. The remnants of the meals were still on the plates, but no one seemed to care. They were still trying to absorb what Thorin had told them and what the other consequences the meddling of the Valar would cause in their world. Namely in the kingship of Erebor. Dáin was a good king and they had prospered under his reign, but with Thorin alive Erebor was rightly his. Would Dáin step down easily or would this cause a civil war once word got out that Thorin was alive?
"Will you be returning with us?" Balin finally asked. "I know that it would make the people happy to see you again. Dáin has been a good king but we will gladly follow you once more."
"No," Thorin said suddenly. When he had accepted the offer, he hadn't realized the repercussions his actions would have on the world and his people. That's not to say that he would not have taken the chance, but he would have thought through things more before he revealed himself.
"I had my chance at being the King Under the Mountain and I led many of us to disaster. The title has passed to Dáin and I will not retake it," Thorin said. "Besides, my line will end with me while Dáin has a son to pass the throne to."
"There is still time to produce an heir," Balin argued. "You are not so old as to be impotent."
"No," Thorin agreed with a laugh. "However I have a mate and will take no other even if he will not have me after the great injustices I have done him. Even if he will, there will be no heirs from our union. Our only chance at an heir would be Dís. But even were her husband still alive I would not ask it of her. I have already taken two sons from her and could not ask her to replace them."
"But," Bofur protested weakly. He understood what Thorin was saying, but the idea that their King would allow himself to remain crownless after they had gone on a quest and fought a dragon and four other armies for the crown was too difficult to grasp.
"No," Thorin repeated. "Dáin and his son will keep the throne of Erebor.
"What do you mean to do then?" Dwalin asked. "Retake your seat at Ered Luin? We will follow you there if that is your decision."
"No," Thorin replied beginning to become exasperated that they did not understand that he had no desire to rule anymore. The company, in turn, was becoming frustrated at his half answers. All he would tell them was what he did not intend to do, not what he would.
"I intend to stay in the Shire. With Bilbo, if he will have me," Thorin said steadily looking at the hobbit across the table. He had meant to ask in private rather than put him on the spot like this, but they were going to keep pestering him until he gave them an answer and he had been pestered enough for one night.
"What?" Bilbo asked flabbergasted. "Thorin . . . I . . . we . . . we will need to discuss this later. In private." Bilbo had been in such a shocked state since Thorin's return that he hadn't thought through the kinks that it put in his plans to leave the Shire. There was no way that Thorin would consent to live in Rivendell and they couldn't go to the Lonely Mountain without causing quite a fuss. Was their only option really to stay?
Bilbo's words hurt Thorin, but he said nothing. He supposed he had earned Bilbo's wariness. He understood—after everything that had happened, everything he had done—why Bilbo would be reluctant for them to move in together. But just because he understood didn't mean that it didn't hurt.
"The Shire is nice," Balin agreed. "I suppose there is room here for a small dwarven settlement. At least hobbits have the sense to live below ground."
"What?" Bilbo gasped again. He loved his friends, but the rest of the shire would be up in arms if a contingent of dwarves moves into Hobbiton. They were anxious enough when the dwarves only came to visit. HE could only imagine their shock if they were to decide to live there.
"Yes!" Bofur agreed. "There is a market here for dwarven toys. I could make a good living here."
"I . . . um . . . um," Bilbo stuttered as he tried to find a way to explain to the dwarves that moving to the Shire was not a good idea without offending them. Especially since he still wanted to leave it himself and if Thorin's friends moved here that would become impossible
"Yes," Balin agreed. "There is definitely a market for dwarven skills here. We could rebuild that bridge properly and open a forge. Yes. We could live well here. I believe that we could persuade Ori, Nori, and Dori to come."
"Bombur would come," Bofur said. "He would love to spend time among people that love to eat as much as he does. He would like living here. "
"Óin and Glóin will not," Dwalin said. "They have lives in Erebor and will not gladly leave them. But I and my wife and children will gladly come. I have grown tired of the bustle of Erebor and I think my wife misses the quieter life we had in Ered Luin. She will appreciate the slower pace of life here."
"Wait!" Bilbo finally managed to say as he did the math and realized that they were talking about at least eleven dwarves—he wasn't entirely sure how many children Dwalin had—coming to live in the Shire. "I have not decided what Thorin and I are going to do yet. Can we hold off on bringing everyone here until I have?"
"Ah," Balin scoffed. "Laddie, we already know that you are going to let him move in. You just want to "think it over" and bluster about a bit before you do. We're simply bypassing the wait and moving on to the next step." Bilbo could think of no reply. He didn't want to deny that he would let Thorin move in, but he wasn't sure he was going to stay yet, let alone the rest of them. In the end, Bilbo said nothing. He merely sighed and looked longingly into the fire and once again wished for the morning when all he had to worry about was how to keep Lobella from stealing his silver if she decided to come to his party.
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Stickdonkeys