Reminder: Fíli is a traumatised teenager acting out for the first time.

Chapter 10 - Stolen Hearts

Dear Dah,

I miss you and I forgive you. I'm not even sure there is anything to forgive you for, but perhaps a lot for me to apologise for.

I have not forgiven Glorfindel. He lied to me. He lied to you.

My family, Amad and my brother Kíli are alive. At first, the nightmares were worse, but I wake up to the singing of the stones and they are never far.

My uncles, Thorin, Frerin, Dori, Nori (my birth father's twin brother), and Ori are all alive. Though, Ori is close to my age, and none of the Ri brothers are fond of being called 'uncle'. So Kíli and I just refer to them as cousins.

Our other cousins who live with us are Balin and Dwalin.

Everyone was beyond hurt at my disappearance.

Also, my uncle's full title is Prince Thorin of Erebor, son of Thrain, son of Thror. My mother is Princess Dís, which means Kíli is next in line of Durin.

And I'm a dwarven prince.

I don't know how to tell my family that I was partially raised by the elves.

Thorin hates elves and he's a smith. I think it would break his heart if he knew my weapons master was an elf.

There's a lot I don't know. I wish you were here. I wish I knew how to send this to you.

Dwalin warned me there are people watching us, that our correspondents might be compromised and to never put something in writing I can't afford for others to know.

So I wrote this in Sindarin in the hope they won't–

Though, I suppose if someone finds this, they'll know I'm involved with elves anyway.

Maybe if Estel comes around again, I will give it to him.

I love you, Dah. And I'm sorry for the way I left.

Fíli, Son of Dís, Daughter of Thrain

Unsent letter hidden in the liner of his old boot.

oOo

Thorin jerked awake and found himself fighting the most comfortable bed he had slept in since leaving Erebor.

Heartbeat still raising, he still waiting for his mind to catch up to where he was and what had woken him.

"MERIADOC BRANDYBUCK!" a female voice shouted, along with the sound of a clash of pots.

"I have a guest!" exclaimed a quieter voice.

Thorin let out a breath, right, he's in the Shire.

In the smial of his One.

Sighing, Thorin took his time getting dressed. He hadn't slept that deeply in… longer than he could remember. He had never slept somewhere new that comfortably. But then again, he rarely went to bed on the road that well-fed or without any of his leathers.

He was dressed by the time a knock came to his door.

Opening it, Thorin was greeted with a reminder of how small hobbit pebbles truly were, along with the incredible smell of breakfast.

"Breakfast's ready!" the faunt, as Gandalf called them, chirped.

"Thank you, little one," Thorin said.

The faunt narrowed his eyes up at him, which was criminally adorable, "You're not as weird looking as most big folk."

Thorin fought a smile, "I'm a dwarf, you hobbits are the only ones who have never called me short."

The faunt opened his arms wide, "You're huge." Then he frowned and poked Thorin's stomach, completely unafraid. "But you should be bigger here."

Thorin fought a laugh and decided that if the hobbits were going to be so familiar with him, he might as well leave his dwarvish customs at the door.

He wasn't a prince here after all, he was just a strong pair of arms to help out a settlement of these gentle folk. So Thorin scooped the faunt up in his arms, "Come, let's get breakfast, before you little folk leave me nothing to eat."

The faunt made a raspberry, "It's Uncle Bilbo's smial, he always has enough food."

"Hey! I want up too!" another faunt complained as another warning came from a female hobbit, "Meriadoc!"

Thorin only smiled as he scooped up the other faunt in his arm.

The two children hugged Thorin as if he were a beloved uncle.

Suspicion, clearly, was a trait taught to them as they aged, not inherit to their kind.

Bilbo turned with a huge smile, and Thorin's heart almost stopped in his chest.

All the gold in Erebor was but a trifle to his One's smile.

"That's Merry, and the other is Periguin Took, Pippin. These are Meriadoc's parents and my cousins, Saradoc and Esmeralda Brandybuck," Bilbo introduced. "Everyone, this is my guest from Ered Luin, Master Thorin."

There were loud choruses of welcomes, especially from the pebbles. Which was followed by more questions than Thorin could rightly process, much less answer,

Esmeralda clapped, "Everyone shut up and eat!"

The food was suburb and Thorin that even when he had lived in Erebor, he had never eaten so well.

oOo

The old forge was down the back end of Bag End, a ways down the road toward the woods.

"It's considered to be a pretty noisy profession. They thought the noise and the fire would keep predators away," Saradoc informed Thorin as the faunts literally tumbled down the hill.

He remembered a very young Kíli getting ahold of his adad's cup of coffee.

The effect had been similar.

"Are they always like this?" Thorin asked.

"Aye," Bilbo said. "If hobbits have fast metabolisms, faunts are quite a bit like hummingbirds. Keeping them fed is an unending mission for the whole of the Shire."

"Do other families feed everyone else's pebbles?" Thorin asked, heart aching.

His people couldn't do that now if they wanted to. Or maybe they could but it would mean many families going hungry because older dwarrow would never accept charity if a pebble too much from a family who couldn't afford it.

But even in Erebor… No dwarven youngling had ever been truly malnourished. Schools and apprenticeships with guilds ensured that never happened and certainly never infants and their mothers.

But to say no dwarfling in Erebor had ever gone to bed hungry or sinched their belts, would be untruthful.

They weren't as bad as men, but for the first time, in comparison to these supposedly simple creatures whole all of Arda scorned, he felt small and insufficient.

In these times, Bilbo said, yes. I know you won't believe me, but my smial used to be quiet. I was more likely to have my groceries pillaged on my way home than hold meals at my house.

"You mean they steal?" Thorin asked. "Why not just ask if you would give it to them willingly? Why encourage misbehaviour?"

"It's not misbehaviour," Bilbo explained. "It's honing life skills. Sure, hobbits are born being light footed and stealthy when they want to be. But those things take practice."

Thorin raised a brow, "You want them to be thieves?"

"We aren't innate fighters, and even if we were, every race nearly triples our size, including dwarves. One to one, we are likely to lose. More than one on one, we are certain to fail. But because we are smaller and quicker in a tight spot than the other races, we aren't helpless," Bilbo explained. "We might not be able to outrace anyone but I assure you, no one is getting out or through a crowd quicker than a hobbit.

"Just like men train to ride horses, dwarrow train to work long hours, and elves practice climbing trees, so too do hobbits learn to go about their business unseen when they wish to.

"Theft is, at its core, a foraging skill. But in the most practical sense, it is our only advantage against the bigger races. Goblins are good at skulking too, but hobbits are still better. Enough so that when it came to war between goblins and hobbits, the hobbits won by hiding in the trees and striking down their foes as they passed through. Though honestly, no matter what you'll hear from a certain Grey Wizard, I think the trees themselves saved us in the end."

Thorin shook his head at all the new information but he found himself asking, "You know Tharkan? I mean Gandalf."

Frodo dropped back to answer, "Master Gandalf has the best fireworks."

Thorin smiled, "Ah, so the wizard doesn't bring trouble to the Shire like he does everywhere else?"

All the hobbits laughed at that.

Esmeralda patted him on the shoulder, "He's a wizard."

That wasn't truly an answer, yet it made perfect sense to Thorin.

They reached the forge and the herd of faunts dismantled the rundown mess in less time than seemed possible.

And from that day forward, Thorin refused to accept anything anyone ever said about hobbits being lazy creatures. Not to say there weren't lazy hobbits among them, but there were lazy dwarves which wasn't a defining characteristic of his own people.

Nor was it one of the hobbit folk's characteristics.

Despite the meal that they had eaten last night, they ate just as hardily in the morning.

Throughout the day, Thorin learned, at least for the little ones, why they ate so much.

The short walk to the old forge was covered at a sedate pace by the adults, Thorin, Bilbo, Sara, and Esmeralda, while they set the herd of faunts to sprint forward and back in some tag game.

Though he was certain some of them were pretending to be ponies.

With wings.

"Don't unpack any of your tools," Bilbo said. "Let the fauntlings get the junk out of the way. We can start helping them after elevenses."

"Then what will we be doing for the next few hours?" Thorin asked.

"Taking the sharp pointy things out of their hands," Esmeralda said.

"And ensuring they don't start a fire," Bilbo added cheerily.

Thorin waited for the punch line, but apparently, they were perfectly serious.

He would have loved to say, there was no way hobbit fauntlings could be worse than dwarflings. After all, no dwarf with half an ounce of common sense would ever let a dwarfling loose in a forge.

However, after the seventh piece of flint and the twelfth knife Thorin pulled from tiny hands, he could say with absolute certainty that hobbitlings were insane and could likely topple any governing body within a day.

They were exhausting, and yet, the forge whose door had literally rusted shut and seemed to shelter many a winter guest, was cleared of dust and darkness as if it had never been.

The Shire's abandoned forge wasn't anything impressive, but it was quite a shot better than anything he had seen or had to make do with among men.

Hobbits were energetic and hyperfocused workers, and yet, they prioritised comfort and family to a humbling degree.

The adult hobbits took the various impliments of some concern from their hands and cleaning them up before passing them to Thorin for inspection on being a useful tool or scrap.

By the time elevenses came around, the forge was ready to be set up.

The hearth needed some tending, but Thorin was overall rather pleased with the space. The forge wasn't deep underground and there were two fronts of windows, but the building, or smial, was made from masonry, not wood.

It was by far the nicest space he'd been given to work outside of dwarven make.

Not that the competition was all that stiff, considering most human forgers were outside under an overhang or in a shed.

Gondor's forges were nothing to sniff at, but they didn't invite dwarves to work in their forges.

The food Bilbo and Paladin had prepared was excellent, the grassy hill spotted with wildflowers was lovely, and Thorin couldn't help thinking he was on vacation.

Especially with his One sitting beside while children played freely and fearlessly around them.

Yes, Thorin Oakenshield was finding the Shire much to his liking.

oOo

Dear Fíli,

I love you. I'm sorry for our miscommunication and I'm more sorry that I didn't try harder to find your birth family.

The Rangers tell me you are well and that your family is overjoyed to have you back, as they should be.

I admit, I've been waiting for a letter from you before I intend to send this, and the others, for I do not know if they are welcome.

Perhaps I'm just being a silly ol' hobbit and you're waiting for me to send a letter first, but I– I am the one in the wrong, aren't I?

I find that though I desire greatly your forgiveness, I don't need it so much as I need you to reach out to me. Even if it only to yell at me.

But I know tensions between the races are difficult.

A dwarf has come from the Blue Mountains to guard the marketplaces through the harvests. Trouble rises from the east. I fear darkness is growing in Moria and shadows grow in the hearts of men.

If you travel again, be cautious.

I am sorry I hurt you. I miss you. I love you.

Love your adoptive father, BB.

Unsent letter hidden in Bilbo's desk, along with several others.

oOo

The first day of the big market, Thorin set up beside the men who had come east of Bree.

They looked gaunt, many of them.

Thorin understood their hunger all too well, but that did not mean he had sympathy for the way they looked at the hobbits.

The men sold leather and wooden goods, such as saddles and the pull rings for beasts of burden.

The men from Bree sold ale, and what Thorin was beginning to suspect from a few of the reactions he saw, ill-acquired goods by the sour expressions on the hobbits' faces.

Some still traded with those stalls, but most avoided them, going to the leatherwork stalls out of necessity, or to the Breelanders for barrels of ale.

It helped that the Bree men had hobbits working for them.

As Thorin was warned, the hobbits traded much more than they used coin, to the point where many walked away from stalls that demanded coin.

Bilbo was set up beside Thorin with his spices and medicines and he fielded those who came to look at Thorin's stock.

Bilbo, apparently, was seen as both an oddity in the Shire, as well as someone very well respected.

Thorin assumed this was because no matter how strange for a hobbit he was, he was still a healer of sorts and a hobbit of some means.

Still, it was interesting to watch who sneered at Bilbo and whispered insults under their breath and those who greeted Bilbo with hugs and warm handshakes.

One of the more intimate greetings was kissing each other on the cheeks.

But however, they were greeted when Bilbo told them Thorin would trade only for coin because he was Bilbo's house guest, the hostility the hobbits showed the men instantly disappeared.

By midday, Thorin was eating yet another meal with Bilbo at their stalls when he asked, "Why does me being your house guest absolve me from the manners of trade?"

Bilbo hummed, finished his bite of pie and answered, "I'm Baggins. As long as you stay with me, you should have no need I cannot provide. To trade something of necessity with you is an insult to me, it would be seen as a declaration that I am not providing for you well enough. Some might still try to trade with you later on in the week, for if you did accept trade for food or clothes it would be shameful for me."

Thorin swallowed, "I am glad I asked then."

Bilbo waved it away, "Nonsense, it is a shame I can't just give you coin for that would be seen as quite queer, I think, among all free races. But if someone comes to trade you off some luxury good, and it is something you want, feel free to trade without insulting me. Some items are beyond expectations of hospitality and therefore not offensive to trade for."

"The trade for fresh medicines may be worth much more than coin to me, for both the supply and cost of them isn't easily afforded even if available."

Bilbo's smile was heart-rending, "My mother was a healer, I'm happy to follow, at least in some small part, her legacy."

"As wonderful as healers are," Thorin ventured to say. "Your goods will reach more people than a single healer could hope to outside of a battlefield."

Bilbo's blush was well worth the flattery.

oOo

Thorin watched his hobbit cook as he puffed on a pipe.

It was not tobacco which Bilbo preferred if everyone smoked outside for the benefit of the younglings, but raspberry leaf, something called lemon balm, and rose petals. It was… odd, but it soothed his chest and it made him, not sleepy, but calmer.

Bilbo bustled around the kitchen, and Thorin couldn't help but think how exotic he looked.

Certainly, there were dwarves who found elves attractive, while there was nothing dwarvish about them, their beauty was their own, and as any art, intended for admiration.

Humans too, could at times prove to be almost elven in their beauty or handsome in the way of dwarrow.

Some humans even managed impressive beards.

But a hobbit was none of of those things, they were petite, with giant hairy feet, and no beards to speak of.

But they were gentle in their manners, soft in their steps, and were connected to the earth as dwarrow were connected to stone. They were not alien, they were not wind and rivers given mortal form like the elves, but rather hone from clay and the green earth.

Yavanna must have been a hobbit, Mahal must have loved her as Thorin was quickly falling in love with his hobbit.

oOo

Bilbo was relieved that Thorin hadn't realised how odd it was to have serval families under one roof.

In fact, the dwarf didn't seem to see any of the anxiety that was growing in the Shire.

It was just lucky that as disreputable as Bilbo was that Thorin –having been escorted by a Ranger and staying in Bag End– had endeared the other hobbits to him.

Or, at the very least, any and all Tookish faunts.

Bilbo was a tad overwhelmed playing host to so many. He hadn't been very popular growing up, Drogo being his closet relative.

But through adopting Frodo, Bilbo had become much closer with Frodo's friends and their families.

Which were, naturally, Bilbo's family too.

Still, it was hard to forget that out of all of his relatives, only Drogo had asked him back to the Shire when he left with his son to the east.

But it was nice, it was very nice, to be welcomed back into his family's circles, even if it was because they needed him.

It wasn't a bad thing to be needed. And he found that he could hold no resentment toward his Bucklander relatives for the inevitable distance that had once sat between the sides of the Brandywine.

He was relieved, however, when Saradoc pulled him aside to explain all the visits. To explain why, out of all their frequent visits, this last time they had shown up with a great deal of luggage.

Not enough to be rude, but as if there were things they were afraid to leave behind.

"Sara?"

Saradoc looked up to meet his gaze.

They were sitting in the kitchen, everyone else was asleep.

"Bilbo, the men in Bree… somethings wrong– I, well, that is to say, it's, we no longer believe it's safe–"
"Then you will move to Bag End," Bilbo said definitively.

He didn't travel anymore these days, but he had heard rumours.

He had seen the elves join the Rangers on patrol of their borders.

Also, Estel had brought him a dwarf.

He didn't need a sixth sense to know and believe in the growing darkness expanding from Moria.

"Bilbo, I can't ask–" Sara said, prosperity forcing him to back peddle.

"You don't have to. Besides, this smial is too big for just Frodo and I."

Yavanna knew that Frodo was happier with his relatives about.

Sara let out a long sigh, "I– I still feel like I ought to apologize. We should have asked the Thain first, but… things are not dire. They just aren't right anymore."

oOo

Thorin woke, having dozed off on the sofa after supper and woke to little hands tugging at his hair.

He did not open his eyes immediately, fighting his instinct to lash out at the unexpected intimate touch.

He did not have open his eyes to know it was the faunts, and if it hadn't been unexpected, his battle-tested impulses wouldn't have been a problem because his nephews had played with his hair like this many times.

But just because they were children, didn't mean it was fully welcomed.

"What are you doing!?" he heard Frodo whisper shout. "Uncle is going to kill–"

"Frodo?" came Bilbo's voice.

"I didn't know!"

Thorin opened his eyes, in time to see the faunts scattered.

He met Bilbo's gaze, he seemed mildly horrified.

Thorin reached up to his hair and for the first time was glad he kept his beard short. He was less bothered by the flowers in his hair than the tangles.

Some of his braids had been undone and redone in a completely different fashion.

Thorin couldn't quite stop the grimace.

"I'm so sorry," Bilbo whispered.

Thorin shook his head, some of the blooms falling out.

Frodo was hanging on to Bilbo's night robe, hiding behind him.

"It will be alright," Thorin sighed, attempting to run his fingers through the ends.

He was impressed that he had slept through the younglings getting this far.

"Get to bed, Frodo," Bilbo instructed.

Bilbo, hesitantly, stepped forward and offered, "I can brush your hair out if you would accept the help. I am truly sorry, I thought they had all fallen asleep."

Thorin felt his cheeks heat.

Bilbo was his One, and such an offer from your One was as good as a proposal.

But the hobbit didn't know that, and selfishly, Thorin wanted whatever intimacy Bilbo would allow him.

"I would appreciate it," Thorin said.

Bilbo nodded, looking a tad nervous as he disappeared back to his rooms and returned with brush in hand.

Thorin swallowed, but sunk down to the ground so Bilbo could sit above him on the sofa after he poured two cups of coffee.

Bilbo's hands were gentle as he ran them over his hair plucking flowers out of his braids as he went.

Thorin had to suppress a shudder when Bilbo's fingertips brushed his cheek.

This was a bad idea.

But he couldn't back out now without explaining why this was a tremendously stupid thing for him to accept.

Gathering his hair, Bilbo gently began undoing the tangled braids, flowers falling into Thorin's lap as they were tugged free.

It had been a long time since someone had messed with his hair.

When they had still been in Erebor, Frerin and Dís had a bit, but neither had done it on purpose.

Thrain was a good dwarf but a harsh father. As the only son of King Thror, Thrain II had grown up with strict expectations that he passed on to Thorin. Likewise, Thrain had chosen a wife that he thought his father would approve of.

Lady Frís had been elegance in all that she did and all that she touched. Regrettably for all, Frís had been described as elvish with her golden hair and smaller features in front of Thror.

Thror, and thus Thrain, had gone cold against despite bearing three children.

Many had joked about how ugly the Durin line had become, by which they meant pollution by elvish blood.

Frís was not Thrain's one and she had devoted herself to her work with cloaks, avoiding as much time away from the royals as possible, just as Thrain through himself into his duties in a bid to win his father's approval.

King Thror had been a better grandfather than father to Thorin and Queen Tara a better mother than their own to Dís.

Frerin was able to get away with the most mischief between the three of them, but Thorin, Frerin, and Dís had been viewed as model royalty.

Which is likely why they had all let Kíli and Fíli get away with almost everything when they were pebbles.

Not only had they messed with Thorin's hair, they had once dumped a bucket of coal dust on him as he was coming out of the bath.

The pair had laughed themselves sick, as had Frerin and Dís which had abated any anger Thorin had felt at the time.

How he wished Kíli and Fíli could have their innocence returned to them.

"What are you thinking about?" Bilbo asked softly, untangling the last of his braids.

"My nephews," Thorin answer, realising he was resting his head back against his host's knees. "The last, and truly first time, my hair was messed with this badly they were still such wee things."

"I am sorry," Bilbo said as he pulled a brush through his ends, slowly working his way up so that there were no snarls that caught. "I do not know what makes your braids, beards, and hair so important to dwarrow but I do know that they are important."

Thorin hummed, not wanting to explain that what his One was doing was akin to an unwed couple getting between sheets together.

Even if nothing came of it, the intimacy was reserved for those already considered family.

Bilbo, luckily, did not push as he continued to work, humming softly beneath his breath.

Thorin sighed, feeling the tension drain from with each pull, his nerves lighting up like fireworks as he reached his scalp.

He could fall asleep like this, and before he could, Bilbo cleared his throat.

Thorin sat up his hair spilling in a soft wave over his shoulders.

Thorin reached up to feel how silky the typically course strands were. He smelled it and bit back a groan.

Vanilla and lavander.

Mahal save him, the hobbit had oiled his hair.

That.

That.

Was reserved solely for married couples and parents to their children, never vice versa.

Bilbo coughed, "My apologies, it's the same I use for my own hair, curls tangle more easily."

Thorin could only nod.

Bilbo's cheeks were flushed as he took a step back. "I'll let you finish getting ready for bed."

"Thank you," Thorin managed.

"Good night, Thorin," Bilbo said, disappearing toward his kitchen.

Thorin let out a long breath, running his hand over his hair.

Dís was going to kill him for not bringing Bilbo home with him.

oOo

Bilbo held his heart as he pressed his back to the wall.

He knew how important hair was to dwarves, he might as well had danced naked in front of him.

But Bilbo longed to be closer with Thorin.

He didn't know for certain if Thorin was his heartsong yet, for he had not heard him sing, but he knew.

He just knew.

Not that it was well-fated.

Bilbo couldn't leave his family, and dwarrow never willing left theirs.

So all he had, all they had, were these stolen moments.

Perhaps a Baggins wouldn't steal anything, but a Took would.

Glorfindel's son would.

oOo

AN: Apologies for the messiness of this chapter, I found it very difficult wrangle and ended up breaking it up. Which means more requests will be granted in the next chapter.

My good news is I finished writing five chapters later on in the story :D

Feedback (or rosebushes, fairie foxes, you know?) truly help with this fandom as it sees less traffic than others. Thank you so much to everyone who has commented or reviewed!