"What was that!?" Dwalin shouted as he knelt before Bilbo with a damp cloth. The company had all gathered around him as he'd exited the ring, escorting him to the nearest bath house. The construction crew's had finally succeeded in starting up the large forages and furnaces, allowing hot steam and water to pulse through the mountain like lifeblood once again. It only took a minute to reach the public pools, cutting through what will eventually be a business district that was currently dark and silent. As soon as they were alone in the cavernous room surrounded by hot steam and glistening pools, Bilbo had collapsed under his own weight.
"What are you talking about?" Bilbo mumbled around the cloth as the dwarf wiped away the blood from his face. His eyelids felt heavy with fatigue, and his face throbbed with what was definitly a broken nose. Oin was checking his vitals while the others stood by with anxious expressions.
"That's the second time ye've collapsed in a ten-minute span, the first time got yer nose broken."
"Oh yeah that… I don't know why the first time, I was backing up, keeping him at a distance while I wore him out… Then all I knew was the pain shot through my skull… I couldn't see it hurt so bad… The second time… exhaustion? I don't know… I just feel so tired." The explanation ended in a whisper as he slouched to the side, trying and failing to stay awake.
"Bilbo! Oi! Wake up, come on friend, stay awake for me," Dwalin grasped his head in his hands, while others slapped at his palms and legs trying to jar him awake. The next thing he knew he was wide awake, hacking as a noxious smell shocked his senses.
"Smelling salts," Oin pushed the cork back into a small bottle filled with a white powder.
"Do we know what is wrong with him?" Bofur asked.
The doctor shook his head, "This is beyond me, how long has it been happening?"
Dwalin looked to Bilbo who sighed, "Since I returned to Erebor…"
"Could it be in his head?" Fili inquired, frowning and holding up his hands innocently as the others booed his hypothesis. "Oi, it would make sense. Between being eaten and what happened after, maybe his head doesn't want to be underground. Like when miners have a cave in; I have a friend in the Blue Mountains that was in one, took two days to dig him out. It's not uncommon for them to be reassigned to other work just because they start having panic attacks in the tunnels." Bofur and Gloin nodded.
"If it's in my head, how do I fix it?" Bilbo hated to think that anything more could be wrong with his mind. Between the occasional flashback, the consistent nightmares and the Ring with it's tiny claws and cruel comments, he was amazed that he functioned to begin with. But his life was in this mountain now, he couldn't exactly set up a tent at the gates. Becoming Erebor's greeter hobbit, a smile to everyone who entered. He almost snickered at the thought.
"Have you talked to Thorin about what happened?" Balin asked, taking a seat on the bench beside him.
"No, we've moved past it." Another lie: they hadn't really talked about anything that had occurred before he'd escaped, neither one of them brought it up, but Bilbo knew it was hanging over them like a blade. They hadn't been intimate since coming back to the mountain. Even after he'd been declared healthy the dwarf seemed to avoid coming to bed until they were both too tired and Bilbo hadn't pushed, unsure of where they stood.
"We can't rule out that there isn't an actual illness plaguing you, but I'd recommend talking to him and seeing if it helps. We'll try open air walks with one of us daily until Thorin arrives with Dis; let's see if getting you out from under the mountain helps your symptoms. Here," Oin passed Dwalin the smelling salts, "Keep me updated on his condition in the meantime." He instructed the larger dwarf before shooing Dwalin out of the way to stand in front of Bilbo. "You're not going to like this part, but I've got to set your nose."
Bilbo sat stiffly on the bench, gripping the edge with white-knuckled fingers. Until now he'd ignored the dull throb in his nose, but now his attention was focused on the sharp, relentless ache.
"This is going to hurt," the doctor warned, crouching in front of him with steady hands. Dwalin set the damp cloth within reach, while Bilbo's focus was locked on the Oin's fingers hovering too close to his face.
"Hurt more than it already does?" He tried to joke, his voice nasal and strained.
The elder dwarf's lips twitched into a wry smile. "Let's say… it'll be memorable."
Before Bilbo could protest, the doctor placed a firm grip on either side of his nose. "On three. One—"
CRACK! Bilbo's vision blurred as pain exploded behind his eyes. He let out a strangled yell, slapping the doctor's shoulder reflexively.
"You said three!"
"And you would've tensed up," Oin replied calmly, smirking as he wiped the new blood off Bilbo's face with practiced efficiency. "Better to get it over with. You'll thank me when you can breathe again."
Bilbo groaned, gingerly touching his nose. It was still tender, but the bone felt... straighter. Though he could definitely tell it was swollen, and he knew that the bruise would have already painted the area around his eyes black and purple.
"Well, you look more like a dwarf now," Bofur teased.
"Now I just need a beard," Bilbo laughed, rolling his eye as he attempted to stand. His legs were a bit shaky, but Dwalin quickly stepped in to support him.
"Yer young yet, perhaps ye'll grow one when ye get a bit older." The large dwarf laughed, helping him to walk to the exit. Turning, Bilbo looked at the others who were following him out.
"Thank you all, for your friendship and support." This received warm grins as happiness painted his dwarves faces.
The next four days were as uneventful as they could be with running a kingdom. Bilbo's schedule was much the way it was before; Balin taking him around to help with projects and manage workers. The company had taken to greeting him with hugs and jokes, and the other dwarrow were becoming less standoffish as a result which pleased him. Dain was mysteriously absent, which was fine as far as Bilbo was concerned.
By Elevenses, Dwalin would seek him out with sandwiches and escort him out the secret passage for some fresh air and a walk. It was pleasant despite the winter chill and snow, and he looked forward to listening to the large dwarf grumble about his damp socks. Unfortunely, it didn't seem to have an effect on his strange illness that struck at random times throughout the four days, and though he seemed to be managing it better, it was still affecting his health. Any work that had been put towards gaining weight back since Lake Town had vanished, so that when he went to don his coat it almost swallowed him. All the dwarves from the company had started carrying smelling salts to pull him from his overwhelming fatigue after each incident of excruciating head pains. He was taking more time to rest in between, Dwalin and Balin extracting him from tasks to rest in his room, and but he still had nightmares that were so intense that he was unable find much sleep.
His nights were spent in the company of his friends and in his forage, laughing and learning. 'His' forage, as Dwalin had seen fit to rent the property for him as the rest of rooms and buildings in that part of the kingdom were becoming packed with dwarven businesses and artisans. The fact was that most of the kingdom was coming alive as more dwarves migrated from the Ironhills, and it was becoming a vibrant place to live, as intricate as the shire had always been. Bilbo knew it had probably been similar the last time they'd slayed the dragon, but he hadn't stuck around long enough to see the progress. This time, the fruit of his hard work was plain to see in the happy dwarrow he encountered every day.
On the morning of the fifth day, he heard a knock at his doors while Balin and Dwalin were going over his itinerary for the day. They looked at each other with 'who could that be' expressions. Every member of the company knew they were allowed to walk into the sitting area without knocking, and anyone else who needed to speak to Bilbo officially made an appointment through Balin. Dwalin stood, opening the door a smidge to look out into the hall.
"Dwalin." The gruff voice was recognizable, instantly causing Bilbo to tense.
"Dain, is all well?"
"Aye, might I speak with his Highness… privately?" Dwalin looked over his shoulder to Bilbo, who simply shrugged. This elicited an eyeroll from the dwarf, but he stepped back to open the door wider. Dain looked hale, no worse for the might they'd had, where Bilbo knew that his nose was now a sickly green. The red haired dwarf had a steely look in his eyes as he surveyed the room.
"We'll be just outside." Balin stood, quickly moving towards the door as he and Dwalin exited. This left Bilbo sitting on one of the cushioned chairs, staring at the most recent being who'd tried to kill him. Dain stood at the edge of the royal chamber, his broad shoulders tense as if the weight of his own pride was too much to bear. The silence between them stretched, thick and heavy. The dwarf cleared his throat, eyes lowered in acknowledgment of the position, the power Bilbo held over him, not just physically, but in his resolve.
"Your strength... I misjudged you," He began, his voice gravelly, no longer mocking. It was rare for him to admit a mistake, but the fight had humbled him more than he cared to admit. "You held back, with your blade; from the very start you could have ended me, slipping my own dagger between my ribs instead of cracking them with its hilt. You were toying with me..."
Bilbo didn't speak, instead watching Dain carefully, studying the male who had once thought so little of him. The fire crackled in the background, casting flickering shadows across the walls, and the tension hung in the air.
"I was wrong," he continued, stepping forward but keeping a respectful distance. "You're not just some... lesser being to hide behind the bigger ones. You fight with skill, with intelligence. I see that now."
Bilbo stood slowly, not out of aggression, but to meet at eye level. His expression was unreadable, but there was no malice, only the remnants of a battle fought, both physical and emotional.
Dain dropped to one knee, his posture one of complete surrender. The Damaskus dagger appeared in his hand, held flat as offering. "I swear my fealty to you, consort. My loyalty is to you, Thorin, and the kingdom of Erebor. I give it freely, for whatever you wish."
The words were heavy, not just with formality, but with sincerity. The weight of what Dain was offering wasn't lost on either of them. Bilbo's gaze softened as he reached forward to take the blade. Looking up at the hobbit for the first time, Dain could finally see the leader—the one who had commanded respect from not only the most honorable dwarrow, but from men and elves alike. He'd seen it in the faces of the soldiers during the battle, unable to comprehend how all these beings could come together under the call of this insignificant halfling. But there truly was an air about him, something persuasive that offered respect in place of demanding it.
Bilbo extended a hand, helping Dain rise. "This isn't just about strength, Dain," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "It's about trust. I know you love this kingdom as much as I do, I can trust that you want to see it flourish. I will never ask you to kneel again, but I expect your loyalty as an equal."
The dwarf nodded, his shoulders visibly relaxing. The power dynamic had shifted, not because of a fight, but because of mutual respect. It was the beginning of something new—not just allegiance, but a bond formed in the fires of conflict.
"Then I will warn you, Highness; the others have arrived."
The others being the original council of dwarves who had advised Thror till the time of Smaug. Balin had already warned him of their arrival, describing it as a political mess of epic proportions. Bilbo invited the brothers back into the sitting room so that they might all discuss a plan of engagement.
With Dain now on team Bilbo, he provided details that the other two had missed over their yearlong adventure with Thorin. This included blackmail, bribery and plots to overthrow Thorin if he was found to have gold sickness like his predecessors.
"They only ever doubted, believing that the ragtag team of dwarrow led by Thorin Oakenshield would fail. On the off chance that he did succeed, many schemes have been in play so that they could keep their positions near the throne." Dain shared with a shake of his head, "They believed I would want the throne, given that I'm a descendant of Durin. As if I could ever be king." He laughed heartily at his own joke, and Bilbo joined while passing a knowing look to Dwalin.
"What would you recommend," Bilbo asked, imagining snakes and rats in his hen house.
"As much as I think you should kick them all out on their ears, except for Balin of course, you're going to have to greet them and offer them a welcoming reception. This would fall to you as consort anyways, but you're playing both rolls while waiting for Thorin to return, it's best not to do anything rash until he is present."
"It was his idea to put the dwarves of his company into the council seats, correct?" He looked to Balin who nodded, "Then what difference would it make if I turn them away now?"
"Despite my acceptance of you as consort, many still don't agree. They are dwarrow from prominent families, and they will not take their dismissal from someone like you." He made a motion to all of Bilbo, who rubbed his eyes in frustration.
"Well then it looks like I'll be the meet-and-greet hobbit after all."
After Dain departed, Bilbo had been getting dressed when his brain had exploded, causing him to collapse in his room. Dwalin had heard the fall and rushed in to scoop him up and lay him in bed. It had taken close to an hour to recover enough that he could make his way to the council chambers, very late for his meeting.
The six council members of Erebor's last monarch were all elder dwarrow, the red and black having turned to grey and white in their long beards. They ranged in height and width as they sat around the council table, the Durin's table where Thorin had met with Bard and Gandalf before the battle. Each dwarf held a tankard of ale in their hand, with several empty tankards set to the side. As they caught sight of Bilbo in the doorway their smiles turned to sneers.
Bilbo stepped into the room with measured grace, the epitome of calm, though his patience was already wearing thin. Dwalin and Balin followed closely, while Dain had bowed out of this particular task with the excuse that he needed to see to some particular task or another. Bilbo envied him. As the council members turned their sneers on him, he greeted them with a warm, practiced smile he'd used often enough oh his most irritating relatives in the Shire.
"Ah, this must be our new royal consort, finally seeing fit to bless us with yer presence," one of the elders drawled from his seat, not bothering to rise for the hobbit, his tone thick with disdain. He was robust, his nose crooked at an angle, and a salt and pepper beard that split into two before joining again at the bottom.
Bilbo clasped his hands together, inclining his head slightly. "Indeed, I did think it best to prioritize this meeting, given how tirelessly you all must have worked to make yourselves comfortable in my absence." His eyes flicked briefly to the half-empty tankards of ale.
The elder dwarf narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
"Do forgive the delay," He continued as he moved around the table. "I understand that patience can be challenging for those of… advanced experience. Welcome back to Erebor, I apologize that Thorin isn't here to greet you himself." He gestured toward the tankards. "I see you've already made yourselves at home. It's heartening to witness such… informal camaraderie among the esteemed council. Truly, it sets the tone for a productive discussion."
Another council member grunted, his lip curling. "We've matters of importance to discuss, yer Highness, and little time for pleasantries." His hair was thinner than the others, whisps of white and dishwater blonde. A once full beard now dwindled down to a thin braid that ended abruptly with a singed clump.
"Of course," Bilbo replied smoothly, taking the high seat, with Balin seated at his side. Dwalin stood at his shoulder, arms crossed over his chest in a threatening display. "How generous of you to make time for this meeting despite the undoubtedly pressing demands on your schedules. I can't imagine how difficult the journey must have been." He could feel Dwalin's silent laughter at his shoulder.
"These matters are for Thorin, I'm afraid," a third dwarf butted in; bald, with thin lips and narrow eyes, his nose was the only prominent feature on his face, like a large tomato that matched his wavy red beard filled with intricate small braids. He looked irritated over the need to speak directly to the halfling.
Bilbo folded his hands in his lap, his expression serene. "Unfortunately, he is away. So, unless you wish to be left waiting until his return; Please, enlighten me? I wouldn't want to presume, given how deeply you all care for the well-being of this kingdom." The elders shifted uncomfortably, clearly unaccustomed to such polished, barbed hospitality.
"In truth, yer wedding is a farce, and we dona' recognize ye as consort of Erebor!" Number four shouted, very much into his cups. His hair and beard were a bush of ratted grey curls, making any other feature of the male indiscernible.
"I, as part of this council," Balin interceded, "have taken great lengths to review the law, there is nothing preventing Thorin from choosing whom ever he wishes as consort."
"Ye've no' been a part of this council for a time, Balin." Tomato-nose stood, slamming his tankard on the table, "And to side with this… is no' right. Mahal will surely see fit to curse this union." Maybe that's what's wrong with me? Bilbo thought idly, wishing this meeting was over.
"Aye!" Thin-beard spoke up, his voice as wispy as his hair, "It's unnatural! Has the line of Durin become so polluted?"
Just as they were getting really riled up, a messenger rushed into the council room. This insighted more yelling among the elder dwarves along the lines of "no respect" and the officialness of this office. Bilbo rubbed his temple at the growing headache.
The messenger quickly passed a note to Balin, who scanned the parchment before his eyes lighted on what it said. Stuffing it into his pocket, he bent his frame over to whisper in Bilbo's ear. "He's returned."
Instantaneous excitement pulsed through Bilbo's body as he stood. "Excuse me, esteemed council, you are very correct that these are matters for the King. Please enjoy further refreshments and do let me know if there is anything else I can do for you." They were left stammering at his "rudeness" as he and Dwalin made their escape.
Exiting the room, he moved quickly through the corridors to the landing above the main gate. Below him stood at least a hundred new dwarrow, greeting old friends and family after a long journey. He scanned the faces before he spotted who he was looking for. Rushing down the stairs, the Ironhills dwarves who'd attended his duel with Dain parted from his path instantly while the new Blue Mountain dwarves followed suite, questions on who the hobbit was filled the air. Like an arrow, Bilbo made his way to the center where Thorin stood speaking to some others. The flash of parting dwarrow drew the king's attention, and he turned in time to catch the hobbit as he flung himself into the dwarf's arms.
"I missed you so much," Bilbo whispered in khuzdul, the strong arms around his waist tightening.
Pulling back, Thorin raised his eyebrows in surprise, a pleased smile softening his features. The warmth in his expression melting away the weariness of the week. "Not nearly as much as I missed you, my light," he murmured, his deep voice carrying a tenderness meant for the hobbit alone.
Bilbo tilted his head back, gazing up at Thorin with bright eyes, a mix of relief and longing. Before either could say another word, he pressed his lips to his husband's, the kiss a perfect blend of desperation and affection.
The murmured conversations around them fell silent, but neither seemed to notice—or care. Thorin's hand slid up to cradle the back of Bilbo's head, holding him close as if to ensure he wouldn't disappear again.
A loud cough aimed in their direction drew Bilbo's attention. He broke the kiss, trying to catch his breath, his cheeks flushed as he turned to find a fine darkhaired female dwarf staring at them pointedly.
"Then this is Master Baggins, eh brother?" Dis inquired with a frown. "Not what I was expecting."
"I'd expected you to be taller." Bilbo retorted. Thorin audibly groaned as Dis roared in laughter.
