Chapter Text
“I’m so glad you’re here. I need help,” exclaimed Fíli, bursting into Bilbo’s favorite reading nook.
Bilbo glanced up. “If you’re running from danger, you should know that this makeshift library is one of the least defensible locations in Erebor, as I’ve been informed by Thorin on more occasions than I can count.” The King had assigned a few dwarves to fortify it, since Bilbo refused to stop spending so much time there, but they were still at the planning stage.
Fíli shook his head. “No, it’s a matter of. Er. Diplomacy.”
“Well, let’s hear about it then,” said Bilbo kindly, marking his place and closing the book. Over the past few months of rebuilding Erebor, he’d become an informal counselor to the two princes whenever they didn’t want to admit their missteps directly to Thorin. “Whom did you offend?”
“Nobody. Yet.” Fíli ran a distracted hand through his hair. “But the Ironfoots won’t leave me alone about marrying one of their eligible daughters, and Mother has been no help at all. She says, and I quote, ‘There are half a dozen to choose from, and you’ve never been picky about your food or your clothes, so why start with your bride?’”
Bilbo winced in sympathy. “Harsh.”
“And I can only make so many excuses to get out of invitations to dinner and dancing! Parin Ironfoot in particular has gotten so persistent that I finally took Kíli’s advice—”
“That was your first mistake, but go on.”
“—and told her I was already engaged.”
“Ah.” Bilbo raised his eyebrows. “I expect she wanted to know the identity of your betrothed?”
Fíli nodded miserably. “I said the first name that came to mind.”
“Which was?”
“Ori.”
Bilbo smiled. “So what’s the problem?”
“He’s going to hear about it! His brothers are going to hear about it! I told Parin we hadn’t announced it yet because the families are still negotiating, and asked her to keep it quiet, but it’s not like I could threaten to slit her throat if she tells anyone. Thorin and my mother will hear about it, and if I’m lucky they’ll laugh and make me marry one of the Ironfoots anyway, and if I’m unlucky they’ll flay me alive! What should I do, Bilbo? You always find a clever way out of things.”
“Well, you could simply ask Ori.”
“Ask him what?”
Bilbo stared at the young prince. The line of Durin could be denser than a Mirkwood thicket, but surely Fíli had some awareness of why Ori’s name had been the first to come to his mind. “What do you think?”
Fíli fiddled with the beads on his braids, and finally said, “I could ask him if he’d be willing to pretend with me, to let people think we’re engaged until the Ironfoots leave.”
“I suppose,” said Bilbo witheringly. “That is one of the possible questions you could ask him.”
“Or maybe you don’t need to ask him anything at all.” Ori emerged from the other side of a bookshelf.
“Ori!” exclaimed Fíli. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s a library. I was reading. And overhearing a conversation about me.”
Wishing to give them privacy, Bilbo reached for his ring, then realized that his sudden disappearance might disrupt the scene more than his continued presence. He held his breath, sitting as still and quiet as only a hobbit can. Fíli and Ori were brave, honest young dwarves. Surely they’d be able to speak their minds and settle the matter.
“Please accept my apology,” said Fíli with a stiff bow. “I foolishly brought you into my problems when I had no business doing so. I will confess the lie, so you need not concern yourself with it.”
“Apology accepted.” Ori shuffled his feet, looking just as awkward as Fíli. “But, er. Would you accept my help, if it were freely offered?”
Fíli’s eyes widened. “Really? I'd be so grateful! We wouldn’t have to pretend for very long, you know. The Ironfoots plan to leave as soon as the snows melt.”
It took all of Bilbo’s strength not to sigh aloud. He had clearly underestimated the dwarven predisposition to utter block-headed idiocy.
“We’ll have to convince our families that we’re serious, though,” Ori pointed out. “Nori might be willing to pretend, but he’d be just as likely spoil it at the worst possible moment. And Dori would never go along with a false engagement.”
“Neither would my mother, or Uncle Thorin.” Fíli looked at Bilbo pleadingly. “You won’t tell them, will you?”
Bilbo sighed. His relationship with Thorin, while more than enough to keep him in Erebor, still felt fragile at times. They’d both shed bitter tears over their rift on the battlement. Withholding information was hardly the best way to rebuild trust between them.
However, it seemed inevitable that this ridiculous plan would reveal to both Fíli and Ori the truth of their feelings for each other. Then the pretense would be over, and there would be nothing to hide. “I won’t lie to Thorin,” said Bilbo carefully. “But I think it will be easy enough to steer our conversations in other directions for as long as necessary.”
“Thank you, Bilbo!” Fíli turned back to Ori. “After the Ironfoots leave, we can break it off however you like.”
Ori rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “We could say that our families weren’t able to agree on the contract? Nori can be a nightmare in negotiations, and Dori’s so proud he wouldn’t give an inch on anything he thinks we deserve.”
“And my mother’s even more stubborn than Thorin. Between the two of them, they’d probably tear up any reasonable marriage contract. It’s all settled, then. Thank you so much, Ori.” Fíli offered his hand.
“Just one more thing.” Ori took Fíli’s hand, pulled him close, and kissed him full on the mouth.
Fíli made an undignified noise. Bilbo himself squeaked in surprise. For a moment, he hoped that this simple gesture might resolve everything.
Then Ori pulled back, his face bright red, and stammered, “I thought we should, um, practice. To make it believable.”
“Yes, of course, practice, good idea.” Fíli nodded vigorously. “Shall we go tell our families?”
Bilbo waited until he was sure they were out of hearing before falling back in his chair and letting out a groan of despair.