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It had begun as a startlingly beautiful day, with green hills simply rolling out ahead of them like royal carpets and Bilbo knew enough about the royal carpets these days. It was disconcerting, given that the dwarves kept trying to ensure he had royal carpets, and he wasn’t even married to Thorin yet. But that was what they were going to do, now, as they traveled, and so the day began much as their mood did: cheerful and high in spirits.

If only Bilbo had known it would end with rain and storms and slammed doors and tears.

The whole kingdom of Erebor had taken to the idea of Thorin marrying Bilbo like ducks to water. Bilbo had asked of Balin, jokingly, if he was an honorary dwarf now. Balin had raised his eyebrows so high that Bilbo had feared for the dwarf’s face.

“Laddie, you may be honored higher than Thorin is. You not only helped claim our home back, but you carried the Ring of Power all the way to Mordor. You saved everything.” Balin had waited for that to sink in before he’d given a wink. “’Course, I’m sure Ori could knit you a beard, if it’d make you feel better. When he’s not off proving to his brothers that he can really handle any weapon they give him.”

Or when Ori wasn’t in the library. As well as Ori handled himself in battle, he was still a scribe at heart, and the library had been Ori’s first real appointed job. He’d thrown himself in with gusto, and Bilbo had been happy for him. He’d taken to going down there himself, talking with Ori about the various books coming in from around Middle-Earth. King Elessar himself had sent a number of books and scrolls from the Gondorian library at Minas Tirith as a gift to Bilbo and Thorin for their newly betrothed status. They’d been exactly the type of things that the two would both enjoy, somehow, and the thought of young Aragorn leading his people so well still brought a smile to Bilbo’s face.

Their relations with the surrounding kingdoms besides Gondor had gone over well, too. Well, except for Mirkwood, but that had more to do with the fact that there was no kingdom, anymore.

Well, that wasn’t really true, either, because between Kili and Legolas, Bilbo was certain they’d take back all of Mirkwood themselves. When they had half a chance they were out there, Tauriel and Gimli right behind them to help. Though honestly, Bilbo knew that the real reason that the young elf and dwarf had agreed to go was because they’d made an agreement between them to be the unofficial chaperones to the two young princes. Bilbo thought it was adorable. Fili thought it was hilarious. Thorin would then remind him that Fili had chaperones of his own, as did Dernwyn, but the king would still grin. He did a lot more of that these days.

But never had he done so much smiling as he had the long trek back to the Shire. It seemed that when he’d sworn to marry Bilbo back in the Shire, he’d meant it. Which had really meant that he’d abandon his kingdom so newly formed, again, but he’d ignored Bilbo’s protests. “I can wait,” Bilbo had insisted.

“I have spent too much time without you by my side,” Thorin had replied firmly. “If I can remedy that now, know that I will.”

That had been his answer until one night, when Bilbo had finally cornered him alone on one of the balconies. “I know where I stand with you,” Bilbo had told him. “I don’t need a ring on my finger or a bead in my hair to know that. All I need is to look into your eyes and know that you love me. So why are you rushing to be away?”

Bilbo had feared the answer, almost, worried it had been the gold so many floors beneath them. But the answer had surprised him.

“I want to hold you as mine and mine alone, and know that we’re forever. I nearly lost you, and the memory of you on the slopes of that mountain…it’s more than I can bear,” Thorin had admitted. “I want your hands in mine, forever. I want new memories to replace the old. I want to see you in the Shire with my bead and ring upon you.”

And that, well. Bilbo hadn’t been able to deny that.

So they’d planned the journey west, with Kili and Legolas going with them, as well as Dwalin and Bifur. Tauriel hadn’t been dissuaded from joining them, too insistent with staying beside Legolas as his sworn protector. Gimli had wanted to come as well, insisting he be Kili’s guard, but they’d managed to convince him that by staying, he could protect Fili. Bilbo had almost sworn that Tauriel had looked disappointed.

Fili had been left behind with Dernwyn and the rest of the company, though they’d all sworn they’d be there in spirit. “Big feast when you get back!” Bombur had assured them. Bilbo had had no doubt about that, either.

They’d taken a path through Mirkwood that Legolas and Kili had cleared. Their path through the Misty Mountains had been easy indeed, and they had stopped in Rivendell for a few days, where Lord Elrond had been most pleased to see them. He’d promised Bilbo and Thorin a celebratory feast when they came east again, and Thorin had gone pink in the ears, much to Bilbo and Dwalin’s amusement. It wasn’t often that Thorin, King Under the Mountain, got flustered.

Then they had gone west further still, past Bree, over the river, and then…

“They’re whisperin’,” Dwalin muttered as they wound their way through Hobbiton. “All of ‘em, starin’ at you.”

“Hobbits are natural gossips,” Bilbo said. He’d already shrugged off the general murmur that was, he was certain, racing all through Hobbiton at this point. By the time he got to Bag-End, he expected quite a crowd waiting for him. “Besides, they’re staring at me, not you or Thorin. I’m actually the biggest shock, right now, so don’t worry so much. You’re not my guard, Dwalin.”

“Says who?” Dwalin said, and Bilbo blinked twice before turning to face the dwarf on his horse. After riding with the Rohirrim, it seemed habits were hard to break by them all.

“Wait, what? But you’re Thorin’s guard!”

“And you’re marryin’ him, which makes you just as much a charge of mine as he is,” Dwalin said firmly. “’Sides, m’not lettin’ you out of my sight anytime soon, even if Thorin ever did. Which I doubt. We lost you once, I don’t intend on it happenin’ again.”

Bilbo felt his face warm with embarrassment and a bit of joy, too. “I won’t,” he said, truly touched. “Thank you.”

Dwalin nodded. Bilbo glanced at Thorin, but his betrothed was gazing resolutely ahead. There was a small smile playing on his lips, though. As if he hadn’t heard everything Dwalin had said. Honestly.

A thought came to mind, and Bilbo turned back once more to Dwalin. “What do you need to fear about me? There’s only a handful of orcs anywhere left in all of Middle-Earth, and they’re not anywhere near here.”

“Orcs breed orcs,” Dwalin said. “There’s other things to fear in the world, laddie. Like other factions of dwarves against Erebor, though none’ve come forward yet. Bandits and robbers who’d kidnap you for a ransom. You’re a commodity now, marryin’ into royalty.”

Thorin shot a glare back at his friend. “What? Should know what he’s gettin’ into,” Dwalin said with a shrug.

Bilbo reached out and tugged at Thorin’s sleeve, pulling his attention back. “That’s all right: I’ve faced Mordor, I think I can handle anything else. It’s you I’m more concerned with right now,” he added with a cheeky grin.

“Why?” Thorin asked.

“Well, you’re about to face all of Hobbiton, if I guessed correctly. You’ve been warned.”

Sure enough, by the time they reached Bag-End, there was quite the crowd waiting for him. But all Bilbo had eyes for was the bright green door and the three people standing in front of it, waiting for him with wide eyes and bright smiles. He slid off his horse, much to the delighted and stunned gasps of the hobbits, and hurried over, arms flying open to take his cousins in. “Drogo, Prim! Esse!”

He was swallowed up not a moment later, his cousins laughing and spinning him around and embracing him so tightly in a way he had missed. Oh, how he’d missed the warm affections of his cousins. He pulled away with bright smiles. “It’s good to see you,” he said, certain his smile was going from ear to ear. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Good to see you too!” Primula said. She glanced back behind him and her smile broadened. “And you’ve brought friends! Esse, he brought dwarves! And elves!”

Drogo didn’t look as enthusiastic about it as his wife was, but he had a bright smile for Bilbo all the same. “We wondered if you’d come back looking like the old Bullroarer himself! All your adventuring and whatnot. We’ve heard the tales, y’know. Spread itself around the Shire. All Hobbiton’s been waiting for you to throw you a festival.”

Bilbo could feel even his feet blush. “I don’t need a festival at all,” he insisted firmly. “I’ve come back to Hobbiton to gather up a few of my things and get married.”

“Get married!” Esmeralda all but shrieked. “And you didn’t tell us? You’re dreadful, you are! How are we supposed to throw a party worthy of dwarves and elves and Bilbo Baggins if we’re not told these things!”

“Who’s the intended?” Primula asked.

Bilbo glanced back at his companions, who had come down from their horses to join him. The hobbits made way for them, whispering amongst themselves with wide eyes. They quieted down when Thorin stepped forward. Bilbo held out his arm, his open hand a clear invitation, and Thorin took it with a smile.

“This is my intended,” Bilbo said. He let himself stare at Thorin but for a few moments – this dwarf, this beautiful being who’d come running after him all the way into Mordor, his blue eyes, his dark tresses Bilbo loved to run his fingers through and he was doing it again – before turning back to his cousins. “Primula, Esmeralda, Drogo, this is Thorin Oakenshield, King of the great kingdom of Erebor.”

Esmeralda’s eyes got even bigger, if it were possible. “A king,” she murmured dreamily. From behind them, Bilbo could hear Kili coughing to cover his amusement.

Thorin gave a low bow. “At your service,” he said, and even Drogo looked to be in awe. It was hard not to, with Thorin standing so majestically, his travel coat off in deference to the warmth outside leaving his muscled arms obvious through his tunic, lips turned up-

Bilbo shook himself again. Dwalin was smirking at him, as if he knew exactly what Bilbo’s problem was, and Bilbo resisted sticking his tongue out at him as if he were a child. Or Kili. Or Fili. Given that he’d seen the both of them do it just before they’d left for the Shire, he knew it was something they still did, despite their age.

Primula gave a quick curtsy, with Esmeralda doing the same. “Primula Baggins, at yours. This is my husband, Drogo Baggins. We’re Bilbo’s cousins.”

“I’m Esmeralda Took, also a cousin,” Esmeralda said. “But everyone calls me Esse. Truly, they do, so please feel free to do the same. What’s Erebor like?”

Bilbo shook his head and waved her off before she could go any further. “Esse, we’ve a wedding to get ready for. We’re not staying long, truly we’re not.”

“As if!” Drogo said suddenly, glaring at him. “You’ll stay here for as long as you like. And I won’t hear anything of it,” he insisted when Bilbo began to protest. “This was your home before you wrote to the Thain and made it officially ours. That means, far as I’m concerned, that it’s yours just as much, and a welcome place to anyone who calls you kin. Makes them our kin, too.”

For all his Baggins nature, Drogo had married a Brandybuck; he’d forgotten that his cousin could be so tenacious and fierce when he wanted to. Bilbo felt a smile grow on his face. “Then we’ll stay here. Thank you, Drogo.”

Drogo nodded swiftly, and Primula caught his arm to give him a bright, proud smile. Bilbo watched them both and caught Drogo’s eyes drop, briefly, before returning to meet her eyes. He narrowed his gaze. “Prim, is there something you want to tell me?” Because he knew that gaze. He knew it, and he knew exactly what it meant.

Primula blushed but grinned. “We’re expecting in a few months’ time. The midwife swears it’ll be a boy.”

“A child is a wondrous gift,” Thorin praised, and Bilbo watched a genuine and wide smile appear on his face. “Many blessings to you both.”

Bilbo reached out and embraced her again. “Then I’m glad I gave Bag-End to you both even more,” he said. “This home needs to hear a child’s laugh again.”

“And it will,” Esmeralda said, winking. “Family’s been busy!”

“Esmeralda!” Drogo hissed, his ears turning red. Dwalin and Kili both snickered, and even Tauriel cracked a smile.

“Leave them be, Esse,” Bilbo scolded. “And scoot! I’ve a wedding to plan for.”

Esmeralda gasped. “Yes, yes you do! Oh, we can hurry and have it all ready by tonight-“

“Tonight?” Thorin and Bilbo said at the same time. Dwalin and Kili had long stopped snickering, and Bilbo could imagine their jaws dropped as low as his own was.

“It’s raining all week, didn’t you know?” Primula said. “Possibly beyond that, too.”

Storm season. Good for the harvest, but terrible for weddings. “Oh dear,” Bilbo murmured. “I’d completely forgotten.”

“Shouldn’t rain until tomorrow,” Esmeralda assured him. “We’ll set it up right quick in town-“

“The heart’s tree,” Bilbo said firmly, cutting her off. She frowned.

“It won’t rain tonight, I’m sure of it, there’s no need-“

“The heart’s tree,” Bilbo said again, pursing his lips. “Unless there’s a complication that conflicts.”

Esmeralda slowly smiled, and Bilbo felt his cheeks burn, because it really was a very romantic gesture, to be married under the heart’s tree. Getting married under the tree made him a complete and utter sap, and all of Hobbiton would know it. Not that he cared, but still, having to insist on it just made it all the more obvious.

And speaking of Hobbiton…

“Off with you all!” Bilbo shouted. “I’ve a wedding to plan!”

“Visiting hours will be later!” Primula called out after him. The hobbits finally dispersed at that, and Bilbo turned with raised eyebrows to his cousin.

“’Visiting hours’, Prim? Really?”

“You’re a real hero, Bilbo,” she said quietly. “There were wolves and orcs outside of the Shire, not a few months ago. Rangers kept them out, but, well, it was winter here.”

Bilbo’s heart stopped. “Prim-“

“But then all of a sudden, one day, the orcs were gone,” she continued, and she grinned. “Just took off after a terrible rumble of thunder that shook the land! Running this way and that like chickens out of the pen. It was a sight to behold.”

“Then one day, a Ranger came to tell us that the One Ring, from the old tales, had been destroyed at last, that Mordor was no more, and that you’d done it!” Esmeralda finished, clapping her hands excitedly. “You saved us, and you didn’t even know it!”

He managed to keep his feet under him, but just barely. The Shire, in danger? Orcs and wolves, just like the Fell Winter?

“Perhaps we can get them all inside, and not leave everyone standing outside?” Drogo brought forward, watching Bilbo with concern. “Prim, love, let’s have tea.”

“Absolutely!” Primula said, still too excited to notice that Bilbo had lost all his color. She immediately pushed the door open wide and led them in. Kili and Dwalin glanced at Bilbo as they passed him, frowning with worry, but Thorin nodded them inside. Bilbo leaned against the gate and tried to give a nod of his own, but couldn’t seem to manage it. Bifur grunted something to Thorin, then nodded at Drogo as he entered Bag-End, leaving a startled hobbit to stare at the axe in his forehead.

Legolas and Tauriel were last to enter, Tauriel almost looking hesitant given how low the door was. “It’s much taller inside,” Esmeralda assured her. She offered her hand to Tauriel, beaming even wider still when Tauriel took it. “You’ll love it, we’ve cakes and berries and, oh, elves do like cakes, don’t…?”

“She’ll hold Tauriel a vocal captive if you’re not careful,” Bilbo managed to croak out when Legolas remained outside, eyes creased in worry. “M’fine, truly.”

“Go, Legolas,” Thorin murmured. “It’s all right.”

Legolas glanced between Thorin and Bilbo, then finally nodded and went inside. Drogo went in last, keeping his eye on Bilbo until the door shut. Only then did Bilbo let his breath out, his knees shaking and threatening to send him down.

The gate moved behind him, and Bilbo startled until he realized it was Thorin’s arm he’d been leaning on. Or Thorin’s arm that had held him up, as he recognized the solid, sure hand at his back. “Do you need to sit?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo nodded and, with Thorin’s help, made his way to the small bench outside Bag-End. The wood felt good, felt familiar beneath him. From the height of Bag-End, Bilbo could see down all the way into town. The bustle of the Shire buzzed all around him, and the sweet scent of flowers, vegetables, and fruits was everywhere.

And suddenly, he couldn’t sit anymore, for he had somewhere else to be.

“Bilbo?” Thorin asked, a frown in his tone when Bilbo stood and headed for the gate.

“Come on,” Bilbo said tersely, already halfway down the lane. He heard the gate shut behind him and Thorin’s careful tread continuing behind him, but he didn’t dare look back. Not now. He had to keep moving and going swiftly, and he hadn’t been intending to do this, not really, not now, but the thought of orcs and wolves had driven it to the front of his mind. His ankle began to protest the abuse of the punishing pace he’d set, but he ignored it.

He was nearly there when he found a random patch of wild flowers growing alongside the road. He quickly ducked to pick them up, then continued on. He could all but feel Thorin’s confusion behind him, but the dwarf remained blessedly silent. It made it easier to continue pushing on and almost out of Hobbiton.

It was only when he began to trek up the hill, his gait getting a little uneven because his ankle was throbbing, did Thorin finally speak. “Slow down, your ankle won’t take much more abuse.”

“It’s fine, and we’re very nearly there,” Bilbo insisted.

He found a hand suddenly at his elbow, offering him a support. It was enough to make him pause, just for a moment, but enough that his sudden drive disappeared. He took the offered arm with his, and their steps up the hillside were much more sedate in pace.

When they reached the top, he felt Thorin hesitate. “Dwalin told me that I should know what I’m getting into,” Bilbo said, and Thorin reluctantly began to follow. “Well, you should know what you’re getting into, too.” He passed the groundskeeper with a small nod and tried to ignore the open stare of admiration he got. It was only slightly better than the pity he usually received from old Longo. He didn’t call for help in direction: he never did. He knew his way through the intricate paths and gardens well.

And then he was there, and he stopped in front of her. Her painted portrait was set into the wood that jutted from the ground, marking where she slept forever. He swallowed hard. She looked just as she had when he’d marched through Mordor. Well, stumbled through Mordor, more like, but she’d been there, just as she looked in the picture. Had her hair always been that dark? He remembered it shining with a golden touch, but he supposed it had gotten darker through the years, the long years after Father had gone on.

He took a deep breath in. “Hello, Mother,” he said softly. Beside him, Thorin went stiff, and Bilbo gently pulled his arm free of Thorin’s grasp. He knelt on the ground, ignoring his pulsing ankle, and rested the flowers against the wood marker. They were the brightest of colors, exactly what she would have loved.

When he stood back up again, Thorin was there to help him stand tall. Bilbo wished he could smile at the gesture that spoke volumes, but in the face of his mother’s grave, it was hard. Still, he strove keep his voice steady. “Mother, this is Thorin Oakenshield, my betrothed. Thorin, this is Belladonna Took Baggins, the greatest adventurer in all the Shire, and my mother.”

Thorin bowed his head. “I am well pleased to meet you,” he said, as if he were speaking to a real live person before him, and Bilbo had to swallow back his emotions again. “I wish I could elaborate upon how much your son means to me, and how wondrous he is, but I would simply be repeating what you already know.”

Bilbo buried his face in Thorin’s chest, tears suddenly and stupidly flooding his eyes. Oh, how he wished Thorin could have met her. “Do you think she would have approved of me?” Thorin asked softly.

“She would have been daffy over you, you dolt,” Bilbo choked out. “She would’ve loved you.”

Thorin caught Bilbo’s hands with one of his own, and his other arm came around to hold Bilbo close. “She saved my life, that winter,” Bilbo said suddenly, quietly. “I was almost of age, thought I could safely travel out and get food from Bree for everyone. I was adventurous, more than the others. Thought I had a chance of getting past the orcs and wolves.”

Thorin went tense beside him. “You obviously did, though,” Thorin said after a moment. “Or you wouldn’t be here now.”

“I didn’t get past them, though,” Bilbo told him. “I got cornered right after the river by a wolf and two orcs. I was a good shot, and managed to knock away one of the orcs with a rock I found.”

“You went unarmed?” Thorin asked, aghast.

“It wasn’t like I had a weapon!” Bilbo said. “I hadn’t truly expected to encounter wolves and orcs! But I did. They would’ve killed me, too, if it hadn’t been for my mother.” He almost smiled at the memory: terror stricken and on the ground, watching his death approach in the gleam of their eyes, and then suddenly, there’d been a roar, and Belladonna had waded into the fray with a frying pan and her biggest knife. She’d swung and smacked and cut them down, and she’d told Bilbo to run. And run he had, all the way back into Hobbiton. He’d waited for her there, waited and hoped she’d come back, and when she’d finally come back over the bridge, he’d broken down and wept in her arms. She’d clung to him and whispered assurances, as if he hadn’t scared the daylights out of her.

“She saved my life,” Bilbo said again. “I would’ve died that day if it hadn’t been for her.”

They stayed there for a long time in the sunshine, the trees and flowers swaying ever so slightly with the breeze. It smelled wet, with the promise of rain.

Bilbo finally wiped his eyes. “Esse’s right: it’ll rain soon enough. Hopefully not before tonight. You and I should get back.”

“There is tea waiting, or so I heard.”

“Raspberry tea, knowing Prim. She loves the berry fruits.”

“It’s my favorite tea.”

Bilbo glanced up at him. “Really?”

Thorin nodded with a smile. “Truly.”

Learned something new every day, it seemed. “Then let’s go,” Bilbo said. He gave his mother a watery smile and a quick wave, then turned to head back across the paths to Hobbiton. He didn’t pay the groundskeeper any further attention on his way back.

And he completely missed Thorin lingering at Belladonna’s grave for a half moment longer, missed the words of gratitude that fell from his lips, gratitude for raising Bilbo and being there with him as he journeyed to Mordor.

“…the party itself under the party tree-“

“Do you have a tree for every occasion?”

“Only the important ones, goodness! If we had a tree for every occasion…well, there are enough trees in all of Hobbiton to have one for every day of the year, and wouldn’t that be something?”

Bilbo ducked his head around the corner and mouthed, Don’t encourage them, before Primula yanked him back to finish fussing at his clothes. Kili grinned and took another sip of his tea. It wasn’t ale, but he had to admit, a hobbit could make some very fine tea. Even if he didn’t appreciate it as much as his uncle did. His dwarf uncle, not to be confused with his other uncle.

His smile broadened at the thought. “You cannot smile like that and not share the reason,” Legolas scolded lightly from beside him. Kili leaned a little more into his betrothed and grinned.

“I’m going to have two uncles,” he said. “Two uncles! A dwarfish uncle and a hobbity uncle!”

“With your hand promised to an elf and a woman of man as your intended sister,” Legolas said. Kili’s eyes caught on the braid hanging down Legolas’s back, the wooden bead sliding against his golden locks, and fought the urge to run his fingers through it. Not that it was improper or anything to do that in public, but it was going to get Kili in trouble because it would absolutely lead to other things that were improper in public. Like kissing Legolas until the elf knew the taste of his tea.

And Tauriel would break his fingers without a moment’s hesitation if she even knew his thoughts. Given how she was narrowing her gaze at him, he wondered if perhaps she knew already.

“That’s all the races covered,” Kili agreed, bringing his gaze back to the elf’s face. Legolas’s eyes seemed even bluer as they sat in Bag-End. Sunlight seemed to stream from every window, illuminating the elf’s bright eyes. “I’ll be connected to every race on the earth, now.”

“What of the orcs? Or goblins?” Dwalin drawled, raising his eyebrow.

Kili frowned, thinking it over for a moment, before he grinned. “Trophies on the wall. There! Absolutely covered in every way.”

From the corner, Thorin snorted before taking another sip of tea. Only Uncle could still manage to look fierce and royal, Kili thought mournfully, while sipping from a delicate tea cup. He had a feeling his uncle could wear flowers in his hair and still look every bit the fearsome dwarf he was. It just wasn’t fair.

“Ow! Prim!”

“Give me just five more minutes-!”

“No!” and with that, Bilbo quickly emerged back into the main rooms. “Your wife’s daft with a needle,” he told Drogo with a glare. “I don’t know what you’ve done to her, but she was never that wretched with one before.”

Primula came out behind him, glaring at the back of Bilbo’s head. “I’d do just fine if you’d just stand still for a moment! You’ve the worst case of jitters about you!”

“Because you’re coming at me with a needle in the worst way!”

Thorin, who’d begun to frown at Primula’s words, settled back into his chair with a hint of amusement in his face. It was a good look on him, truly. The last time Kili had seen his uncle smile before Bilbo had come along had been when Kili and Fili had been lads, stealing biscuits from the hot tray when they could.

“You miss your brother.”

Kili leaned in to rest his head on Legolas’s shoulder. The chairs in Bag-End had been surprisingly well sized for even the elves, and it’d left Kili at the perfect height to lean against his betrothed. “I do,” Kili admitted. “But being apart from him now is easier than it was…before.” He paused, waiting for it, the flash of fire and the sight of that terrible Eye.

Nothing came. He let out the breath he’d been holding. “Y’all right?” Dwalin asked in a low tone. Thorin and Bilbo were both watching him with concern in their eyes, while around them, Esmeralda, Drogo, and Primula were talking about the wedding and planning, not even noticing that the company had turned their attention to Kili.

Kili flushed to the roots of his hair and nodded jerkily. “S’fine, really,” he insisted quietly. “It’s…not there. Hasn’t been, since the Ring was destroyed.”

“But you still expect it,” Legolas said softly. “You still think it may come.”

Given how terrible the Eye had been, and how far it had burned into his core, he couldn’t believe sometimes that it was truly gone. But it had been, for some time, and Kili let himself smile. “Sometimes. But it’s much easier, now.” Healing took time, he supposed. Him longer than the others, even Bilbo and Thorin, though it didn’t make any sense. The physical healing had taken as long as anyone else, and Bilbo still couldn’t walk for a long time without his ankle protesting. But emotionally, his uncle and uncle-to-be had bounced back just fine.

Now that he thought of it, it seemed odd. But there’d been so much time apart between them that perhaps they’d worked out their deepest trouble in their souls so when they finally came back together, it had been a simple matter of forgiveness and reconciliation.

Even now, with Kili’s smile and admission, they were relaxing and glancing at each other with turned up lips and happiness in their eyes. He was grateful that it hadn’t taken as long for them to come back together: they were better together.

Not nearly as good as he and Legolas together, of course, but well enough.

“I can get the tent,” Esmeralda was insisting. “Really, it’s no trouble.”

“You’ll need help, you know,” Drogo said with raised eyebrows. “Carrying those tents requires two people.”

Esmeralda turned with a bright grin to Tauriel, who seemed to blink at the attention. “You’d be kind enough to go with me and help, wouldn’t you?” she asked. “I’d imagine such a strong and lovely elf such as yourself would have no trouble at all holding one end of a tent.”

Tauriel glanced at Legolas, and Legolas gave a nod with a smile. “I would be honored to be able to help,” the elf said, and Esmeralda bit her lips to keep back what Kili was certain would’ve been quite the enthusiastic shriek of joy. She couldn’t manage to contain the beaming grin of delight, though.

“Then we’ll be off! Bilbo, you need to let Prim finish you up, it’s past noon already!”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and slunk back into the bedroom, Primula already wagging her finger at him about how much weight he’d lost. When Esmeralda and a bemused Tauriel left, Kili could better see his uncle’s eyes following Bilbo, worry in their depths. “He’s lost a bit of weight, hasn’t he?” Drogo mused, only furthering Thorin’s concern.

“He’s gained a good amount back,” Kili said, if just to chase the shadows away from his uncle’s gaze. “It takes time to do that.”

“He has already come back through so much; I have no doubt you will see Bilbo returned to full health,” Legolas added. Thorin looked sharply at the both of them, but he settled back again.

“True enough, true enough,” Drogo agreed easily. “He’s more muscled than he was before, there’s that too, and that’ll strip you lean fast enough.” He chuckled, rubbing his own belly much as Bombur did. “And in that way, he certainly looks like the Bullroarer himself. Not a bit of fat about him, after the old Took had gone adventuring and battling as he did.”

Whether Drogo knew it or not, his words were settling Thorin all the more. When Drogo glanced sideways at the king, only to resume his gaze as if he’d never looked back, Kili could’ve stood up and kissed him for saying what he had. Seemed all hobbits had a streak of clever in them.

“Is there anything we can help with?” Legolas asked. “There must be more to be done before this evening.”

“Yes, yes! We’ve food to get ready, and preparations to be done. I could use some extra hands for carrying, if you’d be amenable.”

“Aye, we’re amenable,” Dwalin said, standing from his seat. “Lead the way.”

“It’d be, ah, easier without your axes, my good dwarf,” Drogo said, biting his lip hesitantly, much as Bilbo had when they’d first met the hobbit. Kili couldn’t have stopped his grin if he’d tried.

And he didn’t even bother holding back the snicker when Dwalin scowled but left his weapons in Bag-End. Even if it did earn him a cuff up the back of his head from his uncle and from Dwalin.

“There,” Primula said, brushing invisible lint from Bilbo’s sleeves. She glanced up in the mirror at them both and beamed. “Aren’t you the picture of handsomeness?”

Bilbo glanced down at himself, fighting not to fidget with his clothes. His crisp white shirt was a little loose, no matter what Primula did to sew it up, but it tucked easily into his gold trousers for a fitted look. She’d taken in the waist quite a bit, and while she’d fussed at his size, he’d only been thankful that she hadn’t seen him after he’d come back from his journey into Mordor. She would’ve thrown a fit at how small he’d gotten. He wasn’t quite back to the size he’d been before the dwarves had invaded his home, but he still had a few soft spots. Of course, he had his leaner parts, too, muscles from fighting and brandishing Sting, and callouses that didn’t seem to wear away no matter how much he soaked and pulled at them.

Well, Gandalf had said he’d come back a changed hobbit. And he’d done just that.

“Changed indeed, Master Baggins, but for the better, I should think.”

Primula squealed and raced to the door even while Bilbo turned to cast a narrow gaze at his friend. “Do you know everything that floats through my mind?” he asked of Gandalf, who had ducked low to embrace his cousin.

Gandalf chuckled and tried to stand a bit higher, but couldn’t quite manage it until he’d come through the bedroom door. He pulled his grey cloaks about him, though his long white hair had no hat upon it. “No, but when it’s obvious across your face, then yes, I do. I’d heard you had only come in to Hobbiton just this morning, and here I find you, already dressing for the event!”

“Storm season,” Primula said. “It’ll start raining and not stop for a few good weeks.”

Gandalf gave an ‘ah’ of understanding before glancing at Bilbo. There was something in his gaze that Bilbo didn’t like, and he went back to fussing with the buttons on his shirt. Where was his vest? “Prim, did you find my vest?”

“I hadn’t seen it, no,” Primula said. “But you don’t need it for the wedding: besides, you’re supposed to be dressed as simply as you can, offering yourself and your soul to your intended with no fancy gimmicks between you.”

His vest would’ve helped with the shirt, but Bilbo hadn’t seen it for two days now, and he’d hoped a deep search while he was finally able to unpack would’ve helped. He had plenty of clothes that he’d left here in Bag-End, but most of them didn’t fit him anymore. They’d fit Drogo, and that was fine.

He’d managed to distract himself so well that when Gandalf asked, “Primula, my dear, may I speak with Bilbo alone?” he was almost surprised. Almost. Primula gave a nod and called that she’d be fixing a light dinner when he needed her, and then it was just Gandalf and Bilbo. Bilbo kept his gaze on his shirt, fingers twitching on the buttons.

“You have come a long way, my friend.”

At the soft tone, softer than he’d expected, Bilbo looked up. Gandalf had moved to kneel on the floor, and there was a gentle smile on his face. When he opened his arms, Bilbo stepped into his embrace without hesitation. Thinking of those long months when Gandalf had still been lost to him made him clutch perhaps a bit harder than he’d been intending to, but Gandalf didn’t seem to mind.

When they parted, Gandalf was still smiling. “And I believe you have come through the better for it.”

“What, because I have a cousin harping on me about my size that’s very un-hobbit like?” Bilbo asked with a raise eyebrow.

“Because you’re getting married to one whom you have held dear for a very long time,” Gandalf countered, and all right, it was very much the best thought on his mind. His hands in Thorin’s, saying hopefully all the right things. It pulled a smile forward that probably looked just as giddy and ridiculous as it felt.

“Though I will admit to being slightly concerned.”

Ah, so whatever it was he’d come to talk to Bilbo about hadn’t slipped his mind, after all. “About what?” he asked, frowning when one of the buttons wouldn’t sit right on his shirt. Blast, if only he could find his vest. His feet twitched against the cool and familiar floor. “You married Arwen and Aragorn, didn’t you? You can marry the both of us.”

“I’m not concerned for me, but for you,” Gandalf said. Bilbo shot him a half-hearted glare because the button still wouldn’t sit right. He pushed it down and went to fiddling with the sleeves, which he felt Primula had tightened a bit too much.

“Whatever for?”

“Because as jittery as you can be, you’ve never seemed this jittery before. And even though you fuss with your appearance, you haven’t once looked in the mirror.”

Bilbo stilled. His eyes trailed to the legs of the mirror, polished and right in front of him, but he couldn’t seem to find it within himself to raise his eyes any higher. “No point looking in a mirror when I can just look down and see the same thing for myself,” he said, aiming for a light tone. He didn’t have to look back at Gandalf to know the expression the wizard was wearing.

“Has Thorin made any mention about them?”

He didn’t have to ask what ‘them’ meant. “No, of course he hasn’t,” Bilbo said shortly. The sleeves were too loose, now. He set about rolling them up. “As if he would. Dwarves think that scars are the epitome of greatness. He probably likes me all the better for them.”

“But you don’t.”

Bilbo glanced down at his hands. They were light and barely there, and one had to really look at his palms to even catch a glimpse of them. But he could see them: the jagged, light lines that crisscrossed his hands. His feet were worse, he knew that. His neck had healed admirably despite how torn and wretched it had been.

“Dwarves appreciate scars for the stories behind them, for the truth they tell. They’re a sign of life, Bilbo. You faced hardship and survived. And for that, I know that Thorin will always be grateful to see them.”

Bilbo took a breath, then another. “I…suppose so,” he said quietly.

Gandalf shook his head. “I do not even think that is what is causing you so much distress, however. It is simply one discomfort that you’ve latched onto.” He paused. “Much as you chose to go to your mother’s grave earlier today.”

Bilbo forced himself to breathe deeply. Honestly, couldn’t the hobbits keep their mouths shut for just once? “I hadn’t been in far too long,” he said. He wanted the vest now, more than ever. He wanted to just hide and not be seen for a bit. He almost missed the Ring for its ability to cloak him. Everything had been simpler when it had just been a magic ring that left him invisible. Lots of things had been simpler. His relationship with Thorin one of them, before the Arkenstone-

He shut the thought down immediately. He had Thorin completely and utterly now, and tonight, he would be his, his husband, his everything. It left him nearly dizzy with pure joy. His husband. His husband.

“Hmm.” Gandalf let out a sigh not a moment later, but he thankfully let the topic go. “I feel that your company has abandoned you to get ready for the wedding tonight. You may want to change back into your daily wear to catch up with them. The heart’s tree, yes?”

“Yes, the heart’s tree.” Bilbo did smile then, and even looked up into the mirror when he did so, catching Gandalf’s gaze in the reflection. “Thank you for being here, to officiate. It means a lot to us both…but especially to me.”

“You’re embarking on a new adventure,” Gandalf said with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Once, Bifur had been the loudest and most outspoken of dwarves. He’d had power in his voice, and he’d reveled in it, leading the dwarves with his warrior cry into battle, engaging them in song for victory or grief. Now, now he had no voice, save for his hands or the language only his kin could understand.

But he’d learned that there was a power in simply being silent and watching, too. Because by observing, one could see everything.

Like today. He’d watched the hobbits as they bustled about town and had read their emotions well: surprise, a bit of wariness about the dwarves, but their open and friendly nature had soon come back and they’d welcomed the dwarves as if they were long lost kin. Even Bifur had been welcomed, despite the axe. Their obvious joy when they spoke of Bilbo had only endeared the hobbits to his fellow dwarves, and Bifur had leant his strength gladly when it had been called for. Just looking at all the food the hobbits were arranging was making him hungry.

He watched his king smile more than he had in so long, a tension no longer in his shoulders. This was not King Thorin, son of Thrain of the line of Durin. This wasn’t truly Thorin Oakenshield, either, a warrior flying into battle.

This was Thorin the dwarf who, currently, was letting the children of Hobbiton run about him with giggles and cries for a story. He laughed and told them a few tales of the dwarves that even grown hobbits leaned in to listen to. But it was only the children that Thorin had eyes for.

And that, Bifur understood, as would any dwarf. For while dwarf women would often bear many children, dwarf women themselves were rare. Dis, Thorin’s sister, had been a blessing in the kingdom when she had been born, perhaps more than even Thorin himself. When Fili, then Kili, had been born, none had been happier than Thorin. He’d called the children his own even before their father had died. Children were a blessing, and even Dwalin had a soft smile on his face with the multitude of children running rampant about the market square.

Of course, the children had abandoned Thorin for a more interesting sight: Gandalf, with the esteemed Bilbo Baggins in tow, who had been watching the scene before the children had spotted them.

Reading Gandalf was always interesting. The wizard could hide much, but it was often not out of deceit, but for his own sake. His emotions were always pure: he was joyously happy or grievously disheartened. His aura of wisdom seemed to hang about him, drawing those around to him like a moth to a flame.

Bilbo, today, was a different matter from how he usually was, and it made Bifur frown. Where the hobbit usually exuded optimism and cheerfulness, there was now only a forced, too big smile and a tightening around the eyes. He went with the children merrily enough, but urged them to go back to playing with Thorin while they could. “I’m old news,” he joked, and the hobbits gave a laugh as the children tore back down the cobblestones to where Thorin sat on a stool, still waiting.

Bifur wasn’t the only one watching. Thorin’s face held a knowing gaze and a creased brow as he regarded his intended, but he turned his smile up when the children returned. They came back with even more of a fervor, it seemed, asking if Thorin had ever seen Gandalf’s fireworks, or if Bilbo had truly been so heroic. Thorin took the last request with enthusiasm, and soon he was telling the tale of the great Bilbo Baggins, with Kili and even Dwalin interjecting here and there. The children were in awe, and the attitude of the hobbits rose to even more of a hero worship.

Surprisingly, Bilbo’s attitude didn’t change. If anything, he seemed even more tense, but it wasn’t Thorin or the hobbits he was looking at, Bifur realized. No, Bilbo was gazing at the multitude of children gathered around Thorin like little ducklings around their mother.

When the realization came, Bifur saw that Gandalf, too, had picked through the puzzle. The wizard only looked resigned, however. This was not a new conversation, then. Bilbo fidgeted and ran his fingers over his palms.

It was one of the few times that Bifur wished he had a voice he could use to speak to Bilbo, to assure him with words that he desperately needed to hear. But it wasn’t Bifur’s voice that Bilbo needed then, anyway. He wondered if he’d have a moment to speak with Thorin, to try and gesture that something was wrong.

Hopefully Thorin would keep an eye on Bilbo himself, and it wouldn’t come to that. Bifur was dreadful with trying to explain matters of the heart, anyway.

He’d just keep a better eye on Bilbo, that was all. He made his way over to the hobbit, pausing until Bilbo turned his gaze upon him. He rested his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and squeezed, offering a nod and a smile. It’ll be okay, little burglar. Don’t dwell on things past. Your future is bright and joyous, and your love returned.

Some of it must have come through in his gaze, for Bilbo relaxed, just a little, and gave Bifur a returning smile. “Thank you,” Bilbo said softly. “I’m glad you’re here, Bifur.”

Seemed he didn’t need to speak, anyway. Bifur gave an acknowledging grunt, his own heart feeling warmed at the friendship so freely offered. Bilbo had never judged him differently for not being able to speak, or even for the formidable blade in his head. The hobbit had only ever asked about it, curiosity too much to bear. Bofur had translated readily, and Bilbo had been friendly ever since.

And for that kindness, Bifur would stand beside him through any hardship, be it physical pain or emotional distress. He didn’t need words for that either.

Thorin had thought he’d be nervous, with Dwalin and Kili poking at him off to the side underneath the wide branches of the heart’s tree. He was almost grateful that Bifur was there: the quiet dwarf was a nice buffer against the nonsense of the other two. Especially when he’d landed two carefully placed elbows into two specific sides of two certain dwarves. It had silenced them, for a time. Long enough for Gandalf to step into place, for Legolas and Tauriel to also find a spot up on the hill.

Long enough for Bilbo to come forward, his cousins leading the way.

Later, Dwalin would readily tell the story about how Thorin stared like a lad who’d never seen the undergarments of a woman before (which he had; he’d shared quarters for a time with his sister, he knew very well what they were, unfortunately). Kili would embellish and say that it was as if he’d been offered the prettiest feast and the only seat at the table for it (which Thorin would respond to by smacking him upside the head and ignoring the sniggers from both of his nephews). But in truth, Thorin didn’t quite remember what he himself did, except stare at Bilbo.

Hobbits were, like many other beings in Middle-Earth, fond of their layers. Where dwarves favored darker, thicker layers, hobbits were fond of their brighter colors and vests all around. He’d expected the white and honey colors. He just hadn’t expected the lack of layers.

All Bilbo had was the white shirt, blowing gently in the breeze, and the honey trousers that came down just below his knees. The collar of the shirt was open, buttoned down to reveal Bilbo’s neck, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows to reveal his strong forearms and calloused hands. On his breast was the pin, the pin that Bilbo was never without. His hair hung freely in the breeze, but Thorin could make out small red and white flowers tucked into his curls. Chrysanthemums, his mind supplied, thinking back to one of the long days they’d walked on the journey to Erebor, when Bilbo had spoken of the flowers along the way and what they meant. Chrysanthemums meant-

“These are important flowers,” Bilbo said, plucking the flower from the ground. “They mean quite a few things, but above all, they symbolize love. Fidelity, joy, long life. The white ones mean loyal love and truth, and the red ones symbolize the most reverent and purest of loves one can ever have.”

He hadn’t remembered it until now, and seeing the flowers in Bilbo’s hair only pushed back and away the tension he’d felt all day, worrying for Bilbo and about Bilbo and the entire affair and even what he’d chosen to wear, his simple dark blue tunic and his tan trousers.

Bilbo met his eyes as he stepped forward across from Thorin, and he smiled even as his cheeks went pink. “They compliment your eyes,” Bilbo whispered, breaking the silence, and Thorin smiled. He knew exactly what Bilbo was looking at.

He’d asked Esmeralda, on a whim, if they’d had violets anywhere. He was certain the hobbit had all but torn a skirt in her race for the door to find the flower. He’d wound it into his braids, his own promise to Bilbo. It was the one flower he’d remembered the meaning of from Bilbo’s day of ‘teaching’. Mostly because it was the one flower Bilbo had plucked but hadn’t been able to discard, though he’d talked of any flower except the one in his hand. Even Fili had noticed, and when his nephew had said something, Bilbo had flushed but answered with a steady voice.

“It means…it means a promise of faithfulness, of love. They heal broken hearts and protect love. It was my mother’s favorite flower. My favorite, too.”

It had been worth it, now, to set the flower in his hair, if just for the look on Bilbo’s face. His smile was worth more than all the gold in the earth, and Thorin reached out, his palms faced upwards. Bilbo didn’t hesitate as he placed his hands in Thorin’s. It felt like coming home, like finding a peace that Thorin had never known, and he resisted the urge to wrap his hands tightly around Bilbo’s and never let go.

Gandalf began to speak, some words that Thorin honestly couldn’t focus on. Not with the breeze picking up and tussling Bilbo’s curls about his face, ruffling the collar of his shirt and baring just a little more of his skin about the neck. The shirt swayed in the wind, billowing to the side and only revealing the body Thorin itched to hold. Never before had he wanted to wrap Bilbo in his arms so much, to touch him and hold him and keep him protected and safe. He yearned to have Bilbo in his arms, and it looked as if Bilbo was just barely keeping himself back from racing forward towards Thorin.

Mahal, why had no one told him that a wedding would be so difficult?

“Will you exchange your tokens?”

His part, at last. Thorin felt the bead and ring being placed in his hand by Dwalin, and he offered both forward, placing the woven banded ring he’d made himself on Bilbo’s finger. “This ring I give you as my outward promise that you are beloved by me and will be cherished forever,” he swore. The ring was a hobbit custom shared by men, and one that Thorin had been loathe to not have in the ceremony.

He then tugged a gentle lock of Bilbo’s hair forward and did the braid he had long been practicing. The bead he slid on was forged of mithril with a small golden vein running through it, tree branches and roots woven across the cylindrical bead. “This bead I give you as my solemn vow to hold you and comfort you in all times of hardship and peace.” When he let the braid go, it swung gently to rest just below Bilbo’s ear. It nearly touched the smile that spread across Bilbo’s face.

Drogo stepped forward with Bilbo’s tokens, and the single band of mithril slid effortlessly upon the dwarf’s finger. Thorin blinked, truly surprised at it. “I, um, made it,” Bilbo whispered. “Took me awhile, I’m not the best one for a forge, and mithril’s hard to work with. But I’m supposed to be the one that makes my own token, and Dwalin’s a good teacher.”

Thorin could hear Dwalin shuffling awkwardly behind him, probably thoroughly embarrassed at the quiet praise. “He is,” Thorin agreed, just to make Dwalin all the more red. It gave him time to recover from the fact that Bilbo had been working in the forge for him.

Gandalf cleared his throat gently, and Bilbo jumped. “Right, sorry.” He cleared his throat before saying in a loud and sure voice, “This ring I give you as my solemn promise that you are held as first in my heart and in my soul, that I will never forsake you, and that you are mine.” He fumbled with something else in his hand, and Thorin was even more stunned at the bead he produced. He bowed his head slightly for Bilbo to begin undoing his braid of intention, only to begin braiding it with the braid of one newly married, much like the one Thorin had put in his curls. Thorin caught a glimpse of the bead before Bilbo slid it on, the mithril shining in the candles hung from the tree, and saw a letter T with the long top of the letter curving around a smaller B. Thorin frowned and looked to Bilbo in askance when Bilbo finished tying off the braid.

Bilbo gave a small shrug, but the blush was back. “You carried me. You’ve protected me. That’s what I think of, when I think of you: wrapped around me, keeping me safe. My shield.”

Never before had Thorin felt so tall and strong, yet so humble and small at the same time. The bead hung like a weight and a promise.

“With these tokens you have professed your bonds before these your witnesses. I pronounce you wedded; may your lives together be long and blessed,” Gandalf said, loud enough for those gathered around the base of the hill to hear. A cheer went up even before Thorin leaned forward and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s. He tasted like something sweet, like raspberries, and Thorin knew that had been on purpose. He let his tongue dip out to taste his beloved, and Bilbo let out a soft moan. Properness, he needed to remember properness here, with himself and Bilbo in front of all of Hobbiton, but with Bilbo’s warm mouth on his, his lips wet and begging to be bitten and kissed, his arms and hands aching to hold his hobbit, it was getting hard to remember that.

A sudden roll of thunder was all the warning they got before the rain descended. Shrieks and shouts were heard as it began to fall. Even through the many woven branches above them, the rain still trickled through, and the breeze blew the rain across the hill. Everyone on the hill moved to the tree trunk, where the branches were thicker. Thorin wrapped Bilbo in his arms to try and shield him from the weather, the white shirt already damp beneath his hands.

When he glanced at his beloved, Bilbo was smiling broadly, despite the wet curls that were hanging across his face. “Husband,” he whispered, and Thorin rested his forehead against Bilbo’s.

“Husband,” he whispered in return. They’d get to the party in a short time. For now, it was just him and Bilbo against the heart’s tree, the rain blowing and falling merrily about them, nothing more important than his husband in his arms where he belonged.

“This is why I wanted my vest,” Bilbo muttered as he dashed up the lane to Bag-End, the lanterns the only light in the evening and rain. “Places to put things like handkerchiefs.”

Which he wouldn’t have needed if someone had thought to remember that a handkerchief was meant to bind the wrists of those married in their first dance. And, of course, without his vest, Bilbo hadn’t had one.

The rain was still coming down, though not nearly as badly as it had been before, when the storm had first broken. Still, it made him wish for something to cover himself with. His shirt was all but drenched and sticking to him, and the only reason he hadn’t said anything about it was because Thorin had assured him it wasn’t a matter to be concerned with. Given the way Thorin had watched him, like he’d been the most handsome being he’d ever seen, Bilbo had agreed. It was funny: one look from his husband, and all the worries about his appearance had faded away.

Bilbo grinned again. Husband. That was never going to get old. He moved quickly up the path and turned into Bag-End, anxious to get inside and light a few lamps.

“Going to run away again?”

Bilbo stopped, his good mood falling immediately. Lobelia. He really should’ve expected it, he truly should’ve. He hadn’t seen the woman all day, but that hadn’t meant she wasn’t there. He kept the smile on his face as he turned to face her. She looked like a drowned rat, even in the faint glow of the evening lanterns, her hair all about her face. It helped keep his smile up. “I’m celebrating, actually,” he told her. “Have you no congratulations for me?”

“For you, certainly,” she said, arms crossed. “Marrying into royalty, and isn’t that something?”

“Something indeed,” he said with a swift nod. “Good night, Lobelia.” He’d sworn to Thorin he’d be right back, and having a verbal spar with Lobelia wasn’t going to make that quick.

“Is it congratulations to him, though, given what he married?”

Bilbo froze. Lobelia, sensing her chance, seized it. “You were always the odd one out; even your mother fit in better,” she said over the rain. “And then you went off onto an adventure, of all things, and got yourself all muddled up with terrible, horrible things. You come back with almost nothing but bones on you, a far cry from a proper hobbit, and your feat are all scuffed up and scarred! You can see ‘em with every step you take!”

He pushed his feet so hard into the ground his ankle protested. His fingers felt frozen on the doorknob, cold and wet from the rain. “Scars are a symbol of survival,” Bilbo said, staring hard at her. “Of which I did, by the way.”

“And got everyone pitying you,” Lobelia snapped. “Poor Bilbo Baggins, went off into Mordor, of course he won’t look very hobbit-like anymore! Well, you’re certainly not very dwarf-like, either. So that leaves me with my question: what’s in it for a king to marry you? Why should I offer him congratulations?”

Bilbo tried to find air to breathe, but her words were like knives in his heart, plunging deep into every terrible thought he’d had for so long on the journey out, after the euphoria of Thorin proposing had given way to reality and the truth, that wretched truth of-

“What’s he get out of this? You can’t bear him children, you can’t offer him anything more than a warm bed, and you can’t even do that like a proper hobbit could, because you’re hardly a proper hobbit anymore, are you? You’re scrawny and nothing to look at-“

“I saved Middle-Earth,” Bilbo said and blamed the shaking in his voice on the cold rain that was leaving him drenched. “I saved all of you, every one of you, and I did it because it was the right thing to do. That terrible, horrible Ring, and you’ll never understand what it did to me, what it would’ve done to the earth.”

“So is that it? He’s marrying you out of responsibility, out of gratitude? Or out of pity?”

Bilbo stormed towards her with such intent that Lobelia backed away, fear in her eyes. Only when he saw that did he take a breath and clench his fists. “You know nothing of me and Thorin; don’t claim to. Just because you’re unhappy with life doesn’t mean you need to try and make it miserable for anyone else. The wedding feast is open to everyone, but so help me, Lobelia, if you try and speak with my husband, I’ll have his guard throw you out. Good night!” And he caught the door sharply behind him and slammed it shut.

Then he stood and shook. Everything she’d said was everything he’d feared, everything he hadn’t wanted to look closely at. But it was all true, all of it.

Dimly he registered that he was sinking to the ground in the curved doorway near the living room, back sliding against the wood. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hung his head. His hair dripped silently to the floor in the quiet darkness of the home.

Gandalf had been right: his mother’s grave, the mirror, the children in the market…all of it had nothing to do with the issues themselves and everything to do with the bigger issue: Bilbo himself. They were all reminders of everything Bilbo couldn’t get right.

His mother, the voice that had aided him on his journey but reminded him too much of the travels themselves, of his mental instability as he’d hallucinated, of how he’d failed to stay strong. The mirror, reminding him of the scars and every imperfection and wrongness he felt when he thought of how he had to look, now, of the different hobbit he was from the one Thorin had met and first fallen for. And the children, the children that he knew all dwarves craved. The children that Thorin had watched with such wide and joyous eyes, and Bilbo was taking that away from him.

Did Thorin truly want to be saddled and tied to him for all eternity? He tried to remember the joy he’d felt when Thorin had gifted him his bead, the tree matching his pin, the interwoven ring on his finger that he wore even now, but it was gone in the face of Lobelia’s too-truthful words. What had Thorin gained by marrying Bilbo?

The door swung open. “Uncle?”

Bilbo sniffled, drawing Kili’s attention to him. “He’s not here,” Bilbo said quietly. “I don’t know where he is.”

“I meant you, y’know,” Kili said. He crouched down in front of Bilbo, wearing a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “You’re my uncle now, too. Fili’s as well. You don’t want to know how ecstatic we are about that, we’d just embarrass ourselves.”

Bilbo tried for a smile, because he had to get up, he had to get back to the party. But one look at Kili’s face told him he was just going to be wasting his time. “What’s wrong?” Kili asked. “I know the rain’s a downer, but it’s lovely rain, if it makes any sense. And you’re missing a wonderful feast. All for you and Thorin.”

“I just, I just need a minute,” Bilbo said, and he was suddenly pleading with Kili. “Just a minute, I’ll get myself together, just, just don’t tell your uncle.”

“Tell me what?”

This evening couldn’t get any worse if Bilbo tried. He pushed his palms into his eyes, feeling fireworks explode behind them. When he finally opened his eyes, Thorin was still standing there, Primula and Dwalin behind him. Esmeralda and Bifur and Drogo were quick behind them, panting from their run. “Did you find him?” Esmeralda asked breathlessly.

Thorin looked completely bewildered, and Bilbo felt terrible that he’d been the cause of it, that he’d worried them all, but he couldn’t find his voice. Primula was gazing at him with her too-knowing eyes, and she only spoke one word. “Lobelia?”

Bilbo glanced away. Primula let out a growl that made even Kili startle back. “I’ll throttle her,” Primula swore. “I swear I’ll wring her neck, Bilbo.”

“Not if I get to her first,” Esmeralda swore. “What did she say?”

“I think it’d be best if we left Bilbo and Thorin alone for a bit, ladies,” Kili said. He gave Bilbo’s arm a comforting squeeze before he stood. Between Drogo and Kili they ushered everyone out, and then the door was shut. Bilbo moved his gaze to his feet and watched water droplets slide down his legs.

After a long moment, Thorin’s boots slowly made their way in front of Bilbo. Then it wasn’t his boots but his knees, legs tucked under him to kneel in front of Bilbo. Bilbo bit his lip and hung his head even further.

A gentle hand curled beneath his chin and raised his head. Bilbo hated himself for the way his eyes burned at the tender touch. Thorin’s face was calm but blank, as if he was suppressing his emotions, whatever they were, and Bilbo hated himself all the more. “Who is Lobelia?” Thorin asked first.

“A cousin,” Bilbo mumbled. “Wretched woman. Always has been.”

“The Sackville-Baggins you spoke of? The ones who contested Primula and Drogo’s ownership of Bag-End?”

Bilbo nodded. Of course they’d put up a fuss. Bilbo hadn’t expected anything less, which was why he’d sent a letter straight to the Thain. You couldn’t really argue with the Thain.

Thorin’s fingers were slightly damp but cool against Bilbo’s face. “What did she say?” Thorin asked.

Bilbo snorted. “Does it matter?” he asked bitterly. “What matters was that it was true, and I just, I just didn’t want to think about it.” No, he’d been content to live in his happy bubble of betrothal and forgiveness he hadn’t deserved. Had Thorin truly felt guilty enough to ask for Bilbo’s hand?

“She questioned your marrying me?”

“She made a statement about you marrying me.”

Silence fell. Rain pattered down on the windows, a quiet soothing sound that was as familiar to Bilbo as the feel of Thorin’s fingers was, now. He wanted to lean into the touch, to take what he could before the bubble burst.

When Thorin sighed and spoke again, it wasn’t what Bilbo had been expecting. “She said you were an unfit choice for me, didn’t she? And you agree.”

Bilbo blinked and met Thorin’s gaze. Thorin looked sad but knowing, and Bilbo swallowed. “How…” He realized that Thorin wasn’t surprised at his words, was almost resigned, and the knot in his stomach felt like a stone. “You’ve been waiting for this. For me to say that.”

“Yes. For some time now, actually.” Thorin took a breath. “I didn’t push the wedding for me, though I wanted nothing more than your hands in mine as swiftly as I could. There, I didn’t lie to you. But I pushed it for you. Because I know…I know you’re uncertain what place you hold in my heart.”

“Never,” Bilbo said fiercely, glaring at Thorin. “Never. I know you love me. I haven’t doubted it for a second.”

“But you don’t understand why I do,” Thorin argued, and Bilbo fell silent, because there wasn’t much he could say in the face of that. Not when it was true. “I wanted you to have the wedding to know that I will not leave you. I will go nowhere without you. Where you go, I go. I have many mistakes to mend, many regrets that I must atone for. These rings, these beads, they’re a symbol to you and to me that we are bound together, in heart and soul.” He gave such a sad smile that Bilbo wanted to reach out and wipe it away, to give him something to truly smile for. “And I’m glad I did, for ever since I came in, you’ve had your hand wrapped around your bead.”

His ring was also pressed against the bead, clinking just so, and Bilbo let the bead go guiltily. He felt like a child, dragging their treasured blanket or stuffed toy around to feel more secure. “I don’t need a bead or a ring to know that you love me,” Bilbo still said. “They’re lovely gestures, and their meaning is beyond-“

“Bilbo,” Thorin cut in gently, and Bilbo bit his lip, suddenly wishing he was back in the tent, that he’d never left for the stupid handkerchiefs, that he was dancing with his husband while everyone cheered and raised a toast. Not sitting in his dark and quiet old house, his husband kneeling before him with grief, regret, and worry in his eyes. This wasn’t how their wedding was supposed to go. He was supposed to be happy.

But Lobelia’s words had only shattered the illusion that Bilbo had put around himself. Because Thorin was right: he doubted the love so freely offered. He’d spent so long wandering Middle-Earth on his path to Mordor, the last words to him from Thorin being full of rage or a confusion he hadn’t understood. Then, when he’d returned, he’d been offered so much love that he hadn’t known what to do with it. So he’d taken it and clutched it to him like Smaug had clutched at his gold, refusing to let it go, and trying not to question why it’d been given to him.

Thorin sighed. “I fear I did you a disservice,” he said, and Bilbo froze. “I didn’t let you be angry with me. I simply begged for your forgiveness, for I was selfish and that was what I craved.”

Bilbo frowned. “What?”

“You never had time to be angry with me,” Thorin said. “You deserved to rail and rant at me, and I took that from you when I pleaded for kindness. We…haven’t truly talked about that day in the throne room. About the Arkenstone-“

“In the past, done with,” Bilbo insisted. “It’s fine.”

“And that is exactly what I was afraid you’d say,” Thorin said, and at least now he looked frustrated and not melancholy. “How can you simply dismiss it?”

“It wasn’t you,” Bilbo said firmly. “It was the gold-lust talking. You wouldn’t say that to me.”

“What if it had been me?” Thorin asked, eyes glittering in the dark, and Bilbo froze. “What if it had truly been me speaking?”

“It’s not-“

“But what if it was?”

“It’s not, it’s not,” Bilbo said, his voice going higher and higher. “I know it’s not-“

“How? How do you know?”

“Because you love me,” Bilbo shouted. “I saw it on the paths to Erebor, in the pin you gave me, how I was beloved and how you fought across Middle-Earth to speak with me and find me in Mordor without a thought for yourself, which you should’ve taken, you stubborn dwarf, do you know that I would have died if anything had befallen you, because I love you!”

His words echoed in the foyer. There was a triumph in Thorin’s gaze, but also relief. Bilbo let his own words sink in and felt the weight of their truth. “Were you waiting for that, too?” he finally asked.

“Not waiting for, but hoping for,” Thorin admitted. “I knew the truth of it, but I wanted you to know it, too. To believe it.” He caught both of Bilbo’s hands between his own, then paused when Bilbo stilled. Carefully he turned Bilbo’s hands over with his palms facing up. In the shallow light, Bilbo knew Thorin could see the slight scars that remained.

Gently Thorin bent down and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s palm. Bilbo’s eyes burned as he watched Thorin move to do the same to the other hand. When Thorin looked up at Bilbo, there was no holding him back as he lunged at Thorin, nearly sending the dwarf tumbling backwards. He all but fused his lips to his husband’s, clutching at his wet hair and braids. Thorin’s hands were large and warm against his wet shirt, and Bilbo shivered. Promise, Thorin had made a promise. Thorin was going nowhere.

“Tell me again,” Bilbo gasped when they parted for air. “Tell me your promise.”

Thorin cupped his face and stared straight at him. “I swear to you that I will never leave you, will always be beside you, will always love you and cherish you, because you are mine,” Thorin vowed. “You are mine, Bilbo Baggins. And if anyone should be concerned over why one married the other, it should be me. The greatest being that ever lived, who destroyed Mordor and Sauron on his own, agreed to marry me. What have I to offer you?”

“Your heart,” Bilbo whispered. “Your heart, your soul, it’s all I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“And all I want of you,” Thorin told him. “That is why I married you. Because I love you, and being apart from you was the worst thing I’ve ever felt. The agony of not knowing where you were, the fear I had for you…I won’t go through it again. I love you, and you will never be able to know just how much I love you.”

Oh, Bilbo could take some guesses. The euphoria from the wedding ceremony was back, but so too was a quiet warmth that was neither excited or dull. It was like a slow burning in his heart that clutched it and wrapped it in its warmth, and Bilbo remembered when Thorin had put the pin on him for the first time. This was how he’d felt then. This was what Thorin’s love felt like.

He pressed his forehead against Thorin’s. Thorin brushed his nose against Bilbo’s, tickling just so but enough to bring a bright smile to Bilbo’s face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thorin, just…”

Thorin shushed him. “You and I still need to speak words. But not now, not tonight. Later. I want the words and truth in your heart.”

“They’re not kind truths,” Bilbo admitted softly. “About me, or…that day.”

“I would have them,” Thorin said. “All of them. For your heart is mine as much as my heart is yours.”

For half a moment, Lobelia’s words edged through, but Bilbo accepted them this time for a different reason. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmured. He brushed a lock of drying hair from Thorin’s face. “I really don’t.”

Thorin chuckled and shook his head. “It’s I who doesn’t deserve you, beloved. But I will be a selfish dwarf and take you anyway.”

The rain had softened while they’d spoken, and Bilbo could hear now the strains of music from the party tree. “You can help me find a handkerchief,” Bilbo told him. “I need one so I can dance with my husband.”

Thorin’s smile was too bright and contagious for Bilbo to not grin in return. His heart felt lighter and more at peace than it had for some time. They still had words to speak. Perhaps Bilbo had forgiven too easily. But all he’d wanted was the kindness and love that Thorin had offered. He hadn’t allowed himself to consider that even if he spoke the truth, if he told Thorin how that day had made him feel, that the kindness and love would still be given.

It seemed that was the case.

He let Thorin pull him to his feet. “I’ve handkerchiefs in my pack in the bedroom,” he said.

“Bedroom?”

“…On second thought, you should stay here and wait for me. Or we’ll never leave.”

“Given the state of your shirt, I would have to agree.”

Bilbo blushed all the way back to the bedroom, Thorin’s soft laughter following him.

The dance had gone well and, thankfully for Thorin, Bilbo’s shirt had dried enough that Thorin hadn’t been tempted to forgo properness and haul Bilbo further away from his party. Fears and doubts long coming had already done that once.

He should’ve known that the shadows in Bilbo’s eyes had everything to do with self-doubt and not a fear of the wedding. But Thorin’s own fears of Bilbo’s dread had kept him silent. When Bilbo hadn’t come back after leaving for a handkerchief, the company had risen immediately, leaving the hobbits to continue toasting and cheering and being merry. It was hard to join in the frivolity when the memory of losing Bilbo was far too near.

Somehow, Kili had gotten ahead of them and found Bilbo. But seeing Bilbo curled up in the dark, looking half-drowned and fully entrenched in sorrow, had instantly stopped Thorin’s heart. He’d heard a name of the party responsible, a name he was certain his kin would remember for him, and then it had all been Bilbo, and Bilbo’s fears, and worst of all, Bilbo’s doubt. His plan to hasten the wedding, to put aside all of Bilbo’s fears and worries, had been for naught.

Bilbo leaned against him now with a contented sigh. Hobbits had come by their table many times that night, wishing them well. One Hamfast Gamgee had come by and been so enthusiastically happy to see Bilbo that Thorin had nearly offered him a seat at the table. It was clear to all that the hobbit had missed Bilbo, and Bilbo had missed him. Good friends, then. Thorin glanced over at his good friend who even now was merrily chugging down ale, to the constant encouraging of the hobbits around him.

Off on the designated floor, the hobbits danced to the fiddles and drums and pipes that played. The rain outside only made for a light accompaniment, not even dimming the joyful tunes. Kili was on the floor with Legolas, the hobbit children dancing around them. Even Tauriel was dancing with Esmeralda, who seemed ecstatic with her dance partner.

“Blossom love,” Bilbo murmured. “Her first. She’s absolutely besotted with Tauriel.”

He had to admit, that was exactly what it looked like. “Do you think Tauriel knows?”

“She’s an elf; I’d be concerned for her vision if she didn’t.”

Thorin snorted and wrapped an arm around Bilbo. The white shirt was mostly dry, but it still hung loosely about Bilbo, gently caressing his skin. It was nowhere as tempting as it had been earlier, when it had clung to his skin and showed tantalizing glimpses of the body beneath.

“They seem happy,” Bilbo commented of Kili and Legolas, thankfully distracting Thorin from the growing warmth inside him. His mother had told him once that the wedding night seemed to highlight everything attractive of the one you loved and leave you even more wanting than before, and she’d been right. He wasn’t certain he’d desired his beloved so much as he did now, knowing that Bilbo was his. And that wretched, forsaken shirt wasn’t helping.

Bilbo was looking at him now with raised eyebrows, and Thorin cleared his throat. “They do, yes.” Especially with the children giggling and dancing with them.

“The children are probably the happiest,” Bilbo commented, but he was still watching Thorin. Thorin frowned slightly until he remembered how Bilbo had come into the market earlier that day: tense and watching Thorin and the children with a nervousness he hadn’t understood. Now, now he did.

“I would imagine so. But Kili’s probably thrilled to dance with them. There aren’t many children among the dwarves, and every child is a blessing. I’m grateful, however, that I’ve done my raising of little ones already. Kili and Fili were a handful. A joyous handful, but a handful nonetheless.”

Bilbo almost seemed to melt in his arms, the tension dissipated so quickly. “You don’t want children?” he asked meekly.

“No. I have two sons, one of whom will ascend to the throne in time, and the other will help him lead. I have no need for children unless they be Fili’s.”

“I think, when that day comes, we’ll all say, oh, what’s the phrase? ‘Mahal help us all’?”

Thorin snorted out a laugh that was completely undignified and nowhere befitting a king. Bilbo grinned from ear to ear. “Have we corrupted you, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, still chuckling.

“I don’t know; I think I’ve corrupted you, Master Oakenshield. And here all I had to do was wear a white shirt.”

Even as Thorin mock-scowled at him, even as Bilbo laughed, Thorin found himself reveling in the light that was back in Bilbo’s eyes. Bilbo had been happy in Erebor, had been content and in love. But there’d been a nervousness there too that had only grown the closer they’d gotten to the wedding. Now, now it was gone, and in its place was the spark that had carried Bilbo through to Mordor, that Thorin had seen the day he’d asked Bilbo to marry him.

They still needed to talk. But Thorin was determined to never let that spark go out again.

He pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s head. “Beloved,” he murmured.

“Husband,” Bilbo murmured back, and Thorin smiled.

Mine. My Bilbo, my husband, my cherished and beloved and only one.

He gazed at the rings on their fingers, felt the weight of his bead in his hair. And sitting there, in the Shire, the rain just outside the large tent they were celebrating under, Thorin felt perhaps the happiest he’d ever been in his entire life.

And when Dwalin finally stood up and let out a belch that Thorin swore they’d heard all the way back in Erebor, leaving the hobbits cheering and Bilbo laughing so hard he cried, Thorin knew it was true.