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As Bilbo Baggins sat on the ground in front of the fire, tugging at his collar and sending a furtive glance to Bofur at his side, he attempted to figure out what he had done. He was so entirely confused because he was certain he hadn’t done a thing. Everything had been going rather well the last week, actually, and he was getting along with the Company - there was even a distinct lack of degrading remarks from a certain dwarven king. Well. Until now. Sort of.
Yes, it was an oddly quiet and peaceful week of travel. They hadn’t run into much trouble at all and were simply traveling long distances each day, closer to Erebor with each passing one. Not that they were close, of course, but it was the principle of the matter. So then why, in all of Yavanna’s acorns and leaves, was he on the receiving end of a familiar and fierce blue glare?
Because the last three days Thorin had been glowering at him whenever they happened to look in each other’s directions. Which, considering every time they were at camp or resting and Bilbo happened to look around to see the king staring at him, happened to be quite a lot. Anytime the hobbit found himself pinned by the gaze, the dwarf seemed to take a moment to realize he had been caught before he hastily turned away, barking at whoever was nearby; if no one was, he would begin to stalk around in search of someone to be angry at.
Bilbo gulped, glancing sidelong up at Bofur, digging his elbow into the dwarf’s side to catch his attention. “Bofur,” he hissed. “He’s doing it again. Please tell me what I’ve done wrong this time. I’ve been doing everything I can to not bother anyone, especially him, but he’s acting as if I insulted his entire royal line!”
Bofur glanced across the fire before he snorted, turning back to whittling a piece of wood into what looked like the beginnings of a bear, shrugging a shoulder. “Who knows!” he said, entirely too cheerfully. “He’s had it out for you the past few days, hasn’t he? We’ve all noticed but until he decides to tell you what you’ve done we’re just as much in the dark as you are, Bilbo. Keep ignoring it like you’ve done and maybe it’ll die down on its own. Aye, hopefully it will as he’s been making everyone feel a mite miserable.”
The hobbit scoffed. “It’s only getting worse the longer we go on!” he whispered waspishly. “I have attempted to give him a very wide berth because I fear if I get too close he will suddenly explode and kill me in the process. I tried to approach him yesterday morning and I swear his body heat increased seeing as how he seemed determined to set me ablaze. Please, please, can you offer me some advice on what I can do?”
The dwarf sighed, smiling, and when he looked at Bilbo, his eyes were twinkling. “Have you asked Dwalin or Balin? They might know what’s crawled up his arse or at least have some idea,” he suggested, raising a brow.
Bilbo puffed up. “Yes! I have, actually, thank you!” he announced. “Dwalin told me he wants nothing to do with it, whatever that is supposed to mean, and Balin seemed at a loss himself. He suggested trying to approach him when he’s in one of his better moods but the last one was days ago so I really can’t!”
“Ohh, are we gossiping about Uncle?” a happy voice asked as a body thudded heavily to the ground next to the hobbit, startling him into clutching at his chest. Kili grinned. “Fee and I keep trying to ask what’s got him in such a state but after he forced us to spar with him at dawn yesterday we’ve given it up. When he’s angry and swinging a blade, we can see him imagining what we might look like without our heads.” The dwarf shuddered.
“Aye,” Fili said, as they were never to be separated, collapsing in front of his brother, looking at Bilbo and wrinkling his nose. “It all started when we were washing up at the river we figure. Once we got back onto the ponies Uncle tore into us for daring to laugh in his proximity and he’s been in a black mood since. We can’t recall anything happening between breakfast and the river, no matter how hard we try!”
Bilbo frowned, dropping his elbows onto his knees and resting his chin in his hands, staring glumly at the fire. “Yes, I’ve gathered the same,” he mumbled. “I certainly didn’t do anything when I was washing myself and attempting to not have any hairy dwarven rears in my view. Thorin was closest to me and I’d barely gotten my tunic off before he went storming out of the water and splashed dear Ori something fierce.”
The brothers and Bofur snickered at that memory, but the hobbit didn’t find it all that amusing, thank you. Kili gave a sudden gasp.
“You weren’t attempting to get an eyeful, were you, Bilbo?” he asked, sending a lewd wink his way. “Uncle always gets a bit awkward when someone looks at him too closely and given that he’s not overly fond of you-“
“I was doing no such thing!” Bilbo squeaked in mortification, feeling himself flush all the way up to the tips of his pointy ears at the utter impropriety of the suggestion. “Kili! You should know me better than that by now! I would never…! For Eru’s sake, no, no I was not attempting to ogle your uncle. I was mourning the fact that I couldn’t find any decent place for some privacy!”
“There are plenty of better dwarves to ogle, anyway,” Bofur said with a lecherous grin and the hobbit groaned loudly in distress. “Meself being one of them, of course. I would hardly blame you for doing such a thing, Bilbo, you don’t have to settle for his royal stick-up-his-arse!”
Bilbo buried his face in his hands as the three dwarves who were supposed to be his friends laughed at his expense. “Do you know what,” he declared, dropping his hands and hopping to his feet. He turned, resting one hand on his hip and shaking his finger between the three of them. “You three are of no help at all and I shall continue to be miserable on my own, thank you very much for nothing!” He turned and began to stomp away before he paused, turning back to them.
“And you dwarves are far too hairy to be of any such appeal to me! Much too small of feet and your drinking songs leave much to be desired! And you have horrid taste in pipeweed - no, nope, you could never hope to be good enough for us hobbits to even consider!”
He turned and marched to the other side of the fire, collapsing next to Ori and crossing his arms grumpily over his chest. The young dwarf smiled at him as he patched up one of his woolen mittens that had gotten snagged on a particularly wicked tree branch the day before. He reached over and patted Bilbo’s hand.
“That’s the spirit, Bilbo,” he said kindly before he went back to his work. Bilbo nodded once in satisfaction, looking back across the fire at his previous three companions who were all chuckling and grinning his way. He sent them a rude hand gesture and more than those three began to laugh most uproariously.
Dwarves.
——
Two nights later found the Company camping in a clearing just beside the woods and at the edge of a steep cliff that overlooked further forests and rolling hills beyond. Bilbo sat on an old log that had long since rid itself of bark, smoking his pipe and enjoying the rather lovely view. The stars above seemed closer and more stunning than the last few nights and he was going to take full advantage. He and the dwarves had finished supper not long ago and everyone had finally settled down to relax, chatter among themselves, and smoke to their heart’s content before they dropped off.
Bilbo needed peace and quiet for himself now and then. No one could blame him for that, surely. Especially not since the leader of their Company decided he was even more abhorrent than the dwarf had previously thought possible, apparently, and still continued to grunt and glower at him. The hobbit was ready to give him a swift kick to the groin or simply turn around and run back to the Shire - it was entirely unfair because he hadn’t done one blasted thing wrong.
He grumbled around the stem of his pipe before he took a draw of it and blew it out in a great gust. Yes and that of course reminded him that he would likely have a dragon to face at the end of his journey - indeed, turning tail and fleeing was sounding better and better by the moment.
The hobbit was pulled out of his sour thoughts when he heard the crunching of twigs and dead leaves beneath boots, twisting around to look and see who would dare disturb his brooding. Well. The King of Brooding himself, apparently. Bilbo swallowed down the whine that had attempted to escape his throat, instead hunching his shoulders and turning to look back over the once beautiful landscape.
Thorin didn’t bother asking to join him, he simply sat heavily down on the log, his forearms on his knees and his hands hanging between them. He was painfully silent and the air was beginning to grow hot with its stifling awkwardness until the king let out a sigh.
“Master Baggins,” he said in greeting. “Why are you not with the Company this evening?”
Bilbo side-eyed the dwarf. “Er… well, thought I’d get some privacy with my pipe. Sometimes the quiet is a welcome thing for me. Us hobbits may be loud during a night of drinking and good company but, ah, that’s not something that happens every night, certainly. Why do you ask?” he ventured, on high alert for any signs of potential anger that might lead to insults for no blasted reason.
“You have not needed a night of quiet in some weeks,” Thorin commented, voice neutral. “You are getting along well with the Company and they assumed something may be amiss.”
The hobbit furrowed his brow, remaining silent in hopes that the king would continue speaking - he, of course, did not. “Err… well, no, nothing is amiss? I told Bofur I’d be over here for a bit, he should know nothing is wrong,” he said cautiously. “Why… why are you asking me? Ah, not that you, um, wouldn’t, but, you know, I- oh bother it all. Can I help you with something, Thorin?”
Thorin’s eyebrows had lifted as he watched Bilbo attempt to find his words. “You are part of my Company and I must ensure you are fairing well for the journey,” he explained as if that somehow made sense. At the hobbit’s obvious gawking, the king developed a somewhat pinched look to him. “I also wished to have you explain something to me of hobbits.”
Bilbo was attempting to move on from the very idea that Thorin could possibly care how he was fairing considering he was the one causing all of his current distress. It didn’t help when he caught up to the king’s other words; he wanted to know about hobbits. Surely the world had gone mad. Bilbo tugged at his collar.
“And… that would be?” he managed, staring up at the dwarf with no small amount of concern.
Thorin stared right back at him with something that looked like uncertainty before his features evened out into his ever familiar mask and he turned away, looking out over the world beyond. “All races have soul marks. I assume hobbits do as well. Explain yours to me,” he all but ordered.
Bilbo felt his thoughts come to a sudden halt and his mind seemed to go blank because- what?
Of all the questions Thorin could ask him, even about hobbits, he wanted to know about their soul marks. The impropriety of it was one thing as it could be a delicate subject but the dwarf wanting to hear about them far surpassed any discomfort from that and sent him soaring into the mortification of having to talk about it with him. There was not one reason Bilbo felt he would ever become privy to that the king would have for asking beyond simple curiosity. And Thorin was not curious in any sort of way about him.
When he received an expectant look, Bilbo started. “O-Oh. That’s, er… soul marks? I, well, of course hobbits have them? We- yes, we do have them, and they do indeed show us the other half of our soul, much like everyone else on this good earth. I can’t imagine they are any different than you dwarves’ own marks. We receive them when we come across who we are tied to and after that, well, there’s typically a bit of a courtship. And a wedding follows quickly after that. May I ask why you wish to know this?” he asked Thorin, his eyebrows in his hairline.
The king was looking at him with a rather fierce frown now. Of course he said something he didn’t like, of course he did! “Hobbits do not receive their marks until they meet the other half of their soul?” Thorin asked quietly, disbelief coloring his voice. “Not before then?”
Bilbo blinked. “Well, no? Our souls have to meet first, of course,” he said, eyeing Thorin in confusion. “You receive your own marks earlier?”
Thorin gave one very slow inclination of his head and then simply continued to stare at him again. It was a mite disconcerting, thank you. Blue eyes raked up and down along his face as if he were searching for some sign of deception - why he thought the hobbit would lie about such a thing was baffling in and of itself.
“We dwarves receive ours when we come of age,” Thorin blurted out so suddenly and with such a startlingly amount of hoarseness that Bilbo jumped. The king cleared his throat. “Or near enough. Not all of us have one: some dwarves’ love goes into their craft and they are happy for it.”
Bilbo clutched at his chest, not realizing he was, gaping at the dwarf next to him. Was Thorin breaking some law by spilling dwarf secrets? The hobbit knew they guarded much of their culture with greedy fierceness - he learned it the hard way by casually mentioning around the campfire that he would be interested in studying Khuzdul if he could find a way to pronounce the most guttural parts of it. With the way the dwarves reacted, he might as well have insulted each and every one of their ancestors and he suspected if a cell had been nearby he would have been tossed into it.
“I see,” he finally managed to squeak out. “I suppose that we are a bit different then. Elves are much like us hobbits and now that I think on it, I believe Men are born with theirs. Ah, though I don’t know of any hobbit that never received theirs. Perhaps in rather tragic circumstances but those are very rare for us indeed. My mother and father met young, of course, and knew they belonged together but my mother made him wait quite a good long while so she could go explore to her heart’s content! He was more than happy to wait, he would tell me, because his mark was the outline of an eagle and one does not cage an eagle.” He smiled to himself, sighing softly before he shrugged. “I have yet to receive my own but I imagine if I do not end up in Smaug’s belly and I return to the Shire, it’ll come around at some point. I’ve enjoyed living as a bachelor though, quite a lot actually, so I’m not complaining!”
Bilbo watched the trees spread out below them sway with the light breeze that was now moving over the lands and lamented that he would need to return to the fire soon before he got too chilly. It took him a moment to notice the complete silence from the dwarf next to him and when he glanced at Thorin, he started. The king was staring at him as if he had grown two heads but once he saw he was caught he forced himself into the best neutral expression he could muster right then it seemed.
The hobbit swallowed. “W-Was that not what you were expecting to hear…?” he asked, frowning at the dwarf. “We are different races so it’s not all that surp-“
“Excuse me,” Thorin interrupted him, standing from the log and shuffling to his feet. He glanced at Bilbo, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something before he snapped it shut, turning and beginning to march back toward the camp. The hobbit watched him retreat with his own jaw lowered, his heart beating quickly in his chest with the sudden exertion he was putting forth into trying to figure out what in Eru’s name had just happened.
He continued to stare after the king until Thorin threw himself down at his bedroll next to Dwalin. Bilbo could see the big brute ask his friend something and whatever Thorin responded with had him shaking his head in what looked like exasperation, thrusting his arm through the air. The hobbit didn’t need to hear them to know they had lapsed into Khuzdul - Thorin had a certain look to him when he began to snarl in it.
Bilbo Baggins would never, not once in his life, ever understand dwarves. And least of all Thorin Oakenshield.
——
When the Company came across a mellow river, the king called for an early camp so they could take advantage of it before crossing, and Bilbo was grateful for it. Though this time, as he watched the dwarves happily bound off to wash themselves or lead their ponies to water, he had plenty of opportunity to hide behind an outcrop and not anger anyone by existing.
So, when the majority of the dwarves were in a group in the water and distracted by all the nonsense that came with that, Bilbo ducked behind the outcrop and rid himself of his clothes. The top of the rock formation was flat and would be a wonderful place to lay in the final hour of daylight - he could use the sun and the warmth it would bring. Especially given the rather chilly nature of the river.
Bilbo grabbed the soap he had hastily shoved into his trouser pocket and wet it, quickly beginning to wash himself and pretending he didn’t see the murky water that followed. This whole traveling in the wilderness business was getting rather old and while he would no longer say it aloud, he very much wanted a soft mattress and feather pillow to lay on.
“Master Baggins,” a voice said from behind him and the hobbit did all he could to hold onto his soap.
Bilbo let out a strangled yelp, whirling around and letting out another when he saw a massive chest not two feet from him. Dwalin was eyeing him with one arched hairy eyebrow and his arms across his chest, which really did nothing but make it all the more terrifying. The hobbit turned quickly back around, shaking his head in an attempt to rid himself of the bulging muscles and sprawling tattoos he had gotten an unfortunate eyeful of. And hair, always hair.
“Dwalin!” Bilbo squeaked out. “What do you think you’re doing? You scared me half to death, could you not announce yourself?! And what are you doing?”
The dwarf behind him snorted and Bilbo winced when he heard the water ripple. “I’ve a question for you. Do all hobbits carry their soul marks on their backs?” Dwalin asked without preamble, completely ignoring the hobbit’s questions otherwise.
Bilbo was whirling right back around to gape up at the dwarf, his jaw lowered in shock. “E-Excuse me?” he managed, scandalized. The nerve of such a question! But all the more important, “How in the world do you know that?”
Dwalin gave him a look, one that said he thought he was being purposefully obtuse and would really rather him stop doing such a thing. “Oh I don't know,” he began sarcastically, “maybe the fact that that’s where yours is. Is that a yes then?”
“I-I am sure I don’t know what you mean!” Bilbo immediately declared. “I most certainly do not have a soul mark as I have yet to meet the other half of my soul! Unless it was Radagast and I simply didn’t notice!” He scowled, waving his hands in a shooing motion at the dwarf. “Now if you’ll excuse-“
“Hobbits do not receive their marks until they meet their One?” Dwalin rudely interrupted, his eyebrows inching toward his, well, lack of a hairline. He sounded doubtful at the very thought of it.
Bilbo was painfully reminded of his conversation with Thorin. “Yes,” he hissed, feeling a blush creeping along his nose. “Now, I certainly don’t know why this is important to any of you but I should like to finish my bath in peace, please and thank you!”
Dwalin stared at him before he gave a great big sigh, raking both of his hands slowly down and along his face. The muttered Khuzdul was, of course, indecipherable but Bilbo felt he got the gist of it. The dwarf dropped his hands back into the water and they both got a decent splash out of it; the hobbit seemed to be the only one who cared.
“I don’t know about the wizard but you’ve got a very distinct mark on your left shoulder blade, burglar, and I’d say that means you have received it,” Dwalin said, pointing a large finger at the hobbit’s shoulder before he jabbed it none-too-gently there. “Congratulations.” And then he simply turned and began to walk off, clearly not caring one bit about the very impact his words had.
Bilbo stared in horror after him, only hastily turning away when he began to see more dwarf rear end than he wanted to, tossing his soap onto the lowest rock on the outcrop. He immediately grasped at both of his shoulders, face tomato red as he reached his hand around and brushed his fingers over his shoulder blade. He felt nothing there but marks weren’t raised in any sort of way and it wasn’t surprising. The hobbit swallowed past a dry throat and moved further into the water until he caught more sun, waiting until the worst of the ripples were stayed before he craned his head back, peering down and attempting to catch a reflection of his supposed soul mark. He hadn’t felt one form and it certainly seemed like something he should feel.
He twisted his back around until he was able to get to an angle that may show it. And yes. There it was. Whatever it was considering he couldn’t make out the shape the black lines were making and he didn’t have access to a mirror, of course. Bilbo dropped his hands, looking down at his own face in the water, blinking owlishly at himself. A soul mark. He had a blasted soul mark! On the Road! In the middle of nowhere! He was only surrounded by dwarves and one cranky wizard. Bilbo had been asked about a soul mark when a few of his friends were discussing theirs but when he casually brushed the question off, they seemed to understand in some form or another that he didn’t wish to speak of it. But that meant they knew he might have one, even if they didn’t know it wouldn’t be until he actually met his ‘one’ as Dwalin put it before he did.
No dwarves had approached him, though. He was certain if he was written on one of them they would at least speak up about it - could it have been when they were traveling out of the Shire? They had come across many different individuals of all races then, would it have been possible to come across his other half? That would of course mean they had just barely missed each other. What if he never found them again?
Oh, it was certainly too much. Bilbo reached out and held onto the outcropping so he wouldn’t lose his own two feet, taking in deep breaths and slowly letting them out. If he fainted, he would drown, and someone would find him floating face-down, naked with his soul mark free to view, and that would simply not do. The hobbit waited until he deemed it safe before he snatched his clothing off of the rocks, dressed as quickly as he could without caring about his wet state, and began to hastily make his way back to camp.
——
Bilbo casually walked into the camp and held in his panic as best he could when he saw only Bombur, Balin, and Gloin. The largest of the trio was beginning on dinner while he chattered with the other two and before they could notice him, the hobbit ducked away, scooting into the pine trees just behind him.
He paced, cursing himself for not drying as he began to shiver, wishing he was sitting in front of the fire. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to - he would fidget and probably cause alarm given his state otherwise. So he waited. And when the sun truly began to set, he finally heard the loud sounds of a herd of dwarves on their way back from what he was sure was a very pleasant time indeed. Bilbo shifted against the tree he was hiding behind, peering out and waiting for one dwarf in particular.
Ori was striding alongside Nori, looking fresh faced and wearing a smile the hobbit was envious of. Said hobbit moved forward and hissed, attempting to get the attention of the young dwarf. He got the attention of many dwarves, but rudely waved them away and hissed Ori’s name. The dwarf jumped when he heard it, turning and looking at the trees with wide, frightened eyes before he caught sight of Bilbo. He frowned in confusion before he realized he was being summoned for an urgent matter and quickly made his way to the hobbit.
“Bilbo? What’s wrong?” Ori asked, sweeping his gaze up and down along him. “Are you alright?”
“Yes yes, I’m alright,” Bilbo mumbled petulantly. He cleared his throat. “Er. Actually, no, sorry, scratch that, I’m very much not alright. I need you to do me a very large favor, if you can? Please? I don’t trust anyone else with it.” He leaned to his right to gaze suspiciously back toward the camp and make sure no one was attempting to spy on them.
Ori was eyeing him cautiously but he gave a lazy shrug of his shoulder anyway. “Of course, Bilbo. Um, what kind of favor, exactly…? And why are we hiding for it?” he asked, letting out a squeak when the hobbit grabbed his arm and dragged him further into the trees. “Is this about what Fili said? Because if it is, I will stick-“
“No no, no, it’s not about that,” Bilbo interrupted, letting the dwarf go and swiveling his head back and forth to make certain of their privacy. “I’m not even sure what that is. No, ah, it’s… I need you to take a look at my back. J-Just my shoulder, I think I’ve… well, you’ll see, but Dwalin said I… oh for Eru’s sake.” He loosened his tunic and shrugged it off of his left shoulder, feeling it hang a good amount down his back as he turned himself toward the dwarf.
“Your soul mark!” Ori cheered happily, only to be shushed by Bilbo. “Oh, right, sorry. I didn’t know that hobbits had theirs on their shoulders! We kept trying to figure it out because we didn’t see anything on your wrists and we thought you might not have had one like some dwarves don’t. That is a rather fascinating place to hold your mark. I like the idea of the privacy of it.” Ori beamed at the hobbit.
Bilbo let out a strangled groan. “Ori, you must understand something about us hobbits. Our soul marks don’t appear until we’ve actually met our other half,” he whispered, frightfully upset. “I understand you dwarves receive yours around your coming of age? Yes? Well, we don’t and I didn’t have mine when I left Bag End! Do you know what that means?”
Ori raised his eyebrows at him, blinking twice before he looked back to the hobbit’s shoulder. “Oh! That means that you’ve met your One on the Road?” he asked and Bilbo might have laughed at how quickly the dwarf’s face morphed into shock. “Oh. Bilbo, you- you’ve met yours…? And you don’t know who it is? But… but it wouldn’t be any of us! I mean, those of us that have marks don’t have any that would point to you! Oh, that’s terrible!”
“Ori,” Bilbo moaned in distress. “I know that. I would like to actually know what it is, though. I couldn’t make it out at the river and Dwalin didn’t bother telling me when he gladly pointed it out! He knew before I did, I cannot believe it, I really cannot. But can you please tell me what the shape is?”
“Sorry, you’re right,” Ori rushed and moved to stand directly behind Bilbo. He let out a considering hum. “It’s an outline of Erebor.”
Bilbo felt his heart plummet into his stomach and slowly turned around to face the dwarf, just in time to see his eyes begin to bulge and his mouth drop open. “Did you just say it’s an outline of Erebor?” Bilbo repeated hoarsely, swaying on his feet. He had known that the dots were there to connect, oh he had, but he had also been refusing to actually do it. “Erebor?”
Ori wrung his hands together, his mouth opening and closing before he gasped. “Bilbo, the- oh,” he whispered, moving both of his hands to press against the side of his head, where his hair was still slightly damp. “It’s Erebor, Bilbo, and that likely means the ki-“
“Shhh!” Bilbo hissed, waving his hands in front of the dwarf’s face. “Do not say it! Please, please don’t say it. Oh no. Oh no, no, this is very bad. This is very not good.” He leaned into the closest tree, clamping his eyes shut tight as his vision began to darken at the corners, refusing to let himself faint. “It- it doesn’t have to mean that, you know. I mean, I’m going to be at the Mountain when others begin to arrive, yes? It could be someone else? I’ve never seen such a match but- but- oh, Ori. Do you know what…?”
The dwarf clamped his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders as he watched him with concern. “No, none of us do, not that I know of,” he said quietly. “Dwalin or Balin might but, um, no one else is going to ask him. We’d lose our braids. But why would he just now be acting like this? He’s had to have known since he met you! Oh, the gall of him, that is a deplorable thing to hide! And then to behave in such a manner! A dwarf should know better!”
Bilbo was a bit alarmed at the sudden fire in Ori’s eyes. “I don’t think he did know,” he said quickly. “Really, I don’t think he did. In fact, I believe I know the exact moment he did find out. Because that rotten liar saw it! Oh! He saw it and didn’t say- and he’s been treating me like- oh, I can’t find the words! Do you remember some days past when we were on the western river bend and he went storming off and soaked you nice and well?”
Ori sniffed. “Yes, unfortunately, I do,” he muttered before he started. “You think that’s when he saw it? You were just down from us!” He dropped his jaw. “He was terrible after that!”
“Yes, I noticed, as it was mostly directed at myself,” Bilbo growled. “A few nights after that he came up to me and asked about hobbit’s marks! Out of nowhere! I was terribly embarrassed as I’m sure you can imagine but I explained them and mentioned I hadn’t received mine yet and then he just… ran away! He left while I was still talking which is incredibly rude, by the by! Oh, he knew, that coward, he knew I didn’t know and he knew what it was and didn’t tell me- I could bop him right on the nose, I really could. How dare he! Unless, ah, well unless of course it’s not him? Do you think he’s being protective? Oh, that couldn’t be, you’ve said no one else has marks related to me. Surely it’s possible it’s someone else still, someone that’s not here?”
Ori looked as if he doubted that as much as Bilbo honestly did. “Um. Bilbo,” he began delicately, already earning himself a whine, “I’m simply saying that given our king’s reluctance when it comes to you, perhaps it took him by surprise? I’m not condoning what he’s done!” He hastily waved away the hobbit’s growing indignation. “It’s awful, I agree with you. But Thorin has his pride, as you well know, I would say it’s possible he may be upset about it. It makes sense to me. Oh, if I were Fili or Kili, I would have words with him! To treat his One in such a way! Dori could knock some sense into him and make him feel like a truly awful dwarf while he did it.”
The hobbit groaned, dropping his head back against the tree. “I don’t think anyone can knock some sense into him, Ori,” he mumbled. “Not even your brother. And now I haven’t any idea what I should do about this. Should I ignore it as he has been? I won’t be able to think of anything else! And now I know that’s why he’s been wishing I would simply fall and break my neck so he could be rid of me! He’s been thinking of it since he saw my blasted mark.”
“I don’t think ignoring it would be a good idea,” Ori said, wrinkling his nose. “It’d be dangerous for both of you at this point and the Road is only going to get more unpredictable the closer we get to Erebor. I think you should speak with him. Really, I do! Once he sees that you know, he’ll be obligated to hear what you have to say and if he tries to weasel himself out of it, you can always ask one of us for help. Balin or Gloin, maybe, they’d be good mediators. Though I hope you don’t need one.”
Bilbo clutched at his chest. Mediators. Goodness gracious, Yavanna save him. “Right,” he whispered, reaching up to wipe sweat off of his brow. His heart was thundering away in protest and for the first time in many, many long months, he was not at all hungry. He was sure he would lose anything he tried to get down. “Right. Well. I can try and- and I suppose you’re right, best just get it out of the way. And I have a few choice words for him myself. Yes! Do you know what, I very much do! He is a ridiculous creature and deserves a good talking to! Yes indeed, that’s what I’ll do, thank you, Ori. Truly, I mean it, thank you very much for your help.”
Ori sighed, smiling sadly at him. “You’re welcome, Bilbo,” he said, voice filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry you have to go through this right now. It’s too bad he was the one that happened to notice it.” The hobbit sniffed.
“Yes. Though, beyond you and Bofur maybe, I’m not sure I’d trust anyone else wouldn’t have caused me trouble as well,” he said glumly. He patted Ori on the shoulder before he tightened his tunic, motioning with his head. “Best get back before he sends the dogs after us. I would hardly want to give him another reason to believe I am the most awful thing to have ever happened to him. To be honest, he’s not exactly what I would wish for either, thank you.”
As they muttered between each other on their way through the trees, Bilbo pretended it didn’t sting.
——
The hobbit waited until after dinner had been served and eaten; he waited until the more rowdy of the dwarves began to sit down and make conversation. He waited until then to make his move. And when Thorin lifted himself from the uncomfortable looking boulder he was sitting on to join Dwalin in conversation where the dwarf was leaning against a tree and smoking his pipe, Bilbo himself stood. He took in a deep breath as he worked his hands into fists at his side, glancing across the fire and catching Ori’s eye. He received an encouraging nod and nodded in return, beginning to walk toward the blasted King Under the Mountain.
As he approached, Dwalin caught sight of him and at Bilbo’s fierce glare and thrust of a finger, the dwarf seemed to catch on to what he was planning. He clapped the king on the shoulder and all but fled, leaving a bemused looking Thorin to turn and watch him retreat. His eyes didn’t make it far before he saw an angry hobbit approaching him.
Bilbo watched Thorin visibly steel himself as if he were about to be struck and nearly rolled his eyes. “Pardon me,” he said politely as he came to a stop in front of the king. “I would like a few moments of your time, please and thank you.” The king glanced over his head and Bilbo suspected he was looking for a way to escape, so he decided not to give him one. He turned on his heel with one jerk of his head and began to walk to the same trees he and Ori had spoken in earlier.
The hobbit stopped and waited, arms crossed tight over his chest, foot tapping impatiently on the ground. It took Thorin a moment longer than it really should have but eventually his hesitant footfalls approached and promptly froze when Bilbo turned to look at him. Whatever the dwarf was reading on his face had him looking concerned for himself, so the hobbit took that as a good thing.
“I became aware of something today,” Bilbo declared conversationally, watching Thorin swallow. “I suspect you might know what that is, hmm? Yes, do you remember our conversation from a few nights past? The one in which you very impolitely demanded I tell you about hobbit soul marks? Oh you do! That’s wonderful!” He scowled as he watched the dwarf noticeably pale, even with just the light of the moon.
“Thorin Oakenshield, you are unbelievable! And I am tired of it. I am tired of you acting like a moody tween who didn’t get his way and is taking it out on the one he shouldn’t!” Bilbo hissed at him, taking a step closer and shaking his finger threateningly. “How dare you. How dare you keep the knowledge of my mark to yourself! Did you not think I would eventually figure that one out, hmm? Well I have! After Dwalin informed me of the mark I didn’t bloody know I had, I asked Ori to explain what it was to me. It was surprisingly not at all what I expected. Do you remember what it was?” He jabbed the king in the chest.
Thorin winced, eyes moving skyward for a moment before he looked back to the hobbit. “Bilbo, I wish to explain myself-“
“Answer my question first, please.”
A sigh. “Erebor. The mark is an outline of Erebor. Bilbo, I didn’t… I didn’t know how to-“
“Explain yourself this instant, Thorin!” Bilbo demanded. The king blinked, then scowled at him.
“That is what I am trying to do, Master Baggins,” he grunted out pointedly. “It took me by surprise. Both that you had one where you did as we could not see a mark on either of your wrists and… that it was Erebor. Given my own, I realized what it could possibly mean and I did not… react well.” He winced again when Bilbo snorted.
“No? Do you mean by storming away like you did or how you decided to increase your hatred of me by tenfold in the following days?” the hobbit asked waspishly. “Because you realized I might be your- your other half, your ‘one’ or whatever you dwarves call it. I know that you aren’t particularly fond of me, Thorin, but even you have to admit that was cruel! I would come by this knowledge eventually, as I said, and if you had kept on- well, wishing I was clearly someone else, it would have only gotten worse! I am terribly sorry that I’m not what you expected but you aren’t exactly my cup of tea either! I should like to know what your mark is so I can confirm this nonsense and declare you a completely insensitive fool!”
Thorin’s eyes didn’t leave his as he spoke, to his credit, but they did dart downward when he finished. “Bilbo, I think we have misunderstood one another,” he said quietly as he lifted his left hand and deftly removed the bracer covering his arm. He tossed it aside without a care and rolled the thick sleeve of his outer tunic up, revealing a worn looking leather band wrapped around his wrist. It was covered in Khuzdul runes and clasped by two small stones that looked like they might be obsidian. The dwarf unclasped it and held his arm out to Bilbo.
Bilbo stared down at the mark, feeling his stomach hit the ground and his heart leap into his throat, where it began to pitter-patter painfully. The leather band had left an indentation in the dwarf’s skin, which was a shade or two lighter than what was not covered; the mark stood out just as well as any other the hobbit had seen before though.
It was an outline of an acorn. An acorn, the seed of Bilbo’s favorite type of tree, an oak.
“Oh,” he mumbled, blinking his eyes hard before he looked back at Thorin. His blue eyes were open to him and with no hint of the anger he had been carrying for nearly a week - it was disconcerting for the hobbit as he had never been on the receiving end of the king’s softer gazes. He swallowed. “Right. I guess that’s fairly telling by itself. Did you really not know until you saw my mark or did it only confirm it for you?”
Thorin frowned, heavy eyebrows turning down. “I only thought on it when we were already weeks from the Shire. When the thought passed through my mind, we were passing under an oak tree and you were riding ahead of me. I dismissed it as I’ve been waiting on a dwarf since I first saw my mark many long years ago. I thought perhaps one that worked with lumber in some way to be an acorn and I admit I didn’t think of it again until I saw your own,” he explained as he pulled his wrist closer to his body, brushing his fingers over the mark with his right hand. “That was through no fault of yours, I have been preoccupied with our Quest and the troubles I hoped to never come across on it.”
Bilbo sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before he let it go, gesturing toward the dwarf. “And then you saw mine and realized that yes, it could only mean me and that you were clearly what Erebor represented on myself,” he muttered. “Right. That must’ve been quite the punch to the gut, hmm? Well. I am very sorry to continue to not meet your expectations, Thorin. Let’s forget about it, shall we, so you can stop glowering at me?” He shuffled by the dwarf and began to stomp toward the camp - he only managed three footsteps before his elbow was caught.
“Bilbo,” Thorin said, startling the hobbit by how desperate he sounded. “Please. I told you we have misunderstood one another and I am not done explaining myself. You don’t fall below my expectations, you rise far above them and I have been struggling with that for more than one reason. Aye, when I first saw your mark, I wished it not to be so. That lasted a few short hours because I could not push away the truth of it nor the truth of how it made me feel. But you hadn’t shown any interest when we met or anytime after.”
The hobbit blinked up at Thorin before he wrenched his arm away when he realized the dwarf still had a grip on it. He refused to acknowledge the increasingly frantic beating of his heart. “S-So? What does that matter? Well, ah, I suppose you thought I knew what my mark was,” he said, groaning with the realization, burying his face in his hands. “That’s what that conversation was about? You were trying to fish it out of me?! And you- you ran away because you realized I didn’t know I had a mark?! Thorin! Why did you not say anything?”
A small noise escaped Thorin’s throat, somewhere between pained and embarrassed, given the flush that was coloring his face now. “I didn’t think it would be proper,” he said slowly. “To tell you that you did have one and that it was of Erebor. I thought it would be unwelcome news from myself but I was attempting to think of a way in which I could broach the subject with you. I wanted to, Bilbo.”
Bilbo gaped at him. The blasted dwarf wanted to speak to him about all of this. “That doesn’t make any sense,” he finally cried, throwing his arms in the air in frustration. “I mean- I mean, I understand why you foolishly thought about the improper nature of it but given you are the other half of my soul, I would have been willing to overlook it! But it explains nothing of your behavior otherwise! If you accepted all of this, especially so after speaking with me, why have you been acting like such a- such an arse? I’ve been attempting to figure out what wrong I committed this week because you’ve been trying to set me on fire for the entirety of it!”
Thorin’s flush crept further along his cheeks. “I am sorry for that, I was not… angry. Not with you. I’ve been frustrated watching you and not knowing how or if I should even try. You have made it clear yourself that you are no fan of dwarves and I wished not to disappoint you,” he replied, still gripping at his ridiculous marked wrist, for purchase. “I have treated you unfairly since the moment I met you and I am ashamed of myself for it, you being my One or not, but as you expressed your lack of fondness for dwarves-“
“Excuse me!” Bilbo interrupted, holding up his finger, fighting his own blush now. “When on earth have I expressed that? Being angry at you lot for raiding my home and for the poor decisions and actions that have since followed is different than saying I could never have fondness for a dwarf! I have certainly not spoken ill of dwarves in that way.”
The king furrowed his brow at him, sweeping his blue eyes up and down along his person, which was entirely unhelpful. “You have,” he said very carefully. “I have heard it myself. You find our appearances less than desirable - you do not like that we have as much hair as we do and you think our beards… ridiculous and unnecessary, from what I recall. And you are not fond of the idea that we lack hair on our feet. You loathe our pipeweed and you seem to think us unnatural for preferring the inside of mountains over-“
“Thorin!” Bilbo cried in interruption again, staring in mortification at the king. “How many conversations were you listening in on? Goodness gracious me! I did not mean half of that seriously, I was teasing my friends the way you lot tease me! Oh, Thorin, for Eru’s sake…” The hobbit rested his hands on either side of his head, beginning to pace, slowly rounding a tree before he looked back at the ridiculous dwarf. “Do you really think me so shallow that I would deny the one I’m supposed to share everything with because of hair?”
Thorin had his hand over his brow and was rubbing harshly into his tightly closed eyes with his middle finger and thumb. “I didn’t miss the way that sounded leaving my mouth,” he mumbled, pained and defeated. “Forgive me, Bilbo. I’ve been a fool about this, I know I have, it isn’t something I was prepared for and it’s not something I’ve gone through. I know that I am not one to handle unexpected situations well.”
Bilbo sniffed. “It’s a good thing we’re diving headlong into a Mountain that may or may not house a dragon then,” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thorin. I haven’t gone through this either, obviously! We are technically supposed to help each other. I am beginning to think a mistake was made, not because you’re a dwarf, but because you are the most foolish person I have ever met in all my life! I prefer brains over brawn and you have far too little of the former and an unnecessary amount of the latter!” He glowered at the king, stepping closer to him, ignoring the wariness that crossed Thorin’s features once again. “Explain to me, please, why you are not bothered that it’s myself - I think I have the right to know given your hatred of me in the past.”
The King Under the Mountain let out a loud tween-like groan and reached down to Bilbo’s hand, snatching it up without his permission, thank you. “Bilbo, I have never hated you,” he implored. “You may choose to believe that or not but it is the truth. I didn’t think you able for this Quest, no, I thought Gandalf had made a poor decision. I believed that out of arrogance; I thought no training for battle and the lack of knowledge about the Road proved that folly. I could not see that the experience you lack in that regard you greatly make up for in ways that we cannot. You are courageous and your quick thinking and wit have saved us more than once. You didn’t need to wield an axe to do such things.
I enjoy listening to your stories and your songs, I enjoy listening to you. I held back in my appreciation for everything that you’ve brought us when I should have been thanking you - you are the heart of my Company most days and I have been remiss in not acknowledging that. For that, I am sorry. For many things I am sorry. Bilbo, I am proud to have an acorn on my wrist, I am proud to have something that represents you in such a simple and yet beautiful way. I would be proud if you would stay by my side and I would consider myself honored if you wished for me to be at yours.”
The hobbit was certain he didn’t carry the capabilities needed to process Thorin Oakenshield’s words. He swallowed past the frog in his throat, gripping the king’s hand in return simply so he may not feel his trembling and lightly rocked forward on his toes. “Oh,” he managed to choke out before he shook himself.
“I… er. Well. I am… flattered? Y-Yes, I am and ah, I’m not sure- well you should- oh bother it all. I am afraid I don’t know what to say,” Bilbo stammered, clearing the hoarseness from his voice. “Actually, I am fairly certain that I could not possibly find words to top that and so I will simply say, ah… get your act together and I may well just feel the same way. So, er, yes. Yes.” He coughed into his free hand.
At the first hint of teeth, Bilbo held down a squeak because he thought it too much - when Thorin began to openly grin, he was entirely certain it would kill him. He was nearly beaming at him and it floored the hobbit. The king looked so much younger and what Bilbo suspected he had looked like before the dragon came. It only made him all the more handsome, of course, and Bilbo definitely squeaked at that thought.
Thorin was still cautious of his welcome, though, as he slowly lifted the hobbit’s hand and placed a sweet kiss against his knuckles. Crinkled blue eyes were locked onto his and Bilbo did what he could to not gawk. The dwarf seemed to understand he was no longer capable of proper speech given the way he chuckled against his hand, warm breath fluttering over it before he placed a more firm kiss against him.
“I know not how to thank you for the honor, Bilbo. I swear that I will be better,” Thorin whispered, stepping close enough that the hobbit could feel his rather intense heat and smell the campfire smoke on him. There was a certain freshness as well and Bilbo recognized it as the soap they all used to clean themselves. “May I look at your soul mark? I should like to see it and enjoy it this time.”
Bilbo’s Baggins’ side immediately puffed up with indignation at the request but his Took side overpowered it with some very choice words. “Oh, ah… yes, I suppose it’s fair for you to want to see it,” he managed, giving the dwarf a quick smile. “Of course, Thorin.” He reached to loosen his tunic much like he had with Ori but the king stilled his hands and sweet Yavanna, he was doing it himself.
Thorin pulled the ties loose at the hobbit’s collar before he swept his hand up and over his left shoulder, pulling the tunic down enough to expose his shoulder blade. He moved behind the hobbit and Bilbo tried not to startle when a warm thumb brushed across where his mark lay. The goose flesh taking over his arms said quite enough by itself.
“I think I should not be so pleased that it is Erebor that was given to you,” Thorin murmured, tracing his fingertips along the lines of the mark. “It makes me wish to keep it uncovered for all to see. That you are mine, that you hold the heart of Erebor itself in you and all that such a thing as that entails.”
“That would be terribly improper,” Bilbo whispered in return, biting down on his lower lip as the king chuckled, the gust of it brushing along the back of his neck. “It is very rare for us hobbits to have our marks exposed given their position, you know.”
“Terribly proper creatures that you are,” Thorin agreed. “I find myself disappointed but I will have to make up for it in how often I gaze at it myself. Now that we’ve spoken on this, I will be glad to have my own mark visible to show that I have found my One and all can see the acorn that represents him. It’s unique, just as you are.”
As Thorin spoke, he lowered his head down and Bilbo’s eyes fluttered at the light tickling his soft hair was giving him as it slid over his bare shoulder. The king pressed a kiss against his mark and while the hobbit expected it, he couldn’t stop the shudder that wracked through him at the feeling. Thorin lifted himself again and pressed his lips to Bilbo’s temple, holding there until the hobbit leaned back into his chest and warmth.
“Do you know, that shouldn’t make me feel so pleased,” Bilbo said, peering up at the dwarf from the corner of his eye. “In one way or another, I will be flaunted all over and everyone can see that I’ve snagged the king of Erebor. If I manage to burgle from Smaug I think this will still be the accomplishment I am most proud of. Yes, the dwarf king of the East that declared me a grocer and then proceeded to fall for my charms, that’s the one I can say I got my sticky paws on. See if anyone else in the Shire can claim such a thing. I think not.”
Thorin’s chest rumbled against his back as he laughed and he nosed into Bilbo’s hair. “I think no other hobbit would have dared joined us,” he replied, wrapping one arm across Bilbo’s chest and the other over his waist, pulling him much more firmly to him. “Perhaps I should thank the wizard now.”
Bilbo snorted. “Yes and maybe apologize-“ he cut off with a strangled cry as Thorin mouthed at the tip of his ear, teeth grazing along it. The dwarf quickly let it go and froze against him. It was suddenly far too warm in his embrace.
“No?” the king asked, tone apologetic.
The hobbit was flushed from his neck to his ears and he let out a strained whine. “No!” he managed to squeak out. “N-Not yet, at least. That is most- you- well, they are very sensitive and you must be careful for now, thank you very much. Keep your teeth to yourself, Thorin Oakenshield!”
Thorin was quiet for a moment before he brushed his nose along his ear, earning himself an elbow to the gut for his efforts. Bilbo was sure he had hurt himself more than he had hurt the dwarf, who chuckled at him. “Not yet,” he repeated, a playful edge to his voice now. “Then when?”
The nerve of him. “A very long time from now, you know! You haven’t even asked about hobbit traditions, you insensitive oaf. You must ask my grandfather, the Thain, for permission to court and marry me - it is a year long affair and only after we exchange words in front of him can you put those teeth to good use!” Bilbo declared, pulling forward so he could twist around and waggle his finger at the dwarf.
Thorin stared at him with wide eyes and looked a tad pale again, his mouth opening before he closed it with a sharp click, hand hanging in the air. “This is… hobbit tradition…?” he managed before he blinked as his hobbit began to snicker. The king’s face slid into a very unimpressed scowl, which only inspired more laughter as Bilbo clutched at his own sides - he quickly shut up when Thorin began to stalk closer to him.
And all his potential protests and horribly embarrassing noises were cut off when the king yanked him close, laid a big paw on his cheek and another on the small of his back, and captured his lips. Thorin kissed him quite soundly until they were both gasping for breath and then proceeded to pay Bilbo’s cheek back by latching onto his ear.
Some time later, when Thorin and he returned to camp, a quick glower staved off most of the gawking and teasing - the king’s wrist was proudly sporting an acorn and both of their necks were proudly sporting marks of a different kind. At the very least Bilbo could claim to know what he had done to Thorin to get the dwarf so wound up now and he would happily inform anyone who asked.