Chapter Text
Thorin had just begun to settle into his meal (substandard as it was, but then again they had been spoiled rotten by the hobbit’s cooking) when Fíli came stumbling into the camp, breathless and looking almost scared. The Company was instantly alert.
“Thorin,” the blond gasped, sucking in a deep breath as he tried to explain. “Trolls, in the woods. They have the ponies, and Bilbo went ahead to free them—”
“You sent a hobbit up against trolls?” Thorin roared as he stood, his bowl of soup clattering to the ground.
“Kíli is there,” Fíli gasped out, his brow furrowing as he began to doubt the split-second plan he had made on the spot with his brother.
“How many trolls?” his uncle growled as he picked up his axe and motioned for the others to arm themselves quickly. “And how is it possible for such large beasts to capture the ponies under your watch?”
Fíli hesitated, just long enough for the king to level a deadly cold glare on him with a muttered, “child.” The blond barely contained his flinch, knowing his uncle hadn’t meant the word to be so harsh. If anything, he had gotten the reaction Kíli was certain would be received.
Thorin was nearly mad with his fear and concern. The hobbit was quite possibly in the hands of trolls, as well as his youngest heir. What were trolls even doing here?
“We must proceed quietly, lest we alert the filth to our numbers,” he said firmly, and they followed Fíli into the trees. They moved silently, or at least as silently as dwarves could, until they could see the light of the trolls’ fire. Thorin motioned for them to slow, and they edged forward.
“I said, drop him!”
At Kíli’s shouted words, Thorin’s mind went blank. Bilbo was in serious danger.
Mindlessly, he charged forward, absently registering the Company following him. He was determined, attacking the first troll he came across. There were three of them, he noted as his mind went into its battle-focused state. His nephews sent a hobbit up against three trolls.
The dwarves had an advantage in numbers for sure, but trolls were tough, and they were large. Soon, as the filthy beasts regained some semblance of composure, they began snatching up dwarves and throwing them.
“Lay down yer arms, or we’ll rip ‘is off!”
Thorin whirled, axe raised, and he froze. Two of the trolls stood there, holding Bilbo aloft by his arms and legs, and gave a warning tug. The hobbit grimaced, and looked pleadingly down at the king. He looked absolutely terrified, his eyes a bit wet.
There was a part of Thorin that wanted to attack the trolls, that tried to convince him that he could save Bilbo that way. That with the advanced numbers on his side, the trolls would sooner drop the hobbit than harm him. Mahal, he wished nothing more than to sink the blade of his axe deep into the ugly trolls’ skull.
But the risk of the hobbit coming to any more harm had Thorin’s stomach roiling, bile rising in his throat. The little thing shouldn’t have come. They shouldn’t have asked him to come on this terrible quest. They should have stayed well away from Bag End, and Durin’s beard, Gandalf was a fool for ever thinking of Bilbo as their burglar.
Though the real person to blame was himself, he knew. He had seen within five seconds of stepping into that hobbit hole so many weeks ago that Bilbo was not fit for this. Not that he was weak, but that he was naïve and untouched. He probably had never known the terror of possibly being quartered by trolls, or killed by orcs in a night raid. The hobbit had been blissfully ignorant, and positively in bliss there in his home. Then a rowdy group of dwarves tore through his home, destroyed his pantry, and coerced him to leave his life of comfort and serenity, all for what? The thrill of the adventure and the smidgen of hope for gold at the end?
He should have had his dwarves to leave the Shire the moment he saw Bilbo.
Thorin threw his axe to the ground with a dwarven curse and motioned for the rest to do the same.
“Do as they say,” he ordered, mood dark as the trolls exclaimed in delight and shoved the hobbit into a sack.
Bilbo was shaking violently, could feel each muscle straining, as he was pulled taut like a sheet in the wind. It hurt, his joints cracking and his muscles straining, and with wide eyes he looked to Thorin.
There was hesitation there. Bilbo feared, for a fleeting moment, that he would be sacrificed at the chance of salvaging the ponies. With a sigh he didn’t know he was holding gusting out of him, however, Thorin abandoned his axe. The others followed suit, Kíli going so far as to cast his sword away, as if it were hot to the touch, the twist of anger that marred his features sending a new wave of terror through the hobbit.
What was it with dwarves lately? Between Thorin trying to snog him without permission, and now Kíli glaring as if he wanted to knock out Bilbo’s teeth when he had been one of the two to suggest he venture in to save the ponies, he was nearly set on turning tail and heading home as soon as he was set free.
Bilbo squirmed violently once he was tied into his personal burlap sack, half of his companions (including the three Durins) joining him in an unruly pile that he was happily at the edge of, and the other half promptly tied to a spit and turned over the fire in their underclothes. Quite a sight, that.
He had resigned himself to fate for the moment, listening with waning interest to the protests of the dwarves as he stealthily tried to wriggle free when one of the trolls’ words caught his ear.
“I don’t fancy being turned to stone.”
Bilbo’s eyes lit. He glanced up to the lot of trolls. There was time to save this yet.
“The dawn shall take you all!” Gandalf cried as he jumped onto the rocky outcrop, the trolls muttering amongst themselves as Gandalf’s staff came crashing down and splitting the stone, the fiery yellow beams of the early morning sun pouring through and turning the trolls to stone. Bilbo watched, eyes transfixed on the great beasts, as the turned dusty and gray and stilled to silence. A great cheer went up all around, and quickly enough Gandalf had set to freeing each of them.
Bilbo was released first, followed by the brothers, and then they all quickly undid the rest. Each was happy enough, laughing and back slapping as the all slipped back into their proper clothes.
Bilbo was pumped full of adrenaline, turning about as his stripped himself of his soiled jacket, a smile beaming. He sought the man who saved him, hoping against hope that he would met with equal enthusiasm. But when he did finally meet the king’s gaze, he merely scowled and turned away, striding over to Gandalf with purpose in his step. No doubt to tell him the company burglar was to be relieved of duty and sent home for this fiasco.
Bilbo deflated instantly, shoulders sagging as he looked longingly in the direction of the raven haired dwarf. This was not something to be fixed, apparently. He would suffer this injury till the end of his days.
He swallowed hard, that stony, impassive mask reappearing as Fíli and Kíli approached. The also wore serious expressions, Kíli more so, and Bilbo shrunk back from their advances nervously. Now they were to hate him, too? He was hoping Thorin would order him away, at this point.
But as Kíli closed the gap, he took Bilbo in a powerful embrace, squeezing him so tightly he thought his ribs would crack.
“M’sorry,” the archer whispered through sweat-soaked bangs, shaking his head. He pulled back to regard the hobbit, gripping Bilbo’s shoulders tightly. The halfling could feel him shaking; he had been frightened.
“M’so sorry, Bilbo,” he breathed out, pursing his lips to keep back the onslaught of embarrassing words that were sure to pour out. Bilbo canted his head ever so slightly, clearly confused.
“What for? I am the one who nearly killed us all,” he muttered guiltily.
Fíli barked out a humorless laugh as he slid in behind Bilbo, wrapping his arms loosely around the pair and pressing his bearded mouth into the hobbit’s hair.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you could have been killed,” the blond muttered miserably. “And it would have been our fault. We are so sorry, Bilbo.”
He didn’t want to explain how they had planned the whole rescue to go far more differently, and had expected Thorin’s resulting relief that the halfling was alive and whole to be enthusiastic and immediate. That, however, didn’t appear to be the case.
Thorin stood where Gandalf had left him, staring over at his nephews embracing the hobbit. Blinding jealousy roiled inside him, and Thorin wondered darkly how long it would be before this passed. It only seemed to get worse each time someone so much as touched Bilbo, even something so innocent as the companionable thump on the back that Bofur had just delivered to the halfling.
His lip curling, he ordered everyone to follow Gandalf to locate the trolls’ cave (and possibly hoard), his mood turning sourer as Fíli and Kíli fell in on either side of Bilbo. This had better get easier as the journey continued, he thought darkly. It had been roughly two weeks since their fall-out and he was only feeling worse, with the shame and jealousy heavy as a rock in his gut.
The day from there had passed in a blur or running across the wild, terror gripping them as they were hunted by Orcs and Wargs. Thorin lead the group with Gandalf, glancing back every now and again to find Fíli and Kíli close behind him. Bilbo was near the middle of the group, holding the tiny sword he had received from the troll hoard.
His form atrocious, as it was obvious the creature hadn’t held anything larger than a kitchen knife, but his determined expression was absolutely breathtaking. There was terror in his eyes, of course. Being teased about Orc hunting parties is one thing, but to be chased down by one was a completely different story. But his small mouth was pressed into a tight, thin line as he ran, only falling open to suck in large gulps of air when they would pause in their running.
It was only a matter of time before they would be descended upon. They were on foot, their distraction had failed, and Wargs were terribly quick. And blast it all, the wizard had disappeared completely.
With a dwarven curse, Thorin looked around, running.
“We’re surrounded!”
He found his youngest heir, then looked for Fíli, finding the blond drawing his swords and getting ready for battle. Thorin felt his stomach sink, nausea gripping him for a moment.
“Kíli, shoot them!” he barked, eyes searching for his hobbit, and was relieved to find him nearby. “Stand your ground!”
The pack of Orcs closed in slowly, Kíli’s arrows barely making a difference as he shot at them. Thorin took a calming breath as his growing distress almost took over. He couldn’t have the men in his command slaughtered by Orcs not even halfway through the quest.
These dwarves trusted him, had faith in him enough to join him on what most of their kind considered a suicide mission, and even now were willing to die for him. Even the hobbit readied his newly-acquired blade while putting on a brave face.
Mahal, the thing hadn’t even had much of a chance to gather his wits after the ordeal with the trolls, and here he was facing down certain death. There wasn’t a tear in Bilbo’s eyes this time, and it shamed Thorin to feel a curl of arousal pool in his gut. Even covered in filth and grime, his large feet black almost to mid-shin, he was gorgeous, despite the tremor of fear that had begun to wrack his tiny frame.
Thorin felt a dull throb in his chest at the thought of Bilbo dying in this field, dying anywhere that wasn’t his home in the Shire. Swallowing against the bile that rose in his throat, Thorin took a step to charge the nearest Warg.
“This way, you fools!” they heard Gandalf shout, and they all turned to find him standing amongst large boulders.
The Company rushed over, Bilbo ushered down what was a sharp incline underground first. The dwarves followed suit quickly, and Thorin looked up to find Kíli still standing in the field, putting down as many Orcs and Wargs as he could with his bow.
“Kíli!” Thorin bellowed, his heart almost stuttering to a halt at the sight of his youngest nephew standing alone with screeching Orcs closing in on him. The youth, thankfully, turned tail and ran as soon as the king called.
Fíli paused at the opening beside Thorin.
“Go,” his uncle ordered gruffly.
“Not without Kíli,” the blond said quickly, his tone full of challenge and defiance. He refused to take his eyes off the archer as he approached quickly, a Warg in hot pursuit, and only slid into the hole after Kíli.
Thorin sliced the beast with his own new sword, putting the animal down before jumping down to join his Company in the safety of the underground cave.
Of course the wizard would lead them to the Hidden Valley. The bastard had only been badgering Thorin incessantly about the damn Elves the entire journey. Thorin just kicked himself over not realizing Gandalf’s trickery as soon as he heard the horns and saw the Elven arrow.
To add insult to injury, Bilbo looked completely enraptured by Rivendell, his face losing the hard lines that had set into it over the past couple of weeks, and his eyes going wide and soft. Thorin was struck by how lovely the hobbit looked when he was this relaxed, this awed by something. He’d forced himself to look away from the halfling when Gandalf began to lead them deeper into the valley toward the Elven palace.
To Thorin’s dismay, the Company immediately warmed to Elrond at the mere mention of food, bed, and full use of his baths. Though he was loathe to admit it, the dwarven king himself was thankful for the lodgings, desperate for at least one night in a proper bed with a full meal in his stomach. There was a grumble in his abdomen at the simple thought of food.
At dinner, Elrond educated them on the weapons they found in the hoard, and despite himself, Thorin was pleased to find he had acquired a very useful and famous blade. He glanced at the hobbit briefly, finding him staring down at his own weapon as Balin muttered something to him. As the halfling’s face fell at whatever the old dwarf had said to him, the king looked back to Elrond with a nod of thanks as he accepted the blade back from the elf.
Even though the food was light, meatless, and relatively flavorless, the Company seemed endlessly grateful for it and it had already done much to raise morale. When Lord Elrond offered his home to them for as long as they required, Thorin agreed with Gandalf’s suggestion of a fortnight to completely recover from the journey thus far.
Bilbo happily munched on his plate of greens, humored by the grumbling dwarves that tried their best to eat their meal graciously. Balin, with his white hair furled like a bird of prey, seemed eager to share Bilbo’s company in Elrond’s dining hall. He was telling the hobbit of his learned ability to speak with birds, Raven’s specifically, of how he could remember Erebor in its hay day, of the glamorous human city of Dale on their door step, and of Thorin’s noble lineage.
Bilbo’s vivid imagination was spinning webs of images, wispy and white, ghostly in his mind’s eye. He glanced down the table, containing a giggle as Oin stuffed a napkin in his ear-horn, attempting to block out the flute playing elf behind him.
He was the only member of the company that finished his meal in whole, savoring the clean taste in comparison to the greasy stodge they had suffered since Bombur became ‘company cook’. He excused himself gracefully, remembering his manners as his mother had taught him when company in another household, taking his leave swiftly and silently to the baths.
He washed quickly, deciding it would be best to savor the steamy water for another time, once the rest of the party had had their fill of Lord Elrond’s hospitality.
Rivendell was indeed a sight, the valley bathed in shimmering golden light that caught the glistening falls, refracting and returning the beams in brilliant hues of the rainbow all around. Imladris was indeed all he had ever dreamed and then some from what little he had read in his books. It was every bit as magical as he could have ever hoped.
He pushed into his private quarters, with a huff, taking the moment of privacy to dig through his pack and retrieve his spare jacket. He hoped there was a place to wash his soiled clothing as he tossed the worn maroon coat onto a hanging rack.
Bilbo had just pulled his suspenders down his shoulder, tugging the hem of his shirt free from his trousers as the door opened with a slight creak. The hobbit startled, his arms folding defensively across his stomach and chest as if he were a school-girl, but as Fíli and Kíli wandered in and tossed their packs to the side with twin thumps, Bilbo relaxed.
“Ah. You scared me for a moment,” he breathed as he finished tugging his shirt free. If he had bothered to look up he might have stopped at the pair of burning eyes that had settled upon him.
The halfling unbuttoned the cotton garment before shrugging it off and tossing it on top of his coat, his still damp hair glistening as a few stray drops of water flew from their curled tips. Kíli’s heart was pounding madly in his chest. He dared not speak, but kept himself firmly planted to the spot, allowing his gaze to wander over each new patch of milky skin that was revealed. He was sure Fíli was following suit.
“You’re staying with me again tonight?” Bilbo questioned them half-heartedly as he stretched his arms above his head, back arching gracefully. Kíli could get lost in those delicate curves.
“Oh aye, Master Baggins,” the brunette breathed, feeling his desire rising to ITS boiling point.
He took a few steps forward, pleased when then hobbit didn’t move to put space between them, his hands capturing Bilbo’s waist gently and tugging him forwards. Arousal surged through him as Bilbo stuttered slightly, tiny hands moving to the dwarf’s broad shoulders, a bright red flush suddenly rising in the halfling's cheeks.
“W-Wouldn’t you two rather enjoy the night alone?” Bilbo suggested gently as he was tugged against the archer, gulping hard as Fíli came up behind him and he felt another pair of hands on him, snaking around and covering his hairless chest. Kíli rumbled a deep laugh, one that was echoed by his elder, as the brunette leveled a very serious and telling stare with the hobbit.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Fíli lowered his lips to the curve of Bilbo’s throat, barely touching and fanning damp puffs of breath across the porcelain skin. Mahal, the thought of all this perfect skin, hidden beneath layers of cloth, and the sheer idea of it being so close every night for the past several days; it had him hard and aching, his trousers tented.
He hovered there, hands stroking soothing circles over Bilbo’s chest and torso before his thumb caught a pebbled nipple. Groaning, the blond rolled the nub between his thumb and forefinger, shifting so he pressed his erection against the hobbit’s flank.
“Aulë,” Fíli whispered against the pale flesh, eyes rolling back at the little sounds the halfling made. “We would hate to leave you to sleep alone, Master Hobbit.”
For a moment, his rational mind broke through, the part of him that knew that Bilbo might not want this from them, and he quickly added, “Unless that would be preferable to you.” His voice was still shaking from arousal, but he thought he did a relatively good job at sounding reassuring. At least he hoped he had.
The brothers pressed against him, their stiff members each finding a hip and sending shock waves through him. Bilbo’s breath hitched in his throat, his eyes drifting shut as the sensations began to rock through his body, pulsing like the beat of a drum. He shook his head absently as Fíli suggested the hobbit would prefer his privacy, turning his head and meeting him with noses bumping into each other.
“Don’t leave,” he managed out shakily, embarrassed at just how helpless he sounded as he closed the gap, cautiously brushing his lips against the blondes with a fluttering moan.
He heard Kíli echoing, leaning down to kiss and suck precariously at his collar bone. He hoped for a moment he wouldn’t bruise as easily with the boys as he had with Thorin, but the thought vanished quickly as he pushed the king from his mind for the time being. He had been suffering more than just heart ache alone since Thorin had walked away, and after the events of the day, after nearly losing his life in the grimy hands of trolls, he felt entitled to a bit of weakness.
And that is truly what he considered it; Weakness.
The kiss had grown fervent between himself and the blonde, tongues now boldly darting out to meet each other, teeth nipping and tugging and demanding more. Bilbo was nearly beside himself as the group toppled onto the mattress. Fíli was sprawled at his side, quickly curling around him and rutting desperately against his hip, his co*ck having somehow been freed from his trousers, and Kíli was…oh my.
Bilbo suddenly broke the kiss with a gasp, propping himself on an elbow as Kíli licked along his full length. He was blushing deeper than he could remember, the fiery heat burning through his cheeks and neck and chest.
He groaned appreciatively as Fíli reclaimed his mouth, Kíli’s talented tongue flicking idly across Bilbo’s head and watched for a reaction. Bilbo sucked in hard, a moan escaping him but breaking in the middle, his mouth falling open as he was consumed by lust.
Fíli sighed against the slackened mouth, grinding his hard co*ck against Bilbo’s hip in desperate little movements. He wouldn’t last long, but he had no doubt his partners were in the same uncomfortable position.
He pulled away to press his mouth against Bilbo’s throat, a hand returning to his chest to tweak his soft, pink nipples. “He’s very good at this,” the blond murmured, nibbling at the flesh of the hobbit’s throat shortly. Sliding his hand down Bilbo’s torso with teasingly light touches, he tangled his hand in unruly brown hair and encouraged his brother to take the co*ck in his mouth deeper.
“Tell us how you like it,” Fíli said as he guided the bobbing of Kíli’s head. He took in the sight of his brother’s lips stretched around another man’s co*ck with wide, blown eyes, his heart stuttering in his chest.
Aulë, he might just have to take Kíli before the night was through. Perhaps Bilbo would enjoy another show, though tonight might be an admittedly short one.
Bilbo bit back a desperate moan as Kíli took him deeper, the dulcet tone of Fíli’s deep voice sending a shiver up his spine.
“I-I’m not usually on the-ah! -o-on the receiving end,” he admitted sheepishly, only pausing once to gasp out as the archer twirled his tongue deliciously.
Hesitantly Bilbo reached for Fíli, encouraging the blond with his gentle mewling as he wrapped his smaller hand around the dwarf’s engorged co*ck, unable to hide his smirk as the swordsman groaned and bucked into his touch.
Kíli watched them with darkening eyes, his hair now a rumpled mess from where his brother’s hand had been easing him down onto Bilbo’s length. He groaned around the member, savoring the bitter taste and every little twitch and sound it pulled from the burglar. Thorin must be out of his mind to let such a prize go, he though idly to himself as he palmed his erection through his trousers.
He recalled the sight of Bilbo, tugging at himself under the pile of furs, expression radiating his desperation as he had watched the brunette f*ck his brother to the point of no return. It sent a mighty shudder through him, his co*ck throbbing.
He wanted to taste this beautiful creature, wanted a drink of him so badly he hallowed his cheeks and twirled his tongue about the sensitive glans in his mouth. He was going to suck the hobbit dry.
The halfling couldn’t contain his ragged shout of pleasure, something embarrassing and obscenely wanton escaping his lips as his free hand gripped the bedding desperately. He was babbling now, the words that managed to leave his lips part of a broken run-on sentence that was impossible to decipher.
Fíli’s hips stuttered against the hot ring of Bilbo’s hand, a groan escaping his throat at the sounds the hobbit made. Durin’s beard, he had missed this sight in his own pleasure the last time they shared intimacies. The halfling was absolutely gorgeous.
When the archer moaned at Bilbo’s near-scream, Fíli returned his hand to stimulating the hobbit’s nipples, biting at the hobbit’s throat as he quickly approached his release. “He loves it when you scream,” the blond moaned out, eyes rolling back at the keening escaping the hobbit beneath him.
“Let him hear you, Bilbo,” Fíli encouraged desperately, pinching lightly at the halfling’s nipple and pulling another sound of startled pleasure from the tiny creature.
Outside the door, Thorin (who had been on his way to his own chambers down the hall) stood frozen, listening to the cries of pleasure his hobbit was making. He could hear Fíli’s low voice through the door as well, though could not make out his words, and where ever the blond was, Kíli was sure to not be far behind.
So, the hobbit has fallen into the arms of his nephews, Thorin thought numbly, staring unblinkingly down the hall as the noises just beyond the portal grew louder.
A sharp pain shot through his throat, a ragged fist shoving up from within his chest at the thought that he’d been so easily replaced with—
He cut off the childish thoughts, refusing to allow himself to put more stock into what he’d had with the halfling. They had, what exactly? One night and a day together intimately. Willing the stinging in his eyes away, Thorin tried to regain the numbness he had been feeling previously come back over him, but it was gone.
Forced was he to feel the bitter remorse of throwing something away, the jealousy and underlying rage in his gut almost overwhelming in its intensity. And on top of it all, he felt his body responding to the sounds, and to his imaginings of what was happening behind the door.
With a snarl, Thorin forced himself to move and continue on to his own bedroom. It wouldn’t do well to linger there and hear any more of this.
Bilbo huffed, his mouth falling slack as another broken moan escaped him. He was so grateful for the privacy of their room, so grateful that for once he wasn’t aware of the wonders of nature, the hoot of owls and the chirp of crickets, while he fell into bliss.
He tried to tug away as he felt his completion approach, trying his best to warn the archer who was sending all of these beautiful sensations singing through him, but Kíli was having none of it. He gripped Bilbo’s hips tight and without a word of warning swallowed him whole, gagging only for a moment before he adjusted to the hobbit’s girth.
Bilbo’s org*sm crested so suddenly, a ragged cry for the stars above spilling from his kiss swollen lips, as he spilled his seed inside of the prince’s throat, his grip on Fíli’s member punishing as he bit his lower lip hard enough to leave a bruise.
He could feel Fíli clamp down on his neck through his haze, but soon enough the world was white washed and he cared not for rejection or evidence…just the pleasure that consumed his flesh.
The blond was losing his mind at the pleasure the hobbit’s sounds was bringing him, and the wanton cry as he spilled into Kíli’s mouth had Fíli clamping down on Bilbo’s throat with bruising forced. Before he could pull away and out of the punishing grip on his co*ck, the swordsman was coming in thick ropes against the hobbit’s side and stomach, making a filthy mess on the halfling’s previously clean skin.
He moaned as he released the bite on Bilbo’s neck, wincing at the angry bruise that was already rising before glancing down at his brother. Moaning, he watched his brother pump himself desperately, his slack mouth hovering over the hobbit’s spent co*ck as he panted and whined. Within seconds, the brunette was keening through his org*sm, the evidence of his release hitting Bilbo’s thighs and pooling on the duvet beneath them.
Fíli removed himself from the bed as Kíli stretched so he was lying next to Bilbo, curled around the smaller man and happily peppering kisses along the softer, hairless jaw. Fetching the cloth from the washbasin in the corner of the room, Fíli returned to the bed to wipe Bilbo clean, smiling warmly at the tired man when hazel eyes blinked up at him.
The fell asleep together under the blankets, curled tightly together and for once, much to Fíli’s delight, Bilbo seemed relaxed.
Over the duration of their stay, Thorin became increasingly aware of two things.
First was the dark bruise that had appeared on Bilbo’s throat after the first night. The sight of it had sent him into such a blind rage, he holed himself up in his chambers and destroyed half of the furniture. He couldn’t even explain his possessiveness, or his jealousy. He had the hobbit once, and he was behaving as if they had been lovers for years. He had no claim over the hobbit.
Second was the way the three of them would disappear as soon as they would finish dinner. Some days they wouldn’t even leave the hobbit’s chambers. If Thorin was willing to admit it, he paced the halls a lot on those days just to listen into the room briefly. Most of the time, there was complete silence, and on occasion Bilbo’s pleasant humming. More often than not, he could hear Fíli talking calmly and Kíli’s boisterous laughter. The few times he heard something different, Thorin would leave quickly, lest he burst into the room and do something he would regret more than casting the hobbit away in the first place.
It was two days before they were set to leave Rivendell, and Gandalf announced that it was time to speak to Lord Elrond of the map. Thorin disagreed vehemently. The Elf had been hospitable and a gracious host, but he was still an Elf and had no place touching his family’s property.
Of course, Gandalf would have none of his arguments and bid him to fetch the hobbit for the meeting as well.
Thorin stormed down to the wing the Company was occupying and flung Bilbo’s door open as he said, “you’ve been summoned to a meeting with Lord Elrond, Gandalf, and myself.” His voice was gruff as he steeled himself for what might meet his eyes inside the room.
Kili who had been seated across the way, pipe puffing and fingers moving deftly as he tended his bow, raised a finger to his lips instantly as their uncle stormed the room they had been sharing with the halfling since their arrival. Fili didn’t move from his spot, sitting up against the headboard and dragging on his pipe idly as well, but held fast for one reason; the hobbit that was sleeping peacefully and curled into his side. He was serene, looking more rested and relaxed than he had for weeks. The sight made the king’s heart lurch, his anger forgotten at the sight of the beautiful creature, once again so innocent and peaceful.
Fili’s hand was on his shoulder, something that had begun as a comforting rhythm to help the sleep-deprived burglar find some rest, and was now a protective gesture as Thorin’s voice boomed about the space. The king had hushed himself, taking the twin glares as a warning, Kili standing slowly to cross the room.
“Uncle, he has not had decent rest in weeks,” the brunette pressed as he turned to look on the sight as Thorin did.
He felt a surge of love for his lionhearted brother, swelling his heart and spilling over as the blonde tenderly petted Bilbo’s mop of honey curls. The gentle contact only served to bring the hobbit closer, nuzzling and cuddling into Fili’s warmth with a contented huff.
“This is the first he has fallen asleep on his own and stayed that way. Must he accompany you?” Kili turned to look now at Throin, pleading clearly for the halfling’s sake. The raven haired dwarf was incredibly open in that moment, his expression soft for an instant, but only just.
Thorin was relieved to see Bilbo sleeping soundly. He had heard the muffled sobs in the night on the road, heard the constant shuffling of movement from wherever the halfling slept.
He was on the verge of thanking his nephew when something stung his scenes. A scent, pungent and thick, surrounded the brunette. It was familiar and thick and recalled passionate nights in the arms of others.
The smell of sex clung to the archer like a perfume. He could feel his insides twist angrily, that dark jealousy consuming him if only for a moment. Of course the hobbit had found sleep. But only once he was done being shagged senseless by his nephews.
Thorin snapped back into character, fixing his scowl back in place. He did not bother to press the question, believing he already knew the answer, but in his haste assumed too much.
Bilbo had been away, sifting through the many tomes of Elrond’s library to find the few written in Westron. He had enjoyed his quiet afternoon reading books while his room-mates had satisfied a need. Thorin however, blinded by jealousy, merely assumed the hobbit’s involvement and sentenced him without trial.
“The hobbit is to attend, per the order of the wizard. I could care less if the grocer attends,” Thorin spat coldly, locking his gaze with Kili’s first, then to Fili, a challenge in his eyes. Inwardly, he reeled at his own spiteful words.
“Nor do I care if he slumbers for the first time this year. Wake him,” Thorin growled the last order, sneering darkly, unable to stand the sight for a moment longer as he turned his back to leave.
He elected to wait just outside their room, hands tucked authoritatively behind himself and chest aching. He reminded himself again, now that he had the silence about him that he had never held any real claim over the hobbit, had never courted the little thing or even set a braid in his hair with his own bead. He was acting as a petulant child.
Kili stood in wide-eyed disbelief as their uncle left them, shocked by just how coldly he regarded Bilbo. He felt a sudden urge to protect the delicate thing, to stomp out there and straighten his uncle out, but he was not only kin, but he was his king. The brunette raked his fingers through his hair, turning to Fili with a grimace. The blonde returned the expression before looking to the sleeping hobbit.
Fili gently rocked Bilbo, urging him to wake, his voice barely above a whisper. The burglar grumbled mournfully about “just a few more minutes”, and Fili shook his head with a smile.
“Oh you dear thing,” Fili cooed as he shook him again, successfully rousing him. “Thorin’s come to fetch you.”
That had Bilbo’s attention, eyes shooting open and shoulders tense. Kili had rushed up behind him, one hand finding the small of his back and moving in soothing circles.
“Now now, don’t fret. You’re goin’ to be meetin’ with Lord Elrond for one reason or another. Mister Gandalf had uncle come to fetch you.” He tried his best to placate the hobbit’s worries, hoping the crease would leave his brow, but it only deepened.
Clearly knowing that Thorin was being made to get Bilbo, not choosing to do so of his own accord, pulled that far too familiar expression from the hobbit. It hurt Kili deeply to see the burglar so unhappy. He glanced to Fili, seeing the hurt there as well.
“I suppose I shouldn’t keep him waiting,” Bilbo replied with a soft huff, crossing the room to throw on his overcoat. It had been freshened days ago and felt so light on his shoulder, yet something clearly weighed him down.
He straightened his shoulders resolutely as he turned to the brothers, plastering his most convincing false smile on his face. The boys could see right through it.
“Don’t wait up for me,” he said, cheerily as he could manage, waving to them as he exited the room and joined the king in the hall.
Thorin barely spared him a glance, his expression dark and menacing, his lips curling as if there was something distasteful about Bilbo. He tried to hide his hurt expression, failing, as he followed slowly behind, eyes fixated on the tops of his feet.
The meeting was more Gandalf convincing a stubborn dwarf to show an elf a map of his home, of his inheritance, of his legacy. Bilbo wasn’t surprised when Thorin folded and handed the relic over to Elrond, and was once again happy to witness the wonder of the fair-folk.
They emerged onto a wide cliff, water falling and catching the silvery beams of the moon, a giant crystal wedged into the rock face. It was with this that Lord Elrond read the mystical Moon Runes.
As soon as he had finished Bilbo was left shaking his head. “Durin’s day? What’s that?”
Bilbo listened carefully as Thorin and Balin batted back and forth, until the elf lord cut in with a disapproving look. “So this is your purpose. To enter the mountain.”
“What of it?” Bilbo shuddered. Thorin’s voice was dark and deadly low.
It did little to phase Elrond.
“There are some who would not deem it wise,” he stated, before turning and sharing words with Gandalf.
Bilbo was the last to scurry away, barely noticing the exchange between the elf and wizard. Thorin looked murderous.
Balin had retreated as well, catching the look and apparently settle on the decision to discuss this turn of event later.
Bilbo was once again trailing Thorin through the abandoned halls, the ethereal lights catching his pale skin through the pillars. Thorin was clearly unsettled, and against Bilbo’s wishes, his heart gave a painful tug. He wanted to comfort the dwarf, wanted to reach out if only for an instant to reassure him that their quest would not be in vain; that they would have their home.
Bilbo cleared his throat awkwardly, speeding his pace if only to be heard clearly and closer to the dwarf, he dared to speak.
“I-I’m sure everything will be alright,” he tried to reassure with a stutter, a nervous smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “We’ll m-make it to the door, you’ll see.”
Thorin was lost in his thoughts, the stress from it all consuming him. The lives of thirteen men, one of which wasn’t even a dwarf, were his responsibility, and already they had almost been lost twice. They hadn’t even reached the Misty Mountains which had, when they planned the quest, been their biggest concern for their safety (ignoring the dragon at the end). With two near-deaths, it did not bode well for the rest of the journey.
Now, there was a time limit placed on it, one short season and a bit, and they had spent two whole weeks eating leaves and making merry with elves. It had his teeth gnashing just thinking of the time they had wasted here, and the sheer impossibility they faced with finding a hidden door on the side of a mountain that housed a dragon the could scent them from ten miles away almost bowled him right over.
A headache had begun to form, and he barely noticed his shadow until the hobbit spoke. The burglar’s words caught him off guard and a whirled on him, eyes bewildered.
He’d been a right arse to the hobbit for weeks now, he was fully able to admit that to himself now, and here the thing was comforting him. A pain so raw and terrible ripped through his chest as he thought on his cruelty toward the halfling, the way he’d ignored and belittled him. Though he had felt justified all those days ago in his hurt pride, he no longer saw it that way. He realized his error, but now…?
It was far too late.
Bilbo cowered away from him, shuffling back as if to avoid a blow, and it was like a punch to Thorin’s gut.
His hobbit feared him, Thorin observed with a sense of abject horror so sharp and tangible, it must have shown on his face.
The king longed to reach out to him, to hold him close and apologize endlessly for his idiocy, for his words spoken out of anger, frustration, and indignant hurt.
It was too late. He had gone to his nephews for comfort, and had found peace with them. Should he upset that? The jealousy in his heart roared to life once again, and his anger began to seep back.
It hadn’t even taken a day for the halfling to fall in with his heirs, to allow their affections, and since arriving to Rivendell, he’d enjoyed it wantonly with no regard for who knew or heard. Had the burglar been planning to leave his bed for the young dwarves’ since the day Thorin walked into camp on him touching himself while Fíli and Kíli coupled not ten feet away?
Regardless of any of this being true or false, real or imagined, Thorin thought on the soft look on Bilbo’s face as he dozed with Fíli, the way his cuddled in tighter at the slightest touch, and Kíli’s protectiveness. Thorin had seen the loving look Kíli had bestowed upon the pair on the bed.
It was too late.
“I do not much care for the opinion of outsiders, Master Baggins,” Thorin snapped, everything hitting him all at once. “If I had known consulting Gandalf on this quest would lead to the likes of hobbits and elves being brought on, I would have done this without his help, one way or another.”
His tone dipped further, the pain in his heart tingeing his voice further. “You should not have been brought on, and I curse Gandalf for his choice in burglars every day,” he spat, only wishing for this nauseating rise and fall of emotions to have never happened at all. He wished the hobbit wasn’t here, in harm’s way, and to remind him of the cost of stubborn pride. If this was love (the very thought made him seasick), he wished himself free of it, and cursed the gods for bringing the halfling into this terrible mess to make him feel it.
“Your reassurances are meaningless when our journey has a dragon at its finish, Master Baggins,” he finished with a growl, blue eyes watching the hobbit with a fierce intensity.
Bilbo’s eyes were wide as Thorin’s words tore through him. Memories from the night spent by the stream, the night he had given such a gift to such a great being, had thought it was cherished and had reassured him of his worth, wrapped themselves in with each syllable the dwarf spat.
He was tearing Bilbo down, piece by piece, and slowly but sure the light left the hobbit’s eyes completely. It was a visible change. Twin streams fell down his cheeks, shining against the light of the mid-summers moon, unbidden by the hobbit.
Bilbo held his gaze for only a few moments as time slowed around him. But as he took his leave he said nothing, did not make a sound, as he stepped to the side and walked past the king with unseeing eyes.
Bilbo merely stumbled, wandering the corridors blindly. He could not focus on any one thing before him. His mind was entirely blank, the malicious tone of Thorin’s venomous words torturing him endlessly. He was faintly aware of the stinging in his eyes, the way his lips quivered without his consent. Everything felt empty.Everything felt cold.
He found himself standing before the portal to his room, turning the knob slowly and entering without announcement. He was vaguely aware of voices. He looked up to the source of sound, eyes watery with unshed tears and throat stinging. Their mouths moved, but the sounds the figures made were unintelligible. Everything sounded as if it were at the end of a long tunnel.
Kíli was ill at ease when Bilbo entered. The hobbit looked drastically different than they had ever seen him before, his face void of all expression and looking strangely vacant. As Bilbo met his gaze he nearly jumped at the sight of those hazel eyes, empty and wet with tears.
Bilbo forced himself to focus on the figure nearest him, recognizing it as Kíli as he moved forward, and reached out. Kíli reached back.
That’s when Bilbo snapped into focus, grabbing the front of the archer’s tunic and tugging him forward into a kiss. It was all for the sensation, nothing soft and sweet as the brunette had only experienced from the hobbit up until now.
Bilbo only broke the kiss for a moment to breathe, the words “f*ck me,” leaving his slack lips before he went in for another meaningless kiss.
Bilbo did not want to think, did not want to feel, did not want to remember any of the stupid mistakes he had made in the arms of Thorin Oakenshield.
Thorin had frozen as he watched the halfling crumble beneath his words. He had expected yelling again, for the little being to rise to the challenge once again and spit venom back at him. It was what he had come to expect from the hobbit when unfair judgment had been laid against him.
Tears were the last thing he had wanted.
The halfling looked shattered as he stilled, wet streaking his round cheeks, and instantly Thorin’s resolve, anger and frustration melted away. It didn’t matter if it was too late to fix what little relationship they had had, he couldn’t stand another moment of continuing this cruel façade.
“Bilbo,” Thorin said as the hobbit skirted past him, but he was resolutely ignored. He didn’t chase after the small man, knowing it was far too late to begin to even try to salvage anything between them, not even a semblance of friendship.
And with that, he hurried to his chambers, walking briskly past Bilbo’s bedroom door and ignoring all sounds within. There was a long few days ahead of them, and he was already going to lose enough sleep to guilt as it was.
The prince made to protest but then Bilbo was upon him again and the sensation was too tempting to push away at the moment. He returned the kiss, dragging himself away to look to Fíli, bewildered.
Before any more doubts could wriggle their way into his mind, the nagging little Baggins voice that told him not to give up such a precious thing so easily once more, he was unlacing Kíli’s pants and tugging him free.
He dropped to his knees quickly, eyes screwed shut as he took the archer into his mouth, coaxing his member to his full, stiff length quickly enough with the heat of his mouth. He did not pay any special mind to the dwarf, viewing this merely as a means to an end, as he swirled the tip and swallowed Kíli’s co*ck. He looked up for only an instant, met with a dazed and confused gaze, but the blush that covered the brunette’s cheeks spoke to the job well done Bilbo was doing.
Kíli held as still as he could manage, bucking his hips when the hobbit would sending him keening with pleasure.
“Bilbo, wh-what’re you—“ he gasped out, biting his lip as Bilbo worked him vigorously.
If they were to catch Bilbo’s eyes they were to see his eyes had not regained any of their life. Bilbo pulled off of the dwarf with an obscene pop, dragging them both down onto the bed and pulling Kíli on top of him with a roll of his hips.
Kíli gave in then, the ministrations of the hobbit making him groan with frustration as he descended on the creature’s neck, sucking and biting at the burglar’s pulse point and what he could reach of his collar bone.
Kíli moved with the hobbit as Bilbo stripped himself against the mattress, barely bothering with his top as he opened the buttons and let it lie haphazardly on his lithe form. When Bilbo reached his trousers Kíli rolled to the side, allowing Bilbo ample room to unlace and remove them fully. He tossed them off the bed carelessly to the floor, his small clothes following suit.
Bilbo impatiently tugged Kíli back atop him, spreading his legs whor*ishly as he forced the archer between his thighs with a muttered “f*ck me” to reaffirm their actions.
It was then that Kíli noticed, his breath hitching in his throat as he looked down to the burglar, just how removed and vacant his expression was. Bilbo wasn’t there. Bilbo had receded in on himself and was merely waiting to be used. Kíli shook his head then, prompting another round of affirmations from the hobbit.
“f*ck me, Kíli, I want you to f*ck me.” He was pressed to Bilbo’s entrance, but once again he looked to Fíli in desperation. He shook his head helplessly as Fíli moved to the mattress. The tent in the blonde’s pants wasn’t helping his resolve much as the swordsman approached.
“B-Bilbo,” he breathed in warning, his hands resting on the burglar’s thighs. “You are not yourself.”
Fíli intervened, pulling Kíli off of the hobbit. “Get dressed,” he ordered firmly before turning to the squirming, half-naked halfling on the bed. Taking a deep, calming breath through his nose, trying to will away his thick erection, he quickly buttoned Bilbo’s shirt back up.
The blond wasted no time in lifting the creature into his arms and holding him tight as Bilbo fought the restraining hold. “You do not want us to f*ck you, Bilbo. We can see it in your eyes,” he said calmly before pulling back enough to force eye contact.
“Do not use us as revenge against our uncle,” he said, voice like iron, but his expression still soft and warm.
He fought hard, thrashing about until Fíli’s voice reached him, his hazel eyes coming back into focus as they grew glassy.
“Just let me forget, I want to forget,” he managed out before a sob broke from him, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he continued to push against the dwarf.
“I-I want to forget every damned word that he ever said, I want it to mean nothing at all!” he nearly shouted, shaking violently in Fíli’s arms as he gave in finally to his grief. The flood gates were open and there was nothing to stop him now.
“I want it to mean nothing at all that I gave him something so…damned…important,” Bilbo ground out, his fists now coming down to pound harmlessly against the blonde’s firm chest, his shattered gaze meeting Fíli’s for the first time. He was completely destroyed.
“I’m sorry Fíli, but please, just don’t cast me aside…I just…I don’t know what I’d do if…”
The blond dwarf made a wounded noise as he pulled the hobbit in tightly against his chest once again, tucking the man into his lap as he looked over at his now-clothed brother.
“We aren’t going anywhere, Bilbo,” he said soothingly, seeing the quiet rage in Kíli’s eyes as the brunette climbed onto the bed again. Fíli laid back on the bed, turning onto his side with his arms still tightly wrapped around the hobbit.
The blond knew that Bilbo was heartbroken, just as he knew their uncle was, but there were no words that could convey that believably to the sobbing halfling in his arms.
“We’re here, for as long as you have need of us,” Fíli murmured soothingly, pressing a lingering kiss to Bilbo’s forehead.
Another broken sob escaped the halfling as he gravitated into Fíli’s warmth, holding on for dear life as though the dwarf were a life line. As he had on their first night together, turned into the blondes firm chest, he gathered bunches of the coarse tunic and resigned himself to his misery. He didn’t bother trying to speak. He simply allowed himself to be soothed.
Kíli was enraged. He could feel a sickening feeling crawling up inside of him and he sat on the edge of their bed, unable to bear the sight of the broken hobbit in his brother’s arms. Something so foul wormed its way into his gut, something that had him perpetually shaking his head. Then suddenly he stood, making a bee-line for the door before his elder could protest, and stomped his way out and down the hall.
It was late, the corridor long abandoned, and the archer found himself outside of Thorin’s private quarters. He could see a light under the door, but heard no voices within.
Without much ceremony he gave a single knock, twisting the knob and letting himself in before his uncle could consent. There were flames in his usually mischievous eyes, his brow furrowed uncharacteristically.
“Have you any idea what you have done to him?” he spat out before he could stop himself.
“He is broken, uncle. Bilbo has no will or self-respect left,” he barreled on now, head still shaking in disapproval. “He would throw himself at us if only to forget his heartache. Must this continue?”
Thorin looked up from the book he had been numbly skimming since returning to his chambers. He hardly heard a word his nephew had said, but it was obvious he spoke of the hobbit’s latest distress. There was no way for him to respond to the question given to him, nothing he could possibly say to his youngest nephew that would put off his anger. On top of that, he knew there was little point in trying to hide his own turmoil.
“Go back to him, Kíli,” he said softly while returning his attention to the book , lips a tight grim line as something gripped his throat. His eyes stung once again, and he had to clear his throat. “Your presence there would be more useful than yelling at me for things that cannot be changed.”
The brunette growled, his fist slamming into the door as he turned to leave. He paced there for a moment, his rage boiling, and he turned back again to Thorin. He stomped over, taking the book from his hands and crouching before him. His chest was heaving with the effort not to throw himself headfirst into a full on brawl.
“Then you listen to me,” he commanded, voice deadly low. He made sure not to continue until he held Thorin’s gaze. The passiveness in those eyes only emboldened him further.
“We shall not clean up this mess for you uncle,” he said lowly through grit teeth. “If you do not feel Bilbo is worth your time, if you do not feel any need what-so-ever to go to him when he is in that room a broken man and weeping like a babe, then that’s your decision.”
He took in a deep breath his eyes narrowing to a dangerous glare. Thorin looked as if he were going to haul off a throttle him. In Kíli’s mind it would be better than no reaction at all.
“But if that is your choice uncle”, he said as he stood, leveling a deadly look with the king, his tone seething. “Then you stay far away from Bilbo Baggins.”
He let the silence hang between them for a moment, the air thick with tension. No one moved. They scarcely breathed. The archer broke the silence. “Well then?”
Rage snapped in him at the nerve of his youngest nephew, but it fizzled at the imaginings of Bilbo distraught and sobbing. He screwed his eyes shut as they stung once again, before standing.
“If you think I am indifferent to Bilbo’s pain,” Thorin said slowly, his voice rough with contained emotion as he met his nephew’s eyes. “You would be wrong. What I have done tonight is, to my shame, irreversible. There is nothing I could do to alleviate his sorrow.”
He laughed hollowly and turned toward his bed and began removing his heavy fur coat. “To say I regret everything I have done would be a gross understatement.
“And as for your ultimatum,” Thorin continued, clearing his throat again. “I will only interact with Master Baggins as much as strictly necessary.”
Kíli bit his lip savagely, snarling as he shipped the book Thorin had been reading across the room, it coming into sharp contact with a resounding smack against the wall. He could not believe what he was hearing.
“Damn the stubbornness of dwarves,” he snarled as he stomped his way out of his uncle’s room, slamming the door behind him. He made his way slowly back to their chambers, growing more and more somber as he went.
What Bilbo was going to endure now was torturous as far as the archer was concerned.
He peeked into the room, grateful find Bilbo slumbering with tear stained cheeks in his brother’s embrace. He caught Fíli’s gaze, doing little to hide his dark expression before looking back to the hobbit. Kíli made a pained noise, something cracking in the back of his throat, to see Bilbo with puffed eyes and tear stained cheeks. The burglar had cried himself to sleep.
“I tried,” he muttered, defeated, as he perched himself on the end of the bed.
Fíli nodded slowly, shutting his eyes as he reached over to pull Kíli in to curl around the other side of the sleeping halfling. The warmth of both dwarves on either side of him seemed to calm the hobbit further and he puffed a sigh into the blonde’s chest.
“Aulë willing, things will work out the way they are meant to,” the bearded dwarf murmured stretching around Bilbo to press a light kiss to Kíli’s frowning lips. He offered a warm smile that didn’t reach his eyes before he settled in to try and sleep some, though anything restful was highly doubtful.
When dawn broke through their windows, Bilbo was roused unwillingly from the deep, dreamless sleep he had been in. His eyes were sore, his pride and heart still felt shredded beyond repair, and the warmth of Fíli and Kíli on either side of him was far too comforting at the moment to want to stir.
His body, however, had other intentions. His bladder protested and he was forced to shuffle his way to the water closet to relieve himself. Thankfully it seemed none of the other member of their company was running about so early.
When he returned to their shared quarters, Fíli had been roused, and groggily made his way to the wash basin to splash the sleep from his eyes. Kíli was still entirely asleep, snoring contentedly, even through Bilbo’s reentering the room.
He greeted Fíli meekly, nodding as he made his way over. His voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke.
“I’m terribly sorry about last night.” He glanced away, feelings of shame rising anew.
“I’m afraid I let my emotions get the better of me. Won’t happen again,” he nodded, albeit without confidence.
Fíli closed the gap between them and pulled the hobbit into a light embrace, before directing them both to sit at the table in the corner of the room. After a relatively sleepless night, he thought of several things he should have asked the halfling at the beginning of all this. At first, he had not wanted to dredge anything too painful up, in hopes that his uncle would see reason and work with Bilbo to bridge the rift between them.
Now that that was not happening, Fíli realized the need to understand what had gone on all those weeks ago was much more prevalent.
“Never apologize for your emotions, or the expression of them, Bilbo,” Fíli insisted as they sat down together. “It is an admirable ability that some of my kind could do well to learn.”
He thought of his uncle down the hall, stubbornly sitting in his own sadness and forcing the hobbit to do the same out of some misguided form of honour.
“What happened between you and my uncle?” he asked softly. “We need to understand, Bilbo.”
“Ahh,” he huffed, exasperated, a hand rising to bury itself in his hair. With the early morning sun pouring through the windows they were a brilliant shade of rich copper, bringing out the shocking green in his hazel eyes.
“Well, to be honest, he made it abundantly clear the first day you laid with me.” He shrugged, bring his hand down the side of his face, tugging at his hairless chin for a moment before settling his hands in his lap.
“He had tried to…well,” he paused to clear his throat awkwardly, not wanting terribly to discuss anything to do with their leader at the moment. However, as Fíli had suffered his foolish outburst last night he felt it was only fair to comply. “He pinned me to a tree, tried to snog me while we were on break. I could hear laughing, so I know someone saw. I stopped him.”
He shrugged despairingly, looking between each of Fíli’s eyes imploringly.
“I simply said we needed to use some control as I had no desire to be seen as some lusty tween. I wouldn’t have others watching when we…when we. Well,” he cut himself off again, clearing his throat shortly once again to distract himself from unpleasant memories that warmed him disturbingly. “You know.”
Fíli blinked at the hobbit before barking out a short, disbelieving laugh that had Kíli stirring on the bed across the room. He scrubbed at his beard, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling for a few moments. Leave it to Thorin to get offended first before simply explaining cultural differences.
“I fear you committed a bit of a…cultural blunder, so to speak,” the blond said miserably, turning his eyes back to Bilbo. “It doesn’t excuse Thorin’s actions since, by any means.”
He looked over his shoulder at the brunette, who was slowly working his way to being fully awake before turning back to the hobbit with a sigh.
“Dwarves have a heightened need to procreate, since dwarven females are so rare. Simply put, we are constantly ready to tumble,” he said delicately. “Especially when we are young, and especially when we are in love. Many dwarves are insatiable.
“Because of this, we’re very open with our physical affections. To insist on hiding a coupling is to say you’re ashamed of your partner,” Fíli continued. “In a way, the more public the act, they higher in regard that dwarf holds you. Kíli and I are more discreet with our relationship because it makes many of our kind uncomfortable.”
He watched Bilbo’s face, looking for any sign that the man might be on the brink of another breakdown as he said, “any laughter you heard on that day was at Thorin’s expense, little one. He hasn’t acted the randy tween since he was one, so Dwalin said when he left with you.”
Bilbo nearly choked himself spluttering, heat rising to his cheeks as the gravity of his actions truly sunk in. No wonder the dwarf had reviled him so. In Thorin’s eyes, Bilbo had been the one to cast him off with cold indifference. He had simply been returning the gesture. Bilbo groaned as he scrubbed his hand over his mouth, still disbelieving as Fíli continued on.
“I’ve made a right mess of this,” the halfling muttered, his fingers now steepled and pressed to his lips as he thought. “It is the exact opposite for hobbits. Very private business, what one does in the bedroom, never to be spoken of really.”
He looked to Fíli with a lopsided grin, bemused by the somewhat shocked expression he was met with. “And that isn’t to mention lovers. In fact it is rather deplorable to take lovers before you’re wed. Taboo you could say. It simply isn’t done. And when it is,” he continued with a sigh, now leaning on the table with his arms tucked under him. “It’s a one-time affair and never spoken of again. A messy business really.”
Kíli had sat up in bed and listened lazily to the conversation, breaking the pauses with over-dramatic yawns. Bilbo then looked between the two; another statement the blonde had made dawning him.
“So your kind view your relationship as odd?” he questioned the pair. They both nodded, Kíli asking sleepily as he rolled out of bed, “Wha’? You don’t find it peculiar?”
The hobbit gave the prince a shrug, incredibly indifferent to it all. “It’s common practice in the Shire for cousins, even siblings in some cases, to bond and marry. That’s why family trees are so large and intertwined in most cases.”
Bilbo was once again snoozing, this time having dozed off in his chair, a book in his lap. Fíli and Kíli roused from where they had been tousling on the bed, hair a disheveled mess. Young dwarves were indeed insatiable. They had been carefully quiet so their burglar could sleep, but were off each other in an instant when Thorin entered. As they had the night before, each drew a finger to their lips before nodding to the slumbering hobbit.
Kíli was slow to meet his uncle, still feeling the churn of anger of Bilbo’s behalf, but once he had straightened his clothes and raked his fingers through his unruly mane he slid up to Fíli’s side.
“Problem?” He asked quietly, eyebrows raising suggestively. He felt the blonde’s elbow dig into his side and he muttered an apology.
Thorin paused for a few minutes, eyes darting between the sleeping hobbit and the dwarves on the bed, their clothes half undone and barely hanging onto their bodies. He was impossibly confused by what he saw, though infinitely relieved. If he had found the hobbit on the bed with his nephews…he didn’t know what would have happened.
Taking a deep breath, he turned his attention to his nephews, temper flaring briefly at Kíli’s insubordinate tone. It would seem his eldest was more for being diplomatic at the very least, so he regarded Fíli as he spoke.
“We are departing within the hour, and must be free of the valley by sun-up,” he said quietly, glancing at the slumbering halfling. He paused as he took in the tender sight, feeling a hard tug in his chest before he returned his gaze to Fíli. “Take your time rousing him. We won’t be making camp until tomorrow night.”
With that, Thorin left the room before his youngest nephew could make any smart remarks and marched to his own chambers to ready his pack and tend to his weapons.
Once their uncle had taken his leave Fíli saw to packing their things, throwing himself back into his heavy over coat and fastening his many belts and scabbards into place. Kíli was the one to wake the hobbit, stirring him gently from his slumber with whispers and nudges.
Bilbo opened his eyes, blinking away the sleep, to be greeted with the sight of the archers smiling face. He returned the gesture weakly before he realized Fíli was busy packing their things.
“Something wrong?” Bilbo inquired as he sat up, placing the book he had been reading on the table top.
“We’re leaving the valley. Time to get back on the road,” Kíli replied before he followed his brother’s example and began slipping back into his traveling garb.
Bilbo now rushed about, skittish as nearly all proper hobbit’s were before leaving for travel, throwing on his maroon traveling coat and gathering his tidy pack.
“Leaving so suddenly? I thought we were to be seen off by Lord Elrond and his kin come the morning,” Bilbo pushed as they made their way for the door. The brothers looked back to him with a shrug, ushering the hobbit out of their chambers hurriedly.
“Looks like our plans have changed.”
