Born
Author: wanderingsmith
Started may 2018 - latest update date apr 2020 -
Summary: "Balin! Welcome back, cousin."
"Thank you, lady. How long has Thorin's mate been alive?" He wished he
were more surprised at the shocked reaction he saw. "The Distracted head
tilts as though listening to something far away? Rubbing at his heart as
it finally gets stitched back with its other half? The peace growing in
his eyes as the hole in his soul is finally filled?"
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me
for this. As it is thought, so let it be said; you make the toys, I play
with 'em..
AN: another that was written 4 years ago... except this one is more
like 98% done!! FFS....
Goto Chapter 2
Goto Chapter 3
Goto Chapter 4
Chapter one
may 20, 2018
No one could agree on when it actually began, likely because it began so
weakly that it would only take him for instants, and appear as no more than
normal distraction; even in retrospect.
The first change that he actually could, after the fact, remember feeling,
was a very very faint itch in his chest. Like the ghost of a breeze
whispering over his heart. And he would find himself running his fingers
over his breast whenever he stood or sat distracted. Sometimes it was a loud
ghost, or, more like, a hundred ghostly ants, legs tickling as they marched
over the organ, leaving behind a different itch.
But in the end, Thorin remembered most the feeling of a whisper. Not words;
not even thoughts. But, looking back, there was no doubting it was a mind,
right from the beginning. He is certain that at first it would appear and
then fade and he would forget the beguiling feeling as soon as it passed.
But soon enough, it stayed; if only as a pale thread, most of the time.
He supposed that he should have known it for what it was. But at his age, he
had long since given up hope of such a thing happening. Had allowed himself
the small mercy of forgetting the stories describing what he was missing.
And there again, it began mostly 'asleep'; silent. Easy to ignore in the
rush of the daily life of the king of an exiled people.
But when it *did* wake, Thorin remembered that he could not keep himself
from listening, as though the wind from the depth of a mine was gently
stroking over his thoughts. Its 'speech' was in impressions, feelings. He
would sometimes *know* only that the presence had been awake, as though fog
had walked at his side, lending an ear to the worries and annoyances in his
mind, or providing simple comforting company in a quiet moment.
Other times he now knew he had felt an actual burst of feeling, usually joy;
it seemed to be a very happy presence, often spreading exuberant arms of
pleasure around his brooding thoughts, fizzing fireworks around him.
Occasionally, he would feel grouchiness like a mutter across the back of his
mind, and would find himself reflecting back joyful affection that he was
hard-pressed to give any of the people around him; those were the times that
had come closest to making him notice the situation, being such a strange
reaction for him. Sometimes he would feel discomfort that would make him
twitch in sympathy and worry, make him snarl at everyone near him, needing
to do something.. and unable to even acknowledge it.
And through all this, he had not realized. Had dismissed it as strange
daydreams, when he noticed his distractions at all.
-------------------
Balin is quite proud that he was the first to realize what had happened. He
had been away in Gondor for over a year, and when he returned, the Thorin
that met him had calm, peaceful eyes instead of the pain and regret-filled
angry expression his friend had worn since the fall of Erebor. And then as
Balin frowned a worried question at him and began to report on what he had
seen in his travels, for a moment he saw the king tilt his head eastward,
eyes instantly forgetting Balin's presence and turning inward.
And it had not been so very long since Balin had seen that; he recognized
the symptoms well enough.
Once he was done with his report, he hurried to the king's sister, wary of
stepping on plans, if they were keeping it secret for a reason.
"Lady Dís?" With a lighter build even than Thorin, but a much fuller beard,
the dwarrowdam was otherwise very like the king; including in the scowl that
greeted anyone who disturbed her.
Though once she recognized friend from foe, her smiles were much freer.
"Balin! Welcome back, cousin."
"Thank you, lady. How long has Thorin's mate been alive?" He wished he were
more surprised at the shocked reaction he saw, "The distracted head tilts as
though listening to something far away? Rubbing at his heart as it finally
gets stitched back with its other half? The peace growing in his eyes as the
hole in his spirit is finally filled?"
"*I* never did any of that!" she frowned at him, "Nor did my boys."
"Your Víli was already alive when you were born, as are many dwarrows' Ones.
Or else they come into existence while we are very young; I hardly remember
the change when Sila was born during my 6th year. But Thorin has lived 144
years without the other half of his soul. Without having ever known a bond
in his mind. When you think of it, it must be confusing for an adult dwarf
to suddenly find a presence in their thoughts."
She frowned, "I suppose it would be, but why would you think those
particular.. symptoms, indicate the growing presence of a bond?"
"Dwalin."
"Ah. My apologies. I'd forgotten he was another late-bond," she smiled, "How
*is* young Ori?"
Balin shrugged, "Almost of age. They are both impatient to complete the
bond."
"I do not doubt it," she winced, "And now we will have *Thorin* stomping at
the bit for the foreseeable future..."
-----------------------------
Only a few months after Balin had pointed the situation out to her, Dís
walked into her late-for-council brother's rooms to find him standing still,
staring eastward with eyes wide with fear, shoulders and fists twitching as
his eyes stayed in their faraway place without seeing her enter. Having a
guard hurry to get Balin, Dís tried to get her brother to walk over to a
chair, but he would not budge, every muscle stiff as he breathed hard, as
though locked in combat.
"Dís?"
"Balin! Something is wrong!"
"Oh." She saw Balin smile a bit, walking up to the now-sweating king,
"Thorin?" The complete lack of response to his voice made him frown, and Dís
silently agreed; if he couldn't focus away from his mate *now*, how was
Thorin going to cope as the child's mental voice became stronger with
growing awareness?
"Well?"
Balin sent her a grin, "His mate is being born."
It took hours that Dís remembered all too well, bemused at the notion of her
brother finding himself feeling the process from the other side. Though she
did have to worry what would happen if something went wrong...
Sitting at his desk reading reports while she kept an eye on him, she
suddenly saw Thorin shudder, his body jerking as though shocked, hands
grabbing for his chest and skull with a loud gasp as she hurried to his
side. When his head finally rose though, it was with a smile covering his
face and making him seem decades younger, "He is born," he laughed, eyes
bright, "My One... Dís.. I have a One!"
She smiled with him, sharing in his joy, "I know, my brother. I know. I am
glad for you. ..He?"
"Yes. Strong. He rejoices, Dís." Her so-stoic brother laughed again,
throwing his arms out as though to embrace the world, "He is so full of
joy..."
She caught her breath in realization; her brother's joy that he had never
seemed to have.
Half of his soul.
It appeared that she was about to get to know the brother Mahal had meant
her to have.
-----------------------------
"Uncle!"
The still-new, deep, warm laughter that wreathed with her boy's much higher
laughing protest made Dís smile helplessly, watching Thorin spin in place
with his arms clamped under Kíli's armpits. He was only taller than the lad
by the thinnest of margin, now, but he was still wider and stronger. And
they both knew Kíli did not truly object to the embrace.
"Is uncle well, mother?"
The worry in Fíli's voice pulled Dís' attention to the boy standing at her
side. "Thorin is fine, inùdoy, he is... happy."
"..Was he not happy before?"
The hurt quiet had Dís stroking reassurance into the lovely golden locks he
had inherited from his father, smiling gently, "Your uncle.. was never whole
before. He is a different dwarf now-" They both turned at the sound of a
roar, watching their usually stoic king throw his head and arms back,
standing on the edge of the still grass-covered cliff he had dragged his
family to with an eagerness most dwarrows did not have for the world outside
a mountain.
Shouting wordless gratitude and challenge into the echoing valley bellow.
And laughing.
Dís shook her head at the sight, hugging Fíli close and keeping an eye on
Kíli, grinning back at her from a few steps away from her brother. "He wants
to share his joy with us." The early fall sun shone off of dark locks and a
simple tunic as Thorin once again whirled with the purest of joy. "Come."
And she dragged her eldest to his brother and led them in a dance of their
own.
AN: more ready,
just want to give it a few more reads and the later sections needs a few
extra words here and there
Dwalin, DOB 2772 as per lotr.wikia (118 when Bilbo
born)
Ori, DOB not in lotr.wikia so I am making it 2812
Chapter Two
AN:re-shuffling
the chapter breaks a bit
Once his One was born, his new awareness of the warmth at the back of his
mind was a constant draw. Resisting the need to reach out was a nagging itch
only held at bay by the child's own occasional reaching out; and the
knowledge made into law that he could hurt his so much younger One if he was
careless. Luckily the closeness of the babe's thoughts when he *did* seem to
extend out toward Thorin was just enough to keep the thirst for more contact
from being overwhelming. But Thorin still could not help listening hard
whenever the cloud retreated, even the bare hint of that whispering wind
enough of a comfort that he had to try for it.
He was vaguely aware that he was, perhaps, permitting himself too much time
buried in his mind. That his family and friends often gave him considering
looks. That Dwalin seemed to believe he now truly needed bodysitting.
Walking away from the morning's council session a little over two month
after the birth, Thorin had, as usual, been listening to the echoes that
came from the presence in his mind. It was particularly loud today, a
cheerful babbling brook that made him smile a bit, now that he was not
forcing his attention and expression on the arguments of his councillors.
Though it had been getting stronger almost every day, he still froze,
shocked, when the change happened.
"He.. he knows me!"
Dwalin, a step ahead, whirled and stared at him, even more shocked, though
his words made it plain he had known exactly what Thorin was doing, "What??
That is impossible! He is still an infant! He can not know what you are! Ori
was almost three before I felt anything like thought."
"Dwalin, I can remember enough, now, to know that he knew I was there before
he was born. He has never deliberately reached to *touch* me before, but he
has been aware, has *reacted* to my existence. And.. I simply did not think
he knew *me*..." Because this time when the haze that was the bond in his
mind had extended with the will of his One, it had not been a vague outflung
arm. His One's emotions were even now *stroking* against his mind. A feeling
of curiosity and welcome and devoted affection patting at him like a palm to
his cheek and shining eyes meeting his.
He forgot about reality, and was not aware of Dwalin catching him as he lost
his balance, and then half-carrying him to the nearest empty room. Every bit
of Thorin's attention focused on standing before the freely offered mist of
personality surrounding him, and on not allowing his own to overwhelm. To
control his wild elation at being loved, being accepted and cared for and-
oh to feel so much! So much he had never had. He had to share it with the
one who had brought him such a feeling! Even though it meant harnessing,
leashing it into a fine mist to offer his tender One. To only lay his
memories, hopes and fears, joys and failures, all that he was, open to touch
if the babe chose. Wondering if it would perceive them in the same way as he
felt its joy and grumpiness.
Then, he was suddenly worried for its physical body while it was so strongly
present in *his* mind. As though it actually understood- And surely it was
impossible that actual thoughts travelled the bond without touch? Surely a
babe could not comprehend them?- And yet it withdrew, and then stood near
and sent a tendril curling around his worry before retreating again; he
could almost hear a call for him to follow. And so he did, very carefully,
unsure of how he could even be 'moving', and terrified that he was
misreading the call and invading the child. But the babble was still there,
still cheerful and loving; drawing him away from what felt familiar to
Thorin's sense of self. But never far, always waiting for him to catch up.
And from one moment to the next, part of him was touching what had to be the
actual bond between them. And he could feel his One, far away to the East.
Could feel its mental awareness of a body: one with no pain or discomfort,
only calm breathing. Obviously it did not harm the other to visit Thorin.
Still touching the bond, he felt the loving mist come back to him, slipping
without hesitation into what the last few months had taught him to view as
his self. And though it was new and possibly even odd to have those tendrils
stroke through his thoughts and memories, petting as hands might -one day,
by Mahal's will, too long from now though it must need be- through his hair,
still he felt no fear; no shame or desire to hide. It was soothing, in
truth. Healing. Reassuring. He stood still, still feeling great joy, but
calmer now, content to feel his One's care fussing over his hurts, large and
small; reaching out as gently as he could with the barest hint of his love
to nudge and pet, laughing at himself for behaving like the pups he had seen
in the villages of men.
Eventually, he felt the little one's body getting tired and he nudged more
firmly, laughing and petting it a little more for its grumbles as it
withdrew.
When he opened his eyes, lips still pulled in the understanding smile for
his mate, it was to meet Dwalin's scowling features.
"You should not reach for him, Thorin. The laws are there for a reason. You
know this."
Instead of getting angry, as he knew he normally would at such a challenge,
even from his old friend, Thorin simply shook his head, still reverberating
with joy, "He reached for me, Dwalin. Would you deny, have you *ever* denied
Ori when he spoke to you?"
"He is too young to know-"
"He knew what he was doing Dwalin. Knows I am not him. Knew where the bond
between us lies in my mind -guided me to it!-, and no doubt in his own,
though I did not go there. He.. was in a good mood. And wished to share it."
"..You were blind and deaf to the world, Thorin. I realize you dislike the
notion of a bodyguard, but I insist you never evade me as you have before.
And do not argue with any I set to watch you in my absences."
Thorin looked at the room, and frowned when he had no memory of being
brought here. He turned back to Dwalin's worried features, "Very well."
Since Dwalin, himself a late-bond, did not have these spells, surely Thorin
would not long need such overbearing attention.
--------------------------
Now that he knew the babe was aware of him as a person, and now that he knew
how to find the bond, Thorin permitted himself to reach out; though he was
careful, always aware of the gentleness of his One. At random moments
reaching to send his love through the thread that was the bond, as fingers
comb through hair or stroke a pony. And when frustration filled him, he
would let his mind lean on the link to the fog of presence and rest,
listening to the soothing breeze, however distant.
And it just as often reached for him. And even more than before, it was all
he could do not to laugh out loud from the sheer giddy joy the touch gave
him, even if it was only a quick flick. When it reached for him with
pleading arms and sadness, he no longer hesitated to wrap himself around it,
sending every scrap of comfort and love he had, beyond content to know that
he made his One happier with so little effort.
Once, the little one had come to him while he sat reading through a pile of
guild contracts to be signed. Bored and tired but knowing it was his duty,
having his One reach for him was a most welcome brightening to his day.
That the little one was grouchy and seemed in pain was enough to make Thorin
frown in worry, but nothing could take away his happiness at any contact.
And when he hurriedly reached to touch the bond, all he sensed of the
distant body was mild discomfort. Perhaps a stomach ache, or the 'colds' he
always heard men complain of. The body still felt strong, and somehow
healthy, in spite of the ache, so he made himself set aside the worry and
focus on the presence that had ignored his inattention and continued to try
to burrow into him.
It wasn't curious this time, wasn't trying to touch for the sake of touch.
Instead, it felt as though it wanted to hide. Wanted to rest and be
protected. Slightly befuddled, Thorin nonetheless did his best, wrapping
himself around the mist, bemused to feel it condense until he could actually
wrap around it. Wrap it in every bit of reassurance and affection he had.
And it settled there.
Thorin waited some moments more, but finally realized his One was truly
tired and.. had wished to sleep.. with him. Wondering if it felt like this
when Thorin let himself rest against it to listen to its voice, he focused
back on his contracts, the quiet presence so close to the surface of his
mind a pleasant warmth.
-----------------------------
Knowing his family were concerned for him did not make him accept their
interference a few weeks later.
"You need to guard your mind, Thorin. You cannot live buried in him. It is
unhealthy and dangerous for both your sakes."
Thorin almost leaped at his sister as he snarled, the old familiar blind
fury luckily pulled back as quickly as it had risen by a questioning thought
from his One, "I will *not* deny my mate! He is too young to understand why
I would do such a thing!"
"Not deny," Dís stood her ground grimly, used to her brother's furies, for
all they had gotten rare recently. It helped that Balin and Dwalin were both
near, as grim and worried as she, "Build a light shield between you; we all
do this soon or late, Thorin, instinctively. It need only be strong enough
to keep his mere existence from pulling at you so much at all times, light
enough that if he calls you you will hear. We are not telling you to turn
away from him; only to remember your own sense of self. He is strong,
Thorin, just as you are. You could each drag the other to forgetting who
each is. We do not wish to lose you. Nor should he be no more that a copy of
you."
"I-"
"How many times have I caught you lost in him, Thorin? You frequently freeze
in the middle of hallways, sometimes for minutes at a time."
"You even faded out during council last week, laddie. You can not do
that..."
It was ironic that his One was the one to stroke his temper into calm,
therefore leading him to accept the reason in the arguments. But however
much he despised, at the deepest level, the very thought of restricting
anything of the touch with his precious One, he knew he could not afford to
become a burden, to fail his people out of inattention. Whether or not he
could in time adjust, as Dwalin had, for now, a conscious shield was the
only way.
It took a few days to reason out how to imagine a curtain in his mind. And
then it nearly brought him to his knees the first time he forced himself to
slide it across the bond. He had to rip it off immediately, crippling terror
coursing through him at the loss of his One's full presence. Almost
gibbering, he scrambled to reach for the bond, only to be tackled by his
One.
He had not the slightest inclination to defend himself, allowing himself to
be surrounded and immersed in the other. When he surfaced from the
overwhelming need for reassurance, he slowly understood that his One had
been worried at the break in contact, but aware enough of his fear before
the attempt to not be angry with him.
With the understanding that his shield had not damaged the bond, he made
himself calm and contemplate trying again. He could not help wishing this
was not necessary. That the coming 70 years of waiting were done and he
could go to his grown One. Could complete the bond and their minds be
entirely together as they slept and woke together. Perhaps went to council
together, even. His One could rule by his side, if he was willing. There
would be no need for shields, then; they would not be so desperate for
contact if they were entirely linked and knew they would be together within
hours.
But for now, he sat in his room and slowly rebuilt the curtain, aware of his
One watching. And when he shielded the bond, he made himself stay calm. He
*could* still sense the existence of his One, barely. And he slowly
lightened the curtain until he could just begin to truly feel him; and
slowly memorized how to make the shield barely cover that.
His One was still there. He could feel a presence. A far away murmur. And
when he finally could make himself hold it for long minutes, he heard quite
clearly when his One had enough of the separation and tried to reach for
him.
Nothing could make him like it, but he accepted that he would have to
maintain this shield while in public. But not one instant longer!
-----------------------------
Dís took a deep breath, straightening in preparation to have to argue the
room down, and her brother no doubt one of them.
"Enough. This will get us nowhere."
Dís' eyes opened wide, staring her brother as he *calmly* (!!) stared the
council down.
"I have as little love of accepting such insulting accommodations, but we
are demanding that they accept full price on our goods. We have all slept in
worse; the traders will survive. And if they can keep their mouths shut and
their weapons sheathed, next year we might have a foot to stand on. Our
history does *not* offer us any such bargaining strength!"
It took an hour for Dís and Thorin, for the first time working *together*,
to talk down all of the guild masters. One single glorious hour with her
brother the king never losing his temper, even if he did shout. Instead of a
week of drawn-out bargaining and negotiations for Dís while she or Balin
tried to keep Thorin from making things worse.
After several months of worry over her brother's losing himself in his mate,
she was reminded of the joy and hope she had initially felt. She would never
want him to lose himself.. but she could not deny that having him suddenly
control his temper was a change she could not help but approve of.
Chapter
Three
may 21, 2018
When Thorin's general miserable twitchyness changed to that listening pose
he still often fell to when they were alone, Dís finally realized why her
brother had been acting so strangely all day and leaned over to growl at
him, ignoring the droning councillor, "Thorin! Shield!" It had been more
than a year and half since she'd needed to remind him, and even then he had
not behaved so strangely. Dis frowned, concern trickling under her skin.
Thorin jerked upright, blinking, muttering distractedly, "...I.. I am." and
then Dís saw fear break out across his features, "He is... He is weak! I.. I
can barely hear-"
Dís jumped at the crash Thorin's chair made as he rose gracelessly and then
rushed out the door without a word. Growling, she gave Balin a nod as she
followed her brother, unsurprised to find him saddling a pony.
"Thorin! You cannot go to him! The laws are there for a reason! Contact
between you when he is so young could damage your future relationship!"
He did not even turn to her to answer, "I remember how you reacted when Víli
died! You all say the way I feel him is so much stronger than it should be,
do you truly believe it matters what might be changed of our future? If he
dies I will be dead myself!"
Ignoring the cold twist of fear the words brought, no matter that it was
almost certainly excessive melodrama on her brother's part, Dís tried to
reason with him, barely resisting grabbing his shoulder to turn him to face
her, "You do not know where he is! And what do you think you can do even if
you reach him? There is no reason to assume a childhood illness will lead to
death."
About to mount, Thorin finally looked at her to snort with worried eyes,
"You know very well I could find him blindfolded. And... I do not know what
I can do, but I must try." His eyes grew distant, looking inside rather than
seeing her, "He is... he has faded too quickly. I can almost see his
death..." he shook his head, eyes focusing back on Dís fiercely, "I will
*run* all the way to him if I must."
-------------------------------
Frowning exhaustedly at the non-stop pounding, Bella hurried to and opened
the door, carefully standing out of the way of the fist no doubt dropping
again.
"You have a son born two years ago in September he is ill please let me see
him please!"
Bella's eyes had widened, mouth open in shock at the rapid-fire stream of
desperate pleas from the sweat and dust-covered, feverish-appearing *dwarf*
on her doorstep.
"Please, I beg you-"
Snapping out of her haze as a sudden wild hope rose out of what was no doubt
despair-born foolishness, Bella straightened, "This w-" before she could
complete her words, he had bolted past her inviting arm, seeming to know
exactly where to go even as she ran to follow him.
She reached the bedroom doorway in time to see Bungo with a shocked
expression at the intruder, holding Bilbo whose eyes and arms were reaching
for the dwarf, whimpering weakly. Their surprise visitor lunged forward and
grabbed the fauntling, not seeming to even *see* Bungo, pulling the small
body tight to his chest, a huge hand at his tiny nape. The infinite relief
that appeared on the dwarf's features, even before Bilbo quieted and slumped
on him with a relieved sigh, was difficult to comprehend from one who'd
never met their child; let along one of *his* stoic race.
As soon as his hands touched the child's bare skin, Thorin felt the
connection between them change, and suddenly the love and care he had been
helplessly sending was pouring through the bond as though it were the very
energy of life rather than mere sentiment. And he found he could grip the
bond in his mind as tightly as any braided-steel bridge-rope and
deliberately strengthen the weak child; even shield him away from the pain
he had been feeling.
"Ghivasha." It was an utterly relieved exhalation, unaffected by his
stumbling back against a wall as his knees tried to fail him. Nothing
mattered except keeping his palm on his One's nape and focusing his mind on
streaming every scrap of strength he had into its body through the new
channel, and wrapping the tired mind within in love and safety.
He spared a thought to remind himself not to overwhelm the exhausted child,
even accidentally, but otherwise concentrated on calming himself from the
terror of the ride, too aware that his tired One could feel every clench to
his old heart.
Bella and Bungo stared at their always-so-strangely-wary-of-strangers, even
related ones, child clinging, however weakly, to the armoured dwarf. Their
unexpected guest finally opened his eyes, though Bella could see he was
barely aware of them, "He is in pain. All his bones ache. And when he eats,
his belly hurts," even the beard could not disguise the utter fondness in
the sad smile, "And he hates that almost more than the pain. Does not like
food not being his friend." He laughed, a deep, husky sound that no hobbit
could make, rocks and caverns appearing in Bella's mind, even as Bilbo's
hands visibly tightened and he pulled himself even closer to his
incomprehensible friend. "My food-loving ghivasha."
Bungo muttered to her, eyes fixed on his son being held by the stranger in
his home, "Bella??"
Swallowing thickly, Bella whispered, "It is said that many dwarrows are born
with only half their soul," the stranger's eyes opened again and caught hers
and she continued with a questioning hesitation, "Bilbo.. is his One. The
other half of his soul."
"Yes." The whisper was loud in the silent room, the two hobbits staring at
the dwarf that watched them both with a conflicted expression. "Even through
the shield I keep between us to be able to function, I felt him weakening.
I.. did not know he was a hobbit; I could only follow the bond, which led me
to your door."
Though he frowned, Bungo reluctantly spoke up, "He's been staring westward
through the wall since he got ill. And whimpering for the last hour. He..
knew you were coming, didn't he?" The faunt wriggled weakly as though aware
of the conversation, getting his nose buried into the strangely-short, for a
dwarf, beard and giving another faint, pleased hum.
"Yes. From a distance I could only try to reassure him."
"You knew he was sick..." Bella swallowed hard, feeling Bungo grip her hand
tight, "I hope.. I hope you realize just how- Though he was surprised Bilbo
was still alive, the healer nonetheless is quite certain he will die within
days."
The dwarf looked downward with unfocused eyes, unquestioning wonder in every
foreign line of his face, "I do not think so. I... touching.. I am giving
him my strength. I think.. I think I can feel him getting stronger already.
Too aware of the laws against what he was doing, and the very real reasons
for them, Thorin left as soon as the presence in his mind had strengthened
enough that he was certain his One would live. Bilbo! It was such a guilty
bliss to have a name. To feel his One respond to its echo in his thoughts.
But he still warned his parents not to tell the lad his own name, for all
he'd likely 'heard' it through their bond already. Warned them that, by law,
he could not have contact with Bilbo for many years to come.
Out of fear that if something happened, the hobbits would not gain access to
him with the same freedom that a dwarf would, he allowed himself to leave
Erebor's signet ring with Bilbo, using a last touch to be clear as he passed
on the meaning of the ring to that familiar presence in his mind, unchanged
by the physical contact save for being a little stronger. And he told his
parents that he was Thorin, son of Thráin, and lived in the Blue Mountains.
With all that, he knew they could find him and be allowed through even the
most suspicious dwarven guard.
Every step he took away from Bilbo he spent resting against his One, petting
him and petted in return. He *could NOT* stay. He would hurt Bilbo and cost
them their future. And his One was safe, now. They were not abandoning each
other.
Even if he could actually feel distance grow between their thoughts with
every league.
AN: from here on after,
you might notice the writing get rougher. This wasn't as deeply
developped
Chapter Four
apr 27, 2020
AN: my thanks to Nyruserra for the beta and listening to me whine
and offering thoughts and lines!
NB. not sure where my head was, but Ori DOB needs to be 2823, sorry for
revisionist history, making him 67 when Bilbo is born
Time was an odd thing. He remembered the years after Smaug, how it
seemed that every day was so infinitesimally short compared to the stately
passage of time before Erebor's fall. The weeks and months flying past
on the dates of the missives he read, all without his feeling as though more
than a few days, or perhaps one week at most, had gone by.
Once their people had started finding places to settle, and especially once
they’d made the Blue Mountains habitable, it had slowed down again,
somewhat. He still lost track of some days, but weeks had a pace he
settled into, and the years of travelling alone and working quietly at the
forge had some of the feeling of his youth. Some. Then as he
grew older, that sense slowly accelerated again; but it was a steady, slow,
natural progression.
By his 140th birthday, the thinness of a simple day, compared to the weight
of all the others in his memories, made any given event seem more recent
than it was: the span of memory he still identified as being a handful of
weeks too often turned out to have been filled with six months' worth of
days. But that was natural: was a shared complaint with his age mates, even
those who had not spent their youth trying to keep Erebor's people alive.
Even after his One was born. For all that the coming seventy years of
waiting for him to mature did seem dreadfully long, still, he knew it was a
full seventy-three years ago that he’d got stuck in a blizzard, two days
into the Misty Mountains; and yet whenever his big toe started to ache, he
always thought it was barely a decade ago; two at the most. To spend
such a span of time with his precious One as the truest of companions in his
thoughts would be no terrible thing, he'd reminded himself whenever
impatience chaffed at his heels.
But in the months and years after he rode painstakingly away from his badly
frowned-upon (yelled-about) trip to his ill One’s side, Thorin noticed that
the passage of time began to feel strange. Some days, on waking, when
he would automatically check on his companion for a few minutes, he would
come away with the oddest thought that the evening meal was ages away.
That the visit from Dáin's delegation was almost unimaginably far in the
future, even though he knew it was coming on quick, with less than a week
left to prepare.
Pacing slowly through busy tunnels to show that this was one of those rare
periods that he had time for his people to accost him, being that he was
quite early for his meeting with the Mine Safety Council, he gave a tired
dam a smile as her barely-able-to-run dwarfling whimpered that she wanted to
see her friend now rather than in an interminable three hours.
Watching them hurry away, Thorin was bemused to wonder if –or more likely,
*how much*– Bilbo felt the same.
Increasingly, he’d come to notice that the hazy feeling of awareness he
would rest upon was changing. Sharpening. It wasn't near the
almost-clear images he'd gotten while they had touched, only separated by
cloth, such as Bilbo's wistful desire for what his sickly mate had
remembered as a deliciously moist piece of soft bread with butter melting
soft yellow in the centre. But it was no longer simple joy or
curiosity that he felt, either.
Going on three years after he'd nearly lost his One to illness, though he
could not hear words, the bond had gone from vague joy, to growing moments
of sharp pleasure, as though having accomplished something particularly
pleasing, to now often sending him the busy impression of someone happily
planning away. At first those 'plans' had only lasted a few hours, but
lately, the same preoccupation would continue for several days, hinting at
detailed projects, followed with Thorin being tackled by his companion: all
those carefully controlled thoughts changed back to a haze-filled victory
and wanting to share the sentiment.
If it *was* his One's doing that time often seemed as never-ending as it was
for his nephews, still Thorin could only feel gratitude. However much
he loved Dís and valued his few friends, there was something infinitely
precious in the constant presence of his companion. Everyone else had
their lives –occupations, families and other interests and obligations– and
Thorin, however they might care for each other, as only one amongst them.
Whereas his One was always with him; even though they were apart. And even
though later Bilbo would have his own list of interests and occupations,
they would each remain there for the other. There would always be a
caring touch on his soul, that solid thread of warmth and affection making
him strong.
Strong; and joyful. Thorin still sometimes startled at seeing Dwalin
appear at breakfast smiling instead of wearing the scowl Thorin had always
associated with his friend –never mind that the formerly-grumpy
guard-captain and his One had merged their lives and been sharing quarters
for almost two years, now.
He could remember –like it was mere months ago– the day Dwalin had finally
got to meet his Ori, all eager anticipation and faraway eyes, and grins and
chuckles at nothing Thorin or Balin or Dís could hear as they all waited to
celebrate their finally meeting. And then Ori and his brothers had
walked in and the long-separated Ones had brightened visibly and hurriedly
reached to touch; reached for that closeness that Thorin knew was worth
every moment of waiting.
It was only Thorin's interfering sister that had finally made them part by
greeting Ori, forcing him to draw his face away to answer her, but neither
had stopped smiling, even as Dís questioned all three 'Ri brothers on their
journey. Balin had taken the last quiet moment between cousins to mutter
teasingly, "Don't get carried away, brother, he's to spend the day at a desk
helping me edit the treaty tomorrow," and Thorin had snorted that staying up
all night would hardly bother the youth —even as he couldn't help but feel a
little wistful, even a little jealous, at whole hours of the day, of almost
every day, touching, wrapped around each other's thoughts, known and
knowing. Bound up in unquestioned affection and warmth. The brothers had
given him such odd looks for his perfectly reasonable response that he still
felt like challenging them, even in retrospect. At the time, Ori had
slipped his grinning self back under Dwalin's arm and ended the conversation
before he could bring any cloud to his cousin's joyful day.
Thinking back, Thorin understood the undying smile his glum cousin had worn
constantly those first few months. The automatic shift to touch as
soon as the other entered the room, or give a quick, gentle stroke in
passing the other's chair. But that relaxed curl was still odd on
Dwalin's usually-scowling features.
As he spotted the jittery miners waiting for him ahead, Thorin wistfully
reached for the bond, pleased at the busy happiness he felt through it; even
more so when his One took a moment to send a stroke of affection to Thorin.
---------------------------------
Handing Bilbo the last elevensies plate to dry, Bella debated between
convincing Bungo that it was warm enough to sit in the garden so she could
sit in his lap to read Bilbo more of that history she'd found of Moria; or
going to see if old Magot had any turnips left.
She'd always had a fascination to read about the great halls the dwarrows
had carved out and, these days, having come to accept their little
fauntling's likely future, Bungo had grown more willing to indulge
her. And Bilbo had been very good this week, quietly accompanying
Bungo on his rounds and planting a proper little arrangement of flowers in
the garden section he'd asked for. And though they'd never tried to
discuss the dwarf that had given him the ring he always wore, he showed a
distinct preference for stories of his bondmate's people over any others.
Bilbo had pulled out the drawing of what she thought was the Green Dragon
that he'd been working on before their meal when Bungo walked in and she
decided that hunting for turnips could wait, and they definitely needed to
make sure that that garden bench was sturdy for the summer.
Before she could do more than throw her husband an enticing smile, Bilbo
gave the kind of sudden scream that he hadn’t since he toddled at her apron
strings, and then scrambled up, uncharacteristically clumsy as he grabbed
her sleeve and started pulling her to the door, sobbing loudly and grabbing
Bungo as well as he passed him, both of them letting the small boy drag them
in their shock. As he got past the threshold, though, Bella snapped
out of it and tried to grab his shoulder and stop his mad attempt to run
down the lane, "Bilbo! Stop!"
Then the whimpers changed to words as his wide, tear-filled eyes met hers,
desperate, "Hurt! Help!" and he tried to tug her again, but then gave it up
and let go of both of them to go pelting down the still-muddy path.
Bella managed to chase him down, but the howling bundle of fury that had
been her little faunt was not going to be held for long and she looked back
to see her husband just recovering from his shock and starting to hurry
after her.
"Bungo!"
"What's wrong with him??!"
"I-"
Bilbo's high-pitched shout cut her off, "He's HURT!"
Bungo grabbed their son's kicking legs while staring into her eyes with
fearful realization, "The dwarf. Thorin."
"YES! Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease I have to help him!"
"I'll get ponies."
Feeling Bilbo's desperate fight to get to his bondmate, Bella shouted at her
hurrying husband, "Get four!" Even with the extra mounts, the Blue Mountains
were going to be a long, unpleasant ride, she thought grimly as Bilbo cried
in her grip, his words reduced to those of a much younger child in his
distress, still trying to kick himself loose.
---------------------------------
It took them three days to reach the mountain range on the horizon, running
their poor ponies, and themselves, as ragged as they dared on the uneven
ground, especially during the nights. The last day with Bilbo whimpering
from a throat raw from wailing and shouting at them to hurry. It
wasn't surprising that the guards had their weapons drawn when they galloped
up in their dusty little wagon.
"HALT!"
Bilbo seemed to find a burst of strength with their goal so close and
managed to scramble out of her tired arms before she could rise to climb
down from their cart, tumbling to the ground and racing fearlessly toward
the armed dwarrows. Bella screamed at them, watching her fauntling run
at the guards, "He is One to Thorin son of Thráin!" Her words made
them hesitate, and by then Bilbo was on them, the ring he hadn't let go of
for the last three days held in the air. Obviously the guards were
observant, or well informed, for they lowered their weapons in a
hurry. Though they did try to grab Bilbo. Unsurprisingly, her
small boy weaved between the large dwarrows and, much to her horror, ran at
full speed right into the dark mouth of the mountain behind them, their
shouts doing nothing to slow him.
A lifetime of training at always tracking the pulse of her people made Dís
dimly aware of a shift in the low murmur that had been blanketing the larger
tunnels that eventually led to the mountain's entrance. A faint rise
in distant volume that she only truly caught onto when it came close enough
that she heard individual calls from startled dwarrows.
It was enough that when the shouts flared high at the mouth of a passageway
a mere fifty feet from the freshly-excavated, rubble-strewn pockets of
tunnel where she stood with Balin, Dwalin, and her sons, feeling exhausted
and on the edge of grieving, all their attentions were pulled.
At the sight of the tiny fleeing dart evading grabbing dwarrows to swerve
into ?one of the smaller paths toward the mines, Dís' eyes widened and a
cold wash of recognition woke her wandering mind, "Fíli! Kíli!
Follow him!" As the brothers streaked after their trespasser with all
the speed of their young bodies, Dís shouted at the lead digger, "Half your
men after us with equipment! Dwalin, with me! Balin, find where
he came from!"
"Fíli! This way, I hear him!"
Fíli stopped sharply, turning around to follow his brother’s fading voice
down the darker fork. It only took another two turns before he caught
up and they found a small boy with oversized bare feet, realizing what their
mother had already guessed: that this was their uncle's One; crying and
trying to pick rocks out of a section of rubble that had to be at the far
back of the tunnel that had collapsed. "Stop! You'll hurt
yourself!"
The boy turned his head to look at them, bloodshot eyes far too large for
his round face, and sunk deeper in unsleeping dark than even their mother's,
looking at them without surprise. Fíli expected a shout from the fury
and fear in those eyes, but the words were a whisper out of a raw throat,
"He's hurt. Dig!"
Fíli swallowed; even *hearing* the raw-throated whisper was painful.
"He's not-"
"HERE!"
The ring that was shoved into the brothers' faces turned the broken shout
into an unbreakable command. "Kíli, go make sure the others find
us. Run!" And Fíli moved to help the little one shift some of
the smaller, safer, rocks.
------------------------------
The diggers had started on the new wall of rubble by the time Dís heard
Balin walk up with strange slapping footsteps at his side. She turned,
meeting the exhausted eyes of a fellow mother. The hobbit and her
nervous husband looked past Dís at their son, standing next to the diggers,
every few minutes making them adjust their path but otherwise allowing them
to do the work. Dís had, the first time, been about to step forward to
reinforce his order, but the boy had shoved the ring he held in his clenched
fist in the dwarf's face with a fierce glare and Lonin had immediately paled
and turned to obey the unfamiliar child.
Watching him give another such order, Dís asked quietly, "Does he know what
he holds?"
Accepting water from Dwalin, the child's mother shook her head tiredly, "I
do not know. He doesn't speak of Thorin."
"It is the Ring of the King. Thorin has little use for it, here in the
Blue Mountains, but I am still... surprised he would give it to such a young
child." Though, thinking of the logistics of a hobbit calmly appearing
at the gate to ask for Thorin, and the suspicion the boy, or even a
full-grown hobbit, would have faced, she could understand the fear that
drove her brother to take such a risk. There were all too many guards who
would not be willing to believe a stranger even enough to bother asking
confirmation from someone close enough to the royal family to be aware of
Bilbo.
The hobbit did not respond, back to staring worriedly at her child, "Are you
so certain Thorin is still alive, let alone that Bilbo can find the best way
to him?"
It only occurred to her weeks later to be glad for the tragedy under which
they'd met. Their shared grief had axed through the silence she would
usually have kept of dwarven matters before any but Mahal's children; any
but close kin, even, in this case. Instead, she met Balin's reddened eyes
and spoke, accepting the strangers into her family without further fuss.
"My brother's connection to him was so strong he could barely function even
before your boy was born. Once he was, Thorin was lost in his mind
until we forced him to shield the bond. When your boy fell ill, three
years ago, Thorin said that it would not have mattered if he stayed here;
with the strength of their bond, if his One died, he would die, whether he
was near or far.” Dís fell silent, grim at the memory, as well as the
danger of such a link, “I'm afraid- I have to suspect that your boy
would be dead if Thorin was.” She politely turned to watch the digging
rather than stare at the fear paling the hobbits' already strained faces as
they gripped hands tightly.
She continued quietly, “As for finding the way to him... he knows *where*
Thorin is, just as Thorin found your home. Whether the shortest
distance to him is the best way to dig,” she shrugged tiredly, trying to
keep her shoulders from slumping in front of everyone, “We have been
following the logical path to where we thought he and the others were, to no
avail. There is no time left. Even a dwarf can only live so long
without water, let along injured as Bilbo has confirmed he is. We will
either make it through to him... or he will die. *They* will die."
There was only the sound of rocks grating as they were shifted, and the
grunts of the dwarrows moving them, to cover the low mutter of what might
have been prayers or swearing behind her.
It takes three hours to dig their way in. Bilbo serving as their
beacon that there was still hope, even while continuing to adjust their
path, though they could also see that the child was growing weak. And
the one time they tried to make him eat resulted in a very violent reaction
that dissuaded them from repeating the attempt.
When he suddenly dashed forward between two of the diggers, the dwarrows
didn't have time to see the small gap in the stone before the tiny hobbit
was through it and beyond their reach.
-------------------------
The first time Thorin woke, his body was in agony. His arms throbbed
so heavily he at first wondered if it was caused by further rumbling from
the re-discovered vein of sapphire that had, at some point in the distant
past, been cleaved wrong —and the resulting fatal weakness left for them to
find, unknown ages later. In time to watch it collapse an entire gallery.
Around their already-troubled heads
Slitting his eyes open showed him nothing but clouds of dust, making him
aware of how difficult it was to breathe. Shouting for Urla, the lead
miner from whom he'd just taken a few steps before the sub-subterranean
roar, would be ill-advised, and almost certainly a wasted effort with the
noise still ringing in *his* ears. He started to sit up to make his
way to the nearest wall to get an idea of the damage, only to realize his
mistake as bone grated on bone and ripped through skin, the unexpected agony
tricking a dangerous scream out of him and letting in the choking
particle-laden air, triggering great hacking coughs that further wracked his
apparently injured chest and broken arms. The rush of unconsciousness' dark
veil was a blessing he could not fight.
He would later take his sister's word that the flickering haze of pain,
confusion, and half-blind nightmare visions that followed were spread over
three days. All he knew was that eventually he woke...
differently. His eyes and mouth were swollen from dehydration, his
head felt as though it were shattered worse than when Dwalin thumped his
skull through a dropped guard, years ago. But he lived. And he
could feel himself getting stronger. When his mind automatically
reached for Bilbo, as he always did on waking, though he rather hoped he
hadn't managed it in the state he barely remembered being in, recently, he
was shocked to find his One was not a distant presence; instead, he was a
river of strength pouring into the dwarf.
For a feverish moment, those distant hopes he'd been entertaining of a time
when he and Bilbo shared their lives seemed real and the condition of his
body disappeared under the simplest *joy* of his One at his side, to hold
and be held by. And that was when he felt the touch of so-small hands
on his temples, and the relaxed featherweight of a child's body on his
bruised chest, and he froze in confusion as the faint ghost of arms spanning
his waist recoiled into the dusty haze of a distant warning thought.
The child resting on him shifted and he finally noticed his One's agitated
mental attempts to get his wandering attention, "Tor'in?!"
Wondering how bad a sign the difficulty he was having to breathe was, and
uncertain if he could move any part of his body, Thorin settled for sending
his love and gratitude through the bond, hearing a weak, reassured giggle in
response, even through his rising awareness of the noise of dwarrows and
digging nearby.
-----------------------------
It took another two hours after Bilbo had vanished through the tiny gap in
the rocks before a hole large enough for an adult dwarf was safely
made. Two hours without the sound of a voice, without their beacon to
be certain the king still lived.
There was never a chance that Dís would not follow Óin and his helpers
through the hole, and no one had the temerity to stop Bella, as the hobbit
had insisted Dis call her, either.
Seeing the tiny hobbit crumpled on her equally-still brother's chest, Dís'
heart froze for a moment. But Óin never slowed and immediately reached
to check for his king's pulse. "He's alive! Stronger than I
expected, too."
"Bilbo's been with him for two hours."
Even Óin paused on his way to straightening, turning to Bella with a wary
look, but it was Dís that spoke to the hobbit, "Why would that signify?"
"When Thorin came to us, three years ago, Bilbo had caught a wasting
sickness a few days before. It is not rare, and in adults it is little
worse than an unpleasant cold that lingers. But in children that
young," her jaw clenched, meeting Dís' eyes, "It is invariably deadly.
The morning of the day Thorin came, the healer had said he was surprised a
child who'd been so thin to start with was still alive. But he was
still obviously going to be dead within days. When Thorin came, all he
did was hold Bilbo. From the moment I let him in the house and he ran
to him, they did not let go of each other until late the next day. But
even by that first night, Bilbo was visibly stronger. He was actually
willing to drink a cup of soup before they went to sleep." She looked
at Óin, "When I asked him what he had done, Thorin said he was giving him
his energy-"
The gasps of every dwarf in the room stopped the hobbit's words, Óin's gaze
flying to Dís in shock, and then both of them turning to look at the two on
the floor.
"That... That is passing rare."
"Aye. Useful though. However," Óin frowned at Thorin's chest,
muttering, "Even your light form could be injuring Thorin's ribs if he's
hurt. I need you off-"
When he reached to lift the child, Bilbo immediately raised his head, and
almost everyone in the room was shocked at the snarl that twisted his soft
features as he scrambled to a crouch over the king, one hand still on his
neck but the other held as through ready to scratch anyone that approached.
Bella shouted before the healer recovered from his backward jerk, "No!
Do not-" she turned to Dís for understanding, "Bilbo will defend anything to
do with Thorin viciously. I shudder to think what he would do if he
feels you are trying to separate them when Thorin needs him!"
Dís blinked, "Is that normal for hobbits??" She had thought they were
gentle creatures, but perhaps when their mates were threatened... Certainly
the boy was very different from any five year old dwarfling she'd ever met.
Bella shook her head, back to watching her son warily as he continued to
glare at the healers around him, "No. Most hobbits are quite slow to anger
and quick to forgive. But... The necklace Thorin gave him for that
ring was visible when he wore only a summer shirt. Bilbo once almost
attacked one of his favourite cousins when the foolish boy teasingly reached
for it. If an older cousin hadn't grabbed him... he said Bilbo's face
was twisted in anything but teasing, and his muscles were all tensed.
He would have caused damage. And Bungo and I have seen the truth of it
when we several times had to restrain him when someone foolishly made
comments about dwarrows in his hearing."
Dís winced, meeting the healer's knowing look, "Óin. Do not try to
force him. He's obviously very intelligent: reason with him."
Dís looked at Bella grimly, "Thorin has a very short and very vicious
temper. Though he has gotten shockingly calmer and more reasonable
since your boy was born."
------------------------------
He must have passed out again, being that the next thing he knew, he was in
a soft bed. His arms still ached fiercely, but they must have forced
water into him, resulting in most of his pains having eased.
'Better.'
Resisting the urge to laugh with his raw throat, Thorin smiled at the
satisfied whisper in his mind, bright pleasure slipping through him to hear
*words* from his One. He would not have thought anything could be
better than feeling Bilbo's care and affection, but this... the strength he
felt come through the word, rock-solid confidence and strength and —he made
himself stop and focus on the content soul merged with his, thinking in
return, 'You found me.'
The body again laying on him wriggled with the pleasure he felt through the
bond, 'Made dwarfs dig.'
Not letting his joy out in laughter was painful and Thorin raised his head
instead, only enough to barely rub his chin on the curls of the head with
its ear pressed to his heart. But then Bilbo pushed himself up,
careful of Thorin's splinted arms, and shifted until he could wrap his arms
around Thorin's neck and rub their cheeks properly together, his affection
pouring through the bond along with his strength.
Thorin sighed, at peace regardless of the pain, 'Ghivasha.'
"You want water, Thorin?"
Dwalin's quiet offer distracted Thorin from the simple joy that came from
having the bond with his One wide open, and he slowly made himself open his
eyes. Someone had mercifully thought to leave the lights in the room
low enough that they did not hurt him overmuch.
He saw Dwalin appear above him with a mug in his hand, "Well? Are you
going to move, scamp?", he asked, looking down at the undoubtedly absurd
sight Thorin and Bilbo made.
Blinking at the very notion of being called 'scamp', it took Thorin a moment
to notice Bilbo's mutter of annoyance at the intrusion and realize who it
was Dwalin had been addressing. Sending his amusement to his hobbit
through the bond, and to Dwalin with a smirk, he was rather surprised that
when Bilbo moved, rather than allow Dwalin to offer the drink, the child
took the small mug from the tattooed warrior, and then clambered around
Thorin's chest until there was an arm sneaking under his neck and an
unfamiliar voice muttering, "Up. Drink."
Slightly wide-eyed at the casual order, and his One's apparent familiarity
with lifting and holding his head to press the ceramic to his lips and
trickle water into his mouth, Thorin nonetheless obeyed, aware that Dwalin
hadn't been surprised, though the warrior did have a faintly unsettled look
as he watched them. Had that been what Dwalin *expected* to happen?
"He hasn't let you go for more than a few minutes at a time since he darted
through the rubble to you. It took Óin accusing him of endangering you
with infection to get him to take a bath, if that's what you call his
cleaning himself in the time it takes tea to cool. The two of them
don't get on too well."
Thorin knew for a fact that Bilbo understood perfectly what Dwalin had said,
could hear the echo of his words of retort through the bond. And yet
there was no response. The boy held Thorin's neck with gentle care and
offered careful sip after careful sip without comment to his actions.
"You were trapped for five days and you've been out for almost two.
Does he know what that ring is?"
"Tor'n ring. Mark me."
Content to let his One speak for him, Thorin didn't try to add to the
child's words, he simply watched Dwalin piece together the meaning behind
them and gratefully swallowed the small mouthfuls he was given.
"Thorin's ring, yes. The ring of the King of Erebor.” Dwalin's usual
frown deepened, “Mark you... You know that it marks you as the king's
voice?"
"Not voice. *His*."
Dwalin's shocked inhale was clear, and Thorin grinned when his old friend
whipped his disbelieving stare at him. "You– You can't... You
can't claim him like this yet, Thorin!"
The mere thought was an insult and Thorin was about to respond, raw throat
or no, when he became aware of the white-hot fury in the bond. And not his
own. "Nnnn!" His shoulders tried to send his arms to grab the body at
his side that he still barely associated with the One his his mind, but his
immobilized limbs didn't cooperate.
Luckily the lurch and the pain that resulted in his still-injured body were
enough to distract Bilbo from his incipient lunge at Dwalin. The
hobbit was gently patting him down as though looking for injuries, all the
while muttering. Not in true words, but in a verbal indication of his
feelings.
Thorin made himself whisper, "Not Claim. He is my One. I wished
him protected until the day I *could* stand at his side."
"He said he was *yours*."
Bilbo growled as he clambered back to lay on Thorin's chest, the sound so
small and high that Thorin saw Dwalin smirk in amusement; but *he* could
feel the fury behind it and was wary enough to simply send his protector his
love and gratitude and reassurance.
"Tor'n mine. Bi'bo his."
Thorin rubbed his chin against Bilbo's temple, thinking fiercely, 'Yours,
ghivasha.' He looked up at Dwalin, swallowing to prepare to speak, only to
feel small fingers cover his mouth as Bilbo's head turned, no doubt to glare
at Thorin's old friend, "We stay 'way. Obey law. But he still
mine and Bi'bo *his*."
-------------------------------
As they made their much-slower way home, less than a week after Bilbo had
run into the mountain, Bella turned her head to look back at the shadowy
bulk the elves called Ered Luin that had seemed naught but a gloomy wall on
their approach. Now the spring sun, blazing behind Bella's head as it rose
from the East, splashed against the dark stone of what was, in full light
and calm sight, essentially a foothill; there was an unmistakable sense of
many other layers of ridges rippling away westward, beyond the ability of a
hobbit to grasp in one viewing.
During their few days under those daunting spires, she knew they'd hardly
seen the barest fraction of the kingdom that hunkered there; surely living
space for as many dwarrows as there were hobbits in Tookborough, possibly in
the whole Shire. Mines, smithies and jewellers, assuredly, but also
butchers, kitchens, tailors; schools, markets. The Hall that Bilbo's future
mate ruled from.
They'd left in such a rush that Bungo wasn't even certain he'd locked their
front door —Yvanna only knew what their neighbours thought had happened;
they might get back to find themselves declared dead, and what a fuss that
would be to fix! Yet still she'd considered staying for a visit, thinking
that Bilbo was so attached to his Thorin, however it was that this 'bond'
let them keep in touch, that he'd be pleased to spend time with him. At
least, she had until that scowling warrior who was the king's –the *king's*,
Yvannah!– friend had come to the chambers where she and Bungo had been
resting in a soft armchair in front of a cheery fire and passed on the word
that Thorin had finally awoken, and that the Lady Dís had invited her to
tea.
Dís led Bella into her private receiving chamber, hung with pale fabric to
break the stiffness of stone, here where she often came to take her ease and
think through troubling issues. The furniture was old and well-loved,
reminding her of quiet times with her boys and her lost One. It was a
room to which she rarely brought any but family and close friends; both of
which she had to hope the hobbit would one day be.
Thorin had always been challenging, and her short acquaintance with Bilbo
made her feel that however much joy he brought Thorin, he would be a
challenge himself. As it should be, of course. But still.
To already show such understanding at a mere five years of age... even her
Fíli, who'd always been a little too mature, had barely understood simple
concepts at that age. As glad as she was that Thorin's mate showed such
promise, it seemed wise to have a relationship with his mother. Who
thankfully seemed to have a calm head on her shoulders and a fair amount of
courage.
Hopefully Balin would reassure her far more quiet-seeming husband that their
son's mate's family wanted only the best for the boy.
Once she'd settled herself, Dís offered Bella the plate of sweets she'd had
prepared to accompany their tea, watching her take an iced chocolate crackle
before taking a slice of nut-roll for herself and sitting back in the
comfortable armchair with the minimal grace she affected with friends and
family. "Well. That was unpleasantly close."
The hobbit, still looking rather tired even after a night's rest and several
meals as healthy and hearty as the princes were wont to destroy, held
herself stiffly, visibly uncomfortable on a low couch that Dís knew was
perfectly soft, and smiling at her politely but warily, "Yes. Is he...
Is Thorin truly king?"
Dís nodded, taking a sip of her favourite dark tea and making certain to
project calm openness to her brother's one-day outside-mother, "The de facto
king of the exiled people of Erebor, yes."
That led to silence for several sips of the strange fruit-scented tea the
hobbits had brought with their trail provisions and which Dís had offered to
brew for this first proper meeting, Bella's eyes serious and searching
rather than intimidated, "And... I had actually read of Ones. It had
not sounded... like so much of a link."
Dís was thankful for the subject having already been broached when they
found her brother, giving her time to prepare for the likeliness of having
to discuss such a normally utterly private topic over tea. It was no
small part of what had decided her to make the rare effort to befriend
someone so rashly. There was little time to carefully sound out the
seam here, Mahal had set the Bagginses to join her family and she must see
that that joining have the best chances of success. "I do not doubt
it," she carefully refrained from glaring or outright demanding who had
dared to write of such things in a language other than Khuzdul, reminding
herself that in had likely saved her brother a great deal of grief, "I am
certain you can understand that we've no wish for outsiders to be aware of
the details of our bonds."
"Yes. I can see where it would be dangerous. Even if dwarrows
were not secretive by nature."
Dis grinned at the wry dig, glad the hobbit was relaxing enough to smile
back, "There is that."
There was a pause, made of sips and an exchange of stares until both were
certain that was all the princess would say on the matter, and another wry
smile willingly changed the subject. "Thorin said, before, that he *could
not* stay. I take it that is because he is your king." Though the
words seemed a statement, there was an up-tilt to the tone and Bella's eyes
that indicated the lady had caught some hint from her brother of the other
reasons.
Dis' amusement faded with the topic that had been another large part of the
reason she'd arranged this meeting. "No. It is because their
ages are so far apart. Most Ones are born much closer together."
Bella nodded, a fine tension stilling her features that Dís could well
understand, feeling thankful her sons both said their mates, though not
near, had always felt of their own age.
Though she'd already convinced herself she must divulge these details to the
hobbit, Dís nonetheless took a sip of tea before making herself disclose
what amounted to dwarven secrets much akin to having written of bonds at
all, “If they did not grow up in the same Hall, once Ones *do* finally
meet," she grinned wryly, remembering her gruff cousin's sudden, youthful,
cheer, a few years ago, "The encounter can be... tumultuous. They tend
to try to cram a lifetime of getting to know each other beyond the mere
impression of feelings from the bond into the first weeks, along with the
expected physical rejoicing of new couples. And, where the bond of those
that grow together will Complete itself gradually and without fuss over
years; being apart leads to it... happening rather suddenly. Often the
first time they are finally allowed to touch. To avoid such a deep link
forming between a full-grown adult and a child that would be overwhelmed,
when they *are* of such disparate ages, we have severe laws prohibiting
contact until the younger is considered an adult.”
She was unsurprised that by the time she finished, Bella was frowning
worriedly, "Bilbo and Thorin have touched..."
Dís hesitated but finally shrugged, "When I visited them earlier, Thorin did
not behave as though there is a full bond linking them, even now; he still
looked away, into his mind, when speaking of Bilbo. Even though your
boy was touching him. We appear to have been lucky, up to now, and the
contact they've had has not created a premature bond," she tightened her
lips, "I simply hope these encounters cause Bilbo no harm."
Bungo's hand gently squeezing her knee pulled her from those troubling
thoughts to meet his sombre look. Though as many hobbits fell in love as
teens as met only as full adults, the whispers they'd shared in the cozy
darkness of their guestroom bed last night wondered at how much more
difficult it would be to grow up knowing you have a loved one —and yet are
unable, un-allowed, to have contact with them.
Not that it must be easier for Thorin, waiting just as impatiently,
physically entirely able to travel to that contact, except for his care of
their little faunt.
AN: I am guesstimating
according to the map I found that it is 240 miles from Hobbiton to Ered
Luin, i.e. 3-4days pony-cart rushed journey
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