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Chapter Text

Out of all the places Bilbo had visited in his life, Rivendell was his favorite.

It wasn't really a surprise. The Elven city was hidden in a valley among the foothills of the Misty Mountains, surrounded by lush greenery, streaming waterfalls, and homes crafted with the finest artistry. The Elves who lived there were always welcoming to visitors no matter their race, and their hospitality was really the best when compared to their cousins in Mirkwood and Lothlórien. But the greatest reason that Bilbo liked it best was because it was the only place that he had ever felt truly safe from harm.

"How long will we be staying this time?" he quietly asked the older Hobbit at his side as they followed their clan up the familiar pristine staircase. The white stones were so clean and clear that he had a feeling if he stared at it long enough, then he would go blind.

Uncle Isengrim shrugged his wide shoulders. "I haven't had a chance to discuss it yet with Lord Elrond. But knowing him, I'd say about two seasons. Maybe three if I can send some of the boys out for work. Then we'll have less and they won't mind if we stay longer."

"And if they don't? Where will we go then?" he prodded, glancing up the stairs and counting the heads of the children he could see. The young ones had a bad habit of wandering off in new places, and Rivendell was certainly new to a few of them. Lola in particular was infamous for running off to 'explore.' He would have to keep an extra eye on her.

"I don't know," his uncle replied honestly, lowering his voice slightly, "but we'll find a place. Don't worry about it, lad. You have enough things to think about. Let me handle this."

Bilbo bit his lower lip sharply to keep from replying. He trusted that his uncle would find them a place to go to after Rivendell, but that didn't stop him from worrying about the location or the journey. He'd be a fool not to worry.

When they finally reached the top of the staircase, they found Lord Elrond waiting for them as some of the children scurried around his legs. The Elf didn't seem fazed, and even smiled down at them with open fondness. All Elves—even the suspicious and cold ones from Mirkwood—adored children.

"Hail, Lord Elrond," his uncle greeted, giving a small bow. "It is a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for granting us permission to visit your city. We appreciate your generosity."

Elrond nodded back as the corner of his full lips twitched into a half-smile that showed off the perfect arch of his jaw line. "Welcome back, Thain Took. It is always a pleasure to see you and your kin. I trust you did not have much trouble finding us?"

"No more trouble than usual," Isengrim replied, completely leaving out that they had been attacked by bandits. But considering there were only three, he probably did only see it as a minor nuisance. Bilbo certainly did.

The Elf nodded with gray eyes calm and smooth as liquid silver. "Of course. Please come and make yourselves at home. My people will show you where you may stay."

Isengrim bowed his head in gratitude before following the Elven Lord into the city. Bilbo lingered behind; looking over his kin as they shuffled along after the Elves. When his eyes caught sight of a small and familiar hand reaching up to pull on one Elf's long hair, he quickly moved closer and caught the tiny wrist before it could reach its prey.

"Don't even think about it," he whispered, pulling the child closer to his side. "I've told you about touching every little thing you see, Adelard."

Adelard, his youngest cousin, pouted up at him. "I was onlys gonna touch its a little bit. It's so shiny! Like water!"

He rolled his eyes and hauled the child up into his arms before he could try to make a break for it. "You can't go around touching a stranger's hair. It's not polite."

"What if I asks thems firstly? Thens can I touch it?" Adelard haggled, his small arms going around Bilbo's neck.

"No," he replied, making a mental note to teach the imp about stranger danger at a later time. "It's still not polite."

Adelard groaned and tossed his dark curls back dramatically. Bilbo smirked and quickly dug his fingers into the vulnerable ribs at his disposal. In return, the child squeaked before breaking into giggles and attempted to wiggle away.

"Bilbo, stop!" he pleaded, giggling into his cousin's shoulder. "I gives up!"

"Next time I catch you doing that I won't go so easy on you," he warned as he stopped his tickle torture.

Adelard rolled his brown eyes and curled closer to the older Hobbit. "Bilbo, is this going to be our new home?"

Bilbo flinched. It was a common enough question among the children whenever they came to a new place, but it still never failed to make his chest feel as if all the air had been sucked out. It was a feeling that he had lived with all his life, but that didn't make it easier to endure.

"No, Adelard. I'm afraid it's not," he replied softly, and tried not to show how much those words hurt him to say.

They hadn't always been nomads. According to his mother, Hobbits had a home of their own once. A beautiful and fertile land that was unlike any other place in the world. It was called the Shire.

"It sits in Eriador where the Kingdom of Arnor once lingered," Mother had explained to him when he was still a child. "It is a small but good land with lots of space to build homes and grow crops. Oh, love, it was so beautiful. Rolling green hills as far as the eye can see… streams so clear and clean you could see the bottom... There is no other place in the world that could ever compare to it."

Bilbo could only take her word for it. He had never seen this homeland for himself. No, he was (un)lucky to be born after they were driven out by the dragon Smaug.

"I remember the day he came," Father had once recounted to him when he was older. He recalled it well because it was the year that his father had passed away. "He was so large that he blocked out the sun completely. Fire rained down on us all. The fields burned, the houses burned, the cattle burned… even the people burned. He set fire to everything until there was nothing left but ashes."

"So many were lost that day," Mother had agreed, her beautiful and burned face twisting into a look of haunting sorrow that he could never understand. "More than half of us were killed. The ones who did live were left injured and homeless."

"We never did learn why the bastard chose to invade our home," Father added, his blue eyes turning as cold as a night on the Misty Mountains. "We had no treasure to lure him there. No gold or silver or precious jewels to tempt him. Smaug had no reason at all to come and take our home away from us like that. No reason at all."

"Why didn't you fight to take it back?" Bilbo had asked because he had been born on the road where fighting to survive was all he knew. "Why not go and get help and then drive the beast out once and for all?"

His mother had just looked at him with soft brown eyes that mirrored his own. "Oh, love, our people are no warriors. We lived in peace with the world for so long that when we were finally challenged, we didn't know what to do. We still don't, really. It is taking everything we have just to keep our people going as it is. We could never muster the strength it would take to challenge Smaug for the Shire."

His parents had died believing that their people were doomed to wander the world forever more. Bilbo had no intention of following in their footsteps.

"I think staying here for three seasons would be the best option," he mentioned to his uncle later that night after they were settled into their new lodgings. "It will take me a full season alone just to reach Rhovanion. Coming back will be even longer."

Isengrim nodded as he rubbed his chin. "True. We must also take into account any… accidents you may run into."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and leaned back into the padded chair that was really too large for him. "Uncle, I'll be fine. I've traveled to Rhovanion before."

"But never by yourself," the older Hobbit retorted, narrowing his hazel eyes. "And never with such a large sum of money."

"I can handle any danger out there," he replied, raising his chin high. "I can also hide the coin just as easily. I can do this, Uncle. Trust me."

"It's not you that I don't trust, Bilbo," his uncle admitted, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger as he leaned back into his own chair with a defeated sigh. Isengrim was the oldest of his mother's siblings, and it was becoming clearer every day that he wasn't going to last much longer. His dark brown curls had long ago turned gray while his skin was paper thin and wrinkled. Even his walk was beginning to grow slower and hunched as the injury he took to his knee from escaping Smaug finally reared its ugly head.

Bilbo felt a prickle of guilt at the sight. After his mother died, Isengrim had taken him in and raised him to adulthood. He loved his uncle dearly and he owed him everything. Making the Thain look so old and defeated was wrong of him.

"I know you're only worried about my safety," he said quietly, lowering his chin and looking down to the floor. "But that doesn't change what needs to be done. If we ever want to go home, then you need to let me go."

Isengrim nodded and sat up straighter. "You're right, of course. Now is not the time to fall apart. We must focus on your journey. Now, have you decided which city you plan to visit first?"

He tapped his fingers against his knee in thought. "Yes, I have decided to first visit Dale and Erebor. Dale is a city of Men but rumors say that the ruling lord there is honorable. I will see what forces I can buy from there and Erebor before moving on to the Iron Hills. I do not know how the Dwarves will take my offer of gold, but I'm hoping the challenge of battle might win me a few warriors."

"What of Gondor? Will you visit there?" the older Hobbit questioned.

He shook his head. "Not unless I'm desperate. The steward there is rumored to be ruthless and cruel. He is more likely to kill me and rob my corpse than he is to help me."

"He did show little sympathy to our crisis when the Baggins went to him for help," Isengrim admitted, nodding his head with a small frown. "You'd save yourself time avoiding it altogether along with Mirkwood and Lothlórien."

"You do not think the Elves will offer us their aid?" he asked quietly, watching his uncle's face.

Isengrim's mouth tightened into a straight line. "We asked for their help once in the beginning and were turned away. I doubt that they would have changed their minds within the last hundred years."

Bilbo thought back to the Elvenking and his expressionless face, and found himself agreeing. "You're right. I will not bother with them unless forced to. Have you decided who will go through Eriador?"

"Yes. I've decided to send your cousin Sigismond to the Blue Mountains," his uncle replied. "I also think I will send a few more of the lads along to find work there, and to make contact with the other clans."

"What for? They've clearly shown what they think of our plan," he said with a hint of iron in his tone.

Isengrim gave him the same look his mother used to give him when she caught him stealing treats from Men. "Bilbo, you cannot hold it against them for staying out of this. This venture of ours is large and mostly riding on luck and good fortune; a state that the other clans cannot rely on. They are weaker and poorer than us, and cannot afford to place everything they have on this mad quest. At least if we fail we still have work and savings to count on; the others do not have such a luxury."

Bilbo snorted but didn't bother trying to argue with his uncle. He knew he was being childish but he couldn't help being angry with the other Hobbit clans for refusing to help them in their attempt to reclaim the Shire. It was their home too so why couldn't they fight for it as well? It didn't help either that the Baggins Clan—his father's family—were one of the strongest oppositions to their quest.

"When shall I leave then?" he asked, changing the subject. "After you meet with Lord Elrond?"

"That would be best," Isengrim agreed, lacing his fingers together over his flat stomach. It was a strange thing to see a thin Hobbit as their kind was more prone to being plump and round. But living on the fringes of society meant that food was scare, and going hungry was all too common. It was very rare to see a Hobbit that was not thin with sharp cheekbones and bony wrists. Sometimes they were even mistaken for Elven children thanks to their pointed ears and lack of facial hair.

"I need to know how long we will be staying before I send you off," his uncle continued, rubbing one of his thumbs over his knuckles. "We also need to prepare you for the journey."

He smiled and shook his head. "Don't worry, Uncle. I've packed what I need and am ready to sew the coins into the secret pockets in my coat and bag. Once I do I can immediately leave."

The Hobbit blinked for a moment before chuckling fondly. "Of course you are. How silly of me to forget exactly whose son you are."

His smile widened and he gave his uncle a wink. "We Baggins may not be the most bold of the clans, but we are certainly the most prepared."

"Sadly, that is the only redeeming feature you Baggins hold," Isengrim replied with a mocking cluck of his tongue. "It makes up for your taste in pies and fabric."

Bilbo gave a loud gasp and clutched his chest as if in physical pain. "Uncle, you wound me! How can you be so cruel to your favorite nephew—"

"I don't see Flambard in the room," Isengrim interrupted, raising both of his bushy brows.

"—who was even going to be so kind as to make you some tea?" he finished as he slid out of the chair with a melodramatic huff. "Well, not anymore, I say. You can get your own tea and your own biscuits and save your own bloody land because I quit this family—"

"Bring some milk and honey while you're at it," Isengrim called from behind as he stalked out of the room.

Bilbo gave another dramatic scoff that finally earned him the chuckle he was aiming for, and secretly smiled to himself. Hearing his uncle laugh was always like swallowing a mouthful of sunshine. Tooks usually had a good sense of humor and were always willing to laugh and smile—even when living as nomads who begged for help to survive at whatever kingdom they came across. But Isengrim was Thain of the Tooks; the leader of their clan and the one everyone depended on to find them shelter and food. He had a lot to worry about and very little time to sit around telling jokes over a pitcher of ale. So it was always a rare gift to get his uncle to smile or even laugh once in a great while.

Soon he'll be able to smile and laugh all he wants, Bilbo vowed to himself as stalked through the halls to the kitchens. We all will.

Their plan to reclaim the Shire was really a very simple one despite what the other clans thought. Hobbits, while being quick and silent, were no warriors. They were shorter than even Dwarves with soft flesh that did little to protect their equally small bones. Even their very culture went against battle; preferring to settle disputes with words rather than fists. They could never hope to stand against a dragon with those odds against them.

So, instead, they would assemble an army to fight Smaug for them.

Anyone who heard it agreed that it was a good plan. The only hitch to it was that it was also a long one. First they had to work and gather the coin needed to hire their army. Since they were already beggars living off of the pity of others, they could only save so much after each job. Isengrim had told him that he had begun the plan years before Bilbo was even born. Now, with Bilbo at the age of thirty, they had finally collected enough coin to buy their army.

"Yah won't find anyone crazy enough to volunteer," his cousin, Fortinbras, said to him the next day as he helped Bilbo peel potatoes. "No one is gonna go against a dragon no matter how much gold ya' throw at 'um."

"I will find willing soldiers somewhere," he retorted confidently, never looking away from his task. "Some warriors will take it as a challenge. Others because they simply love the rush of battle. And then there are those who will be lured by the promise of gold and fame that come with slaying a dragon."

"The only ones who'd fall for 'dat line are dem greedy Men and crazy Dwarves," Fortinbras argued, pointing his knife at Bilbo's cheek. "And ya can't bring back the likes of those. D'ayed kill us and rob us 'for the bodies go cold."

He rolled his eyes and nudged the knife away from his face with his own blade. "Don't be so paranoid. I'm not going to hire just anyone for this. I'm going to investigate first before I make my decision. I'll gather information on them and their reputation before I drag them off to fight Smaug."

"I still say 'dis is a stupid idea," his cousin grumbled, viciously peeling his potato with deep and quick strikes. "We should just use 'da coin to buy land and start over again. What's 'da point of going back to a land that most of us has neveh seen?"

"Do you know of any land up for sale?" Bilbo pointed out, raising both of his eyebrows as he stared at the Hobbit next to him. "Any kingdom that would welcome us without complaint from their people? If you do then please share it with us less intelligent folk, Fortinbras."

"Y'know, it's remarks like 'dat that keep gettin' you in trouble," Fortinbras retorted, tossing back his thick black curls as they fell into his fey green eyes again. His cousin was half Brandybuck and had inherited the wild beauty that his mother's clan was known for. Unfortunately he didn't get their militia tactics and cunning mindset, which was a real shame because he was next in line as the Thain of the Tooks.

"Maybe. But I can handle any trouble that comes my way," Bilbo reminded his older cousin, nudging the other's pale calf with his bare foot.

Fortinbras scoffed and nudged him back with his elbow. "Get 'dat nasty foot away from me! Where's your damn bandages? Y'know how dirty our feet get. Ya wanna offend our hosts by dirtying up their shiny floors?"

He snorted, and threw one of his potato peels at Fortinbras's hair. "They ripped back in the mountains, remember? I'll get more before I leave."

Fortinbras set his knife and potato down in his lap, and turned to face the other Hobbit completely with a frown. "Bilbo, how long you gonna be gone?"

"I don't know. However long it takes," he replied, shrugging. "Maybe three seasons or more. It will take me a good while just to reach the city of Dale, and even longer to visit Erebor and the Iron Hills."

Fortinbras's finely boned face twisted into a scowl that looked wrong on his handsome features. "That's too long to be on your own. Y'ah should have one of us come with ya just to be safe."

Bilbo shook his head firmly. "No. Uncle will be sending you and the others out for work while I'm gone. You need to help support the clan incase this plan backfires on us."

"But dat's even more reason for us tah stick together!" his cousin argued, his scowl turning even fiercer until he looked like a deranged animal instead of a Hobbit. "Y'ah needs someone there to back yah up! Isengrim knows 'dat! He should be lettin' me go with yah instead of sendin' me off tah work in some smelly city of Men!"

"You know he can't send you; you're the heir and eldest among us," he reminded calmly as he finished his potato and picked up a new one. Fortinbras was very emotional so he was quite used to his cousin's outbursts. Sometimes it seemed like he felt too strongly and could only handle one emotion at a time as it consumed him completely. It was a common enough trait among Tooks, but Bilbo had been able to avoid inheriting it, thank Eru.

"If something happens to you then Flambard will be the heir," he continued on, giving the other a side-eyed look. "Do you really want to force our clan through such horror? Haven't we suffered enough?"

Fortinbras's shoulders drooped and his scowl shifted into a pout. "No. Dat's a cruelty I wouldn't wish even on an Orc. But I can't stand that you're leavin' us for so long. We've never been apart for more 'den a season at most! What am I supposed to do with ya gone for almost a year?"

Bilbo felt his heart soften as the puzzle finally clicked in his head. Fortinbras and he had grown up together along with their cousins Flambard, Adalgrim, Sigisimond, and Primula. They had lived side-by-side and had experienced nearly everything together. They had lived apart at times, of course, but never for so long or so far. It was a new experience for them all, and he could admit that part of him was scared to leave his family behind for so long. It was only logical that Fortinbras would feel that same fear even if he would never admit it in a million years.

"Well, you could write me letters. Eru knows you can't spell to save your life," he offered, nudging his cousin in the side with his elbow because humor and flattery was the best way to comfort Fortinbras. Bilbo could do humor and sarcasm but he wasn't about to coo over his older cousin. His head got any bigger than Fortinbras would need grease to get through doorways.

"Oi, you're the Baggins here, not me," Fortinbras scoffed, raising his pert nose high into the air. "You can go on stealin' your little books for 'da both of us. D'hough… I could write a letter or two for yah. Since I know 'yah like to read 'um so much."

Bilbo carefully titled his head to the side so the other wouldn't see his smile. "It would be good practice for you. Maybe soon you will be able to read better than Adelard."

"But Adelard can't read yet," his cousin argued with a frown before his eyes went wide. "Oh, I get it, yur tryin' to be funny again. Too bad it fails as bad as yur omelets."

"Ooh, big word there. Did you hurt yourself learning it?" he shot back, flicking another potato peel at his cousin's hair.

Fortinbras squawked and retaliated with his own stray peels. Bilbo ducked and laughed as his cousin began to rant about his hair. While he didn't care to listen to Fortinbras grumble, he didn't complain or attempt to change the subject. After all, who knew when he was going to hear it again?

"So Uncle says you're leaving soon," Primula—his only female cousin on the Took side that was close to his age—declared later that day as she stood over him with her hands braced on her round hips. She was dressed in loose brown trousers that she had probably stolen from Sigisimond and a white shirt that was only buttoned halfway up her chest. Bilbo cringed slightly as he saw more of her breasts than he wanted to.

"Please button up your shirt. You teats are falling out," he said, pointedly covering his eyes with one hand.

Primula snorted, and shoved his hand away; clearly ignoring his wishes. "Then don't look, stupid."

"Do you have any sort of shame?" he wondered, keeping his eyes on her face.

She smirked and crossed her arms under her chest; shoving her breasts up and together so that they pushed out of her shirt even more. It was clearly a deliberate move, and he kicked her gently in the shin for it.

"You're such a brat," he grumbled without any real heat. "What do you want, Prim?"

"I just wanted to give you something before you left," she replied, reaching for something long and wrapped in cloth that she had strapped to her back. She tugged it loose and then handed it to Bilbo. "Here. Open it up and tell me what you think."

Bilbo did as asked and blinked in surprise at what he found. "A sword? Where did you get this?"

"A Man back in Rohan was selling some odd blades he had collected over the years," Primula explained, squatting down in front of him and wrapping her arms around her legs. "He claimed it's Elven but got no use with it 'cuz it's so small. Do you like it?"

He nodded as he examined the smooth sword with reverence. He had seen many beautiful blades in his life, but this one was quite possible the loveliest of them all. "I do. Thank you, Prim. It is the best gift I could ever get."

Primula's rosebud lips softened into a sweet smile at his words. Nearby, a few Hobbits and even some Elves paused and took a second glance at her. Like Fortinbras, Primula was a Brandybuck from her father's side, and had inherited the same good looks as him. The only difference was that she didn't bask in the attention her midnight curls and soft skin brought her.

"I knew you would love it," she cheered, rocking back slightly on her heels. "As soon as I saw it I knew I had to get it for you! It just matches you perfectly! What are you gonna to call it?"

"I think I'll call it 'Sting' since I can poke people like a bee," he replied, making a jabbing motion with the blade in question.

Prim looked unimpressed. "Really? That's the best name you can think up?"

"You have something better?" he retorted, lightly smacking her in the leg with the flat end of his blade.

"Pff, yeah, how about 'The Cleaver?' Since you're gonna cleave Orcs with it," his cousin replied, pushing the sword away with her hand.

Bilbo snorted, and carefully placed his new gift on the ground next to him. "I'm pretty sure the Dwarves already claimed that name."

Prim hummed in her throat as she cocked her head to the side. "Bilbo?"

"Hmm?"

"You'll be safe, right? Going so far away alone," she said, staring at him through her midnight curls. "You won't take any dangerous chances, right?"

He carefully looked away from her wide brown eyes. "Define dangerous."

"Bilbo," Prim warned, her tone shifting from honey to iron in a blink.

He held up his hands in surrender and leaned back slightly. "Joking, joking. I promise I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll stay safe and find us our army and be back before you know it."

"And if you're not? What will we do then?" she asked quietly, lowering her gaze to the ground. "What do we do if this doesn't work? Will we spend the rest of our days wandering?"

Though he hated to admit it, he didn't have an answer for her. There was no backup plan if his mission failed. No second chance to hire someone new to help them, no savior coming to assist them in defeating Smaug. The future of his people—his family—was riding on his success in finding an army. If Bilbo failed them, then his clan really would be the nomads his parents died as.

"I'm not going to fail," he said with a confidence that he couldn't honestly claim, "and I'm not going to get hurt or die. I'm going to bring us an army and get our home back, Prim. I won't accept anything else."

Primula peered up at him from under her thick lashes for a long moment before finally breaking out a smile. "You sound so sure of yourself, cousin. It makes me almost want to believe that nothing will go wrong."

"I didn't say that there won't be some trouble," he rebuked, shaking his head. "But I will get through it all one way or another. Sting will probably even help in some cases."

"Not with that name it won't," the younger Hobbit retorted, wrinkling her freckled nose at him. "You're more likely to get laughed at than threatened."

"Either way, it would still get me out of some messy situations," he pointed out, pushing some of his hair out of his face. "Can you do me a favor while I'm gone?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Take care of Uncle Isengrim while I'm way," he answered, leaning forward slightly and lowering his voice so their younger cousins nearby wouldn't hear. "I won't be around to make sure he eats and gets enough sleep so I need you to do it. If you don't, he'll end up giving his food away to the younglings again, and will stay up all night working."

Primula nodded her head thoughtfully. "You're right. He'll also probably be lonely without you around. Don't worry, Bibi; I'll take care of him."

Bilbo relaxed and leaned back to his former position. "Thank you, Prim. You're the only one I knew I could trust with this. The others… they just wouldn't understand."

Primula patted his knee in sympathy. Like Bilbo, Primula had lost both of her parents at a young age in a fishing accident. She had lived with her father's clan for a short while before their Uncle Hildifons took her in. And much like Isengrim, Hildifons had no spouse or children, and so Prim became his world, and she in turn adored him dearly.

"I know, Bilbo, I know," she said, giving him her sweet smile that drew in the stares and whispers. "I'll keep an eye on him. Uncle Hildifons will probably even help too. He knows how Uncle Isengrim is like if left unattended."

"Just don't leave them alone together for too long," he warned as he felt his heart ease up at her vow. "You know what happens when you leave two Took brothers unsupervised. We really can't afford to pay for the repairs the Elves would demand."

Bilbo didn't tell anyone but Isengrim the day he was leaving. He knew that if he did tell the rest of his family, then they would make a huge fuss in sending him off. Not only would that inconvenience their hosts—and possibly get them kicked out—but it would also weaken his resolve to leave. Bilbo really didn't want to leave his clan; he loved them all with everything he was, and they were the safe and comfortable life he knew. But he also knew that he couldn't allow his fear of the unknown to get in the way of his mission. So, knowing all of that, Bilbo had only his uncle there to bid him farewell for what could possibly be the last time.

"You have your map on you, yes?" Isengrim questioned as he looked Bilbo up and down.

He nodded, and patted his coat pocket that held the map in question. "Safe and sound right here."

"And your knife? You have that too?" Isengrim pushed.

He patted in left thigh in answer. "It's right where it always is."

The older Hobbit still didn't look reassured. "What about food? You sure you have enough—"

"Uncle," he interrupted, trying not to laugh, "I promise that I have everything that I need. And what I don't have I can find on my own. So stop clucking over me before I start calling you Aunt Rosa."

"You offend me. I am nothing like that she-devil," sniffed the Thain, raising his thin nose into the air. "I am appalled that name would ever cross your mind."

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and hefted his pack higher up on his shoulder. "So you say. Well, if there's nothing else, then I should—"

"Wait," Isengrim said, this time interrupting him in midsentence. His hazel eyes flickered over Bilbo before meeting his nephew's gaze full on. When he did, Bilbo saw something wither away like a breeze sweeping away the leaves.

"Bilbo… I'm sorry," his uncle murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "I never wanted to burden you with this. I never meant for you to be a part of my crazy plans. If your mother were still alive, I'm sure she would have punched me for even suggesting that you carry out the plan."

Bilbo flinched. "Uncle," he whispered, his heart clenching up at the sight of pain in the older Hobbit's face. He should have seen this coming. Isengrim had no spouse or children and had lost three brothers and a sister to Smaug's invasion. In the years that followed, he had lost another brother, his two remaining sisters, and a vast number of nephews and nieces and cousins. Bilbo and the clan were all he had left in the world, and now he was about to send one of them off to his potential death.

Slowly, Bilbo reached out and grasped his uncle's shoulders tightly. "Uncle Isengrim, I'm coming back. With or without an army, I will come back to you all. I promise."

"Oh, lad," Isengrim sighed, giving Bilbo a small, half-smile. "You really shouldn't make such a promise so lightly. It may just come back to haunt you."

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It took Bilbo a full season to reach Rhovanion.

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Bilbo awoke to the sound of his cell door being jerked open.

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Bilbo spent the next few hours with Ori going over the many misinterpretations that Dwarves believed about Elves. Shockingly, not everything Ori knew of Elves was complete bullshit, and they were able to get through the list fairly quickly. Once done they agreed to take a break and returned to the kitchen where they had left Dori and Nori to their private conversation.

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"How did I get roped into this again?" Nori asked out loud as he led Bilbo through the streets of the Brass District later that day.

"You robbed me," the Hobbit reminded him patiently as he studied the district around them. It was an interesting section where each building seemed to be built of whatever was at hand at that moment. It was so mismatched and random that he could not find any pattern or reason to anything. Even the roads were paved with different stones intersecting at every corner.

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"How was your day?" greeted Dori when Bilbo and Nori walked through the door that evening. "Did you pass your first trial?"

"Yes. Now I have to return tomorrow for the second test," the Hobbit replied, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it up next to the door.

Chapter Text

Bilbo could honestly say that he wasn't particularly fond of the idea of children. Oh, he loved them well enough, and he certainly had no trouble watching or playing with them when they asked. He certainly loved all of his young cousins very much, and enjoyed watching them grow and learn about the world around him. No, his problem with children was that he simply didn't want any of his own. He didn't want the huge responsibility that came with being a father. No, he preferred to be the funny older cousin who spoiled the little ones with candy and toys. He liked being able to play with the children before sending them off for their parents to deal with when they became too much for him. But most of all, he liked that he wasn't in charge of keeping any child alive and safe. That was one duty he wanted no part in because it scared the hell out of him. Even caring for their health was a terrifying thought because so much could go wrong with a child.

Chapter Text

"Bofur's brother Bombur invited me over for dinner tomorrow night," Bilbo mentioned later that night as he sat down to eat with the 'Ri brothers. "He extended the invitation to you three as well if you would like to come."

Chapter Text

"Oddur," Bilbo growled as he stomped over to his patient's cot, "what did I tell you about blackmailing the aids into sneaking in ale for you?"

Chapter Text

"The first area on the list are the training grounds," Bilbo announced as he scanned his notes. "Do you know where they would be?"

Thorin hesitated for a moment before nodding firmly. "Near the center of the palace there is an old rock garden. He and... the Crown Prince often practice there."

"A rock garden?" Bilbo repeated, glancing up at the guard. "What is that?"

"Exactly what the name implies: a garden of rocks," replied the Dwarf, raising his eyebrows. "It belonged to... the former Consort Under the Mountain. Since her passing it has fallen into disarray, and now only the princes bother with it."

"A garden of rocks," Bilbo mused, trying to imagine such a sight. "How interesting. Do many Dwarves practice such things?"

"Not to my knowledge," answered the guard, frowning. "Are you ready to leave?"

The healer nodded and patted his pack fondly where it rested against his left hip. "Ready as I'll ever be. Lead on."

The guard continued to frown but still turned and began to lead the Hobbit through the winding halls. Bilbo quickly jogged to catch up with his companion's longer stride, and had to practically skip to keep in step with him.

"You don't wear the same uniform as the other guards around the palace," he commented casually, taking in the plain but finely crafted leathers that Thorin donned along with the scarce jewelry.

Thorin grunted and kept his eyes focused on the horizon before him. "No, my—I mean, the personal guards of the royal family wear a different uniform from the palace guards."

"Do the different colors and styles have different meanings?" Bilbo asked, studying the geometric shapes woven into Thorin's clothes.

The guard glanced at him for a second before his eyes flickered forward. "Yes. Blue is the color of the Royal Family and the uniform of the palace guards. Other colors represent personal guards and servants of different clans."

Bilbo nodded absently in thought. "Do the King and Crown Prince have their own colors?"

"Why are asking me all these inane questions?" Thorin asked suddenly. "Do they hold any sort of connection to your task?"

"Well, no—"

"Then cease pestering me with pointless chatter," ordered the guard, cutting him off.

Bilbo felt his irritation spike up sharply, and struggled to hold back from lashing out. Instead, he gave a melodramatic sigh and shook his head. "Wow. You're a real bastard, huh?"

Thorin froze. "... What did you just call me?"

"But that's fine. I suppose you have good reason to be an ass," he continued calmly, nodding thoughtfully. "One of your princes is ill due to reasons unknown, and I'm the stranger that's suddenly supposed to help him. Being a total bastard to me is the only logical response."

"Are you accusing me of being ungrateful?" the guard snarled, spinning around to face him fully.

"Oh caught on to that did we?" the Hobbit replied, widening his eyes innocently.

"You—do you know who I am?" demanded Thorin, his face twisting into an ugly snarl.

"A very rude guard?" Bilbo offered, raising his brows and crossing his arms over his chest. "One who does not seem to realize that I came here to help?"

"No one asked for your help," Thorin retorted. "You have no reason to help our prince, let alone care about what happens to him. He's hardly of any great importance to you—"

Bilbo felt his frayed patience finally snap. "Are you kidding me?! What is wrong with this kingdom?!" he demanded, poking the Dwarf in the chest hard enough that Thorin took a step back. "Why is it that, every time I try to help someone, I get nothing but disbelief and suspicion? Is it really that hard to believe that I—a healer—would like to simply heal my patient? Why do I need some underhanded reason to help someone? Why can't it be that I simply want to help because it's the right thing to do?"

Thorin stared at him, wide-eyed, and looked close to actually taking another step back from the Hobbit. Bilbo sneered, and reached out to grab the rude Dwarf by his belt, and yanked him closer just in case he did try to make a run for it. "Don't try to slip away," he ordered, standing up on his toes in an attempt to meet Thorin's eyes evenly. "We have a job to do and we are going to do it! So quit being such a rude bastard and help me heal your prince! Understood?"

The guard slowly nodded; his blue eyes large in his face and his mouth hanging open like a fool. Bilbo clucked his tongue in satisfaction, and released the Dwarf with a small shove. "Good. Now take me to the rock garden. Now."

Thorin was silent for the rest of the walk to the garden. Bilbo didn't mind the quiet and took the time to study the palace some more. To his surprise, he saw next to zero Dwarves in the halls, and the ones they did pass were the statue-like guards who didn't seem to blink. Eventually his curiosity got the better of him, and he broke the awkward silence to ask why that was so.

"I am using the private corridors to avoid attention," the guard explained quietly. "The King would not be pleased if word got out about Prince Kíli's condition."

"That makes sense," he acknowledged. "I had heard the King really loves his nephews. He's probably really worried about the prince right now."

"Very worried," agreed Thorin, the edges of his mouth tightening. He then abruptly stopped, and Bilbo turned to face him, confused over the sudden change.

"I owe you an apology," the guard said before Bilbo could speak. Thorin curled his hands into tight fists at his side, but met and held Bilbo's gaze straight on. "I did not mean to offend you. I am simply... Erebor is a very rich and powerful nation. Many people would do anything to get a bit of that wealth. The Royal Family has faced... more than their fair share of such worms. Most of us here have given up on being open and trusting. The consequences of such naivety... it is not a price anyone would like to pay."

Though he didn't want to, Bilbo felt his sympathy rise with each of the Dwarf's words. He knew what it was like to have your trust twisted and misused by someone whom you thought was a friend. Even worse, he knew what it meant to have others rely on you, only to fail them because of you own faulty judgment. He did his personal best not to be jaded by such actions, but Thorin had clearly been burned too many times to hold onto the belief that people were good at heart.

With a small sigh, the Hobbit nodded his head. "Apology accepted. I understand it must be hard to trust me when I have offered you nothing to believe in. So I won't hold it against you anymore."

Thorin blinked a few times, looking taken back by Bilbo's reply. "You... You are very strange, Master Healer."

"Yeah, I get that a lot," Bilbo muttered, scratching the back of his knee with his heel. "To be honest, I'm kinda surprised you apologized. You don't seem the type to admit he was wrong."

"You're right. I don't usually give out apologies," Thorin admitted bluntly, gesturing for Bilbo to follow him again. "But even I can see I was too harsh on you back there. I should not have taken my frustrations out on an innocent stranger. It was dishonorable of me."

Bilbo decided to take the highroad and not mock him for that. "How long have you guarded the Crown Prince?" he asked instead, changing the subject.

"Since his birth," Thorin replied, his furrowed brows easing up and the tight lines at the corner of his mouth softening. "His mother entrusted him into my care shortly after he was born, and later did the same with his younger brother. They are both... very dear to me."

Bilbo felt his sympathy go up another notch. "This must be very hard for you then. I'm sorry."

Thorin gave him another odd look as if the Hobbit had slipped into a foreign tongue. "Thank you for your concern, but I am fine. I worry more for Her Highness than anyone else. Prince Kíli is her favorite so this is very hard on her."

Bilbo frowned. "That doesn't sound... right. I thought favoritism among royal families was a bad idea? Doesn't it create tension and competition between siblings?"

Thorin scoffed, and waved his question aside with one gloved hand. "Prince Fíli is many things, but insecure and petty is not one of them. He is doted on by not only his own father, but by the King and Prince Frerin and most of the court. Prince Kíli needs his own corner to fall back in, and the Crown Prince recognizes this. It is one reason why he can never say no to the boy."

"And does Prince Kíli feel the same? Or does he resent his glorious older brother?" the healer wondered, raising his brows.

Thorin faltered for a moment; his blue eyes flickering with unknown emotions before settling on something murky and callous. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice lowering. "I like to think he's fine but—I don't know. Prince Kíli loves his brother, I don't doubt this, but love and hate are like a double-edged blade. It would be far too easy for him to fall from one side to the other."

Bilbo couldn't think of anything to say to such words. But before the silence could drag on, Thorin shook his head fiercely; his gold and blue beads clinking together in a messy harmony. "But enough of this," he declared, his face settling into a scowl. "The garden is close by. Let's hurry and get to it."

As far as gardens went, Bilbo wasn't very impressed by the Dwarf version.

"This is the ugliest garden I have ever seen," he announced, bracing his hands on his hips and looking around him. Thorin gave him a dirty look but did not dispute his claim. The rock garden was a sad sight of random boulders cut into unique shapes, dried out canals with equally dried out waterfalls, and uncut gems that stuck out from the ceiling. The only interesting feature he could find was the sandy floor that glittered like a silver sea under the lanterns.

"It was in better condition when the Royal Consort was still alive to tend to it," Thorin tried to defend halfheartedly. "She used to have waterfalls and small ponds with fish in it. It was a good place to relax and forget your worries."

"And now it's a playground for two rowdy princes," the healer mused, glancing down at the numerous footprints pressed into the fine sand. He lifted up his own foot and idly ran a finger over his now silver heel, and was surprised to find that the sand was actually finely ground stone.

"What kinda stone is this?" he asked his companion, rubbing the silver powder between his fingers and sniffing it. To his disappointment, it was odorless.

"I... am not certain," the guard replied, squinting down at the ground. "It is not familiar to me. But I can have one of the guards find out."

"Do it. The place is covered in this stuff which means the two princes have been breathing it in with every step," he pointed out, wiping his hands on his pants and leaving a smear of silver across his clothes.

A corner of Thorin's mouth tightened but he did as asked, and began to gather up the powder in a small leather pouch. Once the powder was sent off to another guard to investigate, the two returned to exploring the chamber. But to Bilbo's disappointment, they could find nothing but common mold and the occasional bug.

"There's nothing here," he admitted after nearly an hour of exploring the chamber. "Nothing useful, anyway."

Thorin grunted in agreement as he hopped off a boulder colored a sickly amber and green. "Agreed. What is the next area on the list?"

Bilbo pulled out his scrunched note and squinted as he struggled to read it in the dim lighting. "The baths and kitchens. Do you know where they are?"

Thorin nodded and began to march off for the exit. "Indeed. Follow me; they are not far from here."

The baths of the Royal Family were grand and spacious and divided into private chambers. Prince Kíli's personal section was as luxurious as the rest of the palace with red marble tiles, a tub built into the ground that was as wide as a house, and a waterfall that cascaded directly from the ceiling. Looking at it all made Bilbo feel a bit ill.

The cost of making all of this could feed my entire clan for years, he thought, poking at a gold plated vase with his toe. Probably an entire lifetime.

"Do you see anything unusual?" asked Thorin as he stalked around the pool towards a marble table that housed an assortment of bottles.

"This whole place is unusual to me," replied Bilbo as he examined one of the many silky red drapes hanging from the ceiling. "Why are there curtains here? What could you possibly need it for when bathing?"

"It's for decoration, really," answered the Dwarf as he picked up one of the bottles and sniffed at it. "That's what most of the furniture in here is for."

"It's a waste of money that's what it is," muttered the Hobbit, sneering at the small pond masquerading as a bathtub. He then paused and narrowed his eyes as something sparkly caught his attention. Squatting down, he leaned closer to the water and stared at the twinkling peach-colored stone of the gigantic pool.

"Was this tub always this color?" he asked the guard, tilting his head to the side in order to get a clearer view.

"No. It was recently redone. Why?"

"Because this marble has flakes of silver in it too," he replied slowly, finally tearing his eyes away to meet Thorin's surprised pair. "I think it's the same material from the rock garden."

"I'm beginning to sense a theme here," Bilbo announced after they had examined the kitchens and found bowels and plates made of the same sparkly stone. He held up one of the thin plates in question to the light above, and squinted at the intricate designs chiseled into the sparking white dish. "What a waste of a perfectly nice plate."

Thorin was not as calm about the situation. As soon as they had entered the kitchens, he had begun barking orders at the servants in Khuzdûl, but it was not until they had been presented with the tableware that he had truly exploded. Bilbo didn't have a clue what the Dwarf was saying, but he knew it was nothing good thanks to the expressions of sheer terror on the servants' faces.

"Are you done yet?" he asked, setting the plate done with the rest of the dishware scattered across the table. "Or do you need to bark some more?"

One of the servants let out a squeak while Thorin merely gave him a vicious glare. "I am not barking," the guard snarled, his voice deepening on the last word. "I am interrogating the servants over the poisoned dishes that have somehow ended up in the prince's personal kitchens."

"Save it for later. We have one more place to investigate," he advised, waltzing over and snagging the Dwarf's hand before dragging him out the door. Behind him he heard one of the servants gasp as whispers broke out like a swarm of rats. Bilbo wasn't too surprised; they probably weren't used to Hobbits manhandling Dwarves around.

"I wasn't done with them," the guard grumbled, his arm oddly tense beneath Bilbo's hand. "I have more questions."

"Like I said, save it for later," replied Bilbo as he finally paused at a crossroad of halls. "Now how do we get to Prince Kíli's private chambers? The ones he doesn't share with his brother?"

Thorin said nothing. When Bilbo turned to look at him, he found the Dwarf staring down at their joined hands. The Hobbit immediately released him and took a step back. "Sorry. Forgot not everyone likes to be touched," he apologized.

Thorin blinked a few times and then shook his head. "It's... fine," he said, flexing his hand a few times before turning his attention to the corridor to their left. "Come; Prince Kíli's chambers are to the east of here."

Like the rest of the palace, the second prince's personal chambers were a fine display of wealth and overindulgence highlighted in green and gold. Though they were not as large as the Crown Prince's rooms, they were still bigger than any single person would ever have need for, and still made Bilbo ill to see so much money being wasted on one person.

"How often does he use these chambers?" he asked Thorin as they searched through the four interconnected rooms.

"Often enough. It is mostly storage for his possessions as he spends most of his time sleeping in Prince Fíli's chambers," the guard answered as he examined a huge fireplace that could probably fit an Elf or two.

"Why does he share his brother's rooms? Doesn't he have enough space here?" Bilbo wondered, poking at a gold and silver carving of a dragon. It had rubies for eyes and actual diamonds for claws. "If I had a chance for my own room, I would take it in a heartbeat."

The guard shrugged. "Prince Kíli has never liked sleeping alone," he said simply, moving on to examine a chest of drawers.

Bilbo rolled his eyes at the childish answer, and then froze at what he saw. Sitting up on the wall was a large painting of what was probably meant to be the ocean at night. But what caught his attention was not the artistry, but rather the glimmering silver of the waves.

"Hey," he called to his companion without looking away from the painting, "give me a boost."

"... Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Give me a boost," he said, finally looking to Thorin who had frozen in the middle of rummaging through one of the drawers. "I want to examine that painting."

Thorin just stared at him. "Then why don't you use a stool?"

Bilbo snorted, and raised one of his ashy and silver feet in the air. "Yes, let me use one of Prince Kíli's gold stools to stand upon. I'm sure he won't mind the stains," he drawled, wiggling his dirty toes at the guard.

A muscle in Thorin's jaw twitched.

Point made, Bilbo set his foot down and crossed his arms over his chest. "Look, if you're too weak to hold me up then I can get another guard—"

"You will do nothing of the sort," interrupted the Dwarf, his eyes narrowing and his shoulders drawing back. "I can lift you just fine. Just tell me which painting you wish to study."

Bemused, the Hobbit pointed it out, and waited for the bristling guard to walk closer and then lower himself to his knees. Carefully Bilbo sat on one of the Dwarf's wide shoulders, and then squeaked as said Dwarf stood up suddenly; his thick arms locking around the Hobbit's legs securely.

"Warn a person before you do that," scolded the healer as he looked at the painting that was now at eye level.

Below him, Thorin snorted. "Are you planning to make this a common occurrence?"

"Depends on how many times your princes get sick," Bilbo retorted, reaching out to touch the silver waves. To his surprise, the paint crumbled into powder at his touch; staining his fingertips a familiar silver.

"Well that confirms it: this painting is made up of the same stuff as everything else," he commented, looking down at the glowering Dwarf. "Do you know who gave this to the prince?"

The muscle in Thorin's jaw twitched again. "I do."

"Good." Bilbo rubbed the odorless powder between his fingers and smirked as he finally made the connection. "You can put me down. I think I figured out this mess."

"It's nickel poisoning," Bilbo announced sometime later after getting confirmation on the metal.

Thorin looked away from the guard who had delivered the news, and stared at the Hobbit making himself comfortable on a table. "What?"

"Nickel poisoning," repeated Bilbo, swinging his legs idly. "Not surprised no one noticed since the palace doesn't seem to use nickel. Why is that?"

"Because the Royal Family only uses gold, silver, electrum, sometimes platinum—but never nickel. That is for the lower classes," replied Thorin, waving the other guard away who left after a silent bow.

"Which is why you lot didn't recognize it when Prince Kíli was poisoned by it," connected Bilbo, wrinkling his nose.

"But how?"

"Through small exposure. The rock garden was sprinkled with ground nickel. His tub and utensils were made with it. Even that painting on the wall was made of it. He's been exposed to it in nearly every way," explained the Hobbit, raising a brow at the guard. "You were there for it all. Remember?"

Thorin closed his eyes and began to rub his forehead. "That's not what I meant. I'm asking how do you know that this is nickel poisoning?"

"Because I did it," Bilbo deadpanned, and then immediately held up his hands innocently when Thorin's face went white. "No, I'm kidding, just kidding, that was a joke! No, actually I know because I saw it in the Blue Mountains when I lived there. The Dwarves there are pretty immune to the stuff since they work with it all the time, but us outsiders weren't so lucky."

"Is there a cure?"

"Not really. All we can do is flush it out of his body and then keep him away from it," the Hobbit admitted, sliding off the table and to his feet. "Look, Óin knows how to help the prince so I'm going to go tell him. But while I help him, you need to report this to the King and ask him to get rid of anything with even a hint of nickel in it. Get rid of all those plates and bowls, the bathtub, the painting—everything. Have someone lock up that garden and then get some miners to come collect all that powdered nickel sprinkled all over the ground. They have the best resistance to the stuff, and they'll know how to get rid of it."

Thorin frowned but still nodded. "Very well. I will inform one of the guards to help you back to the Crown Prince's chambers. And I don't think I have to tell you the consequences if your prediction is wrong, yes...?"

Against his will, Bilbo found himself flinching as memories sprung up. "No, you don't. You really don't."

Chapter Text

"I went to the palace today," Bilbo announced when he returned to the 'Ri brother's home later that day.

Dori, predictably, froze but Nori looked unconcerned as he picked at his nails with one of his daggers. "That's nice. Meet anyone interesting?" he asked without looking away from his hands.

"Not really. Just some really rude Dwarves," replied Bilbo, unwinding his pack and setting it down near the door before shrugging off his coat. "Princess Dís kept looking at me like I was something from the bottom of her shoe, and her son's guard acted like he was the King of Erebor himself. Very exhausting."

"What were you doing in the palace?" Dori asked, finally unfreezing from his shock. He dropped the platter of meat he had been carrying onto the table a bit harder than normal; shaking the dishes and making Nori scowl up at him.

"Óin was summoned because one of the princes got sick, and since his usual assistant wasn't around at the time, he dragged me along," Bilbo explained, taking a seat at the table and folding his arms over it so he could bury his face away. "It was ridiculous! They had silk curtains and gold vases in the baths! Gold vases! Why would you ever need a vase in the baths?"

"Why are you asking us? We don't even have a private bathhouse," reminded Nori, deliberately missing the point of Bilbo's rant. He knew it was deliberate too on account of Nori's foot jiggling under the table. The thief only ever did that when he was being a pest.

"Which prince got sick?" Dori questioned, ignoring Bilbo's ranting and his brother. "Did you manage to help him?"

Bilbo lifted his head from the safety of his arm fort to wrinkle his nose at Dori. "It was the younger one—Prince Kíli? And guess what he has? Nickel poisoning. Nickel poisoning! The guard who helped me didn't even know that such a thing exists!"

Nori snorted, and gave him a judging look over the edge of his dagger. "What did you expect from a bunch of blue bloods? I'd be surprised if any of them could tell a pickaxe from a mattock," he mocked.

"I'd be surprised if you could tell the difference between the two," snarked Dori, nicking his brother's dagger with one hand while shoving a carving knife into his face with the other. "Stop playing around and cut this up for me," he ordered, sliding the dagger into his wool belt while ignoring the glower Nori shot him.

"They had so many useless trinkets scattered all over the place. Trinkets that could feed my entire clan for years to come. It made me sick to see it all while knowing my people are starving," the Hobbit added bitterly, resting his chin on folded arms. "I should have stole something just to spite them."

"Now, Bilbo, don't be petty," Dori scolded lightly as he retrieved a basket of carrots from the kitchen.

"Be petty," disagreed Nori, beginning to pick at the meat with his new knife. "Be the pettiest fucker around. And then nab a few items and I'll hawk them for ya."

"No way. My mother will return from the dead to beat me if I do," the healer said, shuddering at the memory of a scowling Belladonna. "She never approved of stealing even when we were desperate."

"A wise woman," complimented Dori as he reached over to flick Nori's ear. "She sounds like she was a real lady. What was her name?"

"Belladonna. Belladonna Baggins," Bilbo replied as both sadness and joy welled up in him. He still missed her dearly but the grief was easier to bear now. Like an old wound that healed up and now only ached when the weather got too cold. "She had dark brown hair and a beauty mark above her lip. Her favorite flowers were lavender and she always told the best dirty jokes. They would always make my father blush which is why she told them to begin with. She loved to tease him."

Nori arched a brow and shot a look at Dori that Bilbo could not read. "What a pretty name," Dori complimented, giving Nori a small nod before flashing his soft smile at Bilbo, "for an equally lovely lady. You and your father must miss her a lot."

"No, he's gone too," the Hobbit said, watching Dori's hands as he skillfully peeled the skin off the carrots. "Do you need any help preparing dinner, Dori?"

"No, I'm nearly done but thank you for asking," replied Dori, beaming. "Would—"

Dori was interrupted by the front door flying open and slamming against the wall. They all turned and found a wild-eyed Ori standing in the doorway; his hair a mess and his clothes in disorder and breathing hard.

"They've changed the date of the exam!" he yelled before anyone else could speak. "It's now the day after tomorrow! Dori, I'm not ready yet! I haven't studied enough! I'm going to fail!"

Bilbo shared an eye roll with Nori at Ori's dramatics while Dori calmly stood up and ushered his baby brother into the house. "Now calm down, love, and come sit down," he said, tugging Ori's coat off and hanging it up before guiding him to the table to sit next to Nori.

"Now tell us what happened in slower detail," he ordered, smoothing down Ori's hair. "Why are they moving up the date of the exam?"

"Oh I don't know!" Ori huffed, throwing his arms up in the air. "Something about preparing for a treaty between the Iron Hills and Orocarni—I stopped listening after I heard the date given!"

Dori nodded and stroked his beard. "Oh, that's right. The treaty. I heard about that but I didn't know we would be hosting it."

"It makes sense though. Erebor is a neutral territory in the middle of the two kingdoms," Nori pointed out, gesturing to the house around them with his knife. "Perfect place to meet and make nice."

"What is the treaty for?" asked Bilbo, feeling a bit lost.

"It's to secure a permanent alliance between the Iron Hills and Orocarni," explained Dori. "Orocarni has a great deal of salt, diamond, and emerald mines that the Iron Hills sorely lack."

"Really? And Erebor doesn't seek the same?" the Hobbit asked in surprise.

Nori snorted, and lightly kicked Bilbo's leg under the table. "Pfft, why would we? Richest of the Dwarrow Kingdoms remember? Orocarni can offer us nothing we don't already have."

"Not to mention Orocarni is very leery of outside kingdoms. It's a miracle they even accepted the offer from the Iron Hills," added Dori as he continued to pet Ori's hair. The younger Dwarf had buried his face in his hands and was now mumbling to himself in Khuzdûl. Bilbo took a second to play with the idea of comforting the young scholar, but decided that Dori had a handle on that.

"Bah! They'd be stupid not to agree. We all know that King Ahmed needs the soldiers from the Iron Hills to secure his borders," said Nori, pointing his knife at his older brother, "and he needs Lord Dáin to secure his claim on the throne. Agreeing to this treaty is really the best solution."

Bilbo sat up straight and waved his hand to gain Nori's attention. "Wait, why don't they trust you guys? Aren't you all Dwarves?"

"Orocarni doesn't trust anyone since their civil war ended ten years ago," Nori explained, sitting up straighter while his green eyes lit up. "See, 'bout twenty years ago one of the nobles there staged a coup. They took out the king, his husband and children, and nearly all his supporters. Only ones who got out of it alive were his youngest son and a younger brother. The son finally returned ten years ago and killed the usurper and claimed his father's throne for himself. Since then his reign has been shaky as he's trying to rebuild the kingdom and weed out all the old conspirators."

Bilbo nodded as he absorbed the story. It sounded like something out of one of the books Nori kept hidden under his bed and for a moment he couldn't believe it was real. Then he recalled his own people's history and realized he had no right to doubt it. "Wait, who's Lord Dáin? That name sounds familiar," he said, recalling his second set of questions.

"Lord Dáin is the ruler of the Iron Hills," replied Dori this time. "He's from the Line of Durin and is therefore related to the Royal Family of Erebor. He is also one of Mahâl's Chosen."

"What the hell is that?"

"It's a term used to describe Dwarrows who are very gifted or talented in something," said Ori, finally dragging himself back to reality. He looked up from his hands and scrunched up his face in distaste. "It's a very rare term and has only ever been used four other times in the history of our people. Lord Dáin is the fifth one to receive this honor and the only one in this Age."

"And what makes him so worthy of this title? I mean, what did he do to deserve it?"

"Well, he pretty much dragged his nearly dead kingdom back into life and made it a force to be reckoned with," answered Dori, tilting his head to the side in thought. "And he did this before coming of age."

Bilbo's jaw dropped. "What?! How?"

"Several ways. He introduced a new system of mining that reduced the number of deaths to nearly zero, started a new order that sees to the health and well being of every citizen in the Iron Hills, and demolished a lot of laws that kept Dwarrowdams and lower classes from participating in government matters," Dori listed easily with a shrug. "He also renewed every treaty he could with nearly every race in order to bring in more trade."

"And he destroyed the Guilds policy of families keeping a monopoly on one trade," added Nori, grinning sharply. "Now Guilds have to accept people based on skill alone and leadership is no longer passed down from parent to child."

"He also has led a great deal of military campaigns to regain lost Dwarrow territories," Ori commented, perking up a bit. "His battles are actually really interesting because the strategies he uses look ridiculous in theory but are frighteningly successful in action."

Bilbo felt a bit blown away. "W-Wow he did all that? Before he came of age?"

Dori nodded slowly as he explained, "Well, some of it came after he was an adult, but the important parts that stabilized the kingdom he did when he was young, yes. The Iron Hills still has a long way to go before they're close to Erebor's wealth, but they're getting there. This treaty will help stabilize their economy greatly."

"They currently have the strongest army out of all the Dwarrow Kingdoms," added Ori, obviously still stuck on the war portion of the conversation. "Apparently every citizen must serve a term in the army before they are allowed to pursue a trade. Even the Dwarrowdams!"

The Hobbit wrinkled his brows. "I thought all Dwarves do that?"

"Nah, Erebor got rid of that law ages ago," Nori replied, shaking his head. "We got enough soldiers so no point in dragging in more. We are still required to learn combat though. Just in case the King decides to take another crack at Azanulbizar."

Bilbo wasn't even going to ask what that meant. "Well, this has been very enlightening," he commented, thinking over all of the new things he had learned of current events. "When will this treaty occur?"

"Whenever the parties from Orocarni and the Iron Hills get here," answered Ori with a scowl. "Which is apparently soon and that's why they've moved up the examination date. This ruins everything! I'll never be able to pass the way I am now!"

Dori clucked his tongue and gently swatted his youngest brother on the back of the head. "Now stop it, Ori, you haven't even taken the exam yet. Who knows you might just pass with what you already know!"

"And if you don't, just try again next year," added Nori, shrugging one shoulder. "It's not the end of the world if you don't pass."

Ori didn't say anything but his scowl deepened, and Bilbo felt a twinge of sympathy for the young Dwarf. He knew that Ori wanted to pass not simply because he wanted to be a scribe, but more so he could get a job and help his brothers in paying off their mother's debts. He felt guilty for depending on them to take care of him and pay for his tutelage, and was anxious to repay them for all they had done for him. It was a feeling Bilbo could relate to all too well.

"I'll help you study tonight," he told the Dwarf, nudging Ori's leg with his foot under the table. "We'll go over whatever you think you'll be tested on until you know it."

Ori's shoulders relaxed slightly, and his scowl lightened up into a small smile. "Thank you, Bilbo. I appreciate your help."

"But aren't you tired, Bilbo? You've had a very taxing day," interjected Dori with a frown.

"Doing what? Leading a grumpy guard around on a goose chase? The most exhausting part of my day was restraining myself from kicking him in the face," Bilbo snorted as he shook his head and rose from the table. "No, c'mon, Ori, let's go get started. We have a lot of work to do tonight."

"Three times."

Bilbo looked up from his grinder to blink at the Dwarf across from him. "What?"

"That's how many times you've yawned in the past five minutes," Óin explained, gazing at him with one fuzzy brow raised. "What's wrong, lad? Surely our little adventure into the palace yesterday wasn't that exhausting."

"It wasn't," he reassured his boss, shaking his head. "No, I was up late last night helping a friend study for his upcoming exam. It's been changed from the end of the season to tomorrow so he needs as much help as he can get."

Óin eyebrow ascended another level. "Hmm. You sure like to help people don't you?"

"It's not about whether I like it or not," he disagreed. "It's about doing what's right."

"Is this a Hobbit value? To help another whenever you see it?" wondered the Dwarf, cocking his head to the side slightly.

Bilbo shrugged. "I suppose. We know what it's like to be ignored and turned away so we always try to help when we can."

Óin nodded slowly as he stared at Bilbo with a thoughtful expression before silently returning to the tonic he was preparing. Bilbo followed suit, and turned back to grinding up the herbs he had been asked to prepare. It was a slow day at the clinic for once with only a few people paying a visit for minor needs and some of the resident patients finally going home. With such rare downtime, Óin had roped him into making tonics and poultices to stock up on. Apparently the old healer didn't trust the younger healers to make them correctly. Bilbo personally didn't mind the quiet time as he was rather tired after staying up half the night with Ori going over possible subjects the exam could focus on. Unfortunately his luck was generally bad, and around noon that peace was interrupted by the clang of iron and the bellow of a deep voice.

"Óin! Óin, you old goat, where are you?!"

Óin groaned and covered his eyes with one hand. Bilbo didn't bother to mask his snort as he asked, "Friend of yours?"

"Not by choice," Óin grumbled just as the door swung open to reveal a Dwarf who looked hazily familiar to Bilbo. He stood as tall as Óin but had a stockier frame with densely packed muscles, a sharply cut jaw, and a round nose. He was handsome enough with his blue eyes and round features, but his best trait of all was clearly his red hair and thick beard that he wore down in a multitude of braids. He wore an elaborate set of robes dyed a light blue that was trimmed with pearls and diamonds, and silver jewelry that jingled with every move he made.

"There you are! I've been looking for you forever!" the stranger cried when he saw Óin. "Why the hell is this place designed like a damn maze?"

"It's not. You just have horrible sense of direction," Óin retorted as the newcomer marched over to him. "What are you doing here, Glóin?"

"Nice to see you too, brother," the stranger—Glóin—replied mockingly. "Yes, I'm doing quite well thank you for asking. No, my son doesn't miss you, why do you ask?"

Óin rolled his eyes. "Oh stop acting like a brat. I just saw you three days ago for dinner and Gimli yesterday for our weekly walk."

"Wait, why are you visiting my son more than me?"

"Because I like him more obviously. Now what do you want?"

"I'm telling Mama you said that," hissed Glóin, giving him a stink eye. "As to why I'm here, it's to deliver a message for her Royal Bitchiness. Kíli is awake and doing better now so his mother wants to meet with the little Hobbit that helped him."

"She wants to meet Bilbo?" Óin repeated, glancing across the table to the younger healer. Glóin followed his gaze to Bilbo, and then narrowed his eyes at what he saw.

"You look familiar. Have we met before?" he asked bluntly.

Bilbo shrugged indifferently. "Probably. But I don't remember where. You noble Dwarves all look the same to me."

"Even me?" wondered Óin, hiking a brow.

The Hobbit stuck out his tongue at his boss. "Shut up, Óin, you know you look like an angry beggar to me."

"The only beggar here is you, lad."

"Who are you?" interrupted Glóin, looking back and forth between Bilbo and Óin with his brows furrowed. "Brother, who is this? Is he your new protégé?"

"Mahâl's Dusky Tits, Glóin, could you be any ruder?" wondered the older Dwarf, his mouth curling into a grimace. "His name is Bilbo Baggins and he's one of the new healers here at the clinic. Bilbo, meet my bumbling baby brother, Glóin. Please ignore everything that comes out of his mouth because it is always nonsense."

"Hey!" squawked the younger Dwarf.

Bilbo calmly raised a hand and waved. "Nice to meet you," he said pleasantly, studying the Dwarf closer. Now that Óin mentioned it, Bilbo could see the resemblance between the two in the shape of their face, the size of their nose, similarly placed beauty marks, and their identical blue eyes. He was beginning to wonder if the blue eyes were a dominant trait among noble Dwarves.

Glóin sniffed but nodded back. "You as well. Now that pleasantries are done, grab your stuff and let's go. I have other things to do today than play messenger boy."

Bilbo was about to agree when he recalled Ori and realized he had to decline. "Sorry, but I'm afraid I have to refuse," he replied, shaking his head. "I already have a prior engagement."

Glóin eyebrows flew up to hide in his mane of fire. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I have a prior engagement with an important friend that I can't afford to miss. So thanks for the invitation, but I can't go," he explained again, giving a shrug. "Sorry."

Glóin just stared at him like Bilbo had insulted his entire family line. "You... You can't turn down an invitation from a princess!" he finally sputtered, pointing at the Hobbit. "What is wrong with you?!"

"Is it illegal?" wondered the healer, tapping the edge of his bowl with two fingers.

"What?"

"I said is it illegal?" he repeated. "Is it against Erebor's laws to turn down an invitation from a member of the Royal Family?"

Glóin reluctantly shook his head. "Well, no—"

"Then I'm turning it down," interrupted Bilbo. "I'm truly sorry to do this, and I wouldn't if I didn't have any other choice, but I promised my friend I would be there, and Bilbo Baggins never breaks a promise."

"But—"

"Glóin," Óin finally said, grabbing their attention and holding it with his stern eyes. "Enough. Tell Dís that he'll come a different day. It won't kill her to wait for another time."

"But, Óin, you know what she's like—" Glóin sputtered only to be interrupted again by his elder sibling.

"I'll talk to her if she insists," the healer said, waving an irrelevant hand. "In fact, tell her to blame me if she wants to. Just leave Bilbo alone."

Glóin stared at the older Dwarf for a moment before his entire body seemed to slouch in submission. "Fine. You win, Óin. I'll tell her your little healer refused. But if she ends up trying to stab me with one of her hairpins again, then I'm taking it out on your hide."

"I'll sleep with one eye open," deadpanned Óin.

Glóin sniffed and, with one last nod to Bilbo, left in a whirl of red curls and blue silk. Bilbo waited until he couldn't hear the Dwarf's heavy footsteps before he turned to scowl at his boss.

"Óin, you didn't have to do that. I don't want you to get in trouble with the princess on my account," he said, placing a hand on his hip.

Óin scoffed and turned back to his tonic. "It's fine. Dís doesn't scare me as much as she does the rest of Erebor."

"Why does she scare people?" the Hobbit wondered, wrinkling his nose at the thought. "I mean, I met her so I understand why you wouldn't like her, but fear? That sounds like a bit too much."

"Let's just say that if Dís had been born a male, then she would be the one sitting on the throne right now," replied Óin before pointing to Bilbo's uncompleted task. "Now get back to work. I'm not paying you to sit around and chat."

Bilbo made a face but did as told. He still couldn't help but ponder over Óin's words for the rest of the day, and wondered exactly what he had gotten involved in by helping the Royal Family of Erebor.

"I'm going to fail."

"No, you won't. Now stop shaking."

"I don't remember what I learned! My head is a blank slate right now!"

"That's not new—ow! What did I do now?"

"Nothing, I suppose. Just being your usual self. Try to do less of it, Nori."

"I think I'm going to throw up," announced Ori, stopping in the middle of the road to cover his eyes. "Oh I'm definitely going to throw up."

Nori grunted, and snagged his little brother's elbow to drag him through the crowded streets. "Yeah, yeah aim for the side and don't get it on my boots. You do and I'm kicking you in the face."

"You're such a loving older brother, Nori," droned Bilbo from Ori's other side. He also had a hand on the young Dwarf's wrist just in case he tried to make a run for it. Again.

"Where is this exam being held again?" asked Nori, pushing past two younger Dwarves without a care.

"The Jade District," replied Bilbo, giving the two offended Dwarves a small nod of apology. "Do you want me to lead the way?"

The thief snorted, and looked back to give Bilbo a look that redefined disbelief. "You can't even read the signs. How'll you know you found it?"

Bilbo shrugged indifferently. "I'm sure Ori would help me there. Right, Ori?"

"Did I bring my special quill? I can't take the test without it," Ori said, scrunching his brows together in thought.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dori packed it for you along with your lucky rabbit foot, a snack, and a good luck note."

"Did he also wipe your bottom and change your nappy?" asked Nori, turning to give his brother his signature smirk that guaranteed to piss off anyone who saw it. "Did he pack extra just in case you wet yourself?"

It was a testament to how disturbed Ori was that he did not rise to the obvious bait with either a remark or a smack. Bilbo felt that wasn't fair and quickly leaned forward to yank on one of Nori's loose braids. "Knock it off. Now is not the time to pick on your little brother," he scolded.

Nori rolled his eyes but thankfully turned his eyes back to the front. Bilbo felt stressed enough trying to keep Ori from stressing out even more; he didn't need a snide thief adding to the mess. Not for the first time that morning he wished Dori had been able to skip work and come along. Everything would have been much easier with the elder Dwarf around to boss his little brothers into being decent people.

When they arrived at the Jade District, they found it to be packed with excited Dwarves of all types. Nori had to elbow a way through the crowds to the grand building hosting the exam. There they found young Dwarves dressed in fine fabrics with their noses buried in tomes and scrolls lingering before a bronze doorway with guards. When Ori saw it, he blanched.

"I don't think I can do this," he said, glancing to Bilbo. He had dark circles under his eyes that were growing darker with every day, much to Bilbo and Dori's unease. "What if I fail? What if I make a fool of myself?"

Bilbo shook his head and clucked his tongue. "You'll be fine, Ori," he soothed, sliding his hand down Ori's arm to give his clammy hand a squeeze. "Just do the best you can. There's no point in making yourself sick with worry over an exam you can take again next year."

Ori nodded shakily, and gripped Bilbo's hand tight enough that he began to lose feeling. "R-Right. I'll do my best and then... then..."

"Go home and take a nap because you look like hammered shit," supplied Nori, looking a hundred percent done with the entire situation. "Now get in there, take the stupid test, and blow all these blue bloods away so we can go home."

Ori blinked a few times before huffing; looking for the first time in days like his normal self. "I'm telling Dori you made me cry," he stated before turning on his heel and marching off with a wave to Bilbo.

Bilbo waved back goodbye while Nori scowled at his side. "If he thinks I'm afraid of Dori he has another thing coming," the thief grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bilbo—who had seen Dori browbeat Nori into sewing lace doilies with him—simply hummed and kept waving. "Of course not."

"I'm not!"

"Mmm-hmm."

"I'm—why is Lord Balin here? This isn't his area."

Bilbo looked to who had grabbed Nori's attention and found it was an older, shorter Dwarf with white hair, a friendly smile, and a strong jaw. He was dressed in fine red robes but wore little jewelry. He was surrounded by a few guards who escorted him through the crowds and into the building Ori had disappeared into.

"Who's Lord Balin?" he asked once the Dwarf in question had disappeared.

"The Minister of War," replied the thief, wearing a scowl. "He's Fundin's eldest sprog. Remember Fundin? The old bat that sentenced us?"

The healer thought back and made a face at the memory found. "You mean the one who looked at me like I was the village idiot when I offered to pay your bail?"

Nori smirked and nodded. "The one and only. His eldest spawn there took on his position as Minster of War after he got too old, and his second spawn is head of the Royal Guards. Very warrior focused family."

"What's a Minster of War do?"

"Wage war on people."

Bilbo elbowed the thief in the ribs. "Nori."

The thief rolled his eyes but dutifully explained, "He's in charge of Erebor's armies, seeing to the protection of the kingdom, leads the troops in battles—all those war things. He's like a nicer dressed general."

"So he's like that lady from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?" the Hobbit wondered, trying to grasp the ideas behind it.

"Pretty much. They're even related—Lady Súna's husband is his cousin."

Somehow Bilbo wasn't surprised. "How many ministries are there?"

"I think about seven," replied Nori, running his tongue over his canines. "I can't recall all of them but I know there's one called the Ministry of Coin."

"Big surprise that's the one you remember," Bilbo mumbled as he rolled his eyes. "I'm going to head to work now. Are you planning to stay here and wait for Ori?"

Nori nodded. "Mmm. He'll need help getting home, the baby."

"Make him get some sleep when you two get back," he advised, poking the thief in the arm. "And please, try not to be too much of an ass."

Nori held his hands up innocently. "I'll try, but if he pukes then it's in Mahâl's Hands," he warned.

"And if you really do make him cry then I'm leaving it up to Dori's hands," he retorted sweetly, and then skipped off with a laugh as the Dwarf behind him blanched.

Nori really was too easy.

Chapter Text

With all his focus on Ori and his exam, Bilbo had forgotten about his invitation to meet with Princess Dís. That was why two days after turning down her request, he found himself surprised when Óin ambushed him before he even took one step into the clinic for his morning shift.

Chapter Text

"I passed my exam," Ori announced later that night at dinner.

Bilbo dropped his spoon in surprise while Nori whistled and Dori reached across the table to hug his baby brother. "Oh, Ori, well done! I knew you could do it!" he said, rubbing the back of Ori's head.

"Congratulations!" added Bilbo, leaning down under the table to pick up his spoon. "What place did you get?"

"Fourth. I came in fourth," Ori replied, halfheartedly pushing his eldest brother away.

Nori whistled again. "Wow, that's not bad at all. Did you get anything for it?"

"Well... sort of," Ori said slowly, shifting awkwardly in his seat and playing with his spoon. "See, Lord Balin, he came to the exam and sort of... picked me. To work under him. As his secretary."

Nori—in the middle of sipping his soup as if it was in a cup—snorted into his meal and nearly dropped the bowl. Next to him Dori went stiff and still. Even Bilbo couldn't hide his shock as he turned to face the young Dwarf sitting next to him.

"What? Why'd he do that? Isn't he head of the Ministry of War?" he asked, looking between the three brothers for confirmation. "Why would he bother with a scribe who's just passed his exams?"

"He is," Dori replied slowly, passing Nori a napkin while never looking away from his youngest brother, "so he should have his own army of secretaries already. He has no reason to pick Ori. Did he say why? Did he give any sort of explanation?"

Ori shook his head and shifted uneasily in his seat. "No. I only got this notice and a pass to visit him tomorrow at his office. I'm not sure how to feel about this."

"Is that why he was lurking around there that day? To pick a minion?" asked Nori, dabbing at his wet beard with the napkin.

"Yes. He came to watch the exam and personally spoke to every candidate there," explained Ori, wrinkling his nose. "I thought he was just being nice at the time... I never thought he was actually evaluating us."

"Wouldn't a solider be a better assistant over a scribe?" Bilbo wondered.

Nori shrugged as he began to mop up the soup he spilt onto the table. "Meh. Who knows how these nobles think?"

"Interesting that he picked you of all people," commented Dori as his green eyes grew hooded. "What exactly did you say to him?"

"Nothing much, really," answered Ori, running his tongue over his teeth. "He asked me my name and where I'm from and how I felt about taking the exam early. I told him I was nervous and scared; he laughed and said that it was normal, and then went on his way. Completely ordinary."

"Did you try to suck up to him?" wondered Nori.

Ori flashed his brother an odd look and shook his head. "No? Why would I do that? He's not in charge of my department. He's not even part of my department."

"No, but he is fifth in line for the throne, so most folk tend to try and get on his good side," said the thief, pointing his spoon at Ori. "You acting like your normal self probably left an impression on him."

Bilbo nearly choked on his own meal in surprise. "Fifth in line? Wow, he's that close to being king?"

Ori nodded as he began to scoop out the vegetables in his soup to transfer into Nori's bowl. "Yup. He's actually right behind Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills."

"Why is Lord Dáin a candidate? Doesn't he have his own kingdom?" wondered Bilbo, sharing an eye roll with Nori over Ori's antics. He knew that usually Nori would force Ori to eat his greens but was making an exception for once on account of his success in passing his exam. For all his teasing and mocking, Nori was just as bad as Dori when it came to spoiling Ori.

"It's because of his age and ranking," explained Dori, green eyes still hooded as he stared at the wall in thought. "Not only is he the eldest behind the King and Prince Frerin, he's also the only grandson of Lord Grór—King Thrór's youngest and most beloved brother."

Bilbo wrinkled his brow in thought. "And who was King Thrór again?"

"The current King's grandfather," Nori answered promptly.

Bilbo snapped his fingers as his memory finally caught up with him. "Oh! Right, him. So Lord Dáin was the last King's grand-nephew then? What about Lord Balin? How is he related to King Thrór?"

"Lord Balin's grandfather was the younger brother of King Dáin I, who was King Thrór's father," Ori answered promptly, moving on to Bilbo's bowl where he began to dump his potatoes. "His name was Lord Borin and was King Thrór's bodyguard and teacher when he was young, and his advisor when he was king. Rumor has it that he was more of a father to our king than his real one ever was."

"So that's why Lord Balin is favored now," connected Bilbo, pushing his bowl closer to Ori's so his task was easier. "I see. Lord Dáin was also favored by the late king because of his grandfather was King Thrór's favorite brother, yes? Is that right?"

"Yes. His name was Lord Grór and he was the youngest of the three sons of King Dáin I. King Thrór adored him and dotted on him constantly," answered Ori, green eyes lightening up as he spoke. Bilbo was beginning to think King Thrór was the scribe's favorite subject. "Whenever Lord Grór came to visit, he would throw huge celebrations across the kingdom that would last for weeks, and would pardon any criminal the day he came. He would even send an envoy of gifts to the Iron Hills for Lord Grór's birthday every year."

"He was like Dori but way showier," translated Nori, throwing his elder brother a smirk that was oddly ignored.

"When Lord Grór passed away, they say that King Thrór wept for days and refused to leave his room," Dori commented quietly while stirring his stew. "He passed away himself a year later once the grief became too much for his heart to bear."

Nori snorted. "More like the guilt and madness finally did him in."

Bilbo blinked in surprise and turned to Ori for an answer. "What does that mean?"

"He's talking about the Battle of Azanulbizar," translated the scribe, now reaching over the table to steal Dori's untouched roll. "Shortly before his death, King Thrór went to war with the Orcs of Moria in an attempt to reclaim the lost Kingdom of Khazad-dûm. In the battle Lord Grór's only son, Lord Náin, was killed and his grandson—that's Lord Dáin—lost his right foot. They lost the battle and King Thrór never forgave himself for costing his brother his only son."

"It didn't help either that the king had adored Lord Náin," added Dori, shaking his head sadly. "Lord Náin was fostered here when he came of age and even married a Dwarrowdam from here. Even Lord Dáin used to spend his summer seasons here as a child with the princes and princess. That's how much King Thrór loved his family."

Bilbo was beginning to feel bad for the deceased king. While he had no siblings to speak of, he did have his cousins, and they were as good as siblings in his view. He couldn't imagine how he would feel if he lost Fortinbras, Primula, Flambard, Adalgrim, and Sigisimond at once. Even worse was the idea that their deaths would be the results of his decisions. He didn't imagine how he could live with himself after such a tragedy.

"What about his other brother? What happened to him?" he asked though he had a pretty clear idea already.

"Prince Frór?" said Ori, blinking. "I'm not sure. I haven't read much about him. He died young."

"He died in Ered Mithrin with his father," supplied Nori, flicking a loose braid out of his face with two fingers. "Rumor is he wasn't very well-liked by people; not even his own family. Too arrogant and battle hungry. Big surprise he died trying to take on a cold-drake."

"What were they doing in Ered Mithrin?" Bilbo asked as he tried to recall which mountain the settlement was in. He was coming up with only a vague idea.

"Trying to reclaim the old Dwarrow fortresses from the drakes that live there," Ori answered promptly. "They gave up after King Dáin and Prince Frór were killed along with most of their forces. After that King Thrór decided to focus on just building up Erebor's wealth and power and forget the other Lost Kingdoms for now. He did a good job considering he turned it from a poor outpost back into a kingdom."

Bilbo nodded as he absorbed all the new information he had learned. He would have to start writing the names down soon because he couldn't just keep track of them all. "Why were their names different from their father?" he wondered, mashing up a potato with his spoon.

Nori raised a brow as he peered over the rim of his bowl he was sipping from. "What?"

"King Thrór and his brothers. Their father was named Dáin so why were they named Thrór, Brór, and Crór?" clarified the Hobbit.

"That's Frór and Grór, Bilbo," corrected Ori, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo stuck his tongue out at the scribe. "Do I look like I care? Just answer my question."

"Because they were all stone-born. King Dáin never married so he made his heirs from the stone. Their new names reflected the start of new lines," answered Nori, standing up from the table and taking his empty bowl to the washing bin.

"How does that stone-born thing work? Do the sons they carve share any blood relation with their parent?" asked the healer, raising his voice slightly so the thief could hear him.

Dori blinked a few times and seemed to finally return to his normal self. "How do you know about the stone-born?" he questioned, raising a silver brow.

"I told him," Nori admitted bluntly as he began to wash his dish.

Ori gasped while Dori groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You know we're not supposed to share that with outsiders," the eldest 'Ri brother scolded, casting a dark look at his brother.

The thief simply shrugged the look off. "Why not? It's not like other races can steal the idea. Besides, it's Bilbo. He's not gonna tell anyone."

Dori didn't look at all convinced but didn't push it. "So is anyone gonna answer my question?" Bilbo wondered as the silence went on.

Ori blinked a few times before sitting up straight. "Oh! Right, the stone-born. Well, usually a Dwarrow will braid a lock of hair, cut it off, and then give it to the Keepers to create a child with their blood. If it's a couple they'll braid strands of their hairs together to create a son who will hold both their blood. Sometimes even more hair will be added and a child will be born with the blood of many lines. It's really up to what the parent wants."

Bilbo was beginning to feel the stirrings of a headache forming. "So a Dwarf can be born with five parents? Sometimes even more? What's the point of that?"

"It's a power thing," explained Dori, also getting to his feet and joining Nori in the kitchen. "The hope is that the child will inherit all the valued talents or gifts from his parents. It also creates bonds and alliances between families if they all share a child. It's kind of like marrying your children off to foreigners."

"Ugh, you Dwarves are so strange," complained the healer, leaning back into his chair and covering his eyes with one hand. "Just when I think I have you lot figured out, you throw something new at me."

"Why do you think we don't tell outsiders anything?" Ori commented, and then high jacked Bilbo's roll.

Later, after everything was cleaned and put away, Bilbo knocked softly on Dori's door at the end of the small hall. When he received an answer, he opened the door and peered in and found the old Dwarf sitting on his bed brushing out his long silver hair. To his surprise, he saw that it reached Dori's knees in perfect strokes. He had not realized how much straighter Dori's hair was compared to his brothers and the other Dwarves in Erebor.

"Bilbo," greeted Dori, pausing in his task to raise a silver brow. "Come in. Is there something wrong?"

Bilbo stepped inside and closed the door with his foot and held up a large clay mug. "I made you some tea. It's with chamomile flowers I got from the clinic. It's also good at helping you relax."

Dori blinked a few times before setting his comb down to take the chipped mug. "Thank you, Bilbo. That was very kind of you."

"You look like you need it," replied the healer, settling on the floor across from Dori with his legs crossed under him. "You were rather quiet tonight at dinner. Is anything wrong?"

Dori shook his head and blew at his tea before taking a small sip. "Hmm? No, no, I'm fine. I simply... have a lot on my mind is all. Nothing to worry about, dear. I'll have it resolved soon enough."

Bilbo frowned and tapped his fingers against his knee in thought. "Is it serious? Do you need any help? Because I can—"

He was interrupted by Dori as he broke out laughing. His broad shoulders shook and the lines in his face eased up while his eyes creased into kind smiles. The sight made the Hobbit lean back slightly while his eyebrows hit his hairline. He had never seen the oldest 'Ri brother laugh so unrestrained.

"Oh, Bilbo, do you ever stop worrying about others?" Dori eventually asked, wiping at the corner of his eyes. "It seems as if all you do is take care of the ones around you."

Bilbo pouted, feeling rather offended. "Don't you do the same? You raised your brothers and took me in."

"Ahh, but that's different. My brothers are my responsibility to look after as the eldest, and you are a dear friend who we originally owed a debt to," Dori countered, pointing a finger at the healer. "You help anyone who comes into your path. See the difference?"

"I... But I have to help. It's the right thing to do," he pointed out, frowning. "Why is that so hard for people to understand?"

"Because not everyone has such a strong sense for right and wrong," answered Dori, giving him a small smile over the rim of his cup. "Don't worry about it, Bilbo. Just keep being yourself. I promise that will be more than enough."

"Vóggur, stop whining before I give you something to whine about," Bilbo ordered his patient the next day as he lanced the last of his boils. "These aren't even that bad. I'm sure you faced worse injuries in combat."

"That's a different sort of pain," Vóggur said waspishly, trying to subtly wiggle away only to be pinched on the arm by the healer. "Ouch! Stop pinching me!"

"Then stop moving," retorted the Hobbit, smiling sweetly before jabbing the boil open. He ignored the curse that followed along with the stream of threats and pleads in both Westron and Khuzdûl, and focused on draining out the pus. He was nearly done when another healer—a female named Roda—stuck her head in and called out to him.

"Bilbo, someone is here to see you!" she said, flashing him a smile before ducking out.

"Oh thank Mahâl," Vóggur muttered.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Thank you! I'll be right there!" he yelled back before turning back to his patient. "Vóggur, don't you dare move. If I have to track you down again I'm gonna give you to Óin to treat."

Vóggur immediately blanched.

Satisfied, Bilbo got to his feet and walked out to the front chambers where visitors usually waited. There he found a towering Dwarf dressed in familiar blue and gold armor with the top of his head shaved. He stood standing with his arms crossed over his chest; staring at a painting on the wall that depicted a group of Dwarves hovering over a dying king. Bilbo still couldn't figure out if they were meant to be helping the king or killing him.

"Can I help you?" he called when he grew close enough.

The stranger smoothly turned around to face the Hobbit, and then arched one black brow at what he saw. "So it is you," he commented, his voice deep and gruff like a bear.

Bilbo blinked a few times. "Excuse me?"

"Don't ya recognize me?" asked the stranger, his brow going higher. "We met outside the city, back in Dale. Remember? With the Orcs?"

Bilbo studied the Dwarf closer and then snapped his fingers as his memory finally kicked in. "You... You're that Dwarf. Durnan? Darwin?"

"Dwalin. Dwalin son of Fundin," the Dwarf corrected with a nod. "And you are Bilbo Baggins. You are the healer who saved my... friend."

"Mmm. How is he? Did he get better?" asked the Hobbit, his concern rising. He had wondered from time to time what happened to the injured Dwarf from his early run in, but never got a chance to investigate.

Dwalin nodded as he slowly looked the healer up and down. "Yes, he's fine now. I took him to some healers and they fixed him right up."

Bilbo felt his shoulders droop in relief. "I'm glad to hear it," he said honestly, biting his lower lip. "So, um, how did you know I was here exactly?"

"Rumor in the upper levels is that a Hobbit saved Prince Kíli's life from a conspiracy to poison him with nickel. Wasn't sure if it was you but I figured it couldn't hurt to check, yes?" explained the Dwarf, shrugging his shoulders.

"They're telling rumors about me? Why?"

"Why wouldn't they?" countered Dwalin, his brow ascending again. "You saved a prince and revealed a conspiracy that sent the King on a bloody rampage when he learned of it. Surprised no one's come down here to drag you off."

Bilbo decided he didn't want to know where these so-called Dwarves would be dragging him off to. "That's probably thanks to Óin scaring them off with his growling," he replied, rocking back on his heels lightly.

Dwalin smirked. "I'm sure it is. Fucking scary old goat ain't he? How'd you even wind up working for him anyway?"

"I needed money," he answered honestly, titling his head to the side. "Óin's clinic was the first place I went to for work. They gave me three tasks to do, I did them and passed, and now here I am."

"Then I guess that means you'll be stayin' in Erebor for a good while," Dwalin commented, dark eyes narrowing slightly.

Bilbo narrowed his own eyes and leaned back from the Dwarf. "Maybe. Why?"

Dwalin never got the chance to answer as Óin came stomping into the room with a fierce scowl painted across his face. When he saw Dwalin standing there, his scowl grew even deeper and uglier.

"Dwalin," he said flatly, marching up to the taller Dwarf. "What are you doing here? Why is everyone suddenly bombarding my clinic? Should I expect a visit from Balin soon? How about Súna? Fundin? My mother?"

Dwalin rolled his eyes but carefully took a decent sized step away from the irritable healer. "Relax, Óin, I'm leaving. Just came to thank Master Baggins here for his services," he said, holding his hands up innocently.

Óin sneered. "Yes, yes, he helped Kíli, we all know. Dís and Vílin have already thanked him," he said, pointing to the doors. "Now get out and tell the rest of the family to leave my clinic—and my healers—alone before I put purgatives in your food again."

The corner of Dwalin's eye twitched before he schooled his expression into a blank mask. "You're a horrible person," he said to Óin before turning to give Bilbo a nod. "Until next time, Master Baggins."

Bilbo waved goodbye as the burly Dwarf left before turning to Óin. "Did you really put purgatives in his food?" he asked, torn between cackling and chastising.

"Yes," the older healer admitted bluntly, still glaring off in the direction Dwalin had marched off in. "You think I can take him in a fight? He's a head taller than me."

"And you two are related as well, huh?"

Óin snorted, and gave Bilbo a look he usually reserved for the haughty nobles who sometimes came sniffing around. "Of course we are. You think I would be so nice to a complete stranger?"

Chapter Text

"I can't believe he did this," commented Dori, sorting through the solid gold coins with great care. They were newly made with no scratches or dirt on them and in the candle light they sparkled brighter than anything Nori had ever seen. It made his hands itch with the need to touch and hold, and he burrowed his hands into tight fists to fight back the impulse.

He was not about to let his baser instincts take control. Not again.

Chapter Text

"So how goes the healing business?" asked Bofur as he shoved a clay mug into Bilbo's hands before taking a seat across from him.

"Busy," he replied, nodding his thanks to the miner before taking a sip of his cheap ale. He immediately made a face at what he found. "This taste like dirty bathwater."

"Ya really shouldn't be drinking ya bathwater, bubs. Not good for ya," commented Bofur, wiggling his brows at the Hobbit before taking a sip of his own bathwater.

Under the table, Bilbo kicked the miner lightly in the knee. "I hope you choke on it," he mumbled before braving another take of his drink.

Bofur grinned over the rim of his cup. In the month since they met, Bilbo had come to learn that Bofur—while being protective over his family and friends—never genuinely got upset over anything. Like water on a duck, everything seemed to slide off of him without any trouble. It made Bilbo both respect and envy him.

They were meeting at the Stone Bell, which had become a weekly occurrence since their first meeting. Usually they were joined by Nori and Bifur to drink, chat, and play cards that Bilbo always lost at. For a race that was usually very obvious, the Dwarves had excellent stone faces when gambling.

"Bilbo, ya don't have to drink it if ya hate it that much," the Dwarf commented, watching Bilbo's face in obvious amusement as he swallowed down another mouthful of dirt water.

Bilbo shook his head vehemently. "I'm not wasting it, Bofur, it cost you money."

"So? I'll get more of it."

Bilbo kicked the miner in the knee again. "Just shut up and let me drink it."

Bofur sniffed and leaned back into his chair. "Fine. But if ya get the runs don't say I didn't warn ya."

"I won't," he said stubbornly, and then deliberately changed the subject. "How is Hatice doing?"

"Better," said the miner, his face softening like always when he spoke about his niece. "Hamide has been rubbing that mixture on her gums like ya said so she's not cryin' as much anymore. Still droolin' and bitin' everything though."

"That's normal for teething babies," he reassured, recalling his own experience with babies. "She'll probably be doing it for the first few years as all her teeth set in. Just keep rubbing the tonic on her gums and give her something to bite on, and she'll be fine."

Bofur nodded. "Got it. Thank Mahâl ya around for this 'cuz the rest of us don't have a clue how to care for babes. Hamide nearly broke down into tears when she couldn't get Hatice to stop cryin' that first night."

Bilbo wasn't surprised. Hamide—as he had come to understand—was a Dwarrowdam who was still trying to recover from the horror done to her at the hands of the slavers years before. Though she no longer flinched and shied away from him, she was still very skittish around Bilbo and the 'Ri brothers, and never tried to speak to anyone outside her family. Bofur had admitted that while she wasn't as bad as before, she still rarely ever left the house in fear of strangers, and sometimes still had hysterical fits over simple mistakes or accidents. It was truly a horrible way to live and thinking about it always left Bilbo feeling a mix of sympathy and fury on her behalf.

"Ya know a lot about babies. Ya got a lot of siblings?" asked Bofur, moving onto a safer subject. Bilbo had noticed that Bofur never liked to linger too long on the state of his sister-in-law. He had a feeling it was because the miner felt helpless when faced with her demons. Unlike Bombur—who could soothe an angry bear back to sleep—he couldn't do much for Hamide other than distract her with humor, which didn't work too well when one was screaming.

"No, I'm an only child," he answered, accepting Bofur's silent wish to move onto an easier subject, "but I grew up in a clan with lots of cousins so I'm used to being around babies."

Bofur leaned further back into his chair until he was balancing on the back legs. "That must be nice to have so much kin aroun' ya," he commented wistfully. "Makes me kinda jealous."

"You don't have any family back at the Blue Mountains?" Bilbo asked, watching the Dwarf carefully incase he fell back in his chair and cracked his head open.

"Some, but they're distant kin at best," admitted the miner, nudging his hat up as it slipped down into his eyes. "Ma and pops died during the Red Fever along with Bifur's ma. Our grandparents passed away from it too, and Bifur's brother died in a mining accident years before. We're really all that's left."

"I'm sorry," Bilbo said, wincing in sympathy. He hadn't been around for the Red Fever when it hit the Blue Mountains, but he had treated patients with the illness. It was a horrible disease and a painful way to die. "Does Bjarte have any family left?"

Bofur nodded as he took another swig of his ale. "Aye, an older sister and his da's brother, I think. Haven't spoken to them in years though. They... didn't really approve of his marriage to Bifur."

Bilbo wasn't surprised. Why he personally liked Bifur, he could also see why he would be off putting to others. "Why?"

"Well, they wanted him to marry this Dwarrowdam over Bifur," explained Bofur, scratching at his dirty nose. "That way he would have spawn, ya see?"

He shook his head in disagreement. "No, I don't. What about the stone-born? Couldn't they just do that?"

Bofur's eyes went wide and he leaned forward in his chair until the front legs hit the ground in a loud smack. "How do ya know about that?" he hissed, leaning over the table and into Bilbo's face. He was so close that the Hobbit could see the faint freckles dotted across his nose and cheeks.

"Um, Nori told me," he admitted quietly, leaning back from the Dwarf and looking away with a guilty flinch.

Bofur snorted. "Pff. Of course he did," he muttered, moving back from Bilbo's personal space and falling back into his chair. He pointed a stern finger at the Hobbit and ordered, "Don't tell anyone else ya know that. Ya'll get Nori and yourself into trouble."

"I won't, I promise," he vowed, holding up a solemn hand. "Now continue please."

"Yeah, well, Bifur and Bjarte could have a son through the stone, but it would be from their blood, and, well, we ain't exactly the best stock ya know? Bjarte's family didn't want that. They're a higher class than us—merchants—and didn't think Bifur was good enough for Bjarte. Even threatened him with disownment if he didn't marry the dam they chose," Bofur explained, his mouth curling down an inch before he suddenly perked up again. "But Bjarte wasn't scared. Told them to go jump off a bridge and married Bifur the next day."

Bilbo laughed, impressed by such a bold display. "Wow, his family must've been mad when they found out," he said before forcing another mouthful of his so-called ale down.

"Absolutely pissed!" crowed Bofur, grinning with his dimples on full display. "They cut him out then and there. Not that Bjarte gave a fuck. He just wanted to be with Bifur, ya know?"

He didn't, actually, because he had never been in love, but he could imagine what it was like after watching his parents dote on each other for years. "I admire Bjarte for his resolve. To turn away from everything you know just for love... that could not have been easy."

"Maybe for others, yea, but not Bjarte. Bifur been the center of his world since they were this high," the miner said, making a line with his hand and placing it right by his knee. "For him, choosin' Bifur wasn't even a choice."

"How did they meet if they're from different classes?"

"Bifur's pa was a washer who used to clean clothes for the upper classes. Bjarte's family was one of 'um. He used to take Bifur with him to work and somehow he got to playin' with Bjarte. After that, they were pretty much stuck together."

"How romantic," he mused, tapping the rim of his cup before a new thought had him perking up. "Hey, have you ever heard of the Blue Iron?"

Bofur made a grunt of acknowledgement as he gulped down more of his ale. "Mmm. A merc group right?" he clarified, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Whatta about it?"

"I need to find them but I don't know where to look," Bilbo explained, leaning closer and lowering his voice slightly. "Nori promised to get me a meeting with them but I don't want to have to burden him with that. He has enough to worry about."

Bofur frowned. "Why do ya need to find them?"

Bilbo scoffed as he finished taking another sip of his ale. "To hire them for a job, obviously, why else would I be looking for them?"

Bofur reached across the table and flicked him in the nose. "Yea, I got that, but what kinda job is it?"

The Hobbit batted his hand away. "I'm trying to create an army to fight the dragon that took over my homeland a hundred years ago," he said, giving him a mocking glare.

"Dragon? Oh, ya mean Smaug!" realized the miner, banging a fist against the table. "I heard about that but thought it was just a myth. Ya saying it's true?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered bitterly. "He ran my people out of our land and made it his own. We've been working and saving up enough coin to buy an army to take it back. That's why I came to Erebor: to buy soldiers."

Bofur didn't speak for awhile after that. Simply drank his filthy bathwater disguised as ale and stared at Bilbo thoughtfully. When he finally did speak, his voice was deeper than usual and his face sterner. "Listen, I don't know nuthin' about the Blue Iron or how to find them," he explained, leaning forward slightly, "but I'm pretty sure that Bifur does."

Bilbo blinked a few times, unsure if he had had heard that correctly. "Bifur? How would he know?"

"It's a long story," said the miner, waving a flippant hand. "I'll ask him tonight and tell ya what he says. Deal?"

"Deal," he replied, giving a firm nod. "And... thanks, Bofur. For doing this."

Bofur winked, and leaned his chair back again until it was on two legs. "Don't worry about it. It's what friends do," he said, flashing his dimpled-grin.

"I have a job for you," Óin told him the next day at the clinic.

"I have a job, remember? You hired me for it," Bilbo reminded, not looking up from the lunch Dori had packed him. The Dwarf made lunches for his brothers and Bilbo every night whether they wanted them or not. Bilbo had finally given up on insisting that he did not need to bother and accepted Dori's mothering act. It was, oddly, nice to experience.

Not that he'd ever tell Dori that, of course.

Óin lightly smacked him in the back of the head. "You're such a brat," he said fondly, taking a seat next to the Hobbit on the bench. He then shoved a leather bound book into Bilbo's face. "Here. This is for you."

Bilbo sighed, and set his lunch to the side in order to take the book. "What is this?"

"The record book for the plants from Orocarni," replied Óin, stealing an apple from his lunch. "It's the newest shipment we got in. I want you to go through it and make sure everything is there before securing them in the vault."

Bilbo raised his brows as he skimmed through the book that was—oddly enough—written in Westron. "Milkwort, forkfern, ebony tree bark—these are all very rare and expensive herbs," he realized, turning to his boss. "Are you sure you want to trust me with something so valuable?"

"Yes," replied the older healer around a mouthful of apple. "I trust you to handle the task to the best of your abilities. I know that you'll get it done on time and sufficiently."

He nearly dropped the book in surprise. "You trust me that much?" he said, staring at the Dwarf sitting next to him as he ate his stolen apple.

Óin nodded; relaxed and completely oblivious to Bilbo's shock. "Of course. You think I would take just anyone along to help me treat Kíli? A beloved prince of the kingdom and my precious cousin?" he asked, arching one of his fuzzy brows. "Think again, Bunny."

Bilbo tightened his grip on the book until his knuckles turned white. He could feel something in his chest—tight and hard but warm, oh so warm—growing and spreading out through his body. He couldn't say what it was except that it reminded him of his Uncle Isengrim when he told Bilbo he was proud of him. He had never felt it around anyone else before, not even among his own clan, and yet around Óin...

Strange. It was so very strange. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have someone who can write in Khuzdûl?" he asked, staring down at the smooth pages. "Wouldn't that be more fitting?"

"I'd prefer to have someone capable," rebuked the older healer as he took another large bite out of his apple. "I don't care about writing or social class. I just want it done correctly. Can you do that?"

Bilbo raised his chin in challenge. "Of course. I always give it all in my work. Anything less is simply unacceptable."

Óin smirked. "Good. Then it's settled: you'll see to the shipment."

"When do you need it done?"

"By the end of your shift today," said the older healer before pointing a knowing finger at Bilbo. "And don't worry about your patients; I've already assigned them to others for today. Just focus on the plants."

Bilbo sighed and gave a defeated nod. "Very well. Anything else?"

"Yes," said Óin, holding out his free hand with his smirk growing. "Pass me another apple."

It took Bilbo the rest of the day and well into the night to completely sort through the herbs and put them away. When he was finally done, most of the day staff had left, and the night staff was arriving to watch over the patients. He greeted them politely before looking over his own patients one last time before finally leaving the clinic.

The streets of the Amber District were quiet and nearly empty at night. The only people he saw about were the guards patrolling and the merchants heading home from work. It made Bilbo rather uncomfortable to see the normally bustling streets dead and dark. It just did not fit the usually lively district.

It was due to the dark and quiet streets that Bilbo noticed the group of four Dwarves dragging a large sack between them. At first he didn't think anything of it; assuming that it was simply grain or wool that the Dwarves were carrying home. It wasn't until one of them tripped and dropped the sack that he stopped and did a double take.

That... that was a hand, he realized, grabbing onto a nearby pillar and ducking behind it. He watched closely as the four Dwarves shuffled around the fallen bag before two of them finally heaved it up between them. Then, with the other two looking around, they set off again towards the staircase that led down to the lower districts. Bilbo watched them go before setting off himself; keeping a good amount of space between them and ducking behind pillars whenever they paused to scan the area.

What are they up to? he wondered, squatting behind an empty booth as the group stopped again to readjust their grip on the sack and check the area. The Dwarves didn't look suspicious in their common clothes and casual jewelry. Indeed, they looked very normal and average; easily blending in with the background and any crowd that could form. But it was that very normal air that made the hair on Bilbo's feet rise up in alarm.

So wrapped up in his study of the suspicious Dwarves, he failed to notice someone walking up to him until two fingers tapped him on the shoulder. He jumped and spun around in shock; biting his tongue and nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. Holding a hand against his chest, he glared up at the smirking lurker who had startled him.

"You—what are you doing here?" he hissed.

Thorin—the grumpy guard from the palace—raised an eyebrow as he stared down his pointy nose at the Hobbit. He was dressed in a new set of finely made leathers and had tied his long hair back into a high ponytail.

"Working," the guard retorted, crossing his hands behind his back. "What are you doing out here so late?"

"Leaving," he replied promptly before faltering and glancing over his shoulder. "Actually, I was leaving the clinic until..."

"Until...?"

Bilbo gestured for Thorin to squat down next to him and pointed to the group moving down the street. "See those four? I think they're up to something. I think they're carrying a body in that sack."

Thorin blinked a few times. "A body. You think they're carrying a body through the streets. Where everyone can see. In a district filled with patrolling guards."

Bilbo scowled, and had to curb the urge to elbow his companion in the chest. Thorin's leather armor looked tough and he did not feel like bruising his arm against it. "Yes, that's what I said. I saw a hand fall out when they dropped it."

Thorin still didn't look convinced. "So why didn't you call the guards? Why are you trying to follow them?"

Bilbo scoffed. "Are you kidding me?" he said, flashing a look of disbelief at the Dwarf. "What do you expect the guards to do? I'm a lowborn outsider; they're not gonna listen to me! And even if they did, what if I'm wrong and it's not a body? Those Dwarves could accuse me of trying to get them into trouble, and then I could be thrown into prison."

Thorin frowned and leaned back slightly. "They... They wouldn't do that," he protested, but his tone told a different story.

"You know that for certain?" the healer retorted, raising his brows.

Thorin scowled, and looked over to the suspicious Dwarves before turning back to Bilbo. "Still, you shouldn't try to challenge four grown Dwarrows on your own. They could seriously injure someone of your size in a fight," he said, changing the topic.

Bilbo snorted and nearly laughed. "I've been fighting Orcs since I was a babe. I think I can handle them."

"Why were you fighting Orcs—?"

"Because they try to eat my kind," interrupted Bilbo, standing up straight. "Now shut up and leave me alone. They're getting away!"

Without waiting for a reply, he sprinted off for the next column as the Dwarves proceeded down a flight of stairs. He waited until he was sure they couldn't see him before creeping after them. Halfway through his dash he realized he was being followed himself.

"What are you doing?" he hissed at Thorin as they ducked behind another pillar. "Why are you following me?"

"Because you're in over your head," replied the guard, looking down his nose at Bilbo.

"I don't need your help—"

"You need all the help you can get."

Bilbo scoffed. "Oh, like you're one to talk!" he said, poking the Dwarf in the chest with one finger. "You guards couldn't even figure out what sort of metal you had floating around in the palace! What kind of Dwarf doesn't know that?"

Thorin scowled as his cheeks began to color a mix between pink and purple. "The kind that spends his day fighting to protect his home for his fellow Dwarrows and outsiders like you!"

"From what? The occasional bumbling Orc? Or how about murderous citizens—oh shit, where did they go?!" Bilbo spun around and frantically tried to spot the Dwarves but found no sign of them.

"It looks like they're gone," Thorin stated obviously.

This time Bilbo didn't resist the impulse to elbow the guard in the ribs. "Thanks to you!" he growled as Thorin grunted from the impact. "You're the worse guard in the kingdom! How did you ever get your job?"

"Inheritance," replied the Dwarf, rubbing his side and taking a tactful step away from the healer.

"Wow, what a surprise," scorned Bilbo, still searching for any sign of the suspicious group. He finally gave up with a huff and leaned back against the pillar behind him with his arms crossed over his chest. "What a waste. Someone could be dying or dead now and we won't ever know. Damnit!"

"If someone is missing, it will be reported to the guards and they will search for them," Thorin pointed out.

Bilbo looked up at the Dwarf in disbelief only to find that he was completely serious. "You really believe that don't you?" he realized, examining the firm press to Thorin's lips and his straight shoulders.

"Why wouldn't I?" the Dwarf retorted, arching a dark brow. "The guards exist to protect and serve the people of Erebor. If one of those citizens disappears, then they have a duty to find them."

"Even if that citizen is a nobody from the gutters?" wondered Bilbo.

"Yes," Thorin said firmly without hesitation. "Erebor protects all of her children regardless of blood or rank."

Bilbo didn't buy that for a minute, but didn't have the heart to correct the guard. Thorin looked so honestly convinced that his words were true that it felt... wrong to break him of that faith. And while Bilbo knew he had a good deal of bad traits, cruelty was never one of them.

"Well, there's nothing I can do now," he announced, pushing himself off the pillar and standing up straight. "I'm heading back. Goodnight, Thorin."

Thorin held up a hand and stepped into his path before he could slip by. "Wait! Dwalin told me that you... you are the one who saved me."

Bilbo blinked a few times, feeling completely lost. "I did?"

"Yes, back in the forest? Outside of Dale?"

It took Bilbo a moment to make the connection, but when he did, he felt his heart jump in joy. "It was you!" he cheered, nearly throwing his arms around the guard but restraining when he saw Thorin take a step back. "You're really okay! I mean, your friend told me you were, but it's always better seeing it for myself! I'm so happy."

Thorin raised another eyebrow as he looked the beaming Hobbit up and down. "You... You really do care about your patients," he commented with something like wonder in his voice.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "Of course I do," he said. "Just as much as you care about protecting the people of Erebor."

Thorin's eyes went wide and he nearly took another step back in obvious surprise. Bilbo didn't know why the Dwarf was so shocked. Was it really so rare to find a healer who wanted to see his patients healed? Had he not met Óin before? Because if there was anyone who cared more than Bilbo about the wellbeing of his patients, than it was the grumpy old Dwarf.

"I owe you a reward for saving my life," announced Thorin after a minute of silence. He stood up straighter and folded his hands behind his back, and looked down at Bilbo with bright blue eyes. "Tell me what you desire most in the world and I will see it fulfilled."

The Hobbit snorted and then covered his mouth to muffle the giggles that escaped. "I don't think that's going to happen," he said after getting his laughter under control. "I don't have any wish you can fulfill."

Thorin frowned and drew his shoulders back even higher. "I don't believe that. Surely there is something you want."

"Of course there is. But it's nothing within your power to give me," he explained with a shrug.

Now the guard looked amused. "You'd be surprised at the extent of my influence," he said, the corner of his lips quirking up into a half-smile. "Now tell me."

Bilbo shrugged. "Fine. I want to defeat the Dread Dragon Smaug."

Thorin just stared. "Come again?" he said slowly.

"You heard me: I want the power to kill a dragon," the healer repeated, smirking.

Thorin kept staring with his mouth open. "Why?!"

"Because he stole my homeland and drove my people out," explained the Hobbit, unable to stop the frown that came to his face as he thought about his family's history. "I want to beat him and reclaim the land of my ancestors. If I can do that, then my people would finally have a home to go to."

"I don't think I can grant that wish," the guard admitted quietly, studying the healer with a nearly unblinking gaze.

Bilbo shrugged again. "I wasn't expecting you to," he reassured. "I don't expect anyone to grant me that wish so easily. Instead, I must fulfill it myself."

"How?" wondered the Dwarf, tilting his head to the side. "You're so small and weak. How could you defeat a dragon all on your own?"

"By purchasing soldiers from across the land to fight him for me," Bilbo replied promptly, feeling a bit annoyed by the 'small and weak' comment but deciding to ignore it. "My clan has been saving up coin for decades to hire an army to fight for us. I've been given the duty of finding these warriors."

Thorin's eyes widened. "You? But you're so young! How could they send you out alone?"

"My clan cannot afford to send out more than one for this mission," he explained simply with a shrug. "We need every able body to work to earn coin so we can survive. Plus, our numbers are low enough as it is. Sending out more people is a risk of loss we cannot afford. Hence, I alone was given the mission, and here I am."

Thorin kept staring at him with a frown. Bilbo couldn't begin to imagine what was going on in his head. "I don't recall any Hobbits coming to ask us for help," he eventually remarked.

Bilbo snorted. "That's not a surprise. My people don't really trust the Dwarves of Erebor."

"What? Why not?" the guard asked, both brows rising to his hairline.

"Let's just say that your ancestors weren't very kind to my ancestors," he answered airily, pushing himself off the column again. "I really do need to leave now. If there's nothing else...?"

Thorin slowly shook his head. "No. No, there's nothing more. I... I simply want to say thank you for saving my life. Thank you, Master Healer."

"Bilbo."

Thorin blinked. "Excuse me?"

"My name," he repeated, turning his chin up to meet the guard's eyes, "is Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins."

The Dwarf slowly nodded. "Of course," he murmured before raising his voice, "And I am Thorin Oakenshield. At your service."

Bilbo laughed and patted the guard on the arm as they began to walk back up the staircase together. "And I at yours, Corin."

Chapter Text

When Bilbo arrived to work the next morning, the first thing he heard was whispers.

"What happened?" he asked one of his peers—a darker skinned Dwarf named Aín who possessed stunning gray eyes—once he noticed all the noise.

Aín turned to him with his dark brows raised high. "You didn't hear? Lord Eikar was found murdered last night," he said.

Bilbo just raised his brows back. "And who was Lord Eikar?"

"He was in charge of the Ministry of Stone," explained another Dwarf healer—Hethin who had one brown eye and one blue and could hold an entire conversation by himself—in an excited rush, "and he was one of the highest ranking nobles in the city. He was a Firebeard and a Stiffbeard and his brother was the famous General Eikin. His grandmother's sister, Lady Barba, even married into Durin's Line—that's Lord Óin's own grandmother!"

Bilbo nodded and hoped he looked suitably impressed by such feats. From Aín's smirk though he had a feeling it wasn't passing. "Why would anyone murder him? Was he a jerk or something?"

Hethin shook his head frantically; causing his braids to whip through the air like black snakes. "No, that's just the thing—Lord Eikar was considered a Dwarrow of integrity! He was very well liked and respected by everyone in Erebor! That's why this is such a shock. Who would ever want to hurt such a noble soul?"

Bilbo could think of a few good reasons—and he was sure Aín could too—but didn't have it in him to crush Hethin's innocent ignorance, and so decided to keep his mouth shut for once. "I can't imagine, Hethin," he said instead, shrugging.

Aín threw an arm around Hethin's shoulders and tugged him closer until he fit under Aín's arm. "I'm sure it was some jealous scab with no morals," he told the much shorter Dwarf. "The Office of Investigations won't let this go. They'll catch the criminal soon enough, you'll see."

Hethin nodded even though his brows were still scrunched up and his mouth was turned down. "I know they will. It's just so sad! Lord Eikar didn't deserve to die like that!" he wailed before burying his face in Aín's shoulder.

"How was he killed?" Bilbo wondered, trying not to roll his eyes at Hethin's dramatics and Aín's pleased smirk. He didn't understand why Aín couldn't court Hethin like a normal person instead of acting like an overly concerned friend. Was it really so hard to tell someone that you were in love with them?

"They're saying he was poisoned but it's hard to say," Aín answered as he stroked Hethin's black braids with one hand. "They found him last night at the bottom of the Oxen Staircase."

Bilbo frowned and tried to recall where the staircase was. "That staircase leads to the Copper District right?"

Aín nodded. "Yes, that's right. It's odd, really. Lord Eikar lived in the Emerald District and worked in the Jade District. He had no reason to be going down to the lower levels unless he was planning to leave the mountain."

Bilbo mentally agreed. The Copper District was the district that housed the front gates that led out of the mountain and to the road to Dale. Unless he was planning to leave Erebor in the middle of the night, there was no reason for a noble to be wandering about the lower levels.

Could they be connected? he wondered as he recalled the suspicious Dwarves he had seen the night before. It was possible but he couldn't be sure since he had only been able to follow them to the end of the Amber District before he lost track of them thanks to Thorin. Plus Erebor was a big kingdom; what were the odds that the suspicious group he saw were involved with the murdered noble?

"Óin wants to see you by the way," Aín remarked as he not so subtly sniffed at Hethin's hair because he was a weirdo as well as a coward. "He looked pretty frazzled when he came in. Said to tell you to come to his office as soon as you get here."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Was it angry-frazzled or stressed-frazzled?" he asked.

"Stressed-frazzled," confirmed Hethin, peeking out over Aín's bulging bicep. Bilbo was pretty sure it was the same size as his thigh. "I think something happened because he was yelling at Fulla earlier."

"That's not new; he's always yelling at Fulla," Bilbo said absently as he tried to think of a reason why his boss was in a mood so early in the morning. "No one likes Fulla. He's a two-faced worm who only cares about himself."

Aín snorted into Hethin's hair while the smaller Dwarf cackled. Bilbo bid the two farewell after that, and quickly made his way to Óin's office in the center of the clinic. He knocked twice and then entered the room when he received a positive-sounding grunt from inside. There he found Óin flipping through a book with a scowl on his face. When he saw Bilbo standing in his doorway, he waved him in.

"Rabbit! Sit down! We need to talk," he ordered, pointing to one of the seats across from him.

Bilbo did as ordered and settled into one of the ivory chairs. "What's wrong, Óin?"

"Did you finish unpacking the shipment last night?" the elder healer demanded, tossing his book to the side.

Bilbo winced at the disregard to such a valuable treasure but didn't call his boss on it. Óin was obviously not in the mood. "Yes, of course. Why?"

"Because they were ruined," replied Óin, his scowl stretching into a snarl. "I found the vault open this morning and the herbs crushed and ripped up."

"What?" Bilbo gaped, his brain scrambling for an answer. "But that's impossible! I put them all away and double checked it all last night before I left—let me see it!"

Óin gestured for the Hobbit to rise and follow him to the room that acted as the main storage in the back of the clinic. It was a large, circular chamber filled with plants, minerals, different forms of water, and anything else one might need to heal. In the back of the massive chamber sat a smaller room with a locked door that only a few people could open. Óin was one of them and, as of last night, so was Bilbo. The door now sat wide open with a trio of Dwarves moving in and out carrying the crates that Bilbo had so meticulously gone through the day before.

He rushed past Óin and the other Dwarves and into the vault that housed the most expensive and rare herbs. There he found all the shelves and storage containers as he had left it—all except the shipment from Orocarni. Instead the crates lay open with the plants he had so carefully tended to thrown about; ripped apart and stomped upon. There was nothing left of use in them now.

Bilbo couldn't believe his eyes. "I don't, I..." He spun around to face the old healer watching him from the doorway. "Óin, you know I wouldn't have done this! There has to be a mistake!"

Óin nodded; his mouth twisted down and the muscles around his eyes tight. "I believe you, lad, I do," he replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I need proof. Figure it out and then get back to me. If not, then I'm going to have to cut your pay to pay for the costs of the herbs."

He felt his stomach drop to his knees. "But I need that money to send back to my clan!"

"Then prove your innocence," Óin returned evenly, looking unfazed by his tone. "Look, I like you, Bilbo, I really do, but I can't be playing favorites here. Fix this or I have to dock your pay. Understand?"

He did, unfortunately. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go tend to your patients for today. You won't get any new ones until you clear this up. That should give you free time to figure it out," ordered Óin, turning on his heel and marching out.

Bilbo could only grit his teeth and bow his head. "Yes, sir."

"What's wrong, Master Healer?"

Bilbo jerked up and blinked rapidly for a moment. "Excuse me?"

His patient—a masonry named Nalthrasir who had got caught in a fire a week before—raised his remaining brow as he stared at Bilbo. "I asked what's wrong," he repeated patiently. "You've been distracted all day."

Bilbo felt his face heat up in shame, and he quickly looked back down to the arm he had been re-wrapping. "Nothing important. I'm sorry for not paying better attention to you. It won't happen again."

Nalthrasir's brow simply arched higher. Half his face had been burned away in the fire; leaving behind a fair face that was half bandaged. The bandages did nothing though to lessen the power of his gaze. "That wasn't a reprimand," he said calmly in an even tenor. "I asked out of concern. Did something happen?"

The Hobbit couldn't help but flinch. "Yes, but it's nothing you can fix," he admitted, focusing on re-wrapping Nalthrasir's flayed arm. "Don't pay me any mind. I'll take care of it soon enough."

"Hmm." Nalthrasir drummed his fingers where they rested against Bilbo's knee. "That's not like you. You are usually unafraid to ask for help."

"From my fellow healers, yes, but not a patient in my care," he retorted, glancing up at the Dwarf before looking back down. "It's not your responsibility to worry about me."

Nalthrasir merely blinked his hazel eye. "Perhaps, but that doesn't erase my worry. Now tell me: what's wrong?"

Bilbo sighed as he finally tied the bandage off. "You're so stubborn," he muttered as he rose to his feet to lean over the Dwarf and fix his pillow. "Fine then. If you really must know, a shipment of herbs brought in yesterday were found ruined this morning. They were my responsibility so the blame falls on me."

"But you didn't do it," Nalthrasir said without question.

He shook his head and began to rummage through the table drawer next to his patient's bed. "No, I didn't. But they were still my responsibility so now I must either pay a fee for them or find a way to prove my innocence."

"Which you don't believe you can do," connected the Dwarf.

"Considering I have no leads? No." Bilbo finally found the comb he had been looking for and pulled it out before turning back to his patient while snapping his fingers a few times. "Sit up please. I need to brush out your hair and re-braid it."

Nalthrasir wordlessly obeyed. Much like his face, half of his dark hair had been burned away during his accident. All he had left now was a partly burnt mane of curls that he refused to cut no matter how horrible it looked. Bilbo had given up trying to convince him and now simply brushed it out and braided it back for him.

"Master Óin is a fair Dwarrow. He must know this was not your fault," commented Nalthrasir, tilting his head to the side slightly to give the Hobbit easier access.

"Master Óin must do what is best for the clinic," he shot back, gently untangling a knot of brown curls. "But he has given me a chance to prove my innocence. That is more than what some people have done."

Nalthrasir hummed. "Sometimes the success of one is the failure of another," he remarked quietly.

Bilbo paused and looked down to meet his stare. "What does that even mean?"

"It means to be careful, Master Healer," translated Nalthrasir, patting his wrist lightly. "You've caught the interest of some very powerful people, and there are consequences for that. Remember that in your future dealings."

Bilbo spent the rest of his day at work torn between despair at solving his latest dilemma and resignation to the money he would undoubtedly be losing in the future. It wasn't the first time he had been cheated, after all, and it certainly wasn't the first time he had been unfairly blamed for something he didn't do. But no matter how familiar he was with such crimes, it still didn't lessen the burn. It didn't help either that he found himself hurt by Óin's treatment. He knew logically that the older healer had no other choice but, much like his situation, it didn't lessen the hurt of being so easily dismissed.

It was a rotten day, all in all, and he was quite certain it couldn't grow any worse. Then he returned to the 'Ri home.

"What do you mean Nori's been arrested?!" he demanded, throwing his pack to the floor.

Dori—looking worn down and about a century older—merely rubbed his eyes. "I received word this afternoon from the prison. He's been arrested in connection to the murder of Lord Eikar."

"How?! Nori doesn't even live on the same level as him!" he said, stalking further into the home.

"Nori made a delivery to his estate sometime yesterday," explained Ori, who was scowling and pacing as he re-read a letter in his hand. "They say he killed Lord Eikar then—this is so stupid! How can they arrest him based only on this?! There must have been twenty people around at the time—wouldn't they have noticed Nori stabbing their stupid lord?!"

"Then has he been convicted yet?" Bilbo asked, looking between the two brothers.

Dori slowly shook his head. "Not yet. They're still investigating the case. Nori is simply the prime suspect," replied the old Dwarf, dropping his hand and opening his eyes. He looked tired and worn down like an old plowing horse. It made Bilbo flinch and look away; unable to stand seeing the normally strong Dwarf so beaten down.

"Where is he being held at?" he asked, looking instead to Ori.

"Boltwoodite," answered the scribe with a sneer. "It's a big prison and part of the Office of Investigations. They should still be open—we need to meet with Nori and get the full story. There has to be some way to fix this!"

"Will they let us meet with him?" wondered Bilbo, wiggling his toes. "If Nori is a suspect in a murder investigation then wouldn't they keep him locked away?"

"He's allowed visits as long as it remains supervised by the inspectors," replied Ori, tossing the letter onto the kitchen table. "He's only a suspect so they can't keep him from us. They can only do that if he's convicted."

"Can we go now? Is it still open?" the Hobbit questioned, still unsure that their visit would be tolerated.

"I don't know but I'm going to find out," Ori declared, pivoting on his heel and marching over to put on his coat.

"Bilbo, go with Ori," ordered Dori, drawing the healer's attention back to him as he slowly rose up from the table. "I... am going to speak with some people. Try to find a solution to all of... this."

Bilbo exchanged a look of surprise with Ori but still nodded to the old Dwarf's request. "Of course, Dori."

The Office of Investigations was held in the Steel District on the Fifth Level in the center of the district. Bilbo had not been back to the Fifth Level since his arrest on his first day in Erebor as it housed most of the soldiers and war offices that he had no business or interest in. But Ori had begun working there since he accepted Lord Balin's offer, and he marched through the district with ease and purpose. When they finally arrived at the Office of Investigations, the scribe didn't hesitate to stomp up to the nearest cleric and began to ramble off commands in Khuzdûl.

"You need to calm down," he told the Dwarf as the terrified cleric scampered off to presumably do as ordered.

Ori sneered and flicked his thick braid over his shoulder. "I am calm! Do you see me crying or yelling at anyone?"

"Not yet," Bilbo retorted with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, just try not to lose your temper anymore. We'll be of no help to Nori if we end up in a cell next to him."

"They wouldn't arrest us here," protested the Dwarf, crossing his arms over his chest. "They would send us to Azurite Prison—the prison you were in last time."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "That's what it was called? How tacky. How many prisons are there in Erebor?"

"Seven," answered Ori as he began to tap his right foot and stare off to where the cleric had run off to. "Six are on this level and the last is beneath the mountain."

"Why are your people so obsessed with the number seven?" wondered the Hobbit, also glancing off in the same direction. "Seven levels, seven ministries—what the hell?"

"It represents the Seven Fathers who started our people," Ori explained, never breaking his stare. "Mahâl created seven Dwarrows in the beginning and it is from those seven that the Seven Clans were created. That is why we use seven for everything and—finally!"

Bilbo rolled his eyes as the cleric returned with a guard dressed in black leather armor outlined in saffron. The cleric pointed to Ori and whispered something to the guard before disappearing again while the guard raised an eyebrow before calmly walking over to them. When he was close enough, he spoke to Ori in polite Khuzdûl with his hands crossed behind his back. The scribe in return snapped back in the same tongue while gesturing to himself and Bilbo.

"Be nice, Ori," the Hobbit ordered, reaching up to flick him on the cheek. "There's no reason to be rude here. It's not his fault Nori was arrested."

Ori scowled and slapped a hand over his wounded flesh. "How do you know I'm not being nice? You can't even understand what I'm saying!" he whined.

"Shouting doesn't require translation," deadpanned Bilbo, kicking Ori in the back of the knee. As the scribe fell, he looked back to the guard who was now watching them with a smirk.

"I apologize for his behavior," he said, giving a short bow. "We have come to see Nori son of Riika. Is he here?"

"He's here," the guard replied in Westron, his smirk growing. "You can see him after you sign in. Follow me."

After signing a ledger that the frightened cleric from earlier brought out, the guard led them further into the building and down a flight of stairs to the prison. There he led them past rows and rows of numerous Dwarves before finally stopping in front of one. Inside the small cell sat Nori on a bed of straw in a prison uniform dyed a plain gray.

"Nori!" Ori cried out in relief, his voice echoing through the narrow halls as he rushed up to the cell. Bilbo followed at a slower approach while the guard stood back and simply watched with his arms still crossed behind him.

Nori looked up through his messy hair in obvious shock. "Ori? And Bilbo? What are you two doing here?" he asked, getting to his feet and walking up to the bars.

"What a stupid question!" snapped his little brother, grasping the bars of the cell so tight that his knuckles turned white. "Why do you think we're here?"

"Obviously not to comfort me," shot back the thief, rolling his eyes. "Where's Dori? I thought he would be the first one here. I was even looking forward to hearing his lecture."

"He went to find someone else to bail you out," Bilbo retorted, standing at Ori's side with his hands in his pockets. "I'm afraid I'm out of money this time."

Nori's lips twisted into a mocking smile. "There's no bailing me out of this one, ducky."

Bilbo sighed. "I know," he said, studying the thief. Nori was paler than normal and looked just as tired as Dori had earlier that night. His braids had become undone and now fell in a mess around his face and beard. "Nori, what happened?"

"What does it look like happened? I was arrested for murdering some blue blood," the thief said, his mocking smile warping into a scowl. "It was supposed be just another job from Askur. Remember him?"

"The Dwarrow who runs the delivery service," confirmed Ori, nodding his head. "You play runner for him when he's booked. What job were you doing this time?"

"Delivering some plant called green dragon to Lord Eikar," Nori explained, leaning his forehead against the bars of his cell. "Lord Eikar ordered it from some healer in Dale and it arrived yesterday morning. I picked it up from Askur, took it to Lord Eikar's manor, and then left. That's it. I did nothing else."

Bilbo wasn't following the plot. "Then why were you arrested?"

"Because the plant I delivered is what killed him," revealed Nori with a heavy sigh. "Green dragon root can be medicine or poison depending on how it's used and what I delivered was a poison. I know because I had to open up the box and show it to the guards to prove it was the right plant. He took it and died last night. Hence my arrest."

"But that wasn't your fault!" cried out Ori with wild eyes. "It was the healer who sent it to Erebor! Why didn't they question them?"

Bilbo turned to the guard standing behind them, and raised his eyebrows in silent inquiry. The guard shrugged and explained quietly, "They're looking for this healer or merchant who prepared the medicine in Dale right now, but so far nothing has turned up."

"And with my luck, it's going to stay that way," interjected Nori, closing his eyes and leaning completely against the cell bars. "I always knew I was going to prison but I thought it would at least be for something I did."

Bilbo flinched at the thief's defeated tone. Seeing Nori beaten and broken was just as bad as seeing Dori worn and fatigued earlier. It went against their natures, and standing witness to it made his heart twist in on itself. He knew then that he could not stand by and watch his friends suffer for something that should have never occurred.

"You're not going to prison!" denied Ori, green eyes flashing as he reached into the cell to take one of Nori's hands into both of his. "You're not going to suffer because of someone else's crime! I—no, we won't allow it! Right, Bilbo?"

"Of course we won't," he confirmed, meeting Nori's green eyes and holding his stare. "We'll prove your innocence, Nori. I promise."

Nori simply gave them both a lifeless imitation of his usual taunting smirk. "Be careful there, ducky. I might just end up believing you."

Chapter Text

"I need today off."

Óin looked up beneath his heavy brows to give Bilbo a look that eerily reminded him of Princess Dís. "What?"

Bilbo took in a deep breath to steady himself, and repeated: "I need today off."

"What for?" the Dwarf demanded, setting down his quill and leaning back into his chair.

"Personal stuff," replied the Hobbit, trying his best not to twitch nervously.

"Personal stuff," Óin parroted back, "which means you're not looking into the expensive herbs that you allowed to be ruined?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. This is more important than plants. My friend is in trouble and I need to help him."

Óin didn't look like he agreed. "Do you really think you can afford to take time off with what happened here? Do you not understand the position you're in?"

"I understand that I may lose my job over this," he assured with a nod. "But it's a risk I must take. My friend needs help and he needs it now. I cannot afford to linger here trying to solve an accident we both know was not my fault."

Óin frowned and his brows furrowed together. "So you're not going to even try to prove your innocence?"

"What am I supposed to prove?" he shot back, holding up his hands. "That I did not ruin the plants makes no difference because in the end it was still my responsibility. I should have taken better precautions to protect them from others. I should have locked them up better. I shouldn't have trusted that everyone here is honorable. So dock my pay for the plants or fire me if you really must. I will take any punishment if it means I can leave after this."

"I'm not going to fire you over this," the Dwarf admitted, his brows still furrowed together like two great mountains, "but I will have to dock your pay to make up for the herbs. I'm sorry, Bilbo."

He shrugged. "It's not your fault. You have to do what's expected."

Óin didn't look any happier to hear that that, but Bilbo hadn't expected him to be. "So may I have today off?" he asked instead, returning to the original reason he had sought out his boss in the first place.

"Is it even a question at this point?" retorted the older healer, arching one of his white brows.

Bilbo grinned back in victory. "Not anymore."

"When you come back tomorrow, report to me first. I have another task for you to complete," Óin ordered, curling the end of his beard around his fingers.

He snorted and rocked back slightly on his heels. "You sure you want to trust me with that?"

Óin smirked thinly in response. "Oh, yes. Quite."

The first thing Bilbo decided to do was to investigate the staircase where Lord Eikar had been found. It had been blocked off the day before as investigators searched it for clues, but it had been reopened that morning and had returned to its usual busy routine as Dwarves of all types scampered up and down the staircase. Looking around, he realized with a sinking feeling that he wasn't going to be finding much with so many people about.

There's a lot of red dirt on the floor, he noticed as he walked back and forth at the bottom of the staircase, carefully sidestepping people. I wonder where it came from. Do the Dwarves track it in from outside? Or from inside the mountain?

"Master Baggins? What are you doing?"

Bilbo looked up and sighed at who he saw. "Thorin. What a surprise. What are you doing here?"

Thorin—dressed in plain blue robes this time and simple silver jewelry—raised a black brow as he walked down the stairs to where the Hobbit stood. He had tied all of his hair back high in a leather tie again but still kept his two braids that framed his face. "I suspect for the same reasons you're here: to uncover any clues to Lord Eikar's death," the Dwarf replied, jumping down the last few steps and landing in front of Bilbo.

The healer rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. "I haven't found anything yet but red dirt," he said, kicking at the floor and smearing some of said dirt on his bare feet.

Thorin looked down at the tiled floor before returning his gaze to Bilbo. "Looks like it came from Dale. They have red soil there."

"That's not very helpful. The dirt didn't kill Lord Eikar," he informed the guard before throwing his head back with a groan. "Ugh, I told you those Dwarves were up to something. You should have helped me catch them."

"I admit that you were right in your suspicions," said the Dwarf, his broad shoulders slumping slightly. "I should have looked at them more closely instead of dismissing your concerns. Perhaps if I had, Lord Eikar would still be alive."

Bilbo bit his tongue to keep from replying. He knew it wasn't fair to let Thorin bask in his guilt but a larger part of him couldn't help but spitefully agree with the Dwarf. If Thorin hadn't stopped him, then Nori wouldn't have ended up in prison.

"Has the Office of Investigations found the healer or merchant from Dale yet?" he asked instead, changing the subject.

The guard blinked a few times before his blue eyes narrowed into slits. "How do you know about that?"

Bilbo scowled down at the dirty floor. "My friend is the Dwarf standing accused of killing Lord Eikar."

It took Thorin a moment to make the connection. "Your friend...? You mean the runner who delivered the herb," the Dwarf stated, eyes widening. "He's your friend?"

He turned his scowl on the guard. "Yes, he's my friend and he's innocent! Nori would never kill someone, and certainly not so obviously!"

"His criminal record tells a different story," the Dwarf retorted tartly.

Bilbo's scowl deepened as he stepped forward to deliver a solid kick to the guard's shin. "Screw you!" he spat as Thorin cursed in Khuzdûl and stepped away. "You don't know anything about Nori or what he's been through! You never had to steal just to eat or kill to survive! You know nothing of his struggles or the struggles of hundreds of others just like them!"

"And you do?" Thorin huffed, rubbing his shin while glaring up at Bilbo.

He snorted and held out his arms. "Look at me," he said, lifting up the frayed ends of his coat. "I'm a nobody with no home to go to and a family that's dying. Of course I understand them better. I am them."

Thorin looked him up and down slowly before sighing. "You are correct," he admitted, standing up straight and avoiding the Hobbit's eyes. "I apologize. I should not have said something so cruel and thoughtless. Not about my fellow citizen of Erebor—someone I am meant to serve and protect from these sorts of things."

"Your job is to guard the princes," Bilbo rebutted, cocking his brows in surprise. "That sort of duty doesn't really extend past the palace."

"No. My job extends to all of Erebor's children regardless of class," the guard declared firmly, blue eyes going steely. "Now come; let us see if we can find a way to help your friend."

"I don't know what else I can do that the investigators haven't already done," he admitted, tilting his head to the side. "They've spoken with everyone involved and are trying to hunt down the person from Dale. What else is left?"

"Well, you are a healer are you not?" Thorin questioned, crossing his hands behind his back.

"Yeah. So?"

"Then why don't you examine the body of Lord Eikar? Perhaps there is a clue there," suggested the guard.

Bilbo snorted. "And how am I supposed to do that? I don't even know where the corpse is."

Thorin grinned. "You may not know, but I do."

"It must be nice to be able to go wherever you please," Bilbo commented later after watching Thorin speak to a guard in the Office of Investigations and show him a diamond shaped pass made of gold with a white tassel. It resembled the one the Crown Prince had handed him that day at the palace, but held different looking runes chiseled into the center.

Thorin smirked lightly as he tucked the pass away in his robes. "It does come in handy at times," he admitted.

"I bet," he muttered to himself, picking up his pace in order to keep up with the guard. "So why are they keeping the body here exactly?"

"Part of procedures. They're inspecting it for any clues," explained the Dwarf, weaving through the halls with ease. "It shouldn't be too far from here. They keep the corpses downstairs."

The mortuary in the Office of Investigations was a dry, cold place with only black slabs of marble to house the bodies there. Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the smell of decomposing flesh, but did his best to ignore it as Thorin searched through the rows of bodies until he found the correct one. Once he did, he yanked back the white sheet to reveal the naked corpse beneath.

"Meet Lord Eikar," he introduced, shaking his head sadly as he gazed down at the Dwarf. "A Dwarrow of virtue and honor. I still remember when he became Minister of Stone. He was so proud that day. Such a waste of a good life."

Bilbo crept closer and took in the dead noble for the first time. Lord Eikar had been a middle-aged Dwarf with red hair threaded with white and a pleasantly round face dotted with the same moles and freckles he had seen on Óin. He looked peaceful in death; as if he had not suffered from being poisoned.

"I'm not quite sure what I'm looking for," he admitted, slowly walking around the marble slab while tracking his eyes over the corpse. "I don't even know what green dragon is. I've never even heard of it until last night."

"You don't recognize it?" Thorin said, his brows flying high. "Is it not a medical herb? I believe it treats coughs and such."

He looked up and made a face at the guard. "That still doesn't help. There are a dozen or so plants that do the same."

"Perhaps you know it by a different name?" suggested the Dwarf, crossing his arms over his chest. "Green dragon is what we call it in the east but I've heard it goes by another name in the west. Pinellia? Does that sound familiar?"

Bilbo nearly ran into the slab as he abruptly stopped. "Wait, pinellia? That's what it is?!" he squawked, eyes growing big.

Thorin nodded slowly as he rubbed the end of his beard. "I believe so. I've heard Óin refer to it as such—what are you doing?"

Bilbo ignored the guard as he dropped his pack on a nearby empty slab and began to dig through it. "I'm getting my proof," he replied, picking up a vial and opening it to take a sniff. He wrinkled his nose and re-corked it when the scent of salt hit his nose and tossed the glass vial back into his pack.

"How are you going to do that?" asked Thorin, wandering around the slab to stand behind Bilbo as he continued his search.

"You'll see," he replied airily, picking up another vial and sniffing at it. He cheered when he realized it was the correct one.

Thorin leaned over the Hobbit's shoulder to get a better look at the green bottle in Bilbo's hand. "What is that?"

"Vinegar," he replied, holding it up for the Dwarf to smell for himself. Thorin immediately wrinkled his nose when he did and stepped away.

"Vinegar? Why are you carrying that around?" he asked, scratching at his pointy nose as if trying to claw the smell away.

"For the same reason I carry around charcoal—to help people," he explained, reaching up to poke the guard in the shoulder where he had been injured by the Orcs weeks before.

Thorin rolled his eyes and lightly batted his hand away. "And how is this going to help now?"

Bilbo grinned and turned back to his pack where he began to search for a clean rag. "Did you know that pinellia must first be neutralized with ginger water before it can be used as medicine?" he commented, snagging a white cloth he usually used as a bandage. "The root is toxic so you have to soak it for a good while before you can even think of using it to treat people."

"Interesting. And this has to do with... what exactly?" wondered the guard, cocking a neatly groomed brow.

"The thing with ginger though is that it lingers on the plant even after being dried," he continued, ignoring Thorin's comment and dousing the cloth with vinegar. He then turned back to the corpse of Lord Eikar and picked up one of his hands and began to carefully rub the cloth on a few fingers. "Even when you touch it, the oil from the ginger will stay on your hands for a few days at least."

"I'm still not following..." Thorin trailed off in mid-comment, and stepped closer to Bilbo as the color of Lord Eikar's fingers began to change.

"What in Mahâl's name... they're pink. His fingers turned pink. Why did they turn pink? How did they turn pink?" he demanded, looking between Bilbo and the corpse and back again.

Bilbo held up the bottle of vinegar. "It's because of this. When ginger touches vinegar it changes into a light pink color. Hence the pink fingers," he explained, waving the corpse's now pink hand at the guard.

Thorin just stared with his blue eyes large and his mouth hanging open. "I've never—how do you know that?" he asked, looking the healer up and down as if trying to find a visible answer to his demand.

"My father taught me," he replied, smiling slightly. "He was a cook so he knew about these sorts of things."

Thorin could only shake his head. "Still, to know such tricks..."

The Hobbit ignored the guard and gathered up his bottle of vinegar and cloth. "If I use this on Nori, his fingers will likely turn pink too since he had to touch the plant to show it to the guards," he commented, hoisting up his pack and turning back to Thorin. "This will prove that the plant he delivered was not poisoned—it had already been treated with ginger water."

"Which means that it wasn't the green dragon that killed Lord Eikar," connected the guard, nodding slowly. "His own hands prove this. Something else must have poisoned him."

"It could have still been pinellia," Bilbo pointed out. "It just wasn't the one Nori brought. Perhaps it was switched before Lord Eikar took it?"

The guard scowled. "An inside job," he growled, shoulders going rigid. "That's the only way it could have gotten in. All the servants and guards from Lord Eikar's estate must be rounded up—one of them must be the culprit."

Bilbo nodded in reluctant agreement. "So it seems. Who should we speak to about this? I want to get Nori out as soon as possible."

"The chief investigator for this case is Jarar son of Jallgrímur. I will speak to him and show him your proof," the guard said, holding out his hand for the vinegar and cloth. "Go wait in the common chambers for now. I will send your friend to you soon enough."

"Very well." He handed over the bottle and cloth to the Dwarf. "I'll wait for you too. I want my stuff back."

Thorin rolled his eyes and waved Bilbo towards the door. "It's vinegar. I think I'm above stealing such a thing."

Bilbo spent the next hour waiting anxiously for either Thorin or Nori to appear and give him some sort of news. Since his luck with these sorts of matters was generally shitty, it was Thorin who showed up first with his signature scowl in place.

"Where's Nori?" he demanded as soon as he saw the guard, rising out of the padded chair he had been sitting in.

"Being discharged right now," replied the Dwarf, waving him to sit back down. "He needs to sign a few things and collect his belongings before they release him."

Bilbo relaxed slightly and flopped back into his seat. "That's good. Now why are you scowling again?"

Thorin's scowl grew larger. "Investigator Jarar has informed me that they found the seller from Dale," he explained, his tone deepening.

"They did? That's great!"

"No, it's not. He's dead," declared the Dwarf with all the solemnity of a grave keeper announcing that Great-Uncle Albert had actually still been alive when entombed. "They found the body this morning. It was from an herbalist named Haven."

Bilbo nearly fell out of his chair. "What?! How?!" he demanded, unable to believe what he was hearing.

Thorin sighed and rubbed his forehead with two fingers. "Someone broke in and slit his throat last night. The King of Dale has his men looking into it, but it's unlikely they'll find the culprit. There are no witnesses, and no one noticed he was even dead until the investigators came looking for him."

The situation was just getting worse. "What will the Office of Investigations do now? They still haven't caught Lord Eikar's killer."

"They'll keep searching, Bilbo," reassured the guard, flashing him an odd look. "Just because one lead is gone doesn't mean they won't find the murderer."

"Will they be keeping Lord Eikar's body still?" he asked, thinking back to the kind looking Dwarf laying on a cold piece of rock beneath them.

The Dwarf shook his head. "No. It will be turned over to his family to be buried now. The investigators have nothing more to gain from it."

"Did he leave behind a lot?" Bilbo wondered absently before adding, "Lord Eikar's family, I mean. Did he have children and such?"

Thorin stroked the end of his beard in thought. "His parents and only brother passed on but his two sons are still alive, I believe, as are his brother's wife and their children. There is also their extended kin too which is quite large," he said slowly before shooting a questioning look at him. "Why do you ask?"

"I just feel bad for his family is all," the healer explained quietly. "Lord Eikar died so suddenly... it must have been a horrible shock for them all."

"You speak as if familiar with such pain."

Bilbo nodded. "Mmm. My mother... she died much the same way. In an accident, not a murder. It was... not easy to deal with at the time," he admitted quietly as he recalled that day so long ago.

It had occurred in the Fangorn Forest where his mother had been returning from gathering herbs when she had slipped off a cliff and fallen into a valley below. It had taken them two days to find her crushed body lying among the clovers and wild daisies that grew there. Even now, years later, Bilbo could still remember how her beautiful face had looked; bruised and bloody and bloated in death. It had been a horrible way to die. It had been a lonely way to die.

"You have my sympathies. My mother has also returned to the stone," Thorin revealed quietly, his brows furrowed and blue eyes darkening with untouched shadows. "Her death though came from childbirth so it was not quite as... shocking."

Bilbo couldn't help but wince. "I'm sorry. Did your sibling survive?"

Thorin's lips tightened into a straight line. "He did not, unfortunately. He died only hours after birth. Our mother followed a day later."

"Oh. That sounds horrible. I can't imagine how you endured losing two precious people at one time," he confessed, recalling his own losses. His parents had died a year apart from each other so he had been given time to mourn, but he had lost other family members at once in attacks or illnesses. However none of them had been as close as a mother and brother.

"It was not easy, but I managed. It helped that I still had my father and grandfather there to comfort me," explained the guard with a deep sigh. "My younger brother and sister were not so easily healed though. My sister in particular was devastated; she had always been very close to our 'amad."

"'Amad?" he repeated, blinking in surprise at the word. "Was that her name?"

Thorin shook his head. "No. 'Amad means 'mother' in Khuzdûl," he clarified. "My mother's name was Arndís daughter of Báldís."

"Arndís? What a pretty name," he said, smiling slightly. It sounded like the name of a flower. "It sounds familiar too. Is it common?"

Thorin snorted as a small, secretive smile curled at the corner of his lips. "No. No, it is not."

Eventually an unknown Dwarf arrived to speak to Thorin and, after a few words in Khuzdûl, the guard left Bilbo behind with a quick farewell and a promise to meet again. Shortly after that Nori finally arrived; dressed in his own clothes once more with his thick hair braided back in a single braid. He still looked tired and was sporting circles dark enough to make a raccoon jealous, but he had lost the wounded look to his green eyes.

"Nori!" Bilbo cheered when he saw him, and quickly jumped to his feet to hurry over to the Dwarf. "You're finally here. I've been waiting for your release for hours!"

Nori gave him a weak smirk as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "Well, had to wait for them to give me back my stuff and sign their stupid forms. Damn waste of time."

Bilbo snorted as he looked the thief up and down. "That it is. Are you hungry? Did they feed you while you were in here? You look skinnier from yesterday. Dori isn't going to be happy."

"They fed me. Just wasn't hungry," the Dwarf replied as he stared at him with murky green eyes. "So. You saved me again, huh?"

The healer cocked his eyebrows at the harsh tone. "Would you prefer I leave you to rot in prison?" he threw back in the sweetest tone he could.

Nori scowled. "I prefer you stop throwing yourself into these situations. How am I supposed to ever repay you at the rate you're going?" he demanded.

"Try not getting into trouble and I'll say we're even," the Hobbit replied, raising his chin high. "I'm not going to apologize for helping just to appease your ego, Nori. So just shut up, be grateful, and walk me home because this level is like a maze to me."

Nori just stared at him mutely for a minute before slowly reaching out to lightly grasp Bilbo's left elbow. Then, carefully, he pulled the Hobbit closer and wrapped his free arm around his shoulders. It was a gentle hug without any real pressure behind it; the exact opposite of what Dori's hug had felt like. It made Bilbo roll his eyes with a small huff and throw his arms around the thief's lean waist; pulling him into a proper hug. Nori froze for a moment before slowly relaxing into the embrace. He even leaned down over the Hobbit and buried his face in wild brown curls.

"Sneaky brat," the thief muttered, rubbing his thumb over the joint of Bilbo's elbow. "You're such a cocky little brat."

The healer grinned against Nori's collarbone. In the month he had come to know the Dwarf, he had learned to pick out Nori's true feelings in his crass words and gestures. Teasing or mocking was his versions of affection, and pinches and smacks were his way of showing gratitude. It was a very childish way to behave but Bilbo was used to it. His cousin Adalgrim behaved much the same way.

"It takes one to know one," he retorted in a singsong voice, cuddling closer just because he knew it would make Nori uncomfortable. "Takes one to know one."

Chapter Text

"I still can't believe ya freed him using vinegar," stated Bofur that night at the Stone Bell. He stared at Bilbo across the table with clear astonishment painted across his face. "Really, where do ya get this stuff?"

Bilbo gave a one-shoulder shrug while next to him Ori beamed. "It's because Bilbo is amazing!" he bragged, sloshing some of his drink onto the table as he attempted to wave it around. "That's why he... he saved my big brother!"

On the other side of Ori, Nori rolled his eyes and nimbly plucked the cheap mug out of his brother's hand. "Annnd that's enough drinking for you," he said, ignoring Ori's whine and attempt to grab his drink back. "Anymore and you'll end up puking and making Dori worry."

"And he's done enough of that for one night," agreed Bjarte from Bofur's side, giving Nori a knowing wink over the rim of his own mug.

"It's not like I ask to get arrested," grumbled Nori before drinking the rest of Ori's black, tar-like ale right in front of him.

"Dunno about that. I was with ya when ya cheated those Men out of their coin in cards," commented Bofur, wagging his brows at the thief with a smirk.

"It's not cheatin' if ya don't get caught," Ori disagreed with a small hiccup. "That's... That's... the rule."

"Wow. Great parenting there, boyo," jeered Bjarte while Bofur cackled into his drink.

On the other side of Bjarte, Bifur rolled his eyes, and muttered something low to his husband. Bjarte nodded once, and Bifur leaned across the table and knocked on it until Bilbo looked up at him.

"Come with me for a walk, lad," he half-ordered, nodding to the door. "Let these fools drink their piss-old ale. We'll come back for them after they finish throwing up their dinners."

Bilbo turned to the two 'Ri brothers at his side. Ori was trying to steal Bofur's ale (and failing) while Nori was arguing with the miner about what constituted as stealing. He snorted and got to his feet. "After you, my friend."

Bifur smirked, and raised Bjarte's hand to his lips in a quick farewell—which earned him an eye roll in reply—before also rising to his feet and followed Bilbo out of the tavern. Outside of the Stone Bell, the air was quieter and cooler as night had descended upon the mountain. Fewer Dwarves wandered the streets and the lanterns had been lit as the nightly patrols started their rounds. It was one of the calmer times that were rare within the usually bustling city, and Bilbo savored the peace and quiet of it all.

"So," Bifur began as they walked side by side down the street to the center of the district. "Bofur told me ya interested in finding the Blue Iron. That true?"

Bilbo nodded and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Yes. He said you would know how to get me a meeting with them. Is that true?"

"Mmm." Bifur nodded as he pushed a loose braid back into place. His black hair was pulled back into different sized braids and layered in wide loops around the back of his head and around each other. "I asked around and got ya a meeting tomorrow night with an informant. Ya interested in going?"

"Yes, of course," he said, turning to look up at the Dwarf in surprise. "That was faster than I thought. Thank you, Bifur. How did you do it?"

The miner shrugged his ample shoulders. "I got some contacts in the city. They asked around for me."

"Contacts," he repeated skeptically, giving Bifur a side-eye. "Right. Would Nori know of these contacts?"

"Probably. Little fucker likes to get into trouble don't he?" pointed out the Dwarf, smirking for a moment before it faded into a more serious expression. "Look, I'll be honest with ya. I used to run with some... dangerous folk back in Ered Luin. Not proud of it now, but it is what it is. I left most of it behind in Ered Luin but I still keep an ear out for news just in case."

Bilbo nodded as he absorbed this new bit of information. Though he hadn't been expecting such news about his friend, he also wasn't too shocked. It wasn't the first time he befriended a former criminal, after all, and even some current criminals.

"Did this group have a name?" he finally asked as they arrived at the center of the district. It was a fountain composed of stone and iron and acted as both a place to wash clothes and socialize. As it was late though no one was gathered for either task, which suited Bilbo just fine, as it gave him the chance to jump up on the fountain's edge and walk around it.

"Mmm. They're called the Shadow Blades," Bifur replied, taking a seat on the edge and watching Bilbo hop around.

Bilbo snorted and flashed Bifur a judging look over his shoulder. "Shadow Blades? Really?"

Bofur rolled his eyes and splashed some of the water at the Hobbit. "Shut up, I didn't pick the name."

"Was Shadow Thieves taken then?" he retorted, twisting out of the way and avoiding the water. "How about the Scary Dwarves in the Dark? That one work?"

"Well, that'd be a bit misleading, eh? We didn't just steal things ya know; we also sold illegal goods and killed people for money," corrected the miner, counting the deeds off on one hand.

Bilbo snorted. "I don't think that's something you should be proud of. So why did you leave them? Got tired of people laughing at you when you told them the name?"

Bifur shook his head. "Nah. They wanted me to do somethin' I couldn't," he explained vaguely, his jaw clenching and lips thinning into a straight line.

"They must not have liked that," he commented carefully, watching the Dwarf. This was obviously a sensitive subject for him.

"They didn't," the miner deadpanned. "But before they found out, I took my family and ran. That's why we came to Erebor, actually. To start over."

"Oh." Bilbo couldn't imagine how hard that must have been. His family had been forced to do it, after all, and they were barely surviving even decades later. "Was it hard? Leaving your home and starting all over here?"

"Kinda. Harder tryin' to outrun the fuckers they sent after us," Bifur explained, leaning back on one hand. "Those kinda bastards don't forget and forgive easily."

"That's a normal Dwarf trait," he pointed out, completing his circuit around the fountain and squatting down next to the miner.

Bifur splashed some water at him again. "So is smacking little shits," he teased as Bilbo squeaked in surprise as the cold water that his thigh and leg. "I'll take ya to the meeting with the Blue Iron tomorrow night. It's in the Lead District so wait for me at your job. I'll come and get ya."

"The Lead District?" he repeated, brushing the water off his skin with the sleeve of his coat. "I haven't been there yet. What's it like?"

"Dangerous. Most dangerous district in the whole kingdom," the miner said, pointing one finger at him. "Don't ever go there by yourself. Always take me or Nori with ya or, hell, even Bofur. Just never alone."

Bilbo raised his brows at the firm tone. He had never seen the Dwarf so serious before. "Why? What makes it so dangerous?"

"It's the heart of the underworld of Erebor," explained Bifur, his dark eyes hard as the rocks he mined. "It's ruled by gangs and assassins and thieves and every other lowlife ya can think of. Not even the guards dare to go down there."

The healer nodded slowly. While he had his doubts that the Lead District was too dangerous for him to handle alone—he lived in Gondor for a season, after all, and that was the most corrupt city in the world—he knew better than to say so to Bifur. The miner wouldn't believe him for a second.

"Guess we won't be sharing this adventure with Dori," he mused, rocking back and forth on his heels.

"No. Let's keep this our little secret," pleaded Bifur, flashing him a dry look. "I'd rather not get punched, thanks."

"This is a bad idea."

"Didn't ask for your opinion, Rabbit."

"Why do you make such bad choices? Did the last shipment teach you nothing?"

"It taught me that you're good at whining," Óin said, chucking a thick, leather book at Bilbo's face.

The Hobbit caught with a squeak and then glared at his boss over the top of the book. "Are you trying to catch whoever destroyed the plants last time?" he demanded, resisting the urge to throw it back at the Dwarf's mouth. "Because I have to warn you, it's not going to work. These types of people won't pull the same move twice."

"I would hope not. Destroying all our tonics and tinctures would cost us a lot of patients," commented Óin, rubbing the end of his braided beard. For once he had combed it out and tied it off in one thick rope down his chest.

"This is the worst idea you have ever had," Bilbo declared, pointing a finger at the Dwarf. "Putting me in charge of accounting the medical supplies is only going to end in disaster. Do you want that for the clinic?"

"I'm going to put some guards in charge of watching the stock room," Óin continued, blatantly ignoring Bilbo and his reasonable worries. "We'll see if this helps keep unwanted visitors out tonight.

Bilbo groaned and lifted the ledger to bang it against his forehead. "Why. Don't. You. Listen," he whined, hitting his head with every bang.

"If you knock yourself out, I'm not carrying you to a bed," warned his heartless boss, crossing his arms over his chest.

He stopped but only so he could stick his tongue out at the Dwarf. "I'm saying this now so I can throw it back in your face later when it backfires: I think this is a bad idea."

"Duly noted," replied Óin, rolling his eyes. "Now if you're done with your dramatics, get to work on the stock. I want all tonics, poultices, tinctures, teas, and elixirs accounted for by tonight. I've given care of your patients to others for today so don't worry about them. Anymore questions?"

"Just one: why did you really pick me to do this?" he asked, holding up one hand to stall Óin when he opened his mouth. "I'm being serious now. I've screwed up once before. Aren't you afraid I'll do it again?"

Óin snorted and shook his head. "No. I know it wasn't you who ruined the herbs, Bilbo," he confessed, leaning back against the edge of his desk.

"Then why—"

"Because I don't know who this act was against," he interrupted Bilbo, narrowing his blue eyes. "Look, lad, those herbs were worth a lot of coin yet instead of taking them to sell in the lower levels, they were destroyed. It was a deliberate message left behind for someone and I don't know who. So until I figure it out, I need you to just listen to me and do as you're told. Understand?"

Bilbo bit his lip but nodded. "Do you think they're dangerous?" he questioned softly.

Óin shrugged one shoulder. "It's possible. It could be for a grudge against me or you or anyone else in the clinic—but it could also be deeper. Those herbs were from Orocarni and the signing of the treaty between the Iron Hills and Orocarni will be soon, so it could be a warning against that. If that's true then it's even more important for me to find this fool."

"I didn't think of it that way," he admitted, hugging the book to his chest. "I didn't even make the connection to the treaty. Are there really a lot of people against it?"

"Somewhat. There are bigots who look down on the people of Orocarni and think that Dáin is ruining his bloodline by marrying one," said Óin, rolling his eyes to show what he thought of that. "But others are afraid of what this union will bring to the Iron Hills. They already have the strongest army out of all the Dwarrow kingdoms, and now an alliance with one of the richest powers in the east? That makes them very leery."

Bilbo wrinkled his brows in confusion. "But I thought that Lord Dáin has a good relationship with Erebor? Wasn't his grandfather related to the last king or something?"

"Yes, King Thrór was his grand-uncle," confirmed Óin, nodding slightly. "That allows Dáin a legitimate claim on Erebor and that makes some people here nervous. But considering our history ofparricide, it's not an unfounded worry."

"Do you believe it? That Lord Dáin would try to take Erebor?" he wondered, tilting his head to the side.

Óin hesitated for a moment before slowly shaking his head. "No, I don't believe he would ever try to take Erebor to gain the throne or her wealth," he said carefully, and Bilbo immediately narrowed his eyes at the words he didn't say.

"But you do believe he would invade Erebor for something," he said with a hint of accusation in his tone as he studied his boss. "Is that right?"

Óin gave him a dirty look. "Yes. I believe Dáin would challenge Erebor if it stood in his way but—," he added, emphasizing the word and giving Bilbo a warning look, "—I also believe he would do so with any other kingdom that threatened him. Erebor would just get a courtesy warning beforehand."

"So... he's very dangerous then," Bilbo summarized, recalling what the 'Ri brothers had shared with him.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," admitted Óin, sighing. "Look, Dáin is brilliant and noble and I love him like my own brother, but that doesn't mean I'm blind to his strengths. He's cunning and charming and knows how make people do what he wants without them ever realizing it. He's one of those rare types who could take over the world if he really set his mind to it, and no one could complain because they would think it was the best idea they ever had."

"Wow. Would he really do that? Conquer the world, I mean."

"No. I asked him once when we were tots and he laughed at me. Said it would take too much paperwork."

Bilbo snickered before a stray thought caught up to him. "Wait, those people here who fear Lord Dáin's power... there's more to it isn't there?" he said slowly, watching Óin as the healer flinched and carefully looked away. "I mean, they're worried about Erebor in particular, so that means the kingdom has something that he wants, doesn't it? What is it?"

Óin said nothing as he very pointedly stood up and returned to his seat behind his desk. "I think it's time for you to get to work now," he said as he sat down and began to flip through his paperwork.

Bilbo opened his mouth to complain but then he caught sight of how tense Óin's shoulders had grown, and quickly shut his mouth and left. Sometimes tact really was the better road to take.

Halfway through his adventure in counting how many bottles of ground salt the clinic had—sixty-three—Bilbo received an unexpected visit.

"So this is where he's been hiding you. Smart of him."

"I would say wasteful. His talents could be better used outside seeing to his patients."

Bilbo turned around on the ladder he was sitting on and looked down at the couple below him. One was a female Dwarf wearing a light pink dress that hugged her like a glove and showed off every curve and dip to her body. Her light blond hair was braided around her head in chunky locks while smaller, delicate braids framed her face in loops and connected to her beard. Her companion was a male Dwarf wearing a dark purple set of robes and so much gold that he jingled when he walked. His bright red hair was tied up like ropes on the back of his head while his beard hung loose with small braids crisscrossed over each other.

"Hello, Master Baggins," greeted the female, her sultry voice sending off bells in his head. "Do you remember me?"

Bilbo narrowed his eyes as he took in the lovely face and large brown eyes before it finally clicked. "Lady Súna and Lord... Glóin?" he said slowly, struggling to recall their names. "Did I get them right? I'm no good with Dwarf names, I'm afraid."

"So we heard from my brother," commented Glóin, grinning up at him with a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. "Corin mentioned it too."

Bilbo immediately made a face at the mention of the prickly guard. "He really needs to get over that. I already apologized!"

"Thorin never forgets and never forgives," Glóin intoned in a mockingly deeper voice. "Trust me on that. I once stole a cupcake from him and to this day he still won't eat cake around me."

Somehow, he wasn't surprised to hear that. "Is there a reason for this unexpected visit?" he wondered, closing his book and stuffing his ink into his pocket and the quill behind his ear. "Is it to see Óin? Because he's obviously not here."

"Actually, we're here to see you, Master Baggins," corrected Súna, sashaying closer to him with her dress trailing behind her like a veil of flowers.

"Me? What for?"

"To thank you for your aid in identifying Lord Eikar's killer," Glóin replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he studied the Hobbit. "Lord Eikar was my cousin and friend, you see, and losing him in such a dishonorable way has left us all a bit... disoriented."

"Óin seems to be handling it fine," Bilbo mused as he began to climb down the ladder.

Glóin scoffed. "That's because Óin is a rat-faced bastard with no heart. Wouldn't cry even if our dear mother died before him."

"Glóin," his wife chided, turning her liquid brown eyes on him.

The Dwarf wilted slightly. "Well, maybe he's not that bad," he backtracked grudgingly. "He just always hides his feelings so it's hard to tell when he's upset."

"That's because you show enough emotions for the both of you," Súna reminded him patiently, "and don't forget that he cried at Gimli's birth. Remember? He wept as he held him for the first time and thanked us both for blessing him with a nephew."

"Gimli?" he repeated, completely lost.

Glóin's face brightened until it hurt to look at him. "Our son," he said, and the clear adoration in his tone would have been obvious to a deaf fool. "He's my dear gem! Would you like to see a picture—"

"No, dear, he would not," interrupted his wife, reaching out to pull his hand out of his pockets without looking. "Save it for when we have time. Now, Master Baggins, I have something for you..."

Bilbo cocked his brows as the Dwarf reached into her sleeve and withdrew a finely made envelope. She held it out to him and he took after a moment of hesitation. "What's this?" he asked, turning the letter over to examine the wax seal of two axes making an interlocking X.

"It's a letter of thanks from Eikar's brother's wife," explained Súna, tapping one polished nail on the red wax. "His sons are still too distraught to think so she wrote it. They appreciate your efforts to bring Eikar's killer to justice."

"But I didn't do anything," he protested, looking up to meet the Dwarf's brown eyes. "All I did was prove my friend innocent of his murder."

"Actually you proved that my cousin's death was an inside job, which helped narrow down the suspects, and has made tracking down the killer easier," corrected Glóin, smirking. "Plus, Eikar would have been offended if we allowed your friend to take the blame of his death. He never could stand for such injustice."

Bilbo sighed and tucked the letter away in his coat pocket. "I understand. Thank you for taking the time to deliver it to me personally. I'm sure you both have better things to do than track me down."

"Yes, we do," admitted Súna, bluntly, as she settled her hands on her wide hips. "However, it can all wait in the face of family."

He nodded in understanding. Then, before his courage could desert him, he said, "Can I ask you a question, my lady?"

One of Lady Súna's carefully groomed brows arched a fraction. "If you must. What is it?"

"Why did you give me a pass that day?" the Hobbit asked before rushing on to explain, "At your office, I mean, when I came to get permission to work in Erebor. I always wanted to know. It couldn't have been out of pity or duty."

"Correct. I gave you the pass for one simple reason: I wanted your skills."

"My skills?" Bilbo repeated, casting a mystifying look to Glóin only to receive an equally unhelpful wink.

"Yes, your skills," Súna repeated patiently. "Your experience with different healers makes you a valuable asset. I want our healers to learn from you and gain that experience for our kingdom."

"Oh." It had not occurred to Bilbo that his skills would be seen as something worth investing in. Most of the time people just spurned his 'foreign ways' and made him learn their own customs. This was one of the rare times someone had found value in his unique experiences.

"You look surprised. Is it really such a shock?" questioned Súna, the corner of her lips softening into something almost like a smile. "Silly boy. You underestimate your worth."

He snorted, and awkwardly scratched at the back of his shin with the heel of his foot. "Hardly. I'm well aware that I'm a nobody with a big mouth. You don't have to remind me," he said, glancing around the room in order to avoid looking into the Dwarrowdam's large doe eyes. "Well, I have to get back to work now. If there's nothing else...?"

"No. That is all for now," said Lady Súna, giving a graceful bow before standing up straight. "Thank you for your time, Master Baggins."

"Bilbo. My name is Bilbo," he corrected, eyes flickering back to meet hers for a second before he looked away again.

Súna blinked once and shared a look with her husband that he didn't bother trying to read. Then, with one more silent bow, the couple glided off together and left him behind with his book and bottles of salt.

What a weird couple, he mused before shaking his head and getting back to work.

Later that day, after finishing recording all of the items in stock, Bilbo turned the ledger into Óin and headed out to meet Bifur. To his surprise, when the Dwarf showed up, he brought along his cousin and husband.

"I didn't know you two would be joining us," he said in greeting as Bifur, Bofur, and Bjarte met him halfway down the stairs of the clinic.

"Well I can't leave this old fool alone for too long. Might do something stupid," explained Bjarte, his face and clothes smeared with coal. He had a pickaxe strapped to his back and his hair and beard were braided back into a single, tight braid.

"The only stupid thing I ever did was marry ya," growled Bifur, reaching over to pinch Bjarte on the arm. Like his husband, he too carried a pickaxe on his back and had his hair and beard braided back where it couldn't get in the way.

"How are ya today, Bilbo? Help anyone interesting?" asked Bofur, obviously ignoring the growling couple next to him. He worse his usual mining leathers and hat but carried a mattock on his back instead of a pickaxe.

"No. I got stuck counting supplies today," he replied before nodding to the mattock on the Dwarf's back. "I didn't realize you were all hewers. That's impressive."

Bofur blinked a few times before a smile broke out across his face. "Thanks! It's nice to be appreciated for all my hard work. But I didn't think ya knew what a hewer was. Most folk don't."

"Ehh, I worked in the mines back in the Blue Mountains," Bilbo explained, wrinkling his nose as the memories. "I was a hurrier or loader depending on what was needed. I learned about mining roles there so I know how much time it must've taken for you to become a hewer."

"Ya were a hurrier?" Bjarte commented, looking Bilbo up and down with a frown on his full lips. "That's impressive. That ain't an easy job."

"More like foolish. Don't ya realize how little ya are?" questioned Bifur as something flickered in his dark eyes. "How could they let ya pull such weight?"

Bilbo scowled and raised his chin stubbornly. "It's wasn't that hard! And I only did it for a season before I had to leave. Besides, they needed someone small and I needed the money so it all worked out."

"Well, ya won't be doing that here, yes?" Bofur said, swinging an arm around Bilbo's shoulders and situating himself between his cousin and the Hobbit. "Ya just stick to workin' in your shiny clinic taking care of sick folks, and leave the mining to us Dwarrows. Deal?"

Bilbo thought of the torn plants from Orocarni and the supplies he had just seen to, and wondered how long that would last. "Sure," he said, allowing the Dwarf to lead him off. "Now let's go get this over with. Dori is expecting me for dinner."

Chapter Text

Despite what the name implied, the Lead District was not, in fact, composed of lead. Instead it was built out of simple stone and steel that was worn down and rusting into disrepair. The buildings lacked color or coordination and the obvious absence of guards was startling to see at first glance. It was a plain district that lacked the brilliance of the Amber District or the unique charm of the Brass District, and Bilbo found it altogether very sad looking.

“Why is this called the Lead District when I don’t see any lead?” he asked his companions as they led him through the winding and broken cobbled streets. The streets were smaller and closer together than the roads in the other districts, and he found himself bumping into Bofur and Bjarte from it.

“It used to be made of lead until they realized that shit is poisonous, and was killing people or makin’ ‘um crazy,” explained Bjarte, rolling his green eyes. “They got rid of it all but kept the name. Guess they liked the way it sounds.”

“How could they not know that lead is poisonous? I thought that was common knowledge amongst Dwarves,” Bilbo protested as he pulled his coat closer around him to fight off the chill of the night.

Bifur shook his head. “Not with the upper classes it’s not. They never use lead so they don’t know the danger behind it. All they cared ‘bout was that it was cheap to mine and cheaper to build with. Took a whole district of folks going mad and dyin’ before they finally thought to ask someone why.”

Bilbo tried to imagine the disaster of a whole district of Dwarves losing their minds and dying painfully in the streets, and flinched at what his mind conjured up. “That’s horrible. Those poor people must have been miserable.”

“It was a long time ago so don’t worry about it,” comforted Bofur, ruffling Bilbo’s curls. “Now the district is nice and safe with good, solid stone.”

“Not that safe,” murmured Bjarte, giving a nod to the numerous Dwarves lurking about. Some were harmless beggars or ladies of the night and while Bilbo didn’t doubt for a moment they were each dangerous in their own way, he dismissed them in favor of the real threats. Those were the Dwarves who walked about with a weapon of some sort on them and a hard gleam to their eyes that he knew all too well.

“Some of them have the same tattoos on their face,” he commented in a low voice to Bofur. “Does that mean they are part of the same syndicate?”

“Mmm. This part of the district belongs to the One Order,” replied the miner, giving a subtle nod to one of the members walking past them with blocky red patterns inked on his cheeks. “They control most of the west. The other three are run by different groups that all hate each other. They always fightin’ for control.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the cliché answer. Eru forbid people would just get along. “Will it be a problem moving through the district with them about?”

Bofur shook his head and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together. “Nah. We’re paid up for the season,” he said, winking before pointing forward. “Plus we’re going to the center of the district—that’s a neutral place. No one will bother us there.”

“Paid up...?” he repeated slowly.

“Protection fee,” explained Bifur, and then shrugged when Bilbo gave him a dry look. “Hey, I said I left my group; didn’t say anything about going straight.”

“What he means is that he comes down here to gamble at the dens, and whine to the amlâkul about how hard his life is,” translated Bjarte, rolling his eyes at his husband and earning himself a stink eye from said Dwarf. “Really, stop trying to come off as scary and shit. Ya too old for it and it ain’t impressin’ anyone.”

“It impressed ya,” Bifur grouched, giving the Dwarf at his side a shove with his elbow.

Bjarte just shrugged it off. “I was young and stupid. Didn’t know what the fuck I was doin’ there,” he countered, giving Bilbo a subtle wink. “If I had than I would’ve married Orda.”

Bifur narrowed his eyes and stopped walking abruptly. Then, before Bjarte could open his mouth again, he grabbed the shorter Dwarf around the waist and pulled him flush against his own body. “Like she could’ve ever kept you satisfied,” he growled before kissing him while his hand moved suspiciously lower.

Bofur instantly wrapped a hand around Bilbo’s eyes and began to lead the Hobbit away. “Right, we’re leavin’ ya old fools here now,” he yelled without turning back around. “C’mon, Bilbo, before they shove their tongues downs each other’s throats. Ya don’t wanna see that. Could scar ya for life.”

“My eyes are shut,” he promised, reaching up to push Bofur’s hand harder against his eyes.

“We’ll catch up with ya at the tavern,” promised Bifur before there was a gasp followed by a low moan.

Bofur gagged and began to walk even faster. “Pick it up, Bilbo! I suddenly got the urge to get reaally drunk!”

“How do you know this is the right place?” Bilbo asked Bofur later as the Dwarf led him up the cracked stairs of a tavern. It was an old thing made out of stone like the rest of the district, and noticeably lacked doors and windows. Bilbo could hear low voices inside and smell the strong scent of spirits, vomit, and urine.

“Because Bifur said it’s at the Red Moon and the sign for it is right there,” replied Bofur, dryly.

“Oh.” He nodded in acceptance before a sudden realization made him freeze. “Wait, Bofur, you can read?”

Bofur nodded as he paused at the top of the stairs and tugged his mattock off his back. “A little bit,” he explained, taking a seat on the top step with his mattock in his lap. “Bombur is better at it than me.”

“How?” Bilbo asked, hopping up the last few steps to take a seat next to the miner. “I mean, you’re not exactly...”

Bofur laughed easily and gave the Hobbit a wink. “Yeah, I know. But Bjarte has always been around so he taught me when I was young. He taught Bifur too, but Bifur doesn’t care for it.”

“Oh, that’s right. Bjarte is from a higher class than the rest of you,” he said, recalling their conversation from earlier in the week.

“Mmm. Not that ya can tell with the way he acts.”

“He’s around you and Bifur all day. What’d you expect?”

“Yeah, guess that’s—hey!” Bofur gave a mock scowl and shoved the Hobbit with his elbow. “Rat.”

Bilbo laughed and caught himself on one hand. “So what’s the deal with the Lead District?” he asked, straightening up.

“Deal?” repeated the miner, blinking.

“Yeah, like why is it so dangerous? Who exactly lives here? What’s the history of this place?” he asked, gesturing to the decrepit buildings around them. “A place doesn’t just become dangerous over night. There must be a reason for it.”

“Well, I don’t know much ‘bout the history of this place so you’ll have to ask Ori ‘bout that,” Bofur said apologetically, scratching at his nose. “But I do know that this is where all former prisoners are sent to live if they ever get out of the Deep Mines.”

“Deep Mines?” he repeated, rolling his eyes at the cliché name.

“Yeah, it’s the main prison beneath the mountain,” clarified the Dwarf, smirking slightly at his reaction. “They send the worse criminals down there to do the dangerous mining. I’ve never seen it personally, but I heard it’s pretty fucked up. Most of them die in the tunnels or end up killing each other.”

Bilbo shuddered. “Lovely. And when these dangerous prisoners get out, they have to live here,” he summarized, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knee. “Why did the King ever think that was a good idea?”

His friend shrugged as he rolled his head back in a lazy stretch. “Got me. Guess he thought they would be easier to control if they were all in one area.”

“But this area isn’t controlled,” he pointed out. “Bifur said not even the guards dare come down here.”

“Ehh, maybe it worked better when it first started all those centuries ago,” offered Bofur, giving another lazy shrug. “Good thing is most of them can’t leave this level so I guess it kinda works?”

Bilbo wasn’t too sure about that but kept his thought to himself. “Is every resident here a former criminal?” he asked instead.

“Nah. Some are just born here and stay ‘cuz they ain’t got nowhere else to go.” The miner sighed and rested his cheek on one closed fist. “It was like that for us back in Ered Luin. Stuck in a hole with no way out. It’s why Bifur joined those snakes in the first place. ‘Cuz he thought he had nuthin’ else to choose.”

Bilbo bit his lip and studied the dejected looking Dwarf. “Did you... Did you ever join the Shadow Blades?” he asked carefully.

Bofur blinked a few times before scoffing softly and shaking his head. “Nah. Bifur would’ve knocked my teeth out if I tried. He said I could do better than runnin’ with him. Not sure why he thought he couldn’t do the same.”

Bilbo didn’t know why either, but he also never knew the Bifur from the past so he couldn’t comment. “Did Bjarte ever join it? Not because he needed to but for Bifur?”

“Hell no. Bifur wouldn’t even let him meet the others,” cackled Bofur, adjusting his hat as it began to slide down his face. “Think he was afraid Bifur would clock them if he did. He never liked that Bifur joined a group. Right, Bjarte?”

Bilbo blinked a few times at the sudden change in topic, and then looked up and spotted Bifur and Bjarte making their way up the stairs to them. They were both disheveled and Bjarte was boasting a remarkable blush but were otherwise decent. At Bofur’s question, both looked up at the duo, and Bjarte automatically nodded to Bofur’s question.

“Right,” he said before casting an eyebrow up. “Wait, what am I agreeing to?”

“Bifur’s habit of making horrible life decisions,” filled in the healer, giving a cheeky grin when Bifur scowled at him.

“Yeah, and I’m looking at the worst one now,” he growled, nudging Bilbo in the thigh as he stomped past. “Get up. The guy’s waitin’ for us.”

Bilbo laughed as he and Bofur rose and followed the couple into the tavern. Inside was smoky and dark, and Bilbo counted eight Dwarves scattered around before he ran into Bofur’s back. He squeaked and took a step back; ready to berate the Dwarf when he realized that Bifur and Bjarte had also abruptly stopped. Peeking around the miner, he found the reason for the sudden halt to be a Dwarf around Bifur’s age dressed in plain gray and brown leather armor.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Bofur, glancing up at the tense Dwarf. “Who is that? Is he the informant?”

“No, he’s trouble,” hissed Bofur, pushing Bilbo behind him without taking his dark eyes off the stranger. “Stay close to me. This ain’t gonna end well.”

Bilbo raised his eyebrows but did as told. In front of them, the stranger took a step forward, and held out his arms as if to embrace Bifur while wearing the slimiest smile he had ever seen on a person.

“Bifur,” the Dwarf greeted before launching into Khuzdûl. Bilbo, naturally, couldn’t understand a word of it, but he recognized the accent of the strange Dwarf easily.

He’s from the Blue Mountains, he realized, and then his stomach dropped as he finally made the connection. Uh-oh. That can’t be good.

“Should I get ready to run?” he whispered to Bofur, eyeing up the eight other Dwarves scattered around the tavern. Each of them had risen from his seat and pulled out a weapon of some sort and were forming a circle around the four of them. For the first time since he entered, he realized there were no other residents or even a host. They were completely trapped and alone.

Bofur nodded slowly. “Yeah. Head for the door if ya can.”

“It’s gonna need to be cleared first,” he noted, counting the three Dwarves blocking their way. “Should I—”

He never got the chance to finish his question. Bifur, with a roar in Khuzdûl, threw himself at the stranger; his pickaxe free and moving to cleave the other Dwarf in two. The stranger blocked it with an axe while around them the rest of the tavern sprung to life. He caught sight of Bjarte throwing himself into the fray and Bofur tackling another before he was forced into the fight himself.

The first Dwarf who faced him was thin and shorter than his counterparts, and wielded a long mace that he swung at Bilbo’s head. Bilbo avoided it easily by dropping down into a crouch; catching himself with his hands and swinging one of his legs out to kick the Dwarf in the shin with the wide part of his foot. The Dwarf went down to one knee from the sudden pain, and the healer took the chance to bring his foot back around in a kick to the face. He felt something crack and knew he had most likely broken the Dwarf’s nose. The stranger shrieked in surprise at the pain and curled over into a ball; holding his face as blood dripped out between his fingers.

Bilbo ignored him and got to his feet to face the next Dwarf waiting for him. This one was only slightly taller than his partner but boasted more muscles and a war hammer. Bilbo had no interest in seeing how skilled he was in wielding the large weapon, and quickly grabbed the nearest thing—a cheap stool made of rusted iron—and threw it at the Dwarf’s face.

As he predicted, the Dwarf swung the hammer at the stool and knocked it away. Focused on the stool, he failed to notice Bilbo following it until he was next to him; throwing a one-knuckled punch at the soft section of the Dwarf’s head. The Dwarf staggered from the blow and dropped his hammer before falling to the ground in an unmoving slump.

Bilbo had only the briefest moment to worry that he had caused serious damage to the Dwarf or not before he was forced to confront yet another stranger. This one was built the same as the previous Dwarf but held two long swords in both hands. Before Bilbo could blink, the stranger lunged forward and jabbed one of the blades at him. He tried to avoid it and failed as it sliced through his clothes and into the flesh of his bicep.

He hissed as pain flared through his arm, and quickly covered it with his free hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Unfortunately his assailant used this brief pause to lash out at him again; this time landing a blow that sliced open his upper thigh deep enough that, when he felt the hot gush of blood slide down his leg, his heart stopped in horrified fear.

Stop the bleeding first, he thought, recalling his mother’s lessons as he stumbled back from the Dwarf with the bloody blades. I need to stop the bleeding. Stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding—                                                                                                                                                                                                 

“Bilbo!”

He felt a hand wrap around the elbow of his injured arm, and when he looked up, he found that it was Bifur holding onto him. The Dwarf was splattered in blood and was wild-eyed as he looked over the Hobbit in one quick sweep. When his dark eyes landed on Bilbo’s bloody leg, they went wide and drew back up to Bilbo’s face in obvious alarm.

“I have to stop the bleeding or I’m going to die,” he informed the miner in a calm voice that went against the pounding of his heart. “Help me stop the bleeding?”

Bifur blanched but quickly jumped into action. He ripped off the entire sleeve of his left arm and kneeled down to wrap it around Bilbo’s wounded thigh. He flinched at the pain but steeled himself as Bifur tied it so tight that he doubted he would be able to get it off without a pair of scissors. As the Dwarf worked, he looked over Bifur’s head at the tavern, and found that his assailant had been taken down by Bofur. The others were also all slumped across the tavern with only Bjarte and Bofur still standing.

“We need to get out of here,” said Bjarte, stalking over to the pair with his pickaxe in one hand and handle axe in the other. Bilbo noted he was sporting a split lip but could see nothing else as serious. “There are gonna be more coming.”

Bofur followed and leaned over to examine Bilbo’s thigh with a wince. “Shit, that doesn’t look good,” he said, sharing an alarmed look with Bjarte.

Bifur grunted as he finished tying the last knot. “Ya don’t say?” he drawled, getting his feet and casting a dry look at his cousin. “Thank Mahâl ya here, Bofur. Don’t know what I’d do without ya stating the obvious.”

“Bifur, knock it off. Now is not the time,” scolded Bjarte, giving his husband a warning look. “We need to leave. What’s the fastest way out?”

Bifur scowled, and glanced down at Bilbo before looking around the tavern at the unconscious or dead residents. “We need to split up,” he finally declared, looking to the blond. “Bjarte, get Bofur out of here through the north roads. I’ll take Bilbo to the east.”

“Bifur, he needs help,” Bjarte said quietly, nodding to the Hobbit leaning against a table.

“I know. Why do ya think I’m going east?” retorted Bifur before reaching over to wrap an arm around Bilbo’s waist. “C’mon now; lean on me, boyo. That’s a lad.”

Bilbo wrapped an arm around Bifur’s shoulder, and allowed the Dwarf to take most of his weight. His arm and leg continued to throb but he could feel that the blood from his leg had at least stopped. He couldn’t say the same about his arm, but that wound was not as deep or alarming as the other, so he ignored it for the moment.

“Is everyone else okay?” he asked Bifur as the Dwarf helped him walk through the mess of bodies and overturned furniture.

He felt the Dwarf snort. “We’re fine. Just worry ‘bout yourself. Ya got the worse of it.”

“I did,” he acknowledged, feeling shame and anger curl up in his chest at the thought. “Should’ve brought a weapon. Would’ve been easier to fight them then.”

Bifur hummed but said nothing more as they walked out of the tavern. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, they saw—to their mutual alarm—a group of Dwarves rushing towards them from the west. Bjarte and Bofur quickly pulled out their weapons and made a wall in front of Bifur and Bilbo.

“Bifur, get out of here. We’ll distract them for ya,” ordered Bjarte without looking away from the group of Dwarves.

“Don’t die,” ordered Bifur before dragging Bilbo off in the opposite direction.

“Please be careful,” Bilbo threw back over his shoulder.

Bofur laughed heartily, and gave him a quick wink as he twirled his mattock in his hands. “Just focus on stayin’ alive, Master Healer. We’ll be fine here.”

Bilbo could only pray that would be true.

Bilbo lost count of the twists and turns that Bifur took as he dragged him through the broken streets of the Lead District. The pain of his wounds made him nauseous and fatigued and as time went by, he became less and less aware of anything but the rolling of his stomach and the ache in his arm and leg. When they finally stopped before a stooped cottage made of stone, he nearly fell to the ground from relief.

“Steady now, lad,” soothed Bifur, reaching out to bang his fist against the door. “Almost there. Ya can rest in a moment.”

The healer grunted, and leaned his head against Bifur’s as the door was opened a crack to reveal a pair of brown eyes highlighted by kohl. There was a soft question in Khuzdûl that Bifur replied to in the same language before the door was opened fully, and they were ushered inside by the stranger. Bifur quickly dragged Bilbo into the building where he was immediately assaulted by the strong scent of flowers and smoke. He blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, and found himself surprised by what he saw.

The Dwarf who had admitted them entrance was different from any Dwarf he had seen before. Standing as tall as Bifur, they had long black hair tied into a million tiny braids that fell to their wide hips and an equally long beard that was braided in the same fashion. They wore a long red skirt with slits on both sides and a loose, billowy red top that hung down one pale shoulder. But what really threw Bilbo off was that he could not for the life of him tell exactly what gender the stranger was.

Bifur didn’t give him the chance to ask. Once inside, he began to speak rapidly in Khuzdûl to the stranger; gesturing with his free hand to Bilbo’s wounds before pointing behind him with his thumb. The stranger listened attentively before giving a firm nod and a response in Khuzdûl. They then turned and gestured for Bifur to follow them down a short corridor to a set of steep stone steps.

The miner quickly followed while gently dragging Bilbo along. After helping him down the curving stairs, they came to a long corridor lined with doorways that held only rags for doors. Some of them were open; revealing Dwarves who looked just as different as the first. Bilbo caught only glimpses of them in passing as Bifur dragged him down the hall to the only doorway with an actual door. There the stranger ushered them inside, and spoke once more in Khuzdûl to Bifur before softly closing the door and leaving them alone.

Inside the room, Bilbo found it to be small and simple with only two pieces of furniture. The first was a bed set in the center of the room on the ground that was covered in multi-colored quilts, blankets, and pillows. The second was a single table made of chipped stone.

Bifur helped him over to the bed where he slowly sat down in relief. He stretched his injured leg out before him, and carefully examined the bloody makeshift bandage. It had done its job and stopped the bleeding, but he knew that wouldn’t last. He would need to eventually stitch up the wound or risk bleeding to death again.

“Well, this has been a fun night,” he commented idly, glancing up at Bifur as the Dwarf unhooked his pickaxe and leaned it against the wall.

“Is that what they’re callin’ it now?” snorted Bifur, sitting down in front of Bilbo with his legs crossed beneath him. “Good to know.”

Bilbo grinned as he looked over his injured arm. It had completely drenched his sleeve in blood and made it stick to his skin in a tacky mess. On the bright side though the wound had stopped bleeding so furiously, and was now only sluggishly oozing blood. He sighed at the sight of his ruined shirt, and began the sad job of ripping the ruined sleeve off his arm.

“Oye, let me do that,” protested Bifur, leaning forward and batting his hands away. “Stupid boy. Can’t ya see your hands are shakin’ like an old cripple?”

He shrugged his good shoulder but didn’t fight the miner as he easily ripped the sleeve off from above his wound down. “I need to clean it out and wrap it in a clean bandage. Will you help me?”

“Obviously. Ya hardly able to do it with one hand,” the miner muttered. “I take it ya have stuff in your pack?”

Bilbo nodded, and carefully pulled off his faithful pack that had, for the most part, gotten away undamaged. “I have bandages but nothing else.”

“That’s fine. Arnina already went to get some water,” Bifur reassured, tugging Bilbo’s pack over to his lap where he began to dig through it.

“Arnina?” he repeated, watching the Dwarf in case he broke something in his search. “Then she’s female?”

Bifur nodded absently. “Mmm. Most of the time, anyway.”

Bilbo blinked a few times in surprise. “Excuse me? What does that mean? Actually, these Dwarves here... are they male or female? Because I can’t tell.”

Bifur chuckled, and glanced up at Bilbo from beneath his black lashes. “They’re both, lad.”

“Both?” he repeated, still completely lost.

“Aye. They’re called amlâkul which means ‘half’ in Khuzdûl. They are Dwarrows who identify as neither male nor female or see themselves as both or the opposite of what they were born as,” explained the miner as he pulled out a roll of bandages.

Bilbo closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as his nausea suddenly spiked up. “I’ve never heard of them before. Are they common?” he questioned.

The Dwarf nodded as he set the pack to the side. “Oh, there are plenty around, but ya just don’t see them. They’re a bit like the outcasts of our people. Never outright rejected but never really accepted, they live in the low parts of kingdoms where the common folk don’t see ‘um.”

“That doesn’t sound fair,” he commented, frowning in disapproval.

“It’s not. The halves are considered freaks by most Dwarrows and usually preyed upon and killed. Hiding down here where most folks won’t go is their only means of protection.”

Bilbo didn’t even have the energy to be surprised. “Why? They haven’t done anything wrong by having different parts. Why are they being killed for something like that?”

“Folk don’t understand that, lad, and when folk don’t understand something they get scared. And when people get scared, they get angry, and that anger can do a lot of damage,” explained Bifur, giving him a helpless shrug.

He shook his head, and carefully leaned back against the mountain of pillows behind him. “That’s horrible. How can you hate someone for something so irrelevant?” he asked softly. “I don’t get it. What does your maker say about this all?”

“Nothing. Mahâl has remained silent on it all,” Bifur sneered, his face twisting into an ugly mask that made him look nothing like himself. “This makes some Dwarrows say that He disapproves but that’s bullshit. He remains quiet for the same reason He remains silent about the treatment of our Dwarrowdams—because He’s an asshole.”

Bilbo burst into laughter that made his achy body feel worse. “Bifur!” he scolded between his laughter. “How can you speak that way about your maker? Isn’t that blasphemy?”

The miner sniffed and raised his chin without shame. “Probably. Doesn’t make it less true. I love my creator just as much as any other Dwarrow could, but doesn’t mean I’m blind to His faults. Mahâl is an imperfect being just like the rest of the Valar; the only one who is truly perfect is Eru. But since Mahâl’s flawed, His children are flawed too. That’s why we hurt each other and make mistakes and generally fuck up. Because we mirror our screwed up Creator.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, and reached out to take some of the bandages from Bifur. “You Dwarves are a lot more complicated than I realized,” he commented, beginning to wrap the bandages over Bifur’s makeshift attempt on his thigh. The wound would need to be stitched if he wanted it to heal but he knew he was in no state to perform such an operation. For now all he could do was staunch the bleeding until he was stable enough to sew up the wound.

Bifur clucked his tongue, and reached over to take the bandages back from him. “What did I just say? Let me help ya. Stubborn brat,” he muttered, beginning to gently wrap up his thigh.

The Hobbit gave a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I guess I’m just too used to taking care of others.”

Bifur didn’t look impressed. “Stupid of ya. Ya should let me help since it’s my fault ya got hurt,” he said in a low voice.

Bilbo raised his brows in surprise. “Excuse me? Did I hit my head in that fight? Because I could have sworn it was another Dwarf that cut me up.”

“Yeah, but it was me who led them to ya.” Bifur hunched his shoulders up defensively as he leaned over the Hobbit, and avoided meeting Bilbo’s eyes. “I should’ve double checked the informant before I brought ya down here. If I had, ya wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Bifur, it’s not your fault. It was my choice to come down here even after learning of the risks,” he pointed out logically.

The miner clenched his jaw and stubbornly shook his head. “It was still my job to watch over ya. Bombur and Nori are gonna kill me.”

“I think it’s Dori you need to fear. Have you ever seen his looks of disapproval?” he teased, nudging the miner in the shoulder with his hand.

The Dwarf scoffed loudly and leaned back as he finished tying the bandage. “Hmp. I’m more worried about his punches. Have ya seen the size of his hands?”

Bilbo laughed just as a soft knock came from the door. Bifur rose to his feet and moved to open the door to reveal Arnina standing there with a bowl in her hands. She handed it to Bifur with a quiet murmur in Khuzdûl that the miner replied to in the same tongue before quickly leaving once more. Bifur closed the door with his elbow, and returned to his previous seat in front of Bilbo.

“Alright, give me that arm now,” he ordered, dumping some of the bandages into the bowl before wringing it out.

Bilbo did as ordered, and watched as the Dwarf began to lightly dab at his bloody and wounded bicep. “So,” he said after a moment of silence, “want to tell me again why those Shadow bastards are after you?”

Bifur paused for a second before resuming his task. “How’d ya know they were from the Shadow Blades?”

“That Dwarf who spoke to you had a Blue Mountain accent,” he said simply, flinching slightly at the press of cold cloth against his injury. “It wasn’t that hard to make the connection.”

His friend grunted in begrudging agreement. “True. That Dwarf was Herlígur—one of the sorry bastards I used to run with when I was still in the group. He said he was sent to take care of me. Fucker obviously ain’t gonna be doin’ that any time soon.”

“Mmm. So why was he sent after you?”

“I told ya that. I wouldn’t do the mission they asked of me.”

Bilbo sighed, and gave the Dwarf a deadpan look. “Bifur, you don’t chase someone across kingdoms and lure them into a trap just because of an assignment refusal.”

The miner snickered but nodded in agreement. “True. Alright, this is what happened. The mission they wanted me to do was to take out some blue blood who offended them or some shit like that. They told me to kill him, his husband, their sons, and then cut the heads off and bring ‘um back. Obviously, I wasn’t about to do that. Not only ‘cuz it was fucking crazy but also ‘cuz the sons were just babes. They barely knew how to walk and talk and shit! I couldn’t hurt them so I decided to run away instead.”

It took the brunet a moment to absorb all the details through his fog of pain, but when he did he found himself still confused. “Wait, they’re chasing you because you didn’t kill someone? That’s it?”

“Well, I might’ve also warned the noble about the hit on him,” his friend admitted, giving a sheepish smile that brought out his resemblance to Bofur. “And maybe told the guards. And got some of them arrested. And thrown into prison. But, ya know, little stuff.”

“Bifur!” he laughed, throwing his uninjured arm over his eyes. “No wonder they’re trying to kill you! I can’t believe you did all that! I’m proud of you.”

“Well, it’s not like I did it ‘cuz it was the right thing to do or something,” the Dwarf protested as he finished cleaning Bilbo’s wound, and turned to wrapping it up in a clean bandage. “It’s ‘cuz the noble rewarded me for sellin’ them out.”

“He did?”

“Of course. How else do ya think I got the money to flee? It ain’t cheap running for ya life ya know.”

Bilbo snickered again and dropped his arm back to his side. He watched his friend finish tying up his injury, and then gave him a smile of gratitude when he looked up. “Thank you, Bifur. I appreciate your help.”

Bifur shrugged as he picked up the bloody bowl and stood up to set it on the nearby table. “Kinda had to since it was my fault.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes, picked up one of the smaller pillows with his uninjured arm, and flung it at Bifur’s back. “Oh, do shut up about that. Your martyr act is getting annoying.”

Bifur cast a glare at him, and picked up the pillow from the floor to toss it back at the healer. “Alright, get some sleep, boyo. I’ll wake ya in a few hours and take ya home then.”

Bilbo grunted in agreement and made himself as comfortable as he could without aggravating his injuries. Though he had been doing his best to ignore the pain, it was honestly wearing him down. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep with a silent vow to look over Bifur when he awoke.

Chapter Text

Bilbo awoke to pain.

That was the first thing that he became aware of when he opened his eyes. It took him a moment to remember why he was in such pain, and when he finally did, it made him groan and close his eyes again. Without looking, he reached down to touch his thigh and felt blood seeping through the bandages again. It was time to wrap another layer to it.

Opening his eyes again, he found Bifur leaning against the wall by the door; arms crossed over his chest and one leg slightly raised and fast asleep. There were faint circles under his eyes and lines crinkling around his mouth and he twitched slightly every few seconds. It was clear that though Bifur had managed to fall asleep, it wasn't a very good rest.

Bilbo watched his friend for a moment before deciding to allow him to sleep. Slowly, he forced himself up, and ignored the flash of pain that went through his injured arm when he did. His pack was easily within reach and his stash of bandages sat on top where Bifur had left it. Patiently, he pulled them out and bandaged his thigh until he could no longer see any hint of red.

With his task finished, he turned his attention to the nearby table where the bloody bowl had disappeared but a clay pitcher and two cups had taken its place. He poured himself several cups of water that he downed until he was satisfied. Then he made his way over to Bifur where he examined him for any obvious injuries. Once satisfied that his friend wasn't wounded, he reached out and shook the Dwarf awake.

"Bifur. Bifur, wake up," he said, increasing his shaking when the gentle motion didn't work.

Bifur groaned and batted his hand away. "I'm up, I'm up," he grumbled, rubbing his face before with one hand before cracking open one dark eye. "Fuck, everything hurts. I must be gettin' old."

Bilbo grinned and carefully stood up straight. "Not gonna argue with that," he teased, laughing lightly at the glare he received for his comment. "I think it's safe to leave now. Those Shadow bastards are probably gone by now."

"Mmm. How's the leg?" Bifur asked, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders back to loosen them up.

Bilbo looked down at his injured thigh and shrugged. "Same. It won't really stop bleeding until I sew up the wound. But for now the bandages will still work."

The miner nodded slowly as he studied the Hobbit closely. "Ya look paler than before. The blood loss gettin' to ya?"

"A little bit," he admitted, wincing slightly. "I feel dizzy and tired but I drank some water so that should help. I really can't do anything about it all until I get back to Dori's house. That's where I left most of my healing supplies."

Bifur frowned darkly. "Let's get ya home then before ya faint on me," he ordered, rising to his feet with a huff. "I don't wanna imagine how Dori will react if he sees me carrying ya home."

The long walk back to the Tin District was a slow affair. While he no longer needed Bifur to help him in walking, Bilbo found that he couldn't move very fast or stretch his legs very far without aggravating his injury. The handicap left them both moving at a sluggish pace through the dark and nearly empty kingdom.

When they finally did arrive at the 'Ri home, Bilbo was surprised to see that the lights were still on inside. Sharing a confused look with Bifur, he softly opened the door and peeked inside and found a bleary eyed Ori sitting at the table; his chin resting on one hand and his hair a mess of loose waves falling around him. He was staring intently at a spot on the table and didn't seem to notice the Hobbit hobbling into the house.

"Isn't it past ya bed time?" Bifur asked snidely as he gently closed the door behind him.

Ori's head snapped up at the sound of the Dwarf's voice. When his green eyes landed on Bilbo, they grew wider and his mouth fell open. "Bilbo!" he yelled, jumping to his feet and knocking his chair down behind him. "Bilbo! Dori, Bilbo's back!"

The healer winced at the loud tone and made a shushing noise. "Quiet down there, Ori. You're gonna wake the neighbors."

"Who cares?!" shrieked the Dwarf, rushing around the table to meet Bilbo. "What the hell happened to you?! Where did you go?! Why—is the blood?!"

Bilbo sighed as Dori came rushing into the room from the back; as wild-eyed as Ori but with neater hair and clothes. "Bilbo!" he cried when he saw the Hobbit, and quickly pushed his brother out of the way to fret over him. "What happened? Who did this to you? Bifur, did you know about this?!"

"It was an accident," Bilbo said before Bifur could speak. He flinched when Dori touched his wounded arm, and then immediately felt bad when Dori jerked his hand back as if he had touched fire. He reached out and caught the Dwarf's rough hand in his own, and gave it an apologetic squeeze.

"Sorry, I'm still pretty sore," he explained, gesturing to his arm and thigh with his free hand. "Actually, if I could sit down, that'd be great. I think my leg is gonna fall off."

Dori nodded and quickly led the healer to one of the chairs at the table. "Sit down here," he ordered, helping Bilbo stretch out his leg and looking over it critically. "You have so many bandages on. Should we change them?"

Bilbo grunted as he laid his head down on the cold table. "No. Leave them as they are. It's the only thing keeping me from bleeding out," he explained.

"What?!" Ori squawked while Dori went bone white.

"Relax," he ordered, rolling his eyes at their dramatics. "The cut isn't too deep but it did hit an important vein. It needs stitches to stop the bleeding, but I'm not exactly in the state to do that right now. So for now I need to keep it bandaged tightly."

Ori nodded shakily in understanding while Dori turned to face Bifur. "Explain. Now," he growled, moving to loom over the shorter Dwarf like a great storm cloud.

Bifur, though, held his ground and handed Bilbo's pack to Ori before breaking into an endless stream of Khuzdûl. Bilbo listened to the rumbling tone and watched Dori and Ori's expressions carefully as they both listened attentively to Bifur's tale. As the story went on, Ori's eyes went wider than he had ever seen them, and his shoulders grew tenser with each passing minute. In contrast, Dori went very still and stared at Bifur with nearly unblinking eyes. It was only at the end of it that he calmly walked over to the miner, rolled up one sleeve, and punched him in the face.

"Dori!" Bilbo yelped, nearly jumping to his feet only to gasp at the pain when he moved his leg. Ori was instantly by his side; wrapping an arm around his shoulders and gently pushing him back into his seat.

"Don't move, stupid," he scolded softly.

Bilbo pinched him on the elbow. "Don't call me stupid."

Bifur, who had stumbled from the blow but did not fall, groaned and rubbed his jaw. "I deserved that," he acknowledged, shifting his jaw back and forth.

"Yes, you did," agreed Dori, dusting his hands off before pointing to the door. "Now go home and let your family know you're safe. We'll see you later in the week for dinner. Tell Bombur I'll bring the bread."

Bifur gave a mocking salute. "Yes, sir."

"And, Bifur?"

"Mmm?"

Dori gave a small bow to the miner. "Thank you for bringing him home," he said, green eyes brighter than normal.

Bifur blinked a few times before giving a jerky nod. Then, bidding Bilbo and Ori goodbye, finally left for home. Bilbo watched him go and sent a quick prayer to anyone listening that he got home safe and sound. He didn't know what he would do if something were to happen to Bifur now.

"Where's Nori?" he asked Ori after the miner had left.

"Out looking for you," replied Dori, placing one hand on his hip while rubbing his forehead with the other. "Honestly, Bilbo, what were you thinking going into the Lead District without telling anyone? Don't you know how dangerous it is?"

The Hobbit flinched, and looked down to stare at his bandaged thigh in shame and guilt. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, playing with the edges of the bandage sticking to his skin. "I thought I would be fine with the others. I didn't mean to make you worry."

Dori gave a deep sigh and shook his head. "Never do such a ridiculous thing ever again," he ordered, pointing at the healer. "Now get up and get out of those disgusting clothes. Ori, help him change please."

Ori nodded mutely and moved to obey his eldest brother. He helped Bilbo out of the chair and down the hall to their shared room where he carefully aided the Hobbit in changing out of his bloody and dirty clothes, and into a borrowed sleeping gown from Dori.

"You can sleep in my bed tonight," the young Dwarf said, helping him lay down in said bed. "I'll sleep in yours."

Bilbo nodded in acceptance; too tired and sore to put up a fight over the switch. "Thank you, Ori. I'll try not to get blood on your sheets," he joked, giving a weak smile.

Ori didn't look amused. "It's fine. Sheets can be cleaned," he said, unrolling Bilbo's bed on the floor and flopping down face first into the pillow. He took in a deep breath and turned his head to the side to peer up at Bilbo with one green eye.

"Is it very painful?" he asked, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Not as bad as other injuries I've had," he said honestly, stretching his injured arm above him so Ori could see the bandage. "I can handle the pain easy enough. It's the inconvenience that I hate."

Ori rolled onto his side so that he lay facing Bilbo, and slid one arm under his pillow while resting the other by his face. "Everyone was really worried," the Dwarf commented, still staring up at him with his green eyes. "Please don't ever do that again. It's not good for Dori's health."

Bilbo flinched but nodded. "I won't disappear like that again," he promised, the guilt twisting around his heart like vines around a pillar. "Not if I can help it."

"Good," said the scholar as he closed his eyes. "Go to sleep now. You need it."

"Yes, Dori," he said, rolling his eyes even as he made himself comfortable in the bed. As he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, he heard Ori whisper one last thing but it was too soft to make out.

I'll ask him in the morning, he thought absently before finally succumbing to his fatigue.

The second time Bilbo awoke, Ori was gone and Óin was sitting at his bedside.

For a long moment he simply stared at the old Dwarf; torn between pinching himself to check if he was awake, or pinching Óin to prove that he wasn't a fever induced illusion caused by his wounds. Neither situation was desirable, and he found himself rather hoping that his injuries had become infected and he was now delusional and out of his mind. Being in such a state was surely better than waking up to find his boss looming over him.

"How much longer do you plan on staring at me like that?" the Dwarf finally asked, arching an imperious eyebrow.

"I'm trying to figure out if I'm awake or not," he admitted, still staring at the older healer.

Óin's eyebrow went up another fraction. "You're awake. Shall I pull your hair to prove it?"

"No, I believe you," he admitted grudgingly, finally sitting up and leaning back against the wall behind him. He laced his hands together and placed them in his lap and studied the Dwarf next to him. "So. What are you doing here?"

"Your friend brought me to sew up your thigh," explained Óin, nodding to his own case of supplies that he carried on him at all times. "I admit, I thought he was jesting when he said you had been injured while down in the Lead District. Because surely my healer Hobbit would know better than to visit the most dangerous part of the kingdom with more than just three miners to protect him."

"Obviously, you assumed wrong," he retorted, raising his chin in challenge.

Óin's eyes narrowed into twin slits of blue. "Damnit, lad, what were thinking going down there? Were you thinking at all? Don't you know people die down there? Not even the guards will venture past a certain point in that district!"

"I knew of the dangers," he admitted, nodding his head, "but I didn't care. I needed to go there."

"For what? What could that cesspool hold that's so important?" sneered the Dwarf.

"The Blue Iron."

Óin jerked back in his seat. "What?"

"The Blue Iron. I went there because I thought I had found a way to make contact with the Blue Iron," Bilbo explained, squeezing the red wool blanket as he felt his emotions spike up dangerously. He was losing control of himself.

"What in Mahâl's name do you need the Blue Iron for? What could possibly merit their attention?" the healer demanded, gesturing wildly with one hand.

"I need their help to get the Shire back, Óin!" he snapped, glaring at the healer as his eyes began to sting at the corners. "I need them to help me fight the dragon Smaug!"

Óin's eyes grew large and the crinkles around them deepened. "Bilbo..."

Bilbo looked down to stare at his hands where they were bunched up in Ori's worn but soft blanket. Everything from the night before—the ambush, getting injured, running for his life—and everything from the weeks following it—from trying to raise enough money to the accident at work—was finally hitting him at once, and the force of so many conflicting emotions was just too much. His teary eyes grew worse until all he could see were the blurry images of his hands against a red background.

"My clan has been saving money for decades so we could get someone to help us. My uncle sent me here with that money to hire soldiers to help our people in the fight against the dragon Smaug," he explained to Óin, and heard his voice crack much to his disgust. "Everyone is depending on me to bring them an army. Everyone is waiting for me to save us and I can't fail them. That's why I went to the Lead District and that's why I need to find the Blue Iron. And that's why I got this stupid injury and I can't go to work today and I—"

"Enough," Óin ordered, interrupting him and gently reaching out to take one of Bilbo's hands into his own. "Hush, Rabbit, don't cry. You don't have to say anymore. I understand."

Bilbo gave a jerky nod as he reached up to scrub at his eyes with his free hand. "I didn't mean to make anyone worry," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to stem the flow of tears.

Óin squeezed the hand in his grasp. "I know you didn't, lad, I know. Everything will be all right now. I promise."

Bilbo sniffed but nodded in acceptance as the door opened, and a familiar voice drawled out, "Hey, bastard, I didn't bring you here to make him cry you know."

Óin snorted, and Bilbo looked up to flash the new Dwarf a wobbly smile. "Hi, Nori."

Nori—carrying a tray of food—gave him a look that he couldn't read before giving a nod of acknowledgment. "Bilbo. Dori made you breakfast. I'm supposed to make sure you eat it all after your leg is stitched up," he said, holding up the tray as proof.

"I'm not really hungry," he admitted, wiping his eyes clear as more tears rose up.

"Don't care. You're eating it," Nori declared, setting the tray on a nearby table and giving Óin a glare. "Are you gonna sew up his leg or wait until he bleeds out?"

"Nori, be nice," he scolded the thief.

Nori pointed a metal spoon at him. "You don't get to talk. You lost all speaking privileges the moment you stepped into the Lead District."

Bilbo scowled and raised his chin up to counter his friend's words but never got that chance as Óin snapped something at him in Khuzdûl. Whatever he said made Nori sneer but set the spoon down, and turn to pick up Óin's case and hand it to him. The old Dwarf then began to pull out his supplies and Bilbo mentally braced himself for the pain that was to come.

"Drink this," ordered Óin, shoving a small bottle into his face without looking away from his case.

He took the bottle and sniffed it before making a face. "This smells like lobelia."

"Mmm. It has some of that and some other herbs. Drink it if you don't want to faint from the pain," ordered the older healer as he began to pull out a pile of white cloths.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose at the smell, but did as told. It tasted just as awful as it smelt. "That was disgusting," he informed Óin as the older healer stripped him of his blankets and then propped his injured leg on the sheets he had brought along.

"It's not meant to taste good, Rabbit," pointed out the older healer, giving him a dry look as he began to prep his needle and thread.

The Hobbit sniffed and rubbed at his still watery eyes. He hated crying, and crying in front of people he knew and cared for was even worse. In an attempt to distract himself, he looked over to Nori, who had taken to silently looming over Óin and Bilbo at the end of the bed. "My cousin married a lass named Lobelia," he commented, catching the thief's attention and holding it. "She scares me almost more than my own mother did."

Nori arched a lazy brow as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why?"

"Because she looks sweet and innocent until she opens her mouth. Then it's like sitting in the middle of a Man's drunk brothel," he explained, making a face at the memories. "I learned more curses and foul words from her than any lowlife could ever teach me."

"Stick around. I'm sure we can fix that here," muttered Óin.

"She also has this umbrella made of lace and flowers and a handle that is actually a sword in disguise," he added, stretching his arms out to show how long said sword was. "I once saw her slice a Man's stomach open with it and then flounce off without getting any blood on her yellow dress. I still don't know how she did it."

Óin actually paused and gave Bilbo a warning look. "She sounds terrifying. Keep her away from Erebor and Dís," he ordered, lifting a pair of scissors and pointing them at Bilbo in warning.

"I won't let her pass Mirkwood," he promised, placing a hand over his heart.

Óin grunted and looked up at Nori. "I'm going to cut the bandages off now. Don't be startled by the amount of blood that comes out. It's normal," the old Dwarf warned.

Nori scowled but nodded. "I won't."

"Good." Óin turned back to Bilbo and cocked a questioning brow. "Ready?"

Bilbo clenched his jaw together and nodded. "Yes. Let's just get this over with."

Óin grunted and began to cut away the layers of bandages holding his wound closed. As they expected, blood began to instantly leak out, but not as badly as it had the night before. The healer first cleaned it the best he could then, without any warning, began to sew up the gash.

Bilbo couldn't help but gasp and bury his hands into fists at his side. Though Óin's concoction worked somewhat, it was still not enough to take off all the pain, and getting stitches would always hurt. It didn't matter how many times he experienced it; nothing ever prepared him for the sick feeling of a needle piercing his skin and tugging it back together. The time seemed to pass in a slow crawl that he counted with each deep breath he took to keep himself calm. He kept his eyes shut and hands buried at his side for the whole surgery, and didn't relax until Óin neatly tied the knot at the end.

"There. Finished," he said, setting aside the needle in favor of a clean bandage that he wrapped around Bilbo's thigh. "Try not to move around too much for the rest of the day so the stitches can settle. Understand?"

Bilbo nodded as he opened his eyes again. "Thank you, Óin. I appreciate you coming down here for this."

The old healer hummed as he wiped his hands clean, and then began to pack up his supplies. "I could hardly refuse with your friend here whining my ear off," he said lightly, giving Nori a side-eye. "Besides, you're one of my healers, lad, and I always look after my ducklings."

"I'm a duck now am I?" he commented casually even as his heart bloomed with pleasure at the remark.

"Rabbit, duck, stupid mouse taunting cats—any of those work," replied his boss, shrugging one shoulder. "Now I don't think I have to tell you that you'll be taking today and tomorrow off from work, yes?"

He gave a grudging nod. "I'll stay here. If I can't help my patients than I shouldn't be there anyway."

"Good boy." Óin reached out and mussed up Bilbo's thick curls until they became nothing more than a fuzzy mess. Bilbo squawked, and slapped the hand away while trying to smooth down the mess with his other hand.

"Óin! Stop it! My hair is fluffy enough!" he complained.

Óin smirked and glanced to Nori before speaking in Khuzdûl to him. The thief nodded to whatever was said; mumbling something back in the same language that had Óin relaxing a fraction. Then, with one final warning and a promise to visit the next day, the old healer left them.

Bilbo glanced over to the still silent thief and gave him an awkward smile. "Well, I think I'll go back to sleep now. I'll eat that breakfast when I don't feel so sick," he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Nori did not look impressed. Silently, he stalked over to sit down on the bed at Bilbo's side; careful not to jostle his injured leg. "Do you have any idea how much anger I'm holding in right now?" he asked quietly, staring across the room at the wall.

Bilbo flinched. "Nori..."

"I ran everywhere looking for you last night," the Dwarf continued, ignoring him. "When I finally found Bofur and Bjarte, and they told me what happened, I wanted to kill them. That's how angry I was. That's how angry I still am."

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling guilt wind its way around his heart yet again. "I didn't think things would go so bad. I thought I would just meet the contact, make a deal, and then come back to dinner. I never thought it would end... that way."

Nori turned to give him a glare that sharply brought out his resemblance to Dori. "I promised I would find the Blue Iron for you. Why didn't you just wait?" he snapped, green eyes flashing in the same way Ori's would when angered.

"Because you've done so much for me already," Bilbo replied, forcing himself to meet and hold his friend's angry stare. "I didn't want to trouble you with more."

"What are you talking about? I haven't done shit for you. I couldn't even protect you when you were nearly—" Nori abruptly broke off his sentence, and leaned forward to bury his face in his hands. He took in a few rib-shuddering breaths before slowly going limp.

"I've never cared about anyone but my brothers before," he whispered through his fingers, broad shoulders slumping. "You're the first friend I ever wanted to protect. So don't... don't do that again. Don't throw yourself into danger without me there. I can't..."

Bilbo felt his heart clench. Slowly, he reached out to grasp the bottom of Nori's coat, and wrapped his fingers around the rough material. "I won't, Nori," he promised quietly, wishing he could say or do more to comfort his friend. But what could he promise outside of being more diligent with his safety?

Nori said nothing for a long time. Eventually he took in a deep breath, and rose to his feet with his usual fluid grace. "Go back to sleep. I'll tell Dori you'll eat later," he ordered without looking at Bilbo before marching out of the room without another word.

The third time Bilbo awoke, it was due to yelling.

That sounds like Dori, he thought absently, rubbing his face with one hand and opening his eyes. It took him a few moments to fully awaken and another to force himself up and out of bed. Then, as quietly as possible, he crept out of the room and down the hall to where the yelling was coming from. Peeking out, he found Dori facing off against a much older Dwarf wearing a dark purple cloak. He had brown skin, dark eyes, and hair as white as snow. It took him longer than he cared for, but eventually Bilbo realized he was looking at the old Dwarf who had sentenced him and Nori in the prison all those weeks ago, but could not recall his name.

"Dori..." the old Dwarf said, reaching out a hand to the weaver.

Dori sneered and slapped it away, much to Bilbo's shock. "No. Stop it," he ordered, pointing at the old Dwarf. "I've told you before that I don't need your help. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my brothers and myself. It's bad enough that you went so far as to employ Ori to your son—!"

"Balin made that choice himself," protested the stranger. "All I did was suggest he look for a secretary outside his department—"

"You still interfered," insisted Dori, interrupting him. "I told you before that I don't need your help. I can provide for my brothers on my own. Now please leave."

The Dwarf clenched his jaw and shook his head. "You need to do better. Nori was nearly arrested again. Even now I'm getting reports on him cheating Dwarrows out of coin."

"Nori's choices are his own as are any consequences he brings upon himself. I cannot control my brother; I can only try to steer him into the right direction," retorted Dori.

"How very sensible of you," the stranger sighed, broad shoulders slumping in defeat. "I suppose there is no point in asking you again?"

"Correct. I still have no interest in your offer," Dori replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now tell me: did you inform Balin about me? Is that why he chose Ori?"

The old Dwarf shook his head; disturbing the silver beads in his braids and making them click together like bells. "No. Balin and Dwalin know nothing," he stated firmly. "But your name has been added to the registry. Secretly, of course, but that will only last until my passing. Then anyone will be able to read it."

Dori's lips tightened into a thin line. "A foolish and selfish choice to make, milord. But I suppose that's not surprising; being foolish and self-centered is what got you into this mess to begin with."

"I see you are not in the mood to talk. I will visit you another time," decided the stranger, giving Dori a pained, half-smile that made Bilbo feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

Dori though did not look moved. "Please don't. I really have nothing left to say to you."

"Regardless, I will still come," the old Dwarf insisted, pulling his hood up over his head. "Until next time."

Bilbo waited until the stranger quietly left before slipping out to the open. Dori didn't seem to notice him at all; still staring at the door with a pinched look on his face. It wasn't until he was standing next to his friend and calling his name that he snapped out of his thoughts.

"Dori...?" he said softly, watching the Dwarf carefully.

Dori slowly turned to look at him, and blinked a few times as his green eyes refocused. "Bilbo. I thought you were still sleeping."

"I woke up when I heard you arguing," he admitted sheepishly before pointing to the door. "Dori, wasn't that—?"

"Lord Fundin, yes. He visits me from time to time," said the weaver, lightly.

"Um, should I ask why?"

Dori shrugged lazily. "I suppose there's no point in trying to hide it now. Lord Fundin is my father."

Bilbo blinked a few times as he tried to absorb the news that his friend was the son of a high ranking noble. "Whoa. That's... not what I was expecting at all," he admitted, shaking his head.

Dori gave him a thin smile. "Yes, it is quite a shock is it not? Nobles usually don't bother with us lower born folk. Even rarer for them to have bastard children left behind unacknowledged. But my mother was very beautiful and very charming and not even nobles could not say no to her."

"How did he know? I thought your mother didn't tell any of your fathers of your births?" he wondered, reaching out for a nearby chair and carefully lowering himself into it.

"She didn't. He found out by accident after they broke off their affair," Dori explained, carefully watching him settle into the chair and stretch his leg out. "Not that it mattered in the end. He was still married when I was born and his wife had already given birth to Lord Balin. Leaving them both was out of the question. He really didn't start bothering me until after his wife passed. Said he didn't want to tarnish her pride any more than he already did. But now that she's gone, he's determined to forge some sort of bond between us. Don't know why. It is already far too late."

Bilbo flinched slightly at the carelessness in Dori's tone. Though he knew it was well deserved, he couldn't help but feel pity for the old lord. It could not have been an easy choice to choose between his wife and son. "I didn't know nobles cared so much about their bastard children," he commented, tapping his fingernails against the table in a steady rhythm

The weaver jeered. "Of course they care. Children are our greatest treasure, remember?" he reminded, wagging a finger at him "It just complicates inheritance matters so that's why it's discouraged. Usually a noble will acknowledge their bastard child but rank them after their legitimate children. That way they're not a threat to the heir, but they still get what they deserve."

"Is that what Lord Fundin is trying to do now?"

"Somewhat. He knows I don't care about his fortune or blood, but he's determined to leave me something. He also seems to want some sort of relationship between us." Dori made a face. "Mahâl only knows why."

Bilbo bit his lower lip as he considered his words carefully. "I think you should do it," he said slowly, watching Dori's brows fly high. "Get to know him, I mean."

"I don't—"

"Do you know how lucky you are to still have your father alive?" he interrupted, staring into Dori's eyes. "I would do anything to bring my father back."

"Bilbo, that's not fair. You can't compare your loving relationship with your father to my own. We both had two different experiences," Dori reasoned, frowning so deeply that the lines around his mouth looked like cracks in marble.

"I'm not trying to!" he countered quickly, shaking his head. "It's just... you have a chance that so many don't. A chance that I wish I had. Don't waste it and dismiss him from your life without even giving him a chance. You'll regret it later."

Dori stared at him mutely for a long time; the cracks never easing and his green eyes dark and murky like Nori's when he was deep in thought. Bilbo could not read the Dwarf's thoughts or emotions, and could only sit there and wait for him to act. Finally, after more than a few minutes had passed, the old Dwarf let out a great sigh that made his whole body deflate.

"I will... think on your words, Bilbo," he said slowly, running his tongue over his top teeth in consideration. "That is all I can promise for now."

"That's all I ask for," he reassured, giving his friend the biggest smile he could. "Thank you, Dori, for doing so."

"Well, I could hardly say no when you look at me with those eyes," muttered the weaver, giving him a judging side-eye. He then faltered for a second before asking, "You... really loved your father then? When he was still alive?"

Bilbo thought of his father—a sturdy, stout Hobbit with the same brown curls as Bilbo and a shy smile that could make flowers bloom—and felt the grief grab hold of his heart again. Bungo Baggins had not been the boldest of Hobbits nor the smartest or most charismatic, but he had held a quiet dignity and an unwavering sense of responsibility and compassion for all of Eru's creations. His mother had been giving in her own way, but it was Bungo whom he had really inherited his compassion from. There had been no kinder soul to ever walk the land than his father.

Bilbo missed him every day. He missed him so much that it left him breathless sometimes.

He swallowed down the strange lump in his throat, and met Dori's eyes with a wobbly smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I really did."

Chapter Text

"Are you sure you're ready to return to work? Because I'm sure Master Óin wouldn't mind if you stayed home another day," fretted Dori as he hovered over Bilbo like a pesky fly.

The Hobbit waved him away with one hand as he double-checked his pack for work. "I'm well enough now to handle checking in on my patients, Dori. That hardly takes much effort on my part."

"But what if you get tired? Or tasked with something difficult?" pushed the Dwarf, frowning.

"Then I'll sit down and rest or ask for someone else to complete the job," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Really now what do you expect to happen at a clinic full of healers?"

Dori kept frowning but finally stepped back and gave Bilbo some space to breathe. "I've packed you a lunch," he admitted, nodding to the neat package wrapped in a vibrant pink cloth. "I put in extra apples. I know how much you like them."

"Thank you," he said, shooting the old Dwarf a smile. "I—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the front door. They both turned to face it before Dori clicked his tongue. "That must be Bofur. He volunteered to walk you to work," he explained, reaching over to pick up the lunch he had packed and handing it to Bilbo.

"Why is he walking me to work? Did you think I was going to get robbed or something?" he wondered, taking the package.

"It was Nori's idea. He would have taken you himself but..." Dori trailed off, and gave him a helpless look.

"But he's still angry at me," he finished for the Dwarf, sighing. "I understand. Well, I best get going. It's going to take me a good amount of time to get there as it is."

Dori followed him to the door where, as the weaver had predicted, Bofur stood waiting dressed for work with his tools. When he noticed the duo, he tipped his hat in greeting and gave them a wide, dimple smile.

"Morning, Bilbo! Morning, Dori! Isn't it a wonderful day?" he chirped, looking far too awake for so early in the morning.

Bilbo gave the Dwarf a look of disgust. "Ugh, I hate morning people," he muttered, turning to face Dori. "I'm off to work then. I'll see you tonight for dinner."

Dori nodded. "Yes. Be safe," he said, his mouth tilting down in warning, "and please, if possible, stay out of the Lead District."

Bilbo and Bofur shared a grimace. "Yes, Mother," Bilbo replied, limping off before Dori's look could descend into something worse.

"Bye, Dori!" Bofur shouted behind him before hurrying to catch up to him. Once at his side, the Dwarf reached down to snag Bilbo's lunch with one hand while the other looped around Bilbo's elbow.

"What are you doing?" the Hobbit asked, stopping to look down at the arm now wrapped around his.

"Helpin' ya walk to work," Bofur replied, blinking down at him innocently.

"I can walk just fine. Now let go of me," he ordered, pointing a finger at Bofur's face.

The miner did as bid and held up his free hand as he took a step away. "As ya wish. But if ya fall then I'm afraid I have to carry ya. Promised Nori and all that, and don't wanna be makin' him any angrier than he is already."

"Ugh. Nori needs to get over this whole thing and move on," Bilbo grumbled, hobbling off again towards the staircase that would lead him to the Amber District. "I'm not dead and my wounds are healing—what more does he want?"

"Askin' the wrong person here. I don't hold onto the past if I can help it," said Bofur, following and easily rejoining him. Though he walked closer to the healer than he usually did, Bilbo decided not to call him on it.

"Dori says he's trying to deal with the idea of caring about someone else for the first time in his life," he explained, wrinkling his nose as he recalled the conversation. "Apparently, I'm the first friend Nori has ever made. It's so pathetic that I can't even make fun of him for it."

Bofur's face broke out into a smile so wide that Bilbo was momentarily afraid his jaw was going to unhinge. "Awww, Bilbo, that's so cute! You're his One!" the miner practically cooed like a proud grandmother.

Bilbo leaned a bit away from the beaming Dwarf, and tried to recall where he heard the familiar phrase. "His One? What the hell is that?"

"It's something like a Dwarrow ideal. A One is the first person ya learn to care for that isn't yourself," explained the miner, smile never breaking. "It's a big deal 'cuz it means ya supposed to become more aware of others and shit."

"Oh. I think I heard of it before, but it had more to do with romance," he said as he recalled the stories he had heard in taverns. "Something about Dwarves loving once one in their life?"

"Nah, that's just what the bards like to sing to make a copper," Bofur replied, shaking his head. "They get that idea 'cuz the first Dwarrow to ever coin the phrase did fall in love. See, long ago, when the Seven Fathers were still around, there lived a Dwarrow named Gíti son of Forseti of the Seven Fathers. Out of all the Sevens' sons he was the second eldest and most gifted at creating chainmail. None of the others could come close to his skill or his dedication to his task. Gíti lived only to learn his father's teachings and strived everyday to make both sire and Maker proud of him. But this also meant he never paid any mind to his fellow apprentices or the world around him. His narrow focus kept him secluded and oblivious to how great life could be outsides' his workshop.

"Now one day this Dwarrow was at work at his father's forge when a voice called out to him. When he looked up to see who it was, there stood a Dwarrow with hair the color of fire and eyes the color of iron. It was Hergrímur son of Dellingr of the Seven Fathers; fifth eldest of the apprentices and most beautiful of them all. Gíti fell for this beautiful lad then and there, and from that point on could no longer focus only on his craft and Mahâl. For he had seen the one person capable of drawing him away from both, and from then on whenever a Dwarrow meets a soul who makes them see beyond them self, they become their One forever more."

"That's very... interesting," Bilbo said slowly. "I didn't realize how much more meaning there was to it. I think I like it better this way."

"Yeah, the one outsiders like to tell tales about don't really describe it right," acknowledged the miner, pushing his hat up with two fingers as it slid down his forehead. "A One is so much more than just someone ya share ya bed with."

"Hmm." Bilbo scratched his injured thigh, mindful of the stitches there as he mused over the story. "What were their names?"

"Who?"

"The Seven Fathers," he clarified, looking up at his friend. "I've only ever heard of Durin and no one else. So what were their names? What did they do? What happened to them? And why aren't they mentioned as often as Durin?"

Bofur blinked a few times before chuckling. "Ya sure do like to ask questions, huh?"

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder in acknowledgment. "I like to learn. Now will you please answer me?"

"Mmm. Well, as ya know, Durin the Deathless was the first born and started the Sigin-tarâg or 'Longbeards' as ya would know them 'cuz that's who most of the locals be," explained the miner, waving an arm around them. "After him was Alvíss the Wise who awoke in Ered Luin and founded the Broadbeams. With him, in the same mountain range but not the same mountain, awoke Dellingr the Shining who started the Firebeards. The fourth to awaken was Hermóðr the Warrior who founded the Ironfists in the north of Orocarni. With him awoke Forseti the Judger who started the Stiffbeards also near the north of Orocarni. To the south of them was Meili the Wild who started the House of Stonefoots, and then finally Vör the Watchful from who the Blacklocks descend."

"So... the Seven Houses are Longbeards, Broadbeams, Firebeards, Ironfists, and... Stonefeet?" Bilbo listed slowly, trying to recall all seven names only to come up short.

"Stonefoots," corrected Bofur, nodding. "And the Stiffbeards and Blacklocks."

"And which House are you from?"

"I'm a Broadbeam just like Bombur and Bifur. Bjarte is too but he's also half Firebeard on his ma's side. That's where he got them green eyes."

"Green eyes are a Firebeard trait then?" questioned the healer.

The Dwarf nodded. "Aye. Green eyes and red hair and thick frames. Broadbeams always have dark eyes and dark or blond hair. We also tend to be better looking," he replied, giving the Hobbit a wink.

"Bombur has red hair," Bilbo pointed out, raising his brows.

"Mmm. We probably have some Firebeard in us too, but don't know where it comes from," Bofur admitted, nodding. "The bloodlines get kinda muddy after awhile. Only royalty and nobles really keep track of their lines."

"Why?"

"To prove their right to rule. All kings gotta link up to Durin the Deathless in some way to prove they got a right to the throne."

"That's a stupid rule," Bilbo said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What about the other four clans? Did they stay in Orocarni?"

"Most did, yeah, but I think some of the Stonefoots and Stiffbeards migrated over to the Iron Hills and Erebor. I know the Crown Prince and his brother be part Stonefoots from their pa's side."

"Really?" Bilbo said in surprise, blinking a few times.

Bofur nodded as he smoothly dodged a pair of arguing Dwarves. "Yeah. Ya can't really tell with the Crown Prince 'cuz he mostly pulls the Durin side, but it's obvious with Prince Kíli. He's tall and lean and got them wide eyes and darker skin. Those are all Stonefoots traits."

"I had wondered why he and his father were taller and skinnier than other Dwarves," the healer admitted, thinking back on his tea party with Prince Vílin and Prince Kíli and the Princess Dís. "It didn't occur to me that the reason was because they were from different clans. Wait, what is Hamide then?"

"She's a Blacklocks through and through," Bofur said, grinning. "That clan don't really like to mix with others if they can help it."

Bilbo groaned, and rubbed his forehead with both hands. "I'm getting a headache from all these new names. I'll need to write this all down later so I don't forget."

"Do you really write down everything we tell ya?" wondered Bofur, arching one of his shaggy dark brows.

"Of course," he replied, raising his chin high and giving the miner a judging look. "It's important stuff and I don't want to forget it—why are you looking at me like that?"

Bofur—whose smile had grown into another disturbing, jaw snapping heights—shook his head, and turned back to the staircase they had arrived at. "No reason, Master Healer. No reason at all."

Bilbo's first day back to work was a slow and boring affair filled with worried coworkers and fussy patients. Óin had spread the word that he had been mugged walking home and therefore Bilbo had to endure endless questions and fretting from everyone at the clinic. Even the guards—who usually ignored the healers—expressed some concern when they saw the Hobbit limping about. It was both touching and annoying as all he really wanted to do was focus on doing his job. When his shift was finally done, he slipped out before anyone could notice, and thought he was nearly free when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Master Baggins?"

Bilbo turned around, blinking a few times when a Dwarf he knew all too well stepped out from behind a pillar. "Thorin? What are you doing here? Besides creeping around like a weirdo, I mean."

Thorin—dressed in a plain blue tunic with the sleeves rolled up and black pants matched by black leather boots—sashayed over to him while looking him up and down. He had his hair loose this time; unbraided and wild without a hint of shame. Only his beard he kept neatly braided and tucked into his belt.

"I was not creeping around," scolded the guard as he joined the Hobbit. "I was waiting for you."

"For me?" he repeated, blinking in surprise. "Why? Do you have another murder you need help in solving again?"

Thorin smirked and shook his head. "No, not to my knowledge," he said, lacing his hands behind his back. "I had heard news that you were injured down in the Lead District so I came to check up on you."

"Oh." Bilbo blinked a few times, honestly taken back. He hadn't been expecting the guard to care enough to go so far as to visit him. "Thank you. I'm fine now as you can see."

Thorin arched one dubious brow. "You're limping."

"Well, my leg is still healing," he defended, raising his chin in challenge. "And how did you know I was injured in the Lead District? Óin has been telling everyone it was a mugging."

"I was present when he came to the palace to rant to the princess about it," explained the guard, shrugging his broad shoulders. "He was quite upset about it. Do you requite assistance getting home?"

"No, but you can walk with me if you like," granted the healer with a sniff before turning on his heel and shambling off. A few seconds later Thorin was at his side; pace obviously slower than normal in consideration of Bilbo's injury.

Bilbo felt something in his stomach jump at the realization, and absently wondered if he was coming down with something.

"You sure do have a lot of free time for a guard," he commented after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Do you think my princes have only one guard between them?" Thorin scoffed, arching a brow. "I am but one of a dozen of the best warriors in the kingdom who have pledged their lives in service to the Royal Family. My princes are always safe whether I am at their side or not."

"Fair enough," Bilbo granted, nodding. "In that case, would you mind answering some questions I have about the guard?"

"That depends. What are your questions?"

"How many different guard factions are there? Since I arrived, I've noticed a lot of different colored uniforms," he explained, gesturing to a pair of guards passing by dressed in iron armor with red lining.

"Those are the Sentinels. They walk the streets and guard the common people," Thorin clarified, nodding to Bilbo and the other Dwarves passing by. "They are the lowest of the three sects of guards and can always be identified by the red markings on their uniforms. Above them are the Imperial Guards who protect the palace, the guildhalls and ministries, and other important locations. They are easy to spot as they wear white with their uniforms. Finally there are the Royal Guards whose sole duty is to protect the Royal Family, and who always wear blue and gold."

"But those aren't all the sects of soldiers, right?" Bilbo pushed, recalling the Office of Investigations and the guards he had seen there.

"No. There are other departments, but their focus is not on protecting people or monuments. Not like the guards," explained Thorin. He then studied Bilbo for a moment before asking, "You are very interested in Erebor's history and culture. Why?"

He shrugged. "No reason. I simply love to learn, and history is my favorite subject. Usually, when I arrive at a new place, I would find a book about it and read it to educate myself. But here all your books are written in Khuzdûl, so now I must ask others in order to get my answers."

"Hmm. That is a problem." Thorin furrowed his brows for a moment as he seemed to think hard over something. Bilbo had to resist the urge to warn him not to hurt himself. "Well then, until you are satisfied, I will answer any questions you have regarding the kingdom as long as they are not too inquisitive."

The healer raised his brows in surprise. "Really? But I thought you Dwarves hate to share your past and society with outsiders?" he teased.

"Some Dwarrow do not like to share as they are possessive and easily roused to jealousy," Thorin admitted easily, nodding. "But I personally enjoy showing off my people and our kingdom to outsiders. We are noble race with a rich history and even richer culture, and to inform others—why are you laughing?"

Bilbo held up an apologetic hand while the other covered his mouth as he tried to muffle his giggles. "I'm sorry, but you just look so proud of yourself there! Like a child who is telling an adult about their new sibling."

Thorin sniffed and raised his nose in the air. "Why wouldn't I be proud? My people are remarkable. Don't you do the same for your kind?"

Bilbo blinked in surprise. "Well, I suppose I would, but most folk don't care to ask," he explained, thinking the question over. "Once I tell them we're nomads, they tend to lose interest or assume they know all there is. But I guess there isn't really much more to know. My people are pretty simple to understand—we like good food, value family and friends, and strive to win back the Shire from Smaug. There's really nothing more to know."

"I find that hard to believe," disagreed Thorin, shaking his head.

Bilbo simply shrugged. "So how are your charges doing?" he asked, changing the subject.

Thorin gave him a look that said he knew what the Hobbit was doing, but still went along with it. "They are well. Prince Kíli has completely recovered and is back to his normal self. Prince Fíli, meanwhile, is helping prepare for the arrival of Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills and Lady Hafsa of Orocarni. They should be arriving within the next few weeks."

"That should be interesting. I haven't heard much of this noble lady, but I've heard plenty of Lord Dáin. He sounds like a good sort," he commented, keeping Óin's warning words to himself.

"Lord Dáin is a Dwarrow of virtue," agreed Thorin, his face relaxing into a fond smile. "Having him around is always a pleasure. The... King is very close to him as are Princess Dís and... Prince Frerin."

Bilbo raised his brows at the pause in Thorin's voice when he spoke of Prince Frerin. "I haven't met Prince Frerin yet," he said carefully, watching the guard's face. "Óin mentioned he doesn't like to stay in the palace much. Why?"

Thorin licked his lips as he seemed to think the question over. "Well, Prince Frerin is very independent, you see, and the King can be a bit... overprotective of His Highness," he said slowly, wincing when he mentioned the King. "Prince Frerin doesn't care to be caged or coddled hence why he lives outside of the palace."

"Why is His Majesty so protective of him? Is Prince Frerin weak or something?" wondered the healer.

The Dwarf scoffed and shook his head. "No, no it's nothing like that. It is simply how the King is. He's the same with the rest of the family," he explained before stopping as the duo came to the staircase that led down to the Tin District.

"I'm afraid this is as far as I go," Thorin said, brows scrunching together as he met Bilbo's eyes. "Will you be able to get home from here?"

"Of course," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I wounded my leg, I didn't lose it. Thank you for walking me this far though. I appreciate it."

Thorin's lips twitched into a small, upward tilt that could almost be called a smile. "It was my pleasure. Until next time, Mas—I mean, Bilbo," he said, quickly correcting himself when Bilbo raised his brows.

"Until next time," the Hobbit agreed with a smile as he ignored the strange flutter he got in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

That night, when he returned to the 'Ri home, Bilbo found a surprise waiting for him.

"A letter? For me?" he said, dropping his pack onto the ground of Ori's room.

Ori nodded from his desk, and held up a crinkled and worn envelop for him to see. "Yes. Nori said it came this morning after you had set off for work."

Curious, Bilbo reached out and took it, and easily slipped it open. Inside he found a five page letter written in the familiar swirls of his uncle Isengrim. Reading through it quickly, he found that his uncle had received the letter Bilbo had sent explaining his situation, and agreed that the healer had made the right call in bailing out Nori. From there it advised Bilbo to work hard on earning back the money spent, and then went into the usual format of informing him of everything that had occurred since he had left.

"Who's it from?" asked Ori as he folded his arms on the top of the chair to rest his chin upon.

"My uncle back in Rivendell—Isengrim," Bilbo said, half his attention still focused on the parchment in his hand. "He received my letter and wanted to let me know how things fare. Nothing too interesting, honestly."

"That's the one who raised you, right? After your parents passed away?" Ori questioned.

He nodded, still absorbed in his letter. "Yes, that's correct. He took me in personally and raised me to adulthood. I owe him a lot for that."

"Oh." Ori went silent for a long moment before quietly asking, "Do you... Do you miss them a lot?"

Bilbo looked up and blinked a few times as his brain caught up with the conversation. "Who—? You mean my clan? Of course I do. They're my family. I always miss them when I'm away."

Ori frowned and sat up straight. "Are you not happy here?" he demanded, a hint of anger coloring his words.

Bilbo chuckled and shook his head. "Of course I am happy," he replied. "You and your brothers are very good friends as are Bofur and his family, and even Óin when he's not being a grump. I've even come to enjoy living in Erebor."

"But?" pushed the Dwarf.

"But I miss my family too," he added, giving the scribe a sad smile. "I miss arguing with my cousins and teasing my uncles and listening to my aunts. I miss my Aunt Holly's apple pies and listening to my Uncle Hildifons try tosing. I miss waking up in the middle of the night because of my cousin Flambard's snoring, and nicking sugar cubes with my cousin Primula. I miss... I just miss being with them."

"Oh." Ori slumped back down and returned to resting his chin on his forearms. "I'm sorry, Bilbo."

"For what?"

"For not thinking about how hard this must be for you. For being happy to have you here and wishing you would stay forever," the Dwarf said, his face turning a light pink. "Bilbo, you've become one of my best friends, and I don't want you to leave. Even now, knowing how miserable you must be, I'm still happy you're here with me instead of with them."

Bilbo set down his stack of letters, and reached over to pat Ori's head. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he disagreed, shaking his head. "I do miss my family, yes, but I'm also really happy here. You and your brothers have made me feel welcome and safe and happy. That's not an easy feat to manage."

"Oh. That's good then. Bilbo?"

"Yes?"

"When you get your army and leave to fight this dragon, I want to come with you."

Bilbo nearly fell over from shock. "What?! Ori, that's—"

"I want to help you and your people get your land back," interrupted Ori, sitting up straight again as his green eyes went steely. "I don't want you to have to worry about where you'll go to next, or when your next meal will be. I want you to be safe and happy even... even if it means you'll leave Erebor. So I'm going to help you fight Smaug and get your kingdom back."

Bilbo opened his mouth but could not find any words to voice his shock and sudden surge of affection. No one outside of his clan had ever made such a meaningful promise to him before. No one had ever looked him straight in the eye and made such a claim. It was... strange and new and touching all at once, and he had no words to express such emotions.

"I... Thank you, Ori," he finally decided to say though it lacked the meaning he wanted. "No one has ever made me such a promise before. You're the first."

Ori smirked, and tossed some of his braids out of his face. "Don't worry," he said, green eyes glinting in the candle light, "I'm sure I won't be the last."

Chapter Text

Bilbo knew it was going to be one of those days when he arrived at work and found people staring at him.

What did I do now? he wondered, already walking to Óin's office without waiting. He knocked on the door and entered when he received a positive sounding grunt. Peeking in, he cocked his head to the side and stared at his boss sitting at his desk.

"What happened?" he asked, taking in Óin's slumped shoulders and pinched expression.

Óin looked up and stared at him for a moment before waving him in. "We got another situation," he growled, blue eyes dark and narrowed between the lines of his face. "A patient came in for treatment for a rash on her face. We gave her a poultice and it burned her through her skin. Apparently, it was made incorrectly, and according to the books it was made by you."

"I see." Bilbo leaned back against the closed door and closed his eyes. He wasn't surprised by the news that he had been jeopardized again but he was hurt by it. Part of him had been hoping the ruined plants had nothing to do with him on a personal level, but obviously that wasn't the case. Someone at the clinic had it out for him, and they were willing to stoop to whatever means they needed to hurt him.

"What is my punishment?" he asked quietly.

"You're not going to try and defend yourself?" questioned Óin, his voice even.

Bilbo shrugged as he kept his eyes closed. "There's no point. Whether I did make a mistake or not, the patient has already been hurt because of me."

"That doesn't make you guilty," disagreed Óin, voice softening a fraction.

"I disagree," he said calmly, finally opening his eyes to meet Óin's gaze straight on. "Just tell me my punishment, Óin, so I can get it over with and move on with my life."

"You're giving into this too easily," Óin declared, brows lowering and a frown forming. "Why? This isn't like you. You're not this... docile."

Bilbo simply shrugged again. "This isn't the first time I've pissed someone off with my success," he said softly.

Óin's eyes widened for a moment before returning to their narrowed state. "You'll finish up your shift here today," he ordered sternly, voice lowering a pitch. "Then take the next three days off as punishment. Report back to work after that."

Bilbo nodded. "Of course. Anything else?"

Óin opened his mouth but paused before shaking his head. "No. No, there's nothing else."

Bilbo nodded once more, gave a short bow, and then left Óin behind.

Bilbo spent the rest of his day quietly doing his job while avoiding the looks and whispers of his fellow healers. When his shift was finally over, he quickly slipped out and made his way down the stairs when a prince stopped him in his tracks. Somehow, after the day he was having, he wasn't surprised.

"Prince Kíli," he said slowly, staring at the brunet as he sashayed over to the Hobbit in a strangely familiar fashion that he could not place. "What are you doing here? Where are your guards?"

"Hullo, Master Boggins. It's nice to see you too," the prince greeted back cheerfully, dressed in plain leathers and a brown, hooded cloak with the hood down. "My guards are back at the palace where I'm sure they discovered me gone, and are now probably trying to find me without alerting my uncle or brother. I wish them all the best of luck."

Bilbo blinked a few times before groaning and covering his face. "Oh. Oh no. You're an asshole just like Óin. Eru give me strength."

Prince Kíli laughed. "I can see why Óin likes you so much. You're pretty funny."

"Thank you," he returned automatically, peeking out between his fingers to look at the prince. "Now why are you here instead of in the palace where you belong?"

"I needed to see you without attracting attention," the prince explained, glancing around the area. "Is there somewhere we can speak without being overheard?"

Bilbo nodded, and pointed to an alley next to the clinic. "Sure. Follow me."

He led the prince to the secluded space and then turned on him with a questioning look. "So. What is it you need to say?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the stone wall to take some of the weight off his leg. It had been four days since his injury and while the wound was healing well, it still hurt when he put too much weight on it.

Prince Kíli took in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. "I've come to ask for your help in a... delicate matter," he said carefully.

Bilbo pointed to himself in surprise. "Me? Why?"

"You helped solve the cause of Lord Eikar's death recently, correct?" asked the prince, lacing his hands behind his back. Bilbo was suddenly, strongly, reminded of Thorin whenever they spoke. "And before that you helped cure me by putting together the causes of my illness."

"I wouldn't phrase it quite so dramatically but, yeah, I helped. What of it?"

"You are a very talented and lucky sort, Master Boggins—"

"Baggins," he corrected, rolling his eyes.

"—and I need that sort of folk right now," finished the prince, ignoring the interruption. "Plus, you helped thwart two plots which have, indirectly, involved you in my situation."

"You can start making sense any day now."

Prince Kíli smiled before growing serious once more. "Tell me, do you know where Erebor gets her food from?"

"Food? From trading with Dale, right?" he replied, thinking back to what he had heard from Dori.

The Dwarf nodded. "Correct. The land outside of the mountain has thought to be infertile for centuries, and so we have been forced to rely on our neighbors for aid in getting food to Erebor. Until now."

"What changed?" Bilbo questioned, raising his brows.

"Nothing, unless you count my birth as a change," said the prince, smirking. "You see, for the past few years I have been trying to figure out a way to use the land outside the mountain to grow crops. I have been experimenting with different soils from around the regions and the different methods in growing and caring for crops. I admit, it has not been an easy trial. My people have never been farmers or maintained any interest in growing anything so I have been forced to rely on outside help. One form was an herbalist from Dale named Tuor. With his skills and familiarity, we have been experimenting with the different soils and methods, and at long last I believe we have finally found a way."

"But something has gone wrong," he stated, finding himself interested despite his better judgment.

Prince Kíli sighed. "Yes, something went wrong. Lord Motvari discovered my plans," he said, mouth twitching into a scowl.

Bilbo had no idea who the hell that was. "Who the hell is that?" he asked, voicing his thoughts.

"Lord Motvari is a powerful noble who is also Head Merchant of Erebor. He owns many small businesses in many different areas, but his main source of wealth and success comes from the trade of food," explained the prince, his scowl darkening even further. "He holds a monopoly on the food trade from Dale and Lake-town and is, essentially, the one who decides when and where food is brought into the kingdom. If my plan to become self-reliant in food succeeds, his business will be ruined."

"And that's why he needs to stop you," connected the healer. "But why do you think he knows?"

"Two reasons," said the prince, holding up two fingers. "First was when I became ill. Lord Naglur was the one who gave me the painting sprinkled in nickel, and after he was arrested, he admitted to trying to poison me through exposure to nickel. His motive was some nonsense about my mother offending him and seeking revenge for it, but I know it was because Lord Motvari told him to do it. Lord Naglur's son is married Lord Motvari's nephew—they are tied together by marriage so he must obey him. The second reason was Lord Eikar."

Now that was a name he knew. "Lord Eikar?"

"Yes. Lord Eikar was the Minster of Stone and a Dwarrow of integrity so naturally I turned to him for help," explained the Dwarf. "He was the one who tracked down Master Tuor in Dale to help me, and aided me in finding the different soil sources."

"Wait, there was an herbalist who sent the green dragon to Lord Eikar," Bilbo realized, recalling the details of the case. "He was found murdered shortly after Lord Eikar was killed. Was he—?"

"The one who was aiding me?" predicted the dwarf, nodding. "Yes. Master Tuor was the herbalist who sent the green dragon to Lord Eikar, but it was not to kill him as everyone says. It was a tester plant that he had grown in the soil we found. It was to show Lord Eikar that he succeeded in our experiment. His sudden murder and Lord Eikar's suspicious death—it was all faked in order to deprive me of my allies."

"So... what do you want from me in this?"

Prince Kíli's dark eyes grew steely as he straightened his spine. "I want you to help me prove that Lord Motvari is responsible for Lord Eikar and Master Tuor's deaths," he announced. "I want you to help me in stopping him for good before he succeeds in killing me."

Bilbo nearly fell over in shock. "Me?" he squeaked, pointing at himself again. "Why? Why not go to your brother for help? Or your uncle? Surely they could do more for you than a nobody like me!"

"My uncle is too noticeable. If he starts investigating, Lord Motvari is sure to discover it, and will find a way to protect himself from any accusations. As for my brother..." Prince Kíli's face twisted into an expression of pain. "I don't wish to bother him. He has many duties as Crown Prince that he must attend to. This is something I must do alone."

"But you still have other relatives to call on. Surely one of them could help," Bilbo pointed out, recalling Lord Glóin and the guard Dwalin.

Prince Kíli stubbornly shook his head. "They won't. Master Baggins, I am the youngest prince and one of the youngest in the family. Everyone is very protective of me!" he cried, gesturing to himself with one hand. "They would never let me get involved in any of this! Worse still, if they found out I was in danger, they would lock me up in the palace again. Please, Master Baggins. You are the only one who has had any success in this, and the only one who won't turn me away. Please help me."

Bilbo looked up into the prince's brown eyes, and felt his resistance begin to crumble. He couldn't name what it was, but something in the prince's face resonated within him. His look—desperate and afraid but also so determined—reminded him of another. Someone who he could not place but knew was important anyway.

"If I do this, I need you to help me with something in return," he said quietly, pushing himself off the wall to move closer to the Dwarf.

Prince Kíli raised his chin. "Anything. Name your price."

"I'm looking for the Blue Iron," he said, lowering his voice even more. "I have an offer for them and—why are you laughing?"

The cackling prince held up a hand while the other clutched his stomach. "Master Baggins," he gasped between chuckles, "if you help me with this, I will take you to meet the boss of the Blue Iron himself."

Bilbo's jaw dropped to his chest. "You—how do you know of the Blue Iron?!"

"That's a se-cr-et!" chanted the prince, tapping his lips with a finger. "I'll tell you the tale on another day. So do I have your word?"

Bilbo stared for a moment longer before nodding his head hastily. "Yes. I'll help you put these bastards in jail as long as you allow me to meet the ruler of the Blue Iron," he declared.

Prince Kíli erupted into a smile that could have rivaled the sun with its beauty and light. "Deal. Now I'm afraid I must leave before my brother sends out a search party. Or worse, my mother," he said, making a face of horrified disgust that brought out a laugh from Bilbo. "I will speak with you again once I get more information."

Bilbo nodded as the prince pulled his hood up and adjusted it so his face was partly hidden. "I will ask around for information in the meantime," he said. "Please be safe returning to the palace."

"I am always safe," promised the young prince with a wink before he bounded off with a quick farewell. Bilbo waved goodbye and waited until the Dwarf was gone before letting out a deep sigh.

What the hell did I just do? he wondered before the sound of something falling caught his attention. He turned around and nearly screamed when he found a familiar figure standing right behind him.

"Nori! Don't scare me like that!" he scolded, holding a hand to his chest as his heart threatened to leap out. "Where did you even come from?"

"The roof," replied the thief, pointing above them to the ledge of a nearby building with his face was set into a familiar scowl. "I followed you when I saw you going into this alley with a stranger, and I can't believe what I just heard. Did you seriously just make a deal with Prince Kíli?"

Bilbo met Nori's scowl with one of his own. "You know, I'm pretty sure Dori taught you that eavesdropping is rude."

"So is conspiring to put a noble in prison in order to secure a meeting with an outlawed mercenary group," retorted Nori, bracing his hands on his hips and looming over the Hobbit. "You can't go up against Lord Motvari, Bilbo. He's one of the richest Dwarrows in the kingdom—it's suicide!"

"So is challenging a dragon. Doesn't mean I'm not gonna do it," he shot back, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I won't let you do this. I'll lock you up myself if I must. Don't think I won't," threatened the thief, poking him in the chest.

Bilbo smacked the hand away with a huff. "Nori, have you secured a meeting with the Blue Iron for me yet?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Nori faltered. "I..."

"What about Bifur? Has he heard any word either?" he pushed, not letting up.

"Bifur has the Shadow fuckers to deal with. I told him to focus on them and leave the Iron to me," Nori explained, looking away.

"But you haven't had any success," he pointed out, arching his brows. "None of us have until now. If Prince Kíli can help me meet the Blue Iron, then I will take on this double-crossing murderer for him."

"Bilbo—"

"He killed Lord Eikar and that herbalist in Dale. He tried to kill Prince Kíli and even used his own family to do it. He nearly sent you to prison for a crime you didn't even commit. He's probably done even more than that, and yet you still stand here and tell me not to fight him?" Bilbo shook his head with a frown. "No, I can't do that, Nori. It's not right."

Nori stared down at him with his eyes the color of swamps and his mouth a pinched line. "You and your damn conscious," he muttered, shaking his head. "Why can't you be...?"

Bilbo smiled, and held his hands out innocently. "I am what I am, Nori. Would you like me if I was anything less?" he teased.

Nori flicked him on the forehead. "Brat. Fine. Fine! But we're doing this my way."

"Your—?"

"What? Thought I was gonna let you do this alone?" Nori snorted and gave him the judging look such a comment deserved. "You don't even know where he lives."

"I would've figured it out," he defended, trying not to pout. "So what do you have planned?"

"First we need to make a visit," Nori declared, running his tongue over his canines. "Because if we're gonna do this, we're gonna need help and a lot of luck."

Bilbo simply grinned. "Well then, let's get started."

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, but can ya repeat that? I don't think I heard ya right," ordered Bifur, rubbing one of his ears clean with his pinky. "Because I'm pretty sure ya didn't just ask me to help ya'll send Lord Motvari to prison."

"Getting old are we?" Nori mocked, wiggling his braided brows. "Big surprise. Should I go out and buy you a cane or do you want to do it yourself?"

Bilbo elbowed the thief in the side. "Knock it off," he ordered before turning his attention back to the 'Ur family before him. "Bifur, you heard me correctly. I need help in finding evidence to prove Motvari is a murdering bastard."

"Bilbo, do ya even know who Motvari is?" Bofur questioned, sharing a look with Bombur, who sat next to him. "He's not the type ya can just take on when ya feel like it. He's one of the most powerful figures in the kingdom."

"He's also responsible for killing Lord Eikar and his herbalist and nearly sending Nori to prison," retorted the Hobbit, raising his chin stubbornly. "I'm taking him down regardless of whatever power he holds."

Bofur just raised an eyebrow while behind him, leaning against a table, Bjarte groaned and buried his face in his hand. "It's like talking to a brick wall with ya. Nori, how have ya not smothered him in his sleep yet?"

"I haven't found a well deep enough to dump his body in yet," deadpanned the thief, earning himself another elbow in the side from the healer.

"If ya do this and succeed, ya'll earn the ire of Lord Motvari's family and allies," Bombur pointed out in his quiet voice. He folded his hands in his lap and regarded Bilbo with the same dark eyes as his brother and cousin. "They won't forget your hand in this, and will seek out revenge. Do ya understand that?"

"I know, and I believe I can handle it. I'll be leaving Erebor when spring arrives—that's only two seasons away. I just have to survive until then," replied Bilbo, holding up two fingers and wiggling them at the Dwarf.

Bombur did not look convinced. "That's more than enough time for them to hurt or even kill ya," he pointed out, red brows rising.

Bilbo shrugged, unconcerned. "I've survived this long for a reason, Bombur. I'll survive the next two seasons."

Bombur exchanged another look with Bofur that he couldn't read. Whatever passed between them had Bombur sighing and shaking his head while Bofur flashed his trademark dimple grin. "Then we best get started," the miner chirped, turning back to Bilbo and Nori where they sat across from him. "First we gotta scout out his home and businesses. Maybe ask around and see who works for him and shit."

"We'll need a map of his house," Bifur admitted grudgingly, sharing a disgruntled look with his husband from his place on the floor where he was leaning against Bombur's legs. "Scout out his allies too. Also find out who he's managed to piss off. They might give us a hand in taking him down."

"I think we all know he's pissed off everyone from the East Faction," pointed out Nori, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and pressing the tips of his fingers together. "Anyone from them or their allies would be happy to see him dead or in prison."

"What's the East Faction?" wondered Bilbo, looking to Bombur for clarification.

"It's a name for the supporters of the King. See, Erebor has two factions of power: the West Faction and the East Faction," Bombur explained, holding up his hands to demonstrate each faction. "The West Faction is made up of nobles who hold no relation to the King and who push for more power to be shared among them. The East Faction, on the other hand, is made of relatives of the Royal Family who all favor the King keeping that power. Obviously they don't get along, and are always bickering about different issues in Court and trying to gain more power over one another."

Bifur snorted and shook his head. "It's a messed up fight that been going on for generations. They refuse to even live in the same district as one another! Talk about pathetic."

"Who has the most power right now?" Bilbo asked, glancing to Nori for an answer because he knew the thief kept up on such rumors.

"It's pretty even right now with the East Faction having a slight advantage with the endorsement of the Crown Prince," his friend answered, running his tongue over his teeth in clear thought. "The King is pretty good at keeping a balance between them. He never takes sides or shows any favoritism in Court issues, and deals out awards and punishments without personal bias."

"That's not a surprise. Ori told me his grandfather was a brilliant politician," Bilbo commented, recalling the many long and passionate lectures Ori had hosted at dinner about the previous king.

"He was a fucking shrewd old goat," agreed Nori with a nod. "Dori says he kept the whole Court on their toes during his reign. His grandson is good too but I think the Crown Prince has more of a knack for it. It will be interesting to see what he'll do when the King gives him more of a role in Court."

"Speaking of princes, did Prince Kíli mention why he was tryin' to grow shit like an Elf?" asked Bifur, looking up at Bilbo with a brow raised.

The Hobbit shook his head. "No. All he said was that it was his goal to make the land fertile."

"Probably wants to get out from under Motvari's thumb," commented Bofur, pushing some of his loose hair over his shoulder. He had, for the first time since they met, taken off his hat and set it aside to undo his braids so his hair hung down to his elbows in loose waves. "I hate how much power that guy has over the rest of us. The King is acceptable 'cuz of his blood but Motvari isn't even a high ranking noble. He's just a smart bastard with no morals and a lot of money."

"Which is why it will be easy to find information on him," commented Bombur, shooting a look to Bjarte that Bilbo couldn't read. Whatever it meant, it had the blond Dwarf nodding in agreement to the unspoken question.

"Time to pay a visit to the Promenade. That's the only place to get anything accurate," he said, pushing himself off the table to stand up straight. "Bombur, can ya take Bilbo to the Aluminum District tomorrow? The rest of us have to work but ya be off, yeah?"

"Bilbo has to work too," reminded Nori, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo raised a guilty hand and waved it until he got everyone's attention. "Actually, I have the next three days off," he admitted, giving an awkward smile.

Nori's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why? I thought you hate taking days off?"

"Óin insisted I take a break," he lied, avoiding the thief's probing gaze. He had never mentioned the problems at work to anyone outside the clinic and he had no intention of doing so now. It was his problem to fix, after all. He didn't need to trouble the others with it.

"Then you can go to the Promenade tomorrow with Bombur," declared Bjarte, breaking out into a wide smile. "Perfect! Get the information ya need and then meet us back here tomorrow night. We'll go from there."

Bilbo waved his hand again until everyone turned to look at him. "Question! What is the Promenade and why are we going there?" he asked, leaning back into his seat.

The others all exchanged a look with one another before Bifur finally cackled like a drunken uncle at a family wedding. "It's the black market of Erebor, boyo," he said, flashing Bilbo a smile with all his teeth exposed, "and the best place to find all of Lord Motvari dirty, dark secrets. Trust me—ya gonna love it there."

Bilbo, who recalled the Lead District and his injury all too well, strongly disagreed. "I'm gonna get stabbed again aren't I?"

"It's a possibility," acknowledged Nori, and earning himself another elbow in the side.

The Aluminum District was situated on the Seventh Level and acted as one of the bases that held up the kingdom. Like the Lead District, its name was misleading as it was not, in fact, made up of solely aluminum. Instead it was built out of sandstone and accentuated by aluminum windows, doors, and street signs. It was one of the larger districts on the Seventh Level, and housed a good deal of shops and stands that Bilbo knew most of the people from the Seventh Level went to for supplies. He himself had passed through it briefly a few times, but never bothered to actually explore the district until now.

"Erebor sure has a lot of different stones to build things with," Bilbo commented to Bombur, who led him through the district with ease. "Where did it all come from? Surely it can't all be from here."

"Most of it is, actually. The mountain range isn't exactly small ya know," pointed out the Dwarf with a grin. "But some of it is imported from other regions. I don't know from where though."

"Oh." Bilbo bit back his disappointment and made a mental note to ask Ori about it later. "Do you know why each district is made up of different materials? I always thought you Dwarves love symmetry and Erebor is the farthest thing from neat and orderly."

Bombur laughed boisterous and freely as most of the 'Ur family seemed to do. "That's true, we do like to design things with symmetry in mind," he admitted, smiling until his dimples were clear. "And Erebor does have those features if ya know where to look. But it also has its own... unique approach to architect."

Bilbo nodded as he studied a passing door carefully. "You're right. The patterns are shaped and molded almost identically." He glanced up to Bombur and gave him a smile. "You're a lot more observant than your brother said. Guess you got some of the brains along with all the good looks."

Bombur hummed and titled his head to the side slightly. "I take it Bofur didn't tell ya then?" he asked, watching the Hobbit.

"Tell me what?"

"That I'm adopted," answered the Dwarf, smiling slightly as Bilbo's jaw dropped. "Baraldur wasn't my blood father but my uncle. My blood father was Balvari—his elder brother. So Bofur and I are technically first cousins."

Bilbo took a moment to absorb that before he came to horrifying realization. "Wait, then what happened to your real father?"

"Baraldur was my real father," Bombur said firmly, giving him a scolding look that made him flush in shame and guilt. "Just because I didn't come from his loins didn't make me any less his son than Bofur. As for Balvari, he wasn't cut out to be a father. That's why he left me with Baraldur."

"So... he abandoned you?" the healer asked, trying to understand the logic of such a decision.

"Well, I wouldn't put it quite like that," the Dwarf replied slowly, folding his hands behind his head to rest against. "He did visit me whenever he was in the city, and always gave my father coin when he could. I know he's kept track of me from afar over the years, and even now I still get the occasional letter from him. So he never quite cut himself off from me which is why I wouldn't say he abandoned me."

"I don't understand. Why did he give you to his brother to raise if he wanted nothing to do with being a parent, and yet still stuck around? If he wanted to know you then why not just raise you as his son as he was supposed to do?" Bilbo demanded, growing angrier and angrier as he thought over Bombur's story.

The redhead shook his head in disagreement. "Bilbo, it's not that simple," he explained gently, brown eyes dark and kind. "Ya can have a child and love them with everything in ya but that doesn't make ya a good parent. Balvari loves me and I have never once doubted it—but he is also a selfish Dwarrow who is dedicated to his craft. His love for his work is consuming and he understood that such a Dwarrow could never provide the care and attention a child needs, and that's why he sought out someone who could. Balvari did the best he could for me and I'm forever grateful to him for that because Baraldur—my real father—was the best parent I could ever ask for."

Bombur paused for a moment before giving him a knowing look. "You have a hard time understanding this. Is it because Hobbits don't raise another's child?" he asked without any judgment or condescension.

Bilbo thought about the question and shook his head. "No... well, yes, I suppose we do, but it's different," he said slowly, struggling to put to words what was simply expected of him. "If you father a child, then you're expected to acknowledge them and raise them. Children who are not acknowledged by their father are raised by their mother and her clan. It's... you don't get to pick and choose to be in a child's life. You either are or are not."

"A very solid rule to live by," Bombur acknowledged with a nod. "But, as I said, not everyone is suited to be a parent. Balvari understood that, and I'm happy that he was smart enough to know he would've made a shitty father."

"So if you're adopted, are you and Bifur still related?"

"We're still first cousins," confirmed the Dwarf with a smile. "His father was Balvari's younger brother too. There were three of them in all—Balvari, Barinur, and Baraldur. Barinur was Bifur's father. Ah, look, we're here."

Bilbo looked to where Bombur pointed to, and blinked a few times at what he saw. "It's a market," he remarked after taking a moment of absorbing the scene in front of him.

"That's what we told you," Bombur reminded slowly.

"I know, but when Bifur said black market, I was expecting something... darker?" he explained, gesturing to the neat little stalls all lined up in rows that extended as far as the eye could see. "More sinister Dwarves selling body parts and illegal weapons and less... teal colored fabric and knockoff silver earrings."

Bombur just looked at him as if he had confessed that his mother was a swamp witch. "I think it's time that we sit down and rethink your reading choices."

Bilbo stuck out his tongue in disagreement. "Touch my books and I'm telling Dori you took me here."

"That threat would be more effective if I was actually afraid of Dori," retorted Bombur, winking. "Come along now. I believe the person we need to see should have a booth somewhere in the center."

The Dwarf they were looking for was, in fact, situated in the center of the line of stalls with his own table set out with an assortment of items on display. Bilbo looked over the table and marveled at the amount of rings, beads, baskets, and other knickknacks that, while pretty, served no real purpose to him. The Dwarf sitting behind the stand—an older sort with gray streaked brown hair and a square jaw—gave them a nod in greeting but didn't seem too interested in anything outside the book he was reading.

"What are we looking for?" the Hobbit asked his companion, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

"A scroll," replied the Dwarf, skimming through the pile before nimbly picking out one with a red ribbon tied around it and a copper charm shaped like a coin. "We would like to purchase this please."

The vendor looked up from his book, glanced at the scroll and Bombur, and then looked back to his book. "It will be one fifty," he said in a bored tone.

"I'll give ya fifty for it," Bombur shot back without hesitation.

"One twenty-five," retorted the vendor without pause.

"Ninety. The charm isn't even real copper," returned Bombur, smacking the scroll against the palm of his hand.

The merchant made a face but nodded in grudging agreement. He held out a hand for his money that Bombur cheerfully forked over while ignoring Bilbo as he scrambled for his money pouch. "Don't bother. It's on me today. Payment for what happened in the Lead District," the large Dwarf said before Bilbo could speak up.

The Hobbit wilted. "Fine. But I'm helping you prepare dinner tonight."

"Deal. Thanks for your business," Bombur said to the vendor, giving him a small nod that earned him a lazy wave goodbye. He then turned and walked off with Bilbo trailing after him. It wasn't until they were a good deal away from the merchant that Bilbo turned to his friend with a question.

"What was that?" he asked, pointing over his shoulder at the stall they left behind.

"Haggling. I think I got a good price for this," Bombur replied airily.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "I meant the scroll. Why did we buy it? I thought we came for information?"

"The scroll is the information," corrected the Dwarf, bopping Bilbo on the nose gently as if he were an unruly kitten. "That merchant was Liti who, in order to avoid detection from the guards, puts out that stall pretending to sell various bits of merchandise. What they don't know is that each piece represents a different avenue of information that he can provide for a price."

"So what does the scroll represent?" wondered the healer.

"Scrolls are requests for informants or burglars," explained Bombur, holding up the scroll to show his shorter companion. "See the red tie shows that I need one who deals with important nobles, the charm shows me where to find them, and the poem inside tells me who to look for."

Bilbo whistled, honestly impressed. "Wow. That's really clever. So do you know what this charm represents?"

Bombur grinned with his dimples exposed and shook the small charm lightly, making it jingle against the scroll. "Yup. This is a token from the biggest gambling den in the kingdom—the Night Jade."

"The Night Jade?" Bifur repeated later that night, making a face of disgust. "Ugh, I hate that place. They sell the worse spirits and their cut in your winnings is fucking highway robbery."

"No choice, luv. Liti says that we'll find our guy there," pointed out Bjarte as he read through the scroll. "Hmp. Not much of a description. Do ya have any idea who this might be, Nori?"

"Nope. Night Jade is a bit too expensive for my taste so I usually avoid it," replied the thief, stretched out on the loveseat with his arms hanging over the back. "My mother spent a lot of time there though so Dori might know something."

"I don't want Dori to know just yet. It will just worry him," protested Bilbo, sitting on the armrest of the loveseat.

Nori shrugged, uncaring. "Then we won't tell him. But that means we gotta look for the fucker on our own."

"It says ya can find him at the zunsh table wearing a cap of gold," recited Bofur, reading the scroll over Bjarte's shoulder with one brow raised high. "A cap of gold. How tacky."

"If he's going to the Night Jade, he ain't gonna have good taste," muttered Bifur.

"Where is this Night Jade anyway?" Bilbo wondered, meeting Bombur's gaze across the room to where he stood in the kitchen slicing up a leg of lamb.

"The Garnet District. It's right above us," said the Dwarf, pointing up with his knife. "We can go after I finish dinner. Bofur and Bifur, please stay here and keep Hamide company. Ya know how she get's when she's left alone."

"What?! Why do I have to stay? She's your wife!" protested Bifur, looking up from where he was unlacing his mining leathers.

"Bombur, I ain't stayin' behind to babysit," added Bofur, shaking his head. "They might need help in there. I'm going."

Bombur simply looked at his older brother and cousin without any expression until they both began to twitch before finally looking away. Bifur muttered something under his breath as he finished undoing his leathers while Bofur adjusted his hat, and avoided meeting everyone's eyes. Bilbo looked to Nori in question, and received only a shrug in response.

"What was that?" he asked Bjarte, who was rolling his eyes and rolling up the scroll.

"Don't worry about it, Bilbo," Bombur answered instead, smiling at him sweetly as he slammed his knife straight through the meat and nearly through the cutting board. "Ya don't need to know."

The Night Jade was housed in a nondescript building guarded by two burly Dwarves who, after a word from Bjarte, allowed them entrance to a flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was another set that eventually led to an underground chamber that extended out into different halls. The chamber itself was dimly lit and made out of dark jade and crowded with Dwarves of all types. Some were clustered around tables with dice and cards while others were betting on different animals racing against each other. Some were even playing archery and darts and so many other different games that Bilbo just couldn't keep track of them all.

"Wow. This is... really impressive," he commented, standing still for a moment just to take everything in.

Nori interrupted his study by snagging his elbow and dragging him off. "Yes, yes, it's all very pretty. Try to keep up now or you'll get lost in the crowds again."

"That only happened once and it was during sales time at the market. Getting lost is only natural," protested Bilbo, still dutifully following after his captor.

"I think I found our guy," commented Bjarte from the front where he led their little group through the crowds.

"Where?" asked Bombur, standing on his toes and trying to see over his cousin's shoulder.

"There. The one with the blond hair." Bjarte leaned to the side and pointed to a neatly dressed fellow with bright yellow hair. He sat at a stone table with two other Dwarves; smirking as he slammed down a tile in the center of the stable.

"Huh. Guess they meant 'cap of gold' a bit literally," muttered Nori.

"So... should we just go up to him and ask him for the information?" Bilbo asked, glancing to the thief before looking back to the stranger. "Or is there some sort of secret code we need to go through?"

"We show him the scroll and he should get it from there," Bjarte answered, shrugging. "C'mon. We'll wait for the game to finish and then talk to him."

The game didn't end for another twenty minutes and by then it was obvious that the blond Dwarf had won the game. He grinned as he collected his winnings while the other two Dwarves got up and wandered off with sour expressions on their faces. Immediately Bjarte stepped forward and took a seat at the table before anyone else could; dropping the scroll on the table and directly on the pile of silver and copper coins as he did. The stranger paused in his task and stared at the scroll for a moment before his eyes flickered up to meet Bjarte's without any emotion.

"Name of the target," he said simply, his voice deep and smooth like honey as he flicked the scroll off his winnings and continued to push them into his coin pouch.

"Motvari. Anything ya got," answered Bjarte, drumming his fingers against the table.

To his credit, the Dwarf only paused for a moment before he continued his gathering. "I got a tip on the guard patrol for this week," he said, lowering his voice a bit. "Motvari's compound. Interested?"

"That depends. How much is it gonna cost?" Bombur asked, leaning against the table at Bjarte's side while Nori stood on the other side with Bilbo.

The blond's eyes flickered over Bombur before shooting over to Bilbo and lingering on Nori for a fraction of a second longer before finally returning to Bjarte. "Two thousand."

Bilbo nearly had a heart attack. "T-Two thousand?" he gasped, grasping the edge of the table to hold himself up. "What makes you think any of us have that much money?!"

The blond shrugged, unconcerned. "That's my price. Take it or leave it."

"There has to be another way. We're not the first poor folk who have come to you for information," Bjarte pointed out, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

The Dwarf titled his head forward in acknowledgment. "True enough. All right, I'll offer you a deal then. Play a round with me here tonight. You win you get the information you want. But if I win..." The Dwarf trailed off and leveled his brown eyes on Nori with a rakish grin. "He has to come home with me tonight."

"What?!" Bilbo squawked, grabbing the attention from nearby players. "Are you crazy?! We're not betting on my friend—!"

"It's fine, Bilbo," interrupted Nori, looking unfazed by the request. If anything he looked more bored than offended by the offer. "We'll do it. I know we'll win."

"Not the point, Nori!" Bilbo snapped, looking up at the thief with a scowl. "You're my friend, not some cheap trinket to haggle over! It's offensive that he even thought that we would use you like that! People are not things, bastard! You don't just toss them away like your little coins here!"

The Dwarf raised an eyebrow at Bilbo's words while Nori, Bombur, and Bjarte all turned to stare at the Hobbit with mixed reactions. Bilbo stared straight back; unashamed of his words or the attention he was getting for them. He knew he was being rude and foolish by insulting their only source of information, but he didn't care. He was not going to stand by and allow a stranger to barter over a person. It just wasn't right!

"Bilbo..." Nori began to say only to trail off. He looked pained and annoyed as if realizing something about himself that he wasn't too happy with.

"Bilbo, there isn't any other choice here," Bombur said gently though he too looked angry by the words he was forced to say. "Unless ya have the money, he's not going to take any other gamble. Folk like him never do."

Bilbo scowled even deeper and turned back to the Dwarf watching them from across the table. "Fine. Since I have no choice, I will play you and beat you at your own game!" he declared, hooking his foot around the leg of a nearby chair to pull it out and flop into it. "Sit down and get ready to have your ass beaten! I'm going to destroy you for this! Making me use my friend like this... I will not forget this!"

The informant blinked a few times as he stared at the fuming healer. "Huh. Maybe I should take you home instead..."

"Try it. I'll be happy to show you why that's a worse idea," advised Nori, grinning with all his teeth exposed.

"Do you even know how to play?" wondered Bjarte with both brows raised high.

Bilbo shrugged, unconcerned. "It can't be that hard to learn."

Bjarte exchanged a look of alarm with Bombur while Nori groaned and smacked a hand against his forehead. "We're doomed."

Chapter Text

"The goal of the game is to make a complete Hand of fourteen tiles—also known as zunsh," explained the Dwarf—named Ingi as he had introduced himself—after he had finished explaining the rules, different tiles, and basic sequence of the game. He had showed Bilbo how to line up his tiles and they were both ready to start at last.

"How many rounds are we playing?" Bilbo asked, rubbing his finger along the edge of a tile.

"We'll go three rounds. Make it easy on you," replied Ingi, flashing a smirk at the Hobbit. "Aren't I nice?"

Bilbo sneered. "It'd be nicer if I could wipe that smirk off your face."

"Bilbo," Bombur chided quietly from his side. "Ya need to calm down and focus now if ya want to win the game."

Bilbo scowled but nodded in agreement. "Right. Sorry. Let's play."

The first round was a silent affair that was only broken by the sound of the tiles hitting the table. At his side, both Nori and Bombur watched with unwavering focus as the game progressed slowly. Bjarte watched too but his main focus seemed to be on the people around them as they went about. After around fifteen minutes the round came to an end in Ingi's favor.

"Looks like the first win is mine," Ingi said, shooting a leer at Nori who looked unimpressed.

Bilbo had to curb the urge to throw a tile at his face. "Hmp. Still two more to go. Let's play."

The second round went by quicker and ended with Bilbo winning much to the surprise of everyone.

"Zunsh!" Bilbo cheered, turning his line of tiles around to show everyone. "This means I win this round, right?"

"Um, yeah, actually it does," said Bombur, sharing a look of surprise with Nori. "Wow."

"Way to sound supportive," muttered Bjarte, rolling his green eyes. Somewhere between the first and second round he had acquired a silver mug and was drinking the wine like it was water. Leaning his back against the table and watching the patrons around them, Bjarte seemed to be the only one unconcerned with the game.

Ingi scowled, and began to rearrange the tiles for a new set. "Alright final round now. Whoever wins this wins the game."

"Yeah, I picked up on that when you said final round," Bilbo drawled, rearranging his tiles as well.

Nori groaned and buried his face in his hands. "I'm fucked. Literally."

"Shut up I'm defending your virtue."

"Ya can't defend something that doesn't exist," pointed out Bombur, smiling innocently when Nori looked up and flashed him a glare.

"Excuse me but can we continue the game here?" interrupted Ingi, tapping his nails against the table. "I do have other matches to see to after this."

"Rude," Bilbo muttered even as he drew a tile and started the game.

The third round lasted the longest at twenty minutes with each player silently picking up and disregarding tiles. Bilbo watched his opponent under his lashes as the Dwarf grinned and collected his points with each tile. It was amusing, during the first round, to watch the gambler smirk at him and leer at Nori as the game went on; confident in his skills and expecting an easy win. But Bilbo was growing bored and tired, and decided that it was time to wrap things up for good.

"Dragon," he declared calmly, turning his line of tiles around to show them all neatly arranged in matching sets. "I win."

Bombur gasped while Nori's head snapped up from where he had it buried in his folded arms. "What?!"

Ingi dropped the tile he was holding. "What? But, how—?"

"Idiots. He knew how to play from the start," remarked Bjarte as he examined his hair for split ends. He was the only one who didn't seem surprised by the sudden win.

Nori jerked around to stare at the Hobbit with wide eyes that made him look decades younger. "Is that true? You knew how to play this whole time?!"

Bilbo gave him the patronizing look that he had perfected after living with Elves for so many years. "Of course. Do you think I would risk so much in a game that I didn't think I could win? Please."

Nori kept staring. "But where did you...?"

"Ered Luin. Ya learned when you were living with the Dwarrows in Ered Luin," Bombur connected, leaning back into his seat and smacking his palm against his forehead. "Of course. It all makes sense now. Ered Luin is where zunsh started from. We play it all the time. I can't believe I didn't think of that."

"Correct. The Dwarves in the Blue Mountains taught me and didn't let up until I was able to beat them," the Hobbit confirmed with a nod as he turned back to face the still flabbergasted Ingi. "And no offense, but they're much harder to beat than you. I had six chances to win the first round and eight for the second! I kept giving you so many chances and you just wouldn't take them!"

Ingi bristled at that. Slamming his hands on the table, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to tower over the Hobbit. But considering he was the same height as Ori and was a whole table away, Bilbo wasn't feeling very intimidated. "You said you didn't know how to play!" he accused, pointing at the healer.

Bilbo clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Wrong. I said it didn't sound hard to learn. Never once did I say I needed to learn it."

"So you hustled me," Ingi translated.

"Yup," he said, popping the last letter. "I thought it was only fair since you gambled on my friend's body. Just be thankful I didn't try to take your money too."

Ingi stared at him hard for another long moment before finally dropping back into his seat with a soft huff. "Heh. Alright, fine. I lost fair and square. I'll give you the information on the rotations," he said, reaching down under the table for a leather sack.

Bilbo smiled as his shoulders finally relaxed for the first time that night. "Thank you, Ingi. I do appreciate this."

Ingi shrugged as he dug through his bag before pulling out a leather envelop. "I don't want to know why you want something like this," he said, sliding the envelop across the table to Bilbo, "but you're free to take it. Just don't mention where you got it from."

"I'll keep your name out of things," he promised, handing the envelop over to Bombur, who quickly opened it to check it over.

"Good. And hey, come back again for another round. I got some guys here who might be worth playing," advised Ingi, smirking as he leaned back into his seat. He shot another leer at Nori and added, "You can come too, lovely. Don't think I've given up on conning you into my bed."

"And on that note, it's time to leave," declared Nori, rising to his feet while casting a glare at Ingi.

The others quickly followed and began to head towards the exit. Bilbo lingered behind with Nori for a moment to give his opponent a small bow. "Thank you for the game. It was a nice change of pace," he said, flashing a grin that earned him a chuckle. "Goodbye, Ingi."

"Bye-bye, little one," the blond cooed, waving. "Until next time."

"Next time, we take all his money," muttered Nori, and Bilbo snorted with restrained laughter.

"You shouldn't have done that," Nori mentioned later that night as they were walking back to the Tin District together.

Bilbo glanced at his friend from the corner of his eye before looking back to the road. "Done what?"

"Interfere," clarified the Dwarf, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I don't mind being the wager if it means getting us the information we need."

"And you don't find anything wrong with that logic?" he asked sharply, unable to stop himself.

"Doesn't matter because it's my body and my choice," the thief shot back, his eyes narrowed into green slits. "You don't speak for me, Bilbo. Don't do that again."

Bilbo opened his mouth to retort and realized he didn't have one. "I... You're right," he admitted, thinking over the incident in his mind and coming to the same conclusion as Nori. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have dismissed your choice like that. It wasn't my place to do so."

"Good," Nori said, nodding stiffly. "I mean, it's not like I didn't like what you did because I did. Like you standing up for me, I mean. I don't... Not many people outside of my brothers would have done that."

"We need to get you some new friends," the Hobbit decided, shaking his head. "That's not right."

"It's not a friend thing it's a..." Nori trailed off before finally stopping and turning to face Bilbo. He paused too and looked up at the suddenly twitchy Dwarf. His mouth was twisted down and his eyes had turned into the swampy green that only showed up whenever Nori was emotional. Bilbo felt alarms begin to go off in his head.

"There's a reason for what happened tonight," the thief began to explain slowly. "Why that fucker was so quick to offer for me. See my ma, she... the reason she had three sons from three different Dwarrows was because she was a... nabgûna."

Bilbo raised his brows. "What's that?"

"A fancy name for a high priced whore," Nori said flatly.

Well. He wasn't expecting that. "Oh. I didn't know that was allowed here."

"It's allowed," the Dwarf admitted grudgingly as if it personally offended him to acknowledge such a practice. "It's... a very pricy job and very few are selected to become one so that's why you don't hear much about them."

"I saw some ladies who do... similar work in the Lead District," he commented delicately. "Are they not the same as the nabnaga?"

"Nabgûna," Nori corrected, shaking his head. "And no, they're not the same. Those ones are common and illegal and will sleep with anyone for the right price. A nabgûna is expected to do more. They sing, dance, tell stories, fight, and drink with patrons. They are able to choose who they want to fuck and the price the patron has to pay. They can mingle among the upper classes and sleep with whoever they choose, and no one can say a thing because it's all legal."

"I see. And why does your mother's job matter now?"

"Because when she was still alive, my ma was the most famous nabgûna in the whole kingdom. Dwarrows would promise her their entire fortunes just for one look from her. She could have had the very king himself if she had desired it. Not that she did because that meant going against the Royal Consort, but it was still there. That's how beautiful she was," Nori explained, shoulders tightening up with each word. "And I look like her the most."

Bilbo felt his eyes widen. "Oh. Then...?"

Nori nodded, answering Bilbo's incomplete sentence. "Most Dwarrows look at my brothers and me and expect the same charms that my mother gave out," he said, staring over Bilbo's head at something in the distance. "They only see her face and her reputation when they look at me. So I'm used to folk expecting me to be just as open about screwing as she was. That's why I..."

Wasn't surprised by Ingi's offer, Bilbo finished in his head, closing his eyes and thinking. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that the 'Ri brothers were considered very attractive by Dwarf standards. But he never actually thought about what that would mean for them. He couldn't imagine how it must've been like to grow up under the legacy of another. To be constantly viewed for only his appearance and valued only for a skill that wasn't even his to claim. Suddenly all of Dori's over protective tendencies made sickening sense.

"Nori," he finally said after he got his thoughts together, "I don't think you're beautiful."

"What?"

"I mean, you're handsome enough for a Dwarf, of course," he quickly reassured, trying not to smile at the offended tone the thief had adopted, "but I could never offer up everything I own just for a chance to sleep with you."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better? Because it's really not working," Nori said dryly.

"However, I would offer up my life to keep you safe," he added, opening his eyes in time to see Nori's mouth close with a click. Looking up at the thief, he met his startled green eyes, and said slowly, "I like you, Nori. But not for your looks or your mother's past. I like you for your stupid humor and snide comments and childish antics. I like how loyal you are to your brothers, and how you like to pretend to be an asshole when you're really very kind inside. I like that you can make me smile and laugh after a hard day at work and that you always know how to cheer me up when I'm down. You make me feel safe and comfortable and happy, and none of that comes from your looks. So... just keep that in mind the next time someone tries something, okay? Because there's so much more to you than just your appearance."

Nori just kept staring. Bilbo watched as he opened his mouth a few times before closing it slowly; obviously unable to find the words to express his emotions. But Bilbo didn't mind. He had gotten used to the thief and his allergic reaction to anything that dealt with emotions. That was why, instead of waiting for Nori to find the words that he probably didn't even know, he simply smiled and tilted his head to the side.

"Let's get going. I'm sure Dori is waiting for us," he said, turning on his heel and ambling off down the road. A few seconds later Nori caught up to him; silently walking at his side as before.

"Bilbo?" he finally said a few minutes later when they finally entered the Tin District.

Bilbo glanced at him at the corner of his eye but didn't turn his head. "Hmm?"

"When you leave to take on Smaug in the spring," Nori said slowly, voice low and his eyes fixed on something in the distance, "I'm coming with you."

"Okay," he said easily, and smiled down at his feet as they walked on side by side.

"I can't believe ya'll talked me into this," Bifur grumbled two nights later as they all crouched behind the giant stone wall that surrounded Lord Motvari's personal estate.

"Just shut up and keep watch," ordered Nori as he helped Bofur change into the guard uniform they had hijacked. The uniform's original owner was, unfortunately, unconscious and tied up with his partner in a blind spot between the wall and a neighboring building.

"I am keepin' watch. I'm watchin' ya fools make bad life choices," sneered Bifur as he adjusted his own stolen uniform.

Bjarte looked up from his own diligent watch of the area to give his husband a look of disbelief. "Do ya really wanna play that game, Shadow Lad?"

Bifur's scowl simply deepened. "If we survive this, I'm gettin' a divorce."

"I still think I should be going in instead of ya," Bofur whispered to Bilbo, ignoring his feuding cousins. "That leg of your still isn't healed."

"I'm smaller and quieter than you, Bofur," the healer reminded patiently, trying not to roll his eyes. "And my thigh is fine so stop bringing it up. Now are we ready?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Nori said, adjusting his gloves.

Bifur groaned but pulled on his helmet along with Bofur. "Let's get this over with then."

Their plan to infiltrate Lord Motvari's home was a rather simple one as far as burglaries went. Thanks to the information from Ingi, they had been able to ambush a pair of guards and steal their armor and take on their patrol route. Bifur and Bofur—being the tallest and therefore the only ones who could fit into the armor—had been given the duty of acting as the guards. They were to follow the route that led them past the upper levels of the estate where they would unlock the windows of Lord Motvari's office; allowing Nori and Bilbo a chance to climb the wall and slip into the mansion. From there they would search for the information needed before slipping out without anyone any wiser. Meanwhile Bifur and Bofur would continue their patrol until they finally had a free chance to slip away once they were far enough from the sight of the other real guards.

Bilbo knew that it would have been wiser to wait and spend more time in developing their plan to infiltrate Lord Motvari's estate. However the information of the guards' routes was only good for that week alone, and would be changing the following week. It didn't hurt either that Lord Motvari was gone that night; visiting another noble for dinner at their own estate. With such great odds in their favor, it would have been a waste to pass it up.

I just hope we won't get caught, he mused, watching Bofur and Bifur disappear around a corner as they started their patrol. They waited a few minutes before Nori finally stirred and turned to face Bilbo and Bjarte.

"Time to go," he said, kneeling down to cup his hand for Bilbo to step on.

"Be careful," said Bjarte, who was staying outside to stand watch for anything suspicious or to interfere if something went wrong.

Bilbo nodded as he stepped up and was boosted up the wall. He pulled himself up and quickly slid down to the other side before anyone could spot him. Kneeling down, he waited for Nori to appear before they moved onto the window of the office. It took a few minutes but eventually the window was opened and they climbed the wall of the estate using the marble decorations embedded in the stone. Once up, they found an empty office that was nearly pitch black. The only bit of light came from a lantern that Bofur had left behind.

"Let's get to it," he whispered to Nori, moving towards the nearest set of drawers to dig through.

"What are we looking for?" wondered the thief, moving to the large desk in the center of the room.

"Documents, illegal goods, severed limbs of his enemies—anything for Prince Kíli to build a case against him," he answered, closing the drawer and moving onto the second one only to find it filled with useless knickknacks.

Nori groaned. "This is gonna take awhile."

Bilbo didn't know how long they were looking when Nori finally let out a soft cheer that caught his attention. "I found it," the thief said, holding up a leather bound book from a compartment hidden behind a painting.

"You did?" he said, dropping the useless forms he had been scanning.

"Yeah. Look—it's a ledger of all his businesses," the Dwarf said, opening the book to show that it was filled with Khuzdûl and numbers. "This fucker has been ripping off nearly everyone he's done business with. I bet the King himself is in this."

"Then this is it. This is the proof we need! Let's—"

The sound of yelling interrupted them mid-sentence. Both occupants froze before rushing for the nearby window where Nori shoved the book into Bilbo's startled arms.

"They found Bofur and the rest," he hissed, visibly straining to hear the muffled Khuzdûl behind the thick door. "You need to take the book and run. Go to the guards or—no, go to Óin! He'll help you."

"I'm not leaving you and the others here!" Bilbo hissed back, clutching the heavy book to his chest.

"No time to argue. Go!" Nori ordered, and then pushed him out of the window.

Bilbo didn't have time to scream as he plunged to the hard ground. He hit with a roll and ended up smacking his head against the stone and nearly biting through his tongue. Groaning as his vision spun, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to ignore the pain and nausea that followed with his body standing up straight. Tucking the ledger into his coat, he looked up for his friend and found the window closed and Nori gone. With a muffled curse, he turned back to look around the estate, and once he was sure no one was around, took off in a sprint for the far wall.

I'm going to throw up, he thought as his stomach turned upside down and threatened to betray him. He did his best to ignore it along with the pain as he began to climb up the stone wall. It was a slow ordeal as his vision still spun and he ended up losing his grip a few times; scraping his hands and knees raw and bloody and nearly falling off the wall. But eventually he made it to the top and quickly hopped down before he could lose his grip and fall.

Bjarte was gone, of course, probably having entered the estate when he heard the yelling in an attempt to help. Though it went against every bone in his body to abandon his friends, Bilbo turned away and began to run down the smooth marble road of the Sapphire District. He couldn't afford to get caught now; not when he had so much at stake in getting the ledger to Prince Kíli.

Find help first and then go back for the others, he planned in his head, trying not to stumble on the glossy floor. His head still hurt and there was blood descending down the side of his face like a waterfall; getting in his right eye and staining his only coat. He didn't know how badly he had injured his head in the fall, but considering the ringing pain and oozing blood, he was betting it was pretty bad.

Bilbo was nearly out of the Sapphire District and heading into the Emerald District when he spotted, from the corner of his eye, a familiar figure stepping out of a large onyx building. He stopped and turned to stare to be sure that he wasn't imagining things. But no, it was indeed Thorin walking down the stairs with two Royal Guards trailing him. Without thinking, Bilbo ran over to the guard who had helped him so many times in the past.

"Thorin!" he called as he grew closer and closer. At the sound of his name, Thorin looked up, saw Bilbo, and went stark white. Bilbo paid it no mind as he attempted to reach out for the Dwarf. "Thorin, I need your help—"

He was interrupted by one of the Royal Guards, who stepped forward and pushed him back so hard that Bilbo fell to the ground. "How dare you address His Majesty so casually?!" the guard growled, stepping in front of Thorin with a hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Bow down before the King Under the Mountain before you lose your life!"

"Majesty...?" Bilbo repeated blankly, blinking a few times. Staring up at Thorin, he finally began to take notice of the fine blue robes and exquisite jewelry decorating the Dwarf. But it wasn't until his eyes landed on Thorin's pale and guilty face that it all finally clicked in his head.

Oh. He's the king. Thorin is the King of Erebor. Of course.

"Master Baggins, you're bleeding!" a familiar voice suddenly cried out, and that was when Bilbo noticed Prince Kíli standing behind Thorin with his brother, Prince Fíli. When their eyes met, the youngest prince pushed past his brother and guards and rushed to Bilbo's side on the ground. "What happened to you? Who did this?"

"Prince Kíli, I found your proof of Lord Motvari's guilt," the Hobbit said, ignoring the inquiry and pulling out the ledger from beneath his coat. He pushed it into Prince Kíli's hands and met the startled brown eyes without any fear of the looming guards standing behind the prince. "Now please, help me before he kills my friends! Please!"

Prince Kíli opened his mouth and closed it a few times before looking up at the still silent Thorin standing away from them. "Uncle..." he said softly, brown eyes narrowing. "Please."

Thorin blinked once then turned to the guard standing at his right. "Summon the Royal Guards," he ordered, voice lower and gruffer than normal. "Surround Lord Motvari's estate at once. Do not allow anyone to leave or enter."

The guard saluted, and began to bark orders to the others in Khuzdûl. As he did, Prince Kíli leaned down and helped Bilbo to his feet. "We should get this wound looked after," he said, grasping Bilbo's shoulder as he swayed on his feet.

"Mmm. Your Highness?" the Hobbit said softly, glancing up to the meet the prince's eyes.

"Yes?"

"Please take care of my friends. I'm gonna pass out now," he said, and then finally surrounded himself to the welcoming darkness as his head exploded in pain. The last thing he heard before the void took him were the dual shouts of his name echoing in his ears.

"Master Baggins!"

"Bilbo!"

Chapter Text

 Bilbo awoke to find Óin at his bedside again.

"Oww," he said in greeting, blinking through his blurry vision until he could see his boss properly. "I'm alive."

Óin didn't look impressed with his declaration. "Amazingly, though Mahâl knows you've been pushing it. At least I know I didn't waste all that time stitching up your head," he said, reaching over to hand him a drink of water from the bedside table.

"My friends?" he croaked, sitting up and taking the water gratefully.

"Safe and unharmed," reassured the healer, making Bilbo relax as he downed the cup of liquid. "We sent them home not too long ago under the protection of the Royal Guards. Thorin promised that no harm will come to them."

Bilbo closed his eyes with a soft groan at that reminder. "Thorin is the king," he stated, wrapping his hands around the silver chalice tightly. The thought of it all—Thorin as the King of Erebor—made his mind boggle. How could Thorin—the high strung guard with the pointy nose who was as dense as stone about the real world—be the wise and fair ruler he kept hearing about? How could Thorin—the guard who followed him around and made stupid but funny remarks—be the most important person in all of Erebor?

Thorin is the King...

"He is. Thorin II Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain," said Óin, announcing the name as if he had never heard of anything so ridiculous in his entire life. "Son of Thráin II, the Crown Prince of Erebor, who was the son of Thrór, King of Durin's Folk."

Bilbo flinched, and tightened his grip as his hands began to tremble. "He lied to me."

"He did," confirmed Óin, not even bothering to try to soften the blow.

"Why?"

"Because he's an idiot?" offered Óin, and he could just picture the old healer shrugging. "I don't know, Rabbit. You'll have to ask him yourself."

"I don't want to see him," he said childishly, opening his eyes to look at Óin. "If I see him again I'm going to end up punching his pretty face in and getting sent to prison."

Óin snorted. "He let you get away with using him as a step stool. I think you'll be fine with the punch."

Bilbo groaned again at that unsubtle reminder. Oh Eru, he had used the King of Erebor as a ladder. Forget going to prison, he was going to be executed. "Did everyone else know this whole time?" he wondered, staring up at the gleaming beige ceiling above him. "Was it just a giant joke amongst you all to mock me about my ignorance?"

"No," Óin barked fiercely, making him jump in surprise. "That's not what happened. I thought that Thorin had told you the truth after I confronted him that day I brought you to meet with Dís and Vílin. The fool told no one that he had continued to lie about his identity."

Hearing that, Bilbo felt a lot better even if he had no real reason to be. "So he lied to you all too? Why? I don't understand."

"I don't think anyone understands how that fool thinks," said the older healer, rolling his eyes. "For now ignore him. You have bigger concerns—namely your little escapade into Motvari's estate."

The Hobbit sunk down into his bed. "Oh. Am I in a lot of trouble?" he asked meekly.

"Hard to say at this point. On one hand you broke into the private residence of a very highly known noble and stole important documents from him," Óin listed, holding up his hands as if they were scales. "But on the other hand, your illegal actions brought Motvari's illegal actions to light, and they are much worse than your little breaking and entering. So as you can see we have quite a dilemma here."

"What about my friends? Are they in trouble?" he pushed, recalling their involvement.

"They were arrested for trespassing but nothing else. Nothing was found on them, and though they knocked those guards out, they didn't kill them. So they were arrested and had to pay a fine that I believe Lord Fundin took care of," the healer said, frowning at the last part.

Bilbo raised his brows. There was a name he wasn't expecting to hear. "Really? Lord Fundin did that?"

"Yes. It was quite a shock to most of us. He's even gone so far as to unsubtly state that your friends are now under his protection, which is quite a feat to hold." Óin's frown deepened as he regarded Bilbo with his bright blue eyes. "You wouldn't happen to know why he's done all of this? Do you, Rabbit?"

He reluctantly nodded. "I do, but I'm afraid it's not my place to say. Sorry."

"Figures." Óin snorted and leaned back into his overly padded brown and gold chair. "Well, either way, your friends are safe for now. No one would dare go against Lord Fundin; not even Motvari when he had power. There's a reason he's survived this long, the old dog."

"That's good. So what will happen to me?"

"Worst case scenario? You are forced to serve a prison sentence before being exiled from the kingdom forever more," said Óin, lips turning down into a scowl that made his face look harsher in the light. "Best case is you pay a fine and face suspension from your job for a time."

Bilbo nodded slowly as he considered his options. Considering the last time he had gotten in trouble with the law nearly ended with him being sold to a brothel in Gondor, serving a prison sentence or losing his job wasn't altogether too bad. "All right. And what about Lord Motvari? What's being done about him?"

"The Office of Investigations has raided his home and businesses and have found evidence after evidence of his crimes. Most of his family and allies have been arrested along the Dwarrow himself, and all of his personal property has been seized by the Ministry of Stone. Proof of Lord Eikar's murder has been found in his possession, and now Eikar's family and allies are out for blood," the Dwarf listed, shaking his head in blatant disgust. "All in all I think it's safe to say that Motvari has been brought down for good."

"What will happen to him? Will he be sent to prison? Or executed?" wondered Bilbo.

"At the moment, he's most likely to go to prison," Óin said slowly, rubbing the bottom of his beard in thought. "But if proof is found connecting him to Kíli's poisoning—and considering how things are going now, I'd say it's very likely to happen— then there will be no stopping Thorin from executing him. Plotting against the Royal Family is treason and is only ever answered in blood."

Bilbo couldn't help but flinch. Though he knew Motvari had brought his fate upon himself with his unethical actions, he still couldn't help but feel bad that the Dwarf was facing a possible death sentence. Seeing people die never sat right with him no matter how many times he faced it in his life "What about his family? Will they be killed?" he asked quietly.

"His wife and youngest son will likely be spared, but his eldest son and Motvari's two brothers will probably end up in prison," Óin admitted reluctantly. "There's just too much evidence against them."

"How sad. A whole family ruined, and for what? Money? Power?" Bilbo shook his head. "How pointless."

"Mmm." Óin reached over and took the cup from Bilbo's hand to refill it. "You know, Kíli told us all that he recruited you to help him in his gardening project. But he says he didn't expect you to go quite so far for him." Óin handed the cup back to the Hobbit with a smirk. "I think you both impressed and scared him."

"I'm not surprised," he admitted, recalling how young Prince Kíli was. "So does this mean you all will help him now with his planting dream?"

"After seeing how serious he is about it? Of course. Fíli has already started recruiting farmers from Dale and Glóin is looking into funding. Even Dís has started ordering pots of soil to be brought over from Mirkwood."

Bilbo nodded and took a sip of his water. "That's good to hear. I know he wanted to do this all on his own, but this is really something that requires multiple people."

"I think he realized that. He grumbled about it at first, but after his father pointed out that he was still in charge of it all, he calmed down," revealed Óin, rolling his eyes.

Bilbo snickered. "By the way, where am I?" he asked, scanning the bare but still richly made room he was in. It was made out a strange beige stone with white streaks running through it and glimmering gold spots. It held only the large bed he was in, a bedside table, a desk, and the chair Óin sat in; all of which were made out of silver and the same brown and gold marble. The only highlight to the boring room was the small balcony across from him that was left open so he could see the neighboring buildings outside.

Óin sighed, and gave him a look that said he was seriously rethinking Bilbo's intelligence. "You're in my home, lad. The guards brought you here after you passed out on Kíli. Where else would you have gone?"

He was thinking prison but knew better than to voice that thought. "Oh. Will I be here long?"

"You will be here for however long it takes for your head wound to heal, brat," said the healer, narrowing his blue eyes.

"But I want to go back to Dori's house!" he whined, reaching out to tug on Óin's sleeve.

"Then you best get better so you can leave," retorted the Dwarf in a mockingly sweet voice.

Bilbo pouted and tried his best not to throw his water at the smirking Dwarf's face. It would be a waste of perfectly good water. "Ugh! Dori is probably so worried and angry right now," he grumbled. "I need to apologize to him as soon as possible."

"I'm sure Dori is just happy that you're safe," pointed out the holder healers.

He disagreed. "I recruited his brother into a conspiracy, got him to break into a noble's house, and then got him arrested," he listed with his free hand, giving Óin a look. "I think he's gonna be pretty angry."

"He works in the guilds. I'm sure he's seen worse," deadpanned Óin, rising to his feet. "Get some more rest for now. I'll come back to check up on you in a few hours."

Bilbo made a face at the orders, but still set down his cut of water, and sunk down into the plush bed beneath him. "Fine. But only because my head still hurts," he said just to keep face.

Óin just arched a brow that told him the old healer saw right through him. "Of course."

Bilbo spent the rest of the day and most of the next in bed being fussed over by Óin and his servants. Apparently he had been unconscious for half a day, and it wasn't until the following evening that Óin even consented to letting him leave. He wasn't allowed to return to work until the investigation with Lord Motvari was over though so he had no choice but to return to the 'Ri home. However, much to his surprise, he wasn't allowed to leave alone.

"Who—Dwalin? What are you doing here?" he asked, staring up at the familiar guard dressed in the blue and gold armor of the Royal Guard. For the first time he noticed that Dwalin's armor was more elaborately made than the normal uniforms, and that he hosted a series of Khuzdûl painted across the shoulder pads and down the lines of his arms to his wrists.

"He's here to escort you home," answered Óin before Dwalin could even open his mouth.

"Why? I know how to get back to the Tin District by myself," he defended, glancing at his boss before looking back at the guard standing straight and proud with his arms crossed behind him.

"I'm not here to keep you from getting lost," replied Dwalin, the corner of his lips twitching as if he was trying to resist the urge to laugh or smile. "I'm here to make sure nothing happens to you until Motvari is handled."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Why would anyone come after me? Has word got out that I'm the one who blew the whistle on his schemes?"

"Not officially, but there were a good deal of Dwarrows around you when you delivered the ledger to Kíli that night. Enough to spread word of your actions through the kingdom," Óin admitted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Which is why I will be watching over you until this whole shit storm passes," Dwalin added, grinning down at the Hobbit with all his teeth exposed.

Bilbo wasn't feeling very intimidated or impressed. "Fine. But try to behave yourself or Dori might end up breaking your face."

"It would probably be an improvement," commented Óin, smirking up at his cousin.

Dwalin narrowed his dark eyes. "Even missing half my face, I would still be better looking than you any day," he growled before looking back to Bilbo. "If you're ready, we should leave now. I would like to get a scope of the building and your companions."

Bilbo nodded and, after thanking Óin for all he had done, followed Dwalin out of the Emerald District. It was a silent journey between the two of them as they slowly walked down to the lower levels. Bilbo was still feeling a bit fatigued and too sore to bother making small talk and Dwalin seemed content with the silence for the most part. It wasn't until they were nearly to the 'Ri home that Dwalin even attempted to start a conversation.

"It was a very brave thing you did taking on Motvari," he said mildly, staring straight ahead.

Bilbo glanced up at the guard in surprise. "Really? You don't think it was foolish?"

"Of course I do. It was the stupidest fucking thing you could have done," Dwalin said bluntly, making the Hobbit turn red in shame and embarrassment. "However, just because it was dumb doesn't mean it wasn't brave. I was there when your friends told us the story. You wanted to stop Motvari because it wasn't right that he killed Eikar and was getting away with it. You wanted to do the right thing even though it could get you killed. Hence why I said it was brave."

"Oh. Then, thank you, I suppose," he said awkwardly, looking down at his bare feet as he trudged along. "I don't think what I did was very brave though. I mean, I got my friends in a lot of trouble that is probably going to follow them for a good while now. It wasn't very brave of me to drag them into my schemes."

"They had the option of saying no. You didn't force them to help you," pointed out Dwalin, calmly. "So stop with the guilty martyr act. I have no patience for such nonsense."

"My feelings are not nonsense," he grumbled, throwing a glare up at the guard from under his brows. "By the way, why were you chosen to escort me home? Shouldn't such a task be left to one of your minions?"

Dwalin snorted. "I volunteered for the job," he answered, turning to give Bilbo a small smirk. "Plus, Thorin didn't want just anyone for the job. He wanted to be sure you would be safe from all harm. Hence why I came instead of one of my 'minions'."

Bilbo made a face at the Dwarf at the mention of Thorin. "Ugh. I still can't believe he lied to me about being the king. Who does something like that? Was he trying to trick me or something?"

Dwalin hummed and rubbed his jaw in thought. "From what he's told me, he originally did it because he didn't trust leaving Kíli's care in your hands," he said slowly, tilting his head to the side slightly. "You were a stranger at the time, and Thorin is, as you know, very protective of his family and the princes in particular. Hence why he decided to follow you around that day in the palace."

"And after? Why didn't he tell me the truth when he saw me again?" Bilbo pushed, refusing to allow himself to be swayed by Dwalin's logical answer.

The guard shrugged his massive shoulders. "That I can't say. I didn't even know you two had met again let alone a third time," he admitted, giving Bilbo a sympathetic look. "Sorry, lad, but you'll have to ask Thorin yourself."

"As if I want to see him again, the lying little flea," he muttered, scowling down at his feet.

Dwain, wisely, said nothing more.

"Bilbo!"

Bilbo squeaked as he was swept up into a hug the moment he stepped through the door of the 'Ri home. "Dori! You're squeezing me too hard!" he gasped into the rock hard chest of his captor.

"Good. You deserve it for scaring me," Dori said viciously, squeezing him even tighter in response to his complaint. "Honestly, challenging Lord Motvari, are you insane? Who does something like that?!"

"Um, me?" he answered, peering up at the Dwarf with a lopsided smile. "I'm sorry, Dori. I got Nori arrested again and troubled you with my problems. I'm so sorry!"

"Apology accepted. Honestly, I'm just happy to see you're all right," admitted the weaver, giving Bilbo one more squeeze before looking over to Dwalin, who lingered by the door.

"Who are you?" he asked, arching a silver brow.

"Dwalin son of Fundin and Captain of the Royal Guards," the Dwarf introduced with a bow, and Bilbo felt Dori turn to stone around him. "I have been given the duty of seeing to Master Baggin's protection until his trial."

"I see. I am Dori son of Rikka, and while I'm grateful to you for escorting Bilbo home, I'm afraid your services are no longer needed," Dori said, voice on the edge of being icy. "Please leave."

Dwalin nodded and gave another short bow. "As you wish. I will stand guard outside. Good day."

Bilbo scowled up at the weaver. "Dori."

Dori pursued his lips before letting out a loud huff. "Fine. Master Dwalin, please sit down and join us for dinner," he said, finally releasing Bilbo to look over him in one swift glance. "What are you wearing?"

"Huh? Oh, it's from Óin. Some spare clothes he had from when his nephew stayed over," he explained, looking down at himself and holding out his arms. He worse a rather baggy ensemble of a tunic, a red coat, and black trousers that he had to keep pulling up. "Apparently he outgrew it all years ago, but it fits me for the most part."

"I see. I'll be sure to wash them with extra care then," Dori commented before steering Bilbo over to the nearby table. "Sit down now over here and rest. Don't think I didn't notice that bandage around your head."

"It's fine. Óin already saw to it," he protested, reaching up to run his fingers over the bandage. He looked over to Dwalin who was trying to become one with the wall, and rolled his eyes.

"You can sit down too you know," he told the guard, catching Dori's attention as well.

Dwalin sniffed and raised his head higher. "I'm on duty, lad. It wouldn't be right for me to relax as such."

"So you plan to stand there all night like a statue are you?" said Dori, dubiously as he placed a hand on his hip.

Dwalin simply kept staring straight ahead. "If I must."

Dori and Bilbo shared a look before they both acted. Dori marched over to the younger Dwarf and snagged him by his arm and dragged him over to the chair that Bilbo pushed out for him. He forced Dwalin into the chair in a clang of armor, pushed it in properly with a nod, and then marched into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner.

Dwalin stared after him with his mouth open and his dark eyes wide. "How—! How is he so strong?!"

Bilbo shrugged as he tried not to laugh at the guard's pole axed look. "I don't know, but apparently Dori has always had a good grip on him. That's what his brothers say."

"I think he's stronger than me," Dwalin said, looking down at the arm Dori had dragged after him and clenching his hand a few times. "Amazing."

I wonder if this is the first time Dori has ever met his younger half-brother, he wondered as he watched the two, and somehow the thought made him feel a bit sad. Though he had no siblings of his own, he knew that it wasn't right for them to grow up without knowing about one another. It was even worse for Dwalin and Dori because he knew how much Dori dotted and adored his little brothers. There was no way he wouldn't do the same for Dwalin if given the chance.

"Do you like lamb, Master Dwalin?" Dori called suddenly from the kitchen.

Dwalin blinked a few times before slowly nodding. "Yes?"

"Good. Then get over here and help me prepare it for dinner," Dori ordered, dicing carrots up in quick, sharp strokes. "And take off that armor while you are in my house. I do not want to listen to you clang about. This isn't a smithy."

Then again, he could also boss him around like he does with Nori, Bilbo quickly corrected to himself, and then covered his mouth as his restraint broke and the laughter came tumbling out.

Nori and Ori were, naturally, happy to see that Bilbo had returned safe and relatively unharmed. Nori in particular was relieved having worried that he had seriously injured Bilbo when pushing him out of the window even though Óin had reassured him that wasn't the case. They were a bit hesitant about Dwalin staying the night but, once they saw how Dori treated him, eased up enough to start teasing him about his babysitting Bilbo. Bilbo estimated it would only take another day before Dwalin finally broke and started teasing them back.

The night went on without much of a hitch until it was time for bed. That was when Dwalin approached Bilbo and whispered six words he had been secretly dreading since he woke up in Óin's home: Thorin wanted to speak to him.

"I don't suppose you could tell him to go away for me?" he mused, looking up at the Dwarf.

Dwalin snorted. "I could, but then he would probably order me to carry you out to him. Less embarrassing for us all if you just deal with him now. And if it helps, Dís says you have permission to hit him once for lying."

It didn't help, actually, but Bilbo didn't expect it to. With great reluctance he dragged himself out of his seat and away from his evening tea, and stalked off for the front door. Dwalin followed him and stood back a respectable distance while the Hobbit slowly marched up to the hooded figure lurking on the other side of the street. As he grew closer, a pale hand reached out to push back the dark green hood to reveal Thorin.

"Bilbo," he said, face tense and grave as if he was about to march off for war. He had his wild hair pulled back in a tight braid with his two signature braids still framing his face. He didn't look like a king; he just looked like Thorin.

"I'm glad to see you. We have much to speak of."

"No, I think we spent enough time together in this life; we're done now," Bilbo declared calmly, and then pulled back and delivered a solid punch across Thorin's face. His hand immediately erupted in pain and he heard Dwalin give out a choked laugh from somewhere behind him. He ignored both the pain and the noise, and focused solely on Thorin, who had simply received the blow without any reaction.

"I deserved that," the Dwarf acknowledged, reaching up and rubbing his cheek with one hand. "Is it my turn now? Can I explain my reasons?"

Bilbo felt his anger—a boiling pot that he had been doing his best to ignore—finally erupt and overflow. "Explain? What is there to explain? You lied to me!" he accused harshly, narrowing his eyes.

"I did," Thorin admitted calmly, much to his ire.

"Why? Why didn't you tell me who you were?" Bilbo demanded, stalking closer to poke the bastard in the chest.

Thorin endured it with a knowing look. "I didn't tell you because I knew you would get angry and punch me," he said, patting his wounded cheek with one finger. "Which you did. Hard."

Bilbo let out a strangled shriek. "Are you kidding me?!" he hissed, curling his hands into tight fists to keep from smacking the fool again. "That's why you didn't tell me the truth? Because you were afraid I would punch you?!"

"You sound skeptic."

"I am skeptic!"

"Look, does the reason really matter? I am sorry I deceived you about my identity. I'm sorry I pretended to be someone I'm not. Now will you please accept my apology?" Thorin said, sounding as unapologetic as possible.

It made him yearn to punch the bastard in the face again, and it took all his self-control not to lash out. Only the knowledge that a second hit wouldn't be tolerated by Dwalin kept him from acting. "No. Goodbye," he declared rigidly, turning around and beginning to march away.

Thorin stopped him by grabbing his elbow and swinging him around. "Damnit, Bilbo, why are you so angry? It was only one lie!" the Dwarf growled, a hint of temper finally showing.

The Hobbit jerked his arm out of Thorin's hold. "I'm angry because I thought you were my friend!" he shouted, and stopped short as his words registered with him. Thorin went still and silent as well; blue eyes growing wide in his pale face.

"I thought you were my friend," he repeated, and it finally hit him that he really did believe that. Thorin was not as close to him as the 'Ri brothers or the 'Ur family or even Óin, but it had been getting there. He liked Thorin; had enjoyed speaking with him and arguing and smacking him whenever he did something stupid. He had thought of him as a friend, had trusted him with stories of his family—something he didn't even trust Nori with yet. But with Thorin it had been... different. Everything with him was different, and though Bilbo didn't understand it all, he had thought that maybe, just maybe, Thorin felt the same way.

Apparently, he thought wrong.

"I thought you were my friend," he said again for the third time, and this time he sounded tired. "I thought you trusted me. I thought that I had proved myself worthy of your trust after I helped your prince."

Bilbo let out a broken laugh and gave the king a fake smile. "I guess I was wrong, huh?"

Thorin said nothing. He simply stood there with his lips pursued into a straight line and his hands clenched into fists. Bilbo couldn't begin to read what was going on with the Dwarf no matter how hard he stared at his face. But then, he had never been very good at reading Thorin. Perhaps if he was he would've seen the Dwarf was playing him for a fool since the start.

"I'm going back to bed now," he decided, rubbing his face with one hand. He felt so drained and tired of everything. All his problems, all his goals, his entire life just seemed to be a big mess, and he was so tired of it all. "I'm exhausted and my head still hurts. Please return to the palace safely. Goodnight, Your Majesty."

He turned around and began to walk away but only made it five steps before Thorin's voice rang out behind him. "You're the only one who looks me in the eye."

Bilbo paused, turned around, and stared at the Dwarf. "What?"

"I said, you're the only one who looks me in the eye. Outside of my family, I mean," Thorin clarified, a blush beginning to creep up his neck. "No one else has ever done that. No one else stands up to me and speaks their mind. No one else has ever treated me the way that you do. It is... refreshing. I didn't want it to change so I just... didn't say anything."

Bilbo couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You're so stupid. You must know by now that I don't care about your title," he said, bracing his hands on his hips. "For Eru's sake, I lived with Lord Elrond for most of my life. Titles mean nothing to someone like me."

"I know that now," Thorin admitted, the blush starting the stain his cheeks a faint pink that brought out the blue of his eyes. "But in the beginning I didn't, and after I suppose I just... forgot who I was. You have a way of making me feel... relaxed. Comfortable, even, like I've known you my whole life. When I'm around you I never feel the need to act like a king or a guard or anything else. I can just be myself and that's... enough."

"So... you didn't lie to me because you thought it was funny?" the healer said slowly, trying to understand the Dwarf's thinking. "Nor was it out of mistrust. You lied to me because... you like how you feel around me?"

Thorin's blush began to migrate to the tips of his round ears. "You don't have to phrase it quite like that," he mumbled, looking away and awkwardly scratching at his nose. He looked surprisingly younger with his face pink and his actions uncertain. It made Bilbo's stomach twist in on itself to see.

He had never felt so torn before. Was he supposed to laugh or scream? Because Thorin's reasoning—as childish and naive as it was—made sense to him. Bilbo didn't care about titles or social classes and for Thorin—who had spent his whole life being known first as a prince and king and second as Thorin—he probably found this type of philosophy refreshing. So it was no surprise, really, that he would try to cling to this feeling that Bilbo offered. However, that didn't change the fact that Thorin had lied to him, and would have continued to do so for however long he could get away with it. And Bilbo could overlook a lot of things but that? That was not one of them.

"Our relationship started on a lie. Every moment after was built on something that wasn't true. Knowing that you could do that... I don't know if I can trust you now," he admitted quietly, watching the king carefully.

Thorin scowled deeply, and pulled his shoulders back so that he stood tall and straight again. "Then I will simply have to prove to you otherwise," he declared, reaching under his cloak and pulling out a package wrapped in a dark blue cloth.

"What?"

"I'm going to win back your trust, Bilbo Baggins. Because you are my friend and I don't want to lose you," the Dwarf explained as he held out the package to the Hobbit. "Let me start by giving you this. It's a gift I meant to give you on our next visit. Obviously that didn't go as planned so instead I offer it to you now as an apology, and a request for a chance at forgiveness."

Bilbo stared at it for a moment before slowly moving closer and taking it from the king. He untied the blue silk cloth and unwrapped it until he found a thick, leather bound book inside. The leather was dyed a dark red and it looked newly bound. "What is this?" he asked, looking for a title and finding none.

"A book on the history of Erebor," answered the Dwarf, crossing his arms behind his back. "I translated it into Westron for you."

Bilbo raised his brows until they met his hairline. "Why?"

Thorin arched one of his own dark brows. "Don't you remember? You told me that you wanted to know more about Erebor but could not as there are no books in Westron for you to read," he reminded, nodding to the gift in his hands. "So I made you one. Now you can learn the kingdom's history without having to harass the people around you for stories."

Bilbo did remember, actually, but he hadn't expected Thorin to as well. And for him to take the time to actually look for a book and then translate it personally just for Bilbo to read...

It was a gift beyond words.

What am I supposed to say to this? he wondered, staring down at the large tome. He felt... odd in a way he had never felt before. His stomach was twisting up into a giant knot and his heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest the way it was beating so fast. He felt like smiling and crying at the same time, and what the hell was that about because that made no sense at all—

His contemplation was interrupted by Thorin's awkward cough. "I know it's not much of a gift—" the Dwarf began to say, and Bilbo's head snapped up in alarm.

"It is! It's the best gift I've ever received!" he interrupted, nearly yelling in his haste to reassure the color confused Dwarf. He felt his own cheeks begin to burn as Thorin drew back in surprise, and Dwalin began to cackle again in the background. Ignoring it all, he continued on; tripping over his words like a child learning to walk.

"No one... no one has ever given me a book before. Hell, no one has ever given me a present before," he confessed, hugging the heavy tome to his chest tightly. "I've always... Hobbits don't have a lot when it comes to material things. The only time I ever got something was because I needed it like food and clothes. I never... I have books because I got them for myself. I used to... I still steal them because I'm too poor to buy them. So this... this is my first present and the first book that I never... never had to steal."

Bilbo looked up and gave the wide-eyed Dwarf a half smile. "Thank you for this gift. It is... I have no words to describe how grateful I am right now. I think... I think I might even cry from how happy I feel, and isn't that strange?"

Thorin stared at him and slowly said, "I think... your reaction is normal and understandable in these circumstances. I also think... I will have to find you more books in the future. To discourage this thieving habit of yours."

The healer laughed softly and ducked his head. "I'm still mad at you for lying to me," he admitted. "Don't think that's going to change overnight. It's going to take me some time to get over this."

"As your anger is quite justified, I expected nothing else," admitted the Dwarf with a small grin. "I don't mind you being angry at me, Bilbo, as long as you don't cut me out of your life."

"Even if it takes me months to forget?" he challenged, peeking up at the king through his curls.

"Even if it takes you years," retorted Thorin, his grin growing. "But for now I think I should take my leave. Dwalin is giving me an ugly look and I'm sure my guards are anxiously waiting for my return."

"I still can't believe you're the king," Bilbo admitted, shaking his head in wonder at it all. "I mean, you didn't even know about nickel poisoning. How can someone like that rule an entire kingdom?"

Thorin sniffed and raised his pointy nose high. "I'm not going to argue with you about this because it would only bring me down to your level," he said magnanimously before giving an elegant bow only one with blue blood could pull off so effortlessly. "Goodnight, Bilbo. Sleep well."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and turned on his heel and began to walk back to the 'Ri home. "Goodnight, Corin," he called over his shoulder, and then grinned as Thorin sputtered behind him and Dwalin began to cackle again.

Chapter Text

It took three days for the investigation into Lord Motvari's crimes to come to a conclusion.

"He will be executed by poison at dawn tomorrow," Dwalin reported grimly to Bilbo as they sat at Dori's table together on the fourth day. "Three other of his closes allies will face the same fate. His son and brothers will be sent to prison along with most of his allies."

Bilbo couldn't help but shake his head in remorse. "That's so sad. What about his wife and youngest son? What will happen to them?"

"I believe she plans to return to the Iron Hills where she originally came from," the guard replied with a heavy sigh that showed he shared the same thoughts as Bilbo. "They will be happier and, indeed, safer there than here. Motvari has made too many enemies with his actions for them to remain safe in Erebor."

Bilbo shook his head again. "That poor family," he muttered to himself as he took a sip of his tea.

Dwalin grunted as he reached into his leather vest to pull out a thick envelope. "I also have your decree here as well," he said, sliding it across the table to the Hobbit. "Thorin had it delivered to me this morning. You have to pay a fine that will be taken out of your pay from the clinic."

Bilbo raised his brows as he stared at the guard over the rim of his mug. "A fine? That's it? I thought I would be punished a bit more harshly," he commented after swallowing down the rest of his tea. "Like serving a prison sentence or something."

Dwalin's bushy brows began to climb his forehead. "Are you kidding me? You saved Kíli's life. You've earned Thorin's goodwill for the rest of your days."

"He loves his nephew that much?" he wondered, tapping an index finger against the clay cup.

"He does," declared the Dwarf with a firm tone that showed no hesitation. "Fíli and Kíli are his laughter and smiles. They are the only ones who can bring him out of a bad mood and the only ones he won't lash out at when angry. Sometimes I think he loves them more than he does his own siblings." Dwalin paused and made a face as he thought over his words. "Not that I blame him. Dís is a bitch to the highest degree and Frerin takes scatterbrained to a whole new level."

Bilbo snorted. "Speaking of siblings, I hear you have an older brother named Balin," he said, leaning back into his chair while trying to look casual and relaxed. "He hired Ori recently. Do you know why?"

"No. He mentioned expanding his staff but didn't say how," the guard replied, his brows beginning their journey north once more. "Why? Is there a problem?"

"No, it was just a surprise. Ori is a scribe and scholar so it was strange that the Minister of War would recruit him," the Hobbit explained, crossing his arms under each other and tapping his fingers against his elbow.

"Balin likes books even if battle is his true calling," Dwalin admitted, playing with a turquoise bead hanging from his braided beard. "Gets it from our mother; she loved to read and sing. Mahâl only knows what she ever saw in our father with his bloodstained hands and passion for war."

Bilbo sat up straighter in interest. "They were deeply in love then, your parents?" he questioned, curious over the dynamics of the couple. From what he recalled in his conversation with Dori, Fundin had already been married when he began his affair with Dori's mother. He could not imagine what would drive such a straightforward Dwarf to break his vows and take another to his bed, but perhaps Dwarves had different views on such matters.

"Well, my mother certainly was. Practically worshiped my father she was so obsessed with him," the guard explained, frowning slightly at that admission. "Father was certainly fond of her in his own way, but I don't think he ever loved her the way she did him. It's just not in his nature."

"Do you think he ever did? Love someone, I mean," he explained, recalling how sad and desperate Fundin looked when he spoke to Dori on that day a few weeks before. He could not help but think that some of it was tied to the Dwarrowdam who brought Dori into the world.

Dwalin shrugged his massive shoulders. "Who can say? My father is like the stone—unyielding and unchanging. If he ever did love another, he hid it from the rest of the world."

"Oh." Bilbo pushed back his disappointment at the Dwarf's partial answer. "Was theirs an arranged marriage then? Do nobles and royalty do that here?"

"Aye, it was a marriage arranged by their parents," confirmed the Dwarf with a nod. "That practice was more common in my father's days than it is now. Now days the trend is marrying for love and giggles, like how Dís did with Vílin and Glóin with Súna." Dwalin made a face like he had smelt something bad. "Fuck only knows why. Not like love is gonna put food in your bellies."

Bilbo—the product of a love match—decided not to push that topic. "What would you have done if your father had taken a lover while still married?" he asked instead, deliberately widening his eyes so he didn't look suspicious. "Would you be honored bound to kill him or something?"

"What? No, of course not, do we look like reckless Men to you?" Dwalin said, looking at Bilbo as if he had just accused him of shacking up with an Elf. "Marriage issues are between the couple and it is considered rude for anyone else to get involved. Now why do you keep asking me about my parents? Do you know something I don't, Master Baggins?"

"I know a great deal more than you are to ever likely to learn, Master Dwarf," he teased, grinning. "And I told you, my name is Bilbo. Stop calling me 'Master Baggins.' I sound like some stodgy old rich toad when you say that."

"As you say, Master Baggins," Dwalin retorted in a mockingly deeper voice just as there was a knock on the door. They both turned to stare at it before looking back at each other.

"Dori and his brothers aren't due home until late afternoon," the Hobbit said slowly, eyes flickering back to the front door as another series of knocks were heard.

"Stay here," Dwalin ordered, rising to his feet while his free hand went to one of the axes leaning against a leg of the table. Thanks to Dori's orders, he was dressed in only bare leathers instead of his full metal plate that he usually wore. Creeping closer to the door, he growled out a question in his mother tongue and received as exasperated sigh in response.

"Dwalin, it's me," said a young male voice. "Open the door."

Dwalin blinked a few times before abruptly scowling and unlocking the door. He threw it open and glowered down at whoever stood on the doorstep. "Kíli, what are you doing here?" he demanded, placing his free hand on his hip. "And where are your guards?"

"I don't know. I lost them back in the Opal District," replied the young prince, sounding unconcerned even as Dwalin's shoulders and back grew tense. "Is Master Boggins in? I need to speak to him."

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he pulled a leg up to rest against his chest. "It's Baggins and yes, I'm here, Your Highness," he called, raising his voice so he could be heard while wrapping a loose arm around his leg. "Let him in Dwalin. No need to stand there and invite trouble in."

Dwalin turned and met his gaze with a scowl before stepping aside to reveal a grinning Kíli. He was dressed in a plain attire of green and brown leather and had, for once, tied his hair back into a messy bun that was already falling down. With Dwalin out of the way, he skipped into the home without any shame, and over to where Bilbo sat at the table.

"It's good to see you're doing better," he said, bracing his hands on the top of a chair and leaning over the table to smile down at the healer. "I was worried when you fainted on me that night."

Bilbo winced awkwardly at the memory. "Yeah, sorry about that. I was a bit... frazzled," he explained, reaching up to rub his head wound that was still healing.

Prince Kíli's smile widened until it began to resemble more of a smirk. "I picked up on that. Well, come along then. We have an appointment to get to."

"Appointment?" he parroted, sharing a look of confusion with Dwalin.

"With the Blue Iron," clarified the brunet, rocking back on his heels while glancing around the home. "I promised you, remember? If you helped me deal with Motvari, then I would take you to meet the leader of the Blue Iron. Well Motvari has been dealt with so now it's time to go meet the boss! So make yourself pretty and let's get moving."

Dwalin let out a strangled shout. "Kíli, you brat, you promised him that?!" he growled, reaching over and smacking the young prince on the back of the head. "You little idiot! He nearly died just for someone you—!"

"Dwalin, it's all he asked for!" defended Prince Kíli, rubbing the back of his head and stepping back so he wasn't within the guard's reach. "Besides you can hardly blame me for his adventure into Motvari's home! How was I to know he would go so far to honor our agreement?"

Dwalin did not look like he agreed, but before he could reach over and smack the prince again, Bilbo stood up and slammed his hands lightly on the table. "All right now, enough of that. Give me a moment to leave a note for Dori and then we can leave," he said, struggling not to roll his eyes at the antics of the two.

The guard scowled while his prince beamed triumphantly. Bilbo ignored them both as he set about collecting a piece of paper and some writing charcoal from his bag. He wrote a brief message and left it in the center of the table where it would be seen. Satisfied, he pulled on his satchel and turned back to the duo waiting for.

"All right, I'm ready," he said, patting his bag. "Let's go meet the Blue Iron."

The leader of the Blue Iron lived, ironically enough, on the Third Level in the Emerald District with the rest of the nobility. Their home was walled off in a corner of the district; a large and dark building built in a Gothic style that went against the otherwise classical beauty of the Emerald District.

"He says he chose this place it's because it connects to secret tunnels," explained Prince Kíli as he unlocked the gate into the estate. "But personally I think he just likes being dramatic."

The inside of the manor resembled the outside much the same way with dark blue marble floors and obsidian furniture, and rather gruesome artwork of battles and war hanging about. It was all finely crafted and so obviously expensive that Bilbo began to feel a bit like he was back in the palace. He did his best to ignore his stirring anger as he followed the young Dwarf up a flight of shiny stairs, and down a long corridor to a room occupied by a fireplace as tall as an Elf and as wide as a mountain. Sitting before the overly large fireplace was a Dwarf dressed in dark blue robes and black leather. Clearly he was going for a theme here.

When the trio entered the room, the Dwarf looked up from the scroll he was reading, grinned, and tossed it onto the silver table before him. "Kíli, you finally brought him! How wonderful! And Dwalin's here too! This just keeps getting better and better."

The guard snorted while Prince Kíli beamed and skipped over to the new Dwarf while Bilbo lingered behind. "A promise is a promise," he chirped, taking a seat on the arm of the black leather chair the stranger sat in. He turned to Bilbo and waved an eager hand at him. "Come, Master Baggins, and meet my most favorite uncle in the whole world!"

"Don't let Thorin or Vé hear that or you'll never find my body," teased the Dwarf as he turned his bright—and familiar, oh so familiar—blue eyes to Bilbo. His neatly groomed brows inched up as he stared at the Hobbit, and Bilbo noticed that one was pierced with a silver barb. "Hullo there. I'm the leader of the Blue Iron. Most folks call me Boss but I prefer to go by Frerin."

Bilbo's mouth dropped open. "You're Prince Frerin?" he sputtered, pointing at the Dwarf.

Prince Frerin patiently nodded with a small smile. "Yes, I know. I just said that," he commented while Prince Kíli chucked beside him.

Bilbo squinted and took a closer look at the Dwarf. Now that he looked, he could see a resemblance to Thorin and Princess Dís in his sharp cheekbones, pointy nose, and generous mouth. However unlike his darker haired siblings, Prince Frerin hosted a glorious cap of blond locks that fell to his thighs in a coordinated mess of curls and braids. Bilbo couldn't help but stare at it all for a moment; taken back by the sheer length and thickness of it all. Even the Dwarf's beard was a masterpiece of gold thread artfully stitched together in patterns he could only guess at. The best feature of it all though was the color of it—a bright yellow that resembled sunflowers in bloom on a fresh spring day.

"You got the better hair," he finally remarked, meeting Prince Frerin's eyes and holding his gaze. "Feel free to tell your brother I said that. Actually, no, I'll tell him myself. That way I can see his reaction for myself."

Dwalin erupted into a sudden coughing fit that didn't fool anyone in the room.

"Do it when I'm around. I would like to see his reaction myself," advised the prince, his smile growing into a smirk that perfectly mirrored Óin's when he was being a bastard. It was rather alarming to see it on another. "Take a seat, Master Baggins. I believe you and I have much to discuss."

The healer did as told, and sat down in the black chair across from the prince. As he slowly eased back into it, Dwalin suddenly spoke up in Khuzdûl; gesturing to Prince Kíli and pointing behind him. The prince let out a groan and leaned back into his seat and uncle; wrapping his arm around the older Dwarf's shoulders and burying his face in Prince Frerin's hair.

"But I want to stay with Frerin," he whined, sounding like a grumpy toddler being ordered to bed.

Dwalin didn't look fazed or convinced. He spoke again in Khuzdûl and then nodded to Bilbo before giving the young prince a pointed look. Prince Frerin chuckled at whatever the guard had said, and reached up to pat his youngest nephew on the cheek while also saying something in Khuzdûl. Whatever he said made Prince Kíli pout but unwind himself from his uncle, and jump to his feet.

"Fine," he huffed, stomping off for the door. "I'll go back to the palace so Papa won't worry. Bye, Master Baggins! Feel better soon!"

Bilbo, amused and a bit confused, waved goodbye as the prince and guard disappeared. With them gone, he looked back to Prince Frerin, who was still watching him with his Óin smile. "I apologize for my sister's son," he said when he met Bilbo's eyes. "We haven't seen each other for a few days so he's eager to make up for it."

"It's fine. I think it's nice that he has such a good relationship with his uncle," the Hobbit commented with a shrug. "I have to admit though; I'm a bit surprised to see you as the leader of the Blue Iron. I mean, it's an illegal organization isn't it? How can a prince run such a thing?"

"Yes, it is quite a contradiction isn't it?" Prince Frerin mused, tapping one long finger against his lips. "I suppose I should start from the beginning then. But first, would you like some wine?"

The healer shook his head. "No thanks. I'll need my wits for this."

"Suit yourself. Now then let's see... Ah! So once upon a time, in a beautiful kingdom far under the mountain, there lived a handsome and deranged prince named Throrskjald, who one day decided he wanted to be king. Unfortunately the present king—King Thorin I—was still alive and kicking and had no intention of giving away his crown. So in order to gain what he wanted, Throrskjald hired as many swords as he could from all over the kingdom, and then one night stormed the palace."

"Do you have a point with this?" interrupted Bilbo, raising his brows.

Prince Frerin gave him a dry look that reminded him of his mother when she caught him stealing books. "Yes, now don't interrupt," he chided gently, wagging a finger at him. "So the prince stormed the palace with his hired warriors, believing that he could overcome the Royal Guards and murder his father. Unfortunately for him, the King caught wind of his plans, and had set up a trap in order to catch his murderous spawn. Throrskjald realized this too late and was overwhelmed and captured by the Royal Guards; thus ending his coup and attempt at patricide."

"What happened to him?" Bilbo asked, curious despite himself.

"He killed himself while imprisoned," deadpanned the prince with a careless shrug. "Guess he couldn't take the shame of failure. After that, King Thorin named his daughter's husband, Nipvari, as Crown Prince since he had no sons left. Nipvari took on the name Glóin in honor of his new status, and then the King outlawed all hired swords from Erebor. His logic was that, if his son had not had the means to rebel, then he would not have done so."

"Didn't factor in his shitty parenting habits did he?" mused the healer.

The Dwarf shook his head. "Apparently not. But I guess it would be easier to blame everyone else than admit you're in the wrong," he commented dryly. "Anyway, after that King Thorin ran off to Ered Mithrin to cry about his crazy son, and left Erebor behind to become something of an outpost. But even without him here, his word was still upheld, and so mercenaries remained outlawed in the kingdom. But that didn't stop people from forming groups or offering their services for coin. All it did was allow crooks to run around killing and raping people for pay without any boundaries. So in order to stop this, a plan was proposed: create a mercenary group that would run the underworld and form some sort of rules to keep folk in line."

"But why you? Why not have someone less connected to the Royal Family?" questioned Bilbo, leaning forward in his chair.

"On the contrary, it is my ties to my family that makes me the only choice," rebutted the prince, shaking his head and making his sunshine locks slash through the air. "As leader of the Blue Iron I can keep an eye on any secret threats against Erebor, take action where authorities cannot, and protect my family from any sort of danger. But most importantly, my brother knows that I would never try to use the Blue Iron to threaten him or Fíli in any way, whereas another could not guarantee such a claim."

Bilbo nodded slowly, seeing the logic in such an idea. "Does all of your family know about this?"

Prince Frerin blinked in obvious surprise. "Of course! My grand-uncle is the one who started it. It has become something of a family tradition now. Eventually I will pass down leadership to Kíli so that he may protect Erebor when his own older brother takes the throne."

"Huh. That's... very convenient actually," he admitted, bracing his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. "Thank you for explaining it all for me, Your Highness. Things make a lot more sense now."

Prince Frerin waved an idle hand as he picked up his goblet of wine. "It was the least I could do," he said, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into his chair. "So tell me, how can I help you today, Master Baggins? Kíli told me you had an offer to make?"

"I do. I'm looking for soldiers willing to help in the plight of my people."

"And what is this plight of your people?"

Bilbo closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before releasing it. He then opened his eyes and looked at the prince watching him with the same eyes as Óin and Thorin. "A dragon named Smaug has taken over our homeland, Your Highness," he began quietly. "He drove us out nearly a hundred years ago and we have been scraping by since then. Now, on the eve of a century since our exile, we have finally raised enough funds to challenge him. That is why I am asking you to please accept our offer and fight him for us."

"This is quite a request you make, Master Baggins. I admit, I'm not too sure what to make of it," mused the Dwarf, swirling his goblet and staring down into it as if it held all the answers. "Part of me wants to refuse but another part of me is intrigued by the idea of fighting a dragon. Not many left in the world to battle, you know."

"What must I do then to win your complete acceptance?" asked the healer, refusing to back down.

The blond took a sip of his wine and seemed to think it over while swishing it around in his mouth. Finally he nodded and swallowed. "Well, first of all I must discuss this with my brother and then my captains," he said, tapping his finger against the rim of his cup. "Their opinions are very important factors."

Bilbo nodded, having expected as much. "Of course."

"But, in the meantime, I have an idea that would help your case," added the prince, peering coyly up at him from under his thick lashes. "A little encouragement to my captains in why they should support you."

Bilbo felt something cold slither down his back. "What do you suggest?"

"First let me call in my associate. She's been waiting to meet you," chirped the Dwarf, holding up a hand and turning to a closed door off to the side. "Morwen! You can come in now."

The Hobbit blinked a few times in amusement as the door opened and a Woman entered wearing a scowl. She was tall as any Elf maid and as broad shouldered as any Dwarrowdam, and stood straight with her head held high like a noblewoman. Her skin was pale and her hair a dark brown and tied back in a tight braid that fell down to her knees. She had brown eyes and a thin face accentuated by full, cherry red lips. She wore an elegant green gown with long, wide sleeves edged in gold lace, and around her forehead was a simple gold band with an emerald set in the center. The oddest thing of all though was the bow on her back; black and glossy and nearly as tall as Bilbo, it made him sit up just a bit more in cautious alarm.

"About time, Frerin," she muttered, shooting the prince a scolding look as she came to stand by his chair that she easily towered over. "I have other things to do today then put up with your dramatics."

Prince Frerin rolled his eyes and waved a hand to Bilbo as he took another sip of his wine. Taking his gesture as a sign, the Woman dipped into a graceful curtsy before Bilbo. "Greetings, Master Hobbit. I am Morwen of Dale," she introduced.

Bilbo sat up and gave an awkward half bow of his own. "G-Greetings, my lady. My name is Bilbo Baggins. How can I help you?"

"She's part of the deal I want to propose to you," cut in Prince Frerin before the Woman could even open her mouth. "You see, Lady Morwen's son is the King of Dale."

The Hobbit blinked in surprise. He had not been expecting to hear that. "Really?"

"Yes," confirmed Lady Morwen with a small nod even as she gave the prince a side-eye. "My son, Bard, became king after my husband's unexpected... passing."

"She killed him," translated the Dwarf, swirling his wine and looking altogether bored.

Bilbo nearly fell out of his chair. "What?!"

"He had it coming," reassured Lady Morwen with a nod as if that was the reason for Bilbo's distress and not her blunt admission to murder.

"She pushed him down the stairs after she caught him beating their son. Tragic," added Prince Frerin with all the sympathy and condolences of a Woman at her mother-in-law's wake. "Simply tragic."

"What was tragic was that he thought he could get away with raising a hand to my child," sneered the brunette, raising her head high like the queen she was.

The healer stared between them, unsure of who he should be more afraid of. "Wow. You're both very... open about this," he said slowly, carefully picking his words.

"It's a well-known secret that I killed him," admitted Lady Morwen with a small shrug. "However since there is no actual proof that I was involved, no one can back up the accusations."

"And you're not afraid that I'll go out and tell people you admitted it?" he asked, eyeing up the bow with a bit more fear now.

Lady Morwen smiled. Bilbo had never seen a wolf smile before, but he was rather certain that if they did, then their smiles would greatly resemble the one directed at him now. "Of course not. I am the Queen Dowager and Head of the Merchant Guild in Dale. There's nothing a little thing like you could do that would ever hurt me," the Woman purred, her voice lowering into a seductive husk.

"Wow. A real confident booster aren't you?" Bilbo jeered in order to mask his fear and alarm. "So what do you want with my pathetic little self?"

"It has come to my attention that you ran into some trouble in the Lead District," commented Prince Frerin, taking another sip of his wine and peering over the rim at the healer. "I believe it was with a few members of the Shadow Blades. Correct?"

He glared across at the prince as his fear and alarm began to give away to anger. "How do you know about that?"

The blond gave him another Óin smirk and a wink. "Ahh, luv, I know everything that goes on in this kingdom. The Shadow Blades are a particular interest of mine as they've been trying to muscle their way into Dale and Erebor."

"Which is why I have come here today," interjected Lady Morwen, her face darkening into a scowl. "These insects are a nuisance and I want them removed from my city. And in order to do that we must first take out their nest here in Erebor."

"And that's where you come in," revealed Prince Frerin, toasting his cup to Bilbo. "We want you to find that nest here in Erebor. Sources say it's somewhere in the Lead District but that's all I've been able to weasel out. Every spy I or my lady here have sent down there have gone missing or turned up dead. The Shadow Blades obviously know what I'm up to so I can no longer risk sending my Dwarrows down there."

"Buy you have no problem risking me," he commented, crossing his arms over his chest and flopping back into his seat. He regarded the Dwarf in front of him for a moment with a frown before speaking again, "You planned this from the start didn't you?"

"Of course I did. You think I haven't heard of you or your little mission until now? Please, Master Baggins, give me a bit more credit here," Prince Frerin commented, smiling widely enough to show off the dimples in his cheeks. It reminded him of Thorin's awkward smiles, but the stony look to his eyes was all Princess Dís. "I don't believe you to be a bad sort, luv. If anything, I think you are a very kind individual. But you are still a stranger asking me to put my Dwarrows in harm's way for a land we've never even heard of. If you want us to risk so much for your people, then you must show me that you are willing to do the same."

Bilbo sighed, and dropped his head back against his seat. Alright, he could see Prince Frerin's point. He was asking a lot of the Blue Iron even with his offer of gold on the table. It was only sensible that the Dwarf would be hesitant to accept such an agreement without some sort of reassurance that Bilbo wasn't jerking him around.

"I understand. I will do as you ask. I will find the headquarters of the Shadow Blades for you," he declared with a nod. Then, before the two could do anything more than begin to smile, he pointed one finger at Lady Morwen. "But if I do this than I want you to provide me with soldiers too. At least five hundred Men, no exceptions."

"Are you trying to bargain with me?" said the Woman, her dark brows going high as the corner of her mouth curled up into a smirk. At her side, Prince Frerin went very still as he watched the Hobbit over the rim of his cup.

Bilbo nodded firmly, refusing to be unnerved by the noblewoman before him. "Correct. I know Dale has few warriors to offer but I will take whatever I can from you. I also want a contract drawn up with both of you stating that you will provide me with the warriors I need."

Prince Frerin suddenly snorted into his wine; splashing it all over his beard and making it look like he was sprinkled in blood. He didn't seem to care as he continued to giggle, and had to cover his mouth to keep them down. "Oh, you are a bold one, Master Baggins," he snickered, watching the healer with softer blue eyes. "I see now why so much of my family likes you."

"Thanks," he said dryly, rolling his eyes. "So do we have a deal?"

"Not so fast, boyo. If you're changing things up, than I want to add something in," declared the queen, her wolf smile appearing once more.

He nodded, having expected as much. "Fine. What is it?"

"All I ask for is a promise," began Lady Morwen, slowly, as she stared into Bilbo's eyes with her own dark pair. "Should the day ever come, I want your word that you will help my son in anything that he may ask of."

Bilbo blinked rapidly for a moment, completely taken back by the request. "What? That's what you want?"

"Yes." Lady Morwen didn't so much as blink as she stared down at him. She looked perfectly relaxed. "A promise is a very precious thing, boyo, and I am lacking in souls that I can completely trust. Your word that you will do anything for my son would be a great relief to me as a mother."

"Wow, you're really milking this doting mother routine aren't you?" muttered the Hobbit, scratching at his thigh where he had been injured. It still itched even with the stitches removed. "Very well then, if that's what you really want. But he cannot call on me until after Smaug has been dealt with. After that he can do whatever he wants."

Lady Morwen's wolf smile grew into one that would probably be more fitting on a bear. "Then you have yourself a deal, Master Baggins."

Dwalin returned shortly after the contracts had been drawn up and worked out and signed by all parties involved. Bilbo—exhausted and tense from arguing and haggling over prices with Prince Frerin—happily followed the guard out of the estate and back to the Tin District. It was already late afternoon by then, and the streets were filling up with Dwarves of all types heading home from another day at work. Bilbo stuck close to Dwalin, and for once was grateful that he had the guard around to push his way through the crowds.

"You look tired. Was Frerin that much of a pain to deal with?" asked the Dwarf after they had left the Emerald District behind.

"Yes," he answered bluntly, not even bothering to lie. "Your prince is ruthless when it comes to his company and money. I thought you said he was a scatterbrain?"

"He is. Just not with business," explained Dwalin, nudging a passing Dwarf away with his shoulders. "It's emotions and people he's dense about. The fool can look at a battle and find every weak point of his enemies and exploit it to his advantage. But put a pretty Dwarrowdam fluttering her eyelashes in front of him and he'll ask her if she has something in her eye."

"So he's like his brother then," translated Bilbo, dryly.

Dwalin didn't even bother trying to mask his smirk. "He's exactly like his brother. Thank Mahâl for Dís or those two idiots would have been tricked into some sort of marriage long ago."

"Scandalous," remarked the Hobbit with smirk that perfectly matched the guard's. "How did Thorin ever get the throne with such denseness?"

"Because Dís wasn't born with anything dangling between her legs," Dwalin answered bluntly, and Bilbo couldn't think of a more accurate answer.

When they arrived back to the 'Ri home, they found all three brothers already home and bustling about. Bilbo told them the basics of what had gone down with Prince Frerin and Lady Morwen while leaving out certain details like Prince Frerin's real identity, and his vow to Lady Morwen. At the end of it the three brothers were staring at him with a range of different emotions.

"How do you manage to find these people? I've lived here my whole life and I've never even seen Lady Morwen in passing," complained Ori as he sketched out what looked like the beginnings of a market at the main table.

"I think I'm going to take up drinking. That's the only way I can deal with the combined antics of you and Nori," muttered Dori as he went about cleaning the house.

Bilbo ignored them both and focused on Nori, who was the only one who didn't look too bothered by his adventure to Prince Frerin's estate. "What do you know about Lady Morwen?" he asked, leaning his head against Ori's shoulder as he half-watched the young Dwarf work magic on the paper.

"Who doesn't know about her? She's the biggest scandal in Dale," said Nori as he munched on an apple in the kitchen. "She was the former concubine of the last King of Dale who managed to wiggle her way into becoming his wife after the first one died for 'reasons unknown.' She got pregnant quickly and gave birth to a son, and then a few years later 'offed her husband and placed her son on the throne. Now she's the Queen Dowager and pretty much rules the kingdom through her son."

"A very busy Woman," commented Dori as he dusted one of the portraits on the wall with a rag.

"You're very informed for a lowlife thief," stated Dwalin as he stared at Nori from his place at the table with Ori and Bilbo.

Nori flashed him a toothy grin. "Even lowlife thieves talk, Master Guard," he sneered before biting into his apple.

Dwalin narrowed his eyes but didn't get the chance to speak as Dori—who was gliding by—smacked him on the back of the head with his rag. "Be nice to my lowlife thiefling brother," he ordered, not looking at all remorseful for his actions.

Dwalin rubbed his head and scowled at the weaver as he began to dust down the coat stand. "You know I can have you arrested for assaulting a noble," he grumbled without any real heat. Bilbo was beginning to suspect he was getting used to Dori's bossy ways, and actually enjoyed being treated like one of his little brothers.

"Please go ahead and try. I would love to see how that turns out," Dori shot back in a monotone.

"I'm going to have to return to the Lead District. That's where the Boss said I would find the hideout of these Shadow fools," Bilbo commented, handing Ori a piece of drawing chalk as it began to roll away. "I don't really want to go back though. I don't know what I'll find this time."

"Good because you're not going back," said Nori through a mouthful of apple. "You've been banned, remember?"

"Nori, for Mahâl's sake, don't speak with your mouth full," Dori ordered, flashing his brother a disgusted look. "No one wants to see that. And he's right, Bilbo, you're not going back in there. This time they may just finish the job."

"Then how do you propose that I go about getting the Blue Iron and Lady Morwen's support?" asked the Hobbit, rolling his eyes and pushing away one of Ori's braids that was tickling his cheek. "Because that's the whole reason I came to Erebor to begin with you know."

"You should try asking Thorin," advised Dwalin as he titled his head to the side in order to get a clearer look at Ori's picture. "He'd probably bully his brother into it for you."

Dori tripped on the leg of a chair while Nori dropped his apple, and Ori paused in his sketch to stare at Bilbo with a brow arched high. "When did you meet the King?" he asked plainly.

"Ask Thorin—why would Bilbo be asking the King for anything?!" sputtered Dori as he turned on a rapidly paling Dwalin who looked like he was regretting his career choice.

"Fuck that—why would the King even care about Bilbo's problems?!" demanded Nori, stalking over to the table to loom over Dwalin and Bilbo both.

The healer gave a disgusted huff. "You just had to open your big mouth didn't you?" he grumbled, pushing off of his comfortable perch and rising to his feet. He turned around and marched off for his room while waving a dismissive hand behind him. "Well, since you brought it up, you get to explain it to them. I'm going to go take a nap. Wake me when dinners ready!"

Chapter Text

The day after meeting Prince Frerin and Lady Morwen, Bilbo forced Nori to sit down with him and begin to sketch out a plan to track down the hideout of the Shadow Blades. His friend refused at first but, after Bilbo bluntly told him he was going back into the Lead District with or without his approval, the Dwarf finally gave in. Thus their first task was working out a map of the Lead District in order to better narrow down possible locations for the thieves' hideout.

"As one of the base levels of the kingdom, the Lead District is one of the biggest districts you'll come across here," explained Nori as he drew out a long rectangle on a single piece of paper. "It's been divided up into five sections with four of them belonging to a syndicate. The center is the only neutral area and the only place you won't get harassed by the gangs."

"I've been there before. It's where we were to meet Bifur's supposed 'informant.' I think we came in from the west side," commented Bilbo, tapping the side of the paper where west was written out.

"Makes sense. The west is controlled by the One Order group and they're pretty lenient with access so long as you pay," said the Dwarf with a nod as he drew out the borders of the west. "Next to them are the Crazy Ones; they run the east side and don't really care who passes through as long as it's not a rival gang."

Bilbo hummed as he strained to recall his night in the Lead District. "I think that's where Bifur took me after I got hurt," he said slowly, nabbing a handful of nuts from the bowl next to him. "He took me to a place where there were Dwarves of two genders or none? I don't remember the phrase he used."

"Amlâkul," suppliedhis friend, not looking very surprised. "They live in the east under the protection of the Crazy Ones. There are some in the north too but most live on the east side. Bofur says that Bifur likes to go drinking with them because they're the only ones who can keep up with him."

Somehow he wasn't surprised. "How nice for him," he muttered, rolling his eyes and leaning further over the table to point at the north section that was the smallest of the five. "What about the north? Who owns that?"

"The Forty Diamonds. They're a Dwarrowdam only gang who are famous for robbing the estates of nobles up above," Nori explained with a grin, pushing some of his loose hair behind one ear. He had left it down for the day as he was, apparently, too lazy to bother with it. "They operate only a small section but they've been around since Erebor was founded, and they have the most wealth out of all the gangs put together. The Office of Investigations has been trying to catch them for years but they haven't been able to pin any real crime on them."

The Hobbit laughed. "Sounds like something my cousin Prim would love to join!" he said, thinking back fondly on his dear cousin. "She's always been interested in adventure and danger the little imp."

Nori grinned back with genuine warmth in his face. "You should invite her to visit then! I'll take her to meet them myself. If she's half as bossy as you, than she'll fit right in with the rest of them."

"Careful what you ask for; I may just take you up on it," he teased back before looking back down at the map. "Okay, so who runs the south section now? It looks like they own the biggest chunk."

The warmth on Nori's face went cold. "That is ruled by the Thuggee gang," he said in a low voice, tapping his finger on the south end of the paper. "They're the strongest of all the gangs and for good reason. They're robbers and assassins who offer their services to whoever has the most coin. You'll find them responsible for a good chunk of the murders her in Erebor. Wouldn't be surprised if they were involved in Lord Eikar's murder too."

Bilbo went a bit cold at the thought. "They're that bad?" he asked, looking down at the crude map and taking in the large section they had under their control.

"The worst. Stay away from them at all costs," his friend ordered sternly. "They'll have no problem with cutting you down just because they feel like it."

"Do you think such a gang could be involved with the Shadow Blades?" Bilbo wondered, grabbing another handful of nuts and shoving them in his mouth.

Nori shrugged one shoulder. "Maybe," he said, running his tongue over his teeth in thought. "But I really can't say for sure. Bifur could probably tell us. We should go ask him and see if he'll help us out."

"I don't know if we should ask him. He's already gotten into so much trouble on my account," the brunet said slowly, biting his lower lip. "What if something worse happens this time?"

"He's the only one who knows how these Shadow fuckers work. We need his help if we're going to find their base," his friend pointed out, nabbing some of his nuts. "And he needs to get rid of them before they send more guys after him. It would be best if we all just worked together."

Bilbo made a face but didn't argue. Nori was correct, after all. "Fine. We'll go by later tonight and ask him. But don't be surprised if Bjarte ends up punching us," he grumbled, slouching down and dropping his chin onto the table.

"He won't punch you. He thinks you're cute and sweet," protested the thief, tossing come of the nuts into the air and catching it with his open mouth. "By the way, where's your guard dog? Is he coming back?"

"No. Dwalin told me he's been recalled to the palace. With Lord Motvari dead and most of his allies in prison, I should be safe now so there's no need for him to stay," he answered, watching Nori miss in catching one of his snack. "Why? Did you grow to like him or something?"

Nori shook his head. "Nah. He's alright for a blue blood, mind you, but that's not it. I just... Dori seemed kind of fussy with him, ya know? I wanted to figure out why."

"Because he's Dori?" offered Bilbo, raising his brows. "He fusses over everyone and everything."

"No. Not like this. This was different," Nori insisted, mouth thinning into a straight line. "Dori treated him like he treats me. He only does that with us—his family—and no one else. It's weird that he would be acting like that with this guard."

Bilbo sighed and lifted himself up so he could lean back into his chair. "You should ask Dori then," he advised, pulling one leg up onto the chair and wrapping his arms around it loosely. "He's the only one who can say for sure."

The line to Nori's mouth grew thinner. "I did, and he avoided it like some fluttery insect," the Dwarf muttered, finishing off the rest of the nuts with one bite.

The Hobbit just rolled his eyes. "If Dori doesn't want to talk about it then you shouldn't push him," he advised, resting his chin on his raised knee. "You have things you don't like to talk about with him. Why wouldn't he be the same?"

"Stop being logical. It's annoying," the thief grumbled, running a hand through his thick hair as it fell into his face.

He stuck his tongue out in response. "Sorry for being logical," he mocked before an idea struck him. "Hey, can I practice braiding on your hair?"

Nori jerked back into his seat as his eyes went wide. "What? Why?" he asked, his voice coming out strangled.

"It's for my younger cousins. I'm usually in charge of getting them ready for the day, and the girls are always asking me to decorate their hair, but I'm afraid I'm no good at it," Bilbo explained with a sheepish grin. "That's why I wanna practice some of the braids I've seen Dori do. I think they would like it."

Nori stared at him in consideration for a moment before slowly nodding. "Alright," he said, rising to his feet. "Let me get my box. Pull out your chair and grab me a cushion to sit on."

Bilbo nodded eagerly and went about pulling out his chair and nabbing a large purple cushion from Ori's room. When he returned he found Nori there with a black lacquered box with silver designs on the cover. He held it out to Bilbo while taking the cushion from him with his free hand.

"Here—my combs and ties," the Dwarf said, dropping the pillow and then flopping down on it. "I don't have any needles and thread like Dori, but I have pins and oil and beeswax in there."

"Why does he have thread? Does he sew his hair?" wondered the healer as he took a seat behind Nori with one leg crossed under him.

The Dwarf scoffed and titled his head back to cast a judging look on Bilbo. "Obviously. How else do you think he gets his braids to stay in place?"

"Luck?" he offered with an uncaring shrug as he opened the box in his lap. Inside he found a mess of marble and ivory combs, long thin pins, leather ties, and three tiny glass bottles. "I never really thought about it. I just thought it was neat that he could do all of that using just his hair."

"A lot of it is natural skills," admitted Nori as he leaned his head back against Bilbo's knee. "He's really good with his fingers so that helps. But he also has a lot of tools and better hair than me and Ori. Even if it did go gray early on."

"His hair wasn't always that color?" Bilbo asked in surprise as he picked out the biggest comb among the bunch—an ivory piece with twin birds decorating the shaft. It was obviously old but still in good condition.

"Nah. He used to have dark brown hair but he went gray and then white after he hit seventy," Nori said, tensing for a moment as Bilbo began to brush out his hair locks before slowly relaxing.

"Did your mother have brown hair or red hair?" he asked, beginning to gently untangle the thick hair before him. To his surprise, Nori's hair was soft and smooth to the touch even though it was a mess of knots and tangles. Clearly he also had good hair even if he didn't think so.

"Ma had hair like me and Ori," confirmed the Dwarf with a nod as he tapped his fingers against his bent knee. "Dori was the only one with dark hair. Ma was always jealous of that. She loved his hair and used to brush it out for him every night. It was the only time I ever saw her actually take care of him instead of the other way around."

Bilbo paused for a second when he heard that before resuming his careful brushing. "Dori has been caring for everyone since he was born," he stated without question.

The Dwarf nodded. "Yeah. Since he's the eldest, Ma relied on him for everything," he admitted softly, his shoulders and back growing tense again. "He's never complained though. Just did what had to be done. Stubborn old goat."

Bilbo nodded as he moved onto the middle section of Nori's hair. "My mother had dark brown hair that she always wore in a braid down her back," he commented, deliberately changing the subject in order to cut off Nori's darkening mood. "It was curly like mine, of course, but not as thick. She actually had very thin hair for a Hobbit."

"Is that not normal amongst your kind?" wondered the thief, his voice returning to its former tone.

"It is with some clans like hers," the healer confirmed, beginning to tug through a rather thick knot. "The Tooks, Brandybucks, Bracegirdles, and Grubbs all tend to have thinner, wavier hair while the Gamgee-Underhill Clan, Boffin-Goodbodies Clan, and Bolgers all have thick, tightly-coiled curls that look like corkscrews."

Nori lightly flicked Bilbo's foot where it dangled next to him. "Your hair isn't like any of those. What the hell is with that?"

"That's because I have hair like my father and his clan," he retorted, retaliating by pulling harder on the hair in his grasp. "Only two clans have hair like mine—the Baggins and the Brandybucks. The Brandybucks tend to have darker hair though while we Baggins favor brown, brown, and more brown."

Nori snorted as his shoulders and back slowly grew more and more relaxed. "Hey, why do you live with your mother's clan when your last name is Baggins? Shouldn't you be with your father's clan instead?"

Bilbo froze in surprise at the question. Before he could think of an answer, Nori was already speaking again in a rush. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said, turning back slightly to meet Bilbo's gaze to show that he meant no harm. "I know you don't really like to talk about yourself or your people much. I was just wondering is all."

The healer shook his head and nudged Nori's head back into place. "No, it's fine. I don't mind telling you this since it's not a big deal," he reassured, returning to his task. "My parents originally lived with my father's clan until he and my granddad got into a huge fight when I was little. We left because of it, and joined my mother's clan instead. So when they died, it was only right that I stayed with them over the Baggins Clan."

"Oh. I thought it was something more devious. How boring," the Dwarf commented lightly.

He lightly yanked on Nori's hair again. "Shut up. We can't all have glamorous parents like you," he teased as he began on the right section of hair.

"Mmm. You... I've never heard you talk much about your father," the thief said carefully, his tone deepening slightly.

"No, I don't," he admitted easily. "Mostly because there's not much to say. He was a quiet soul who worked hard all his life. He loved to cook and wanted nothing more than to share that joy with others. He always hoped that his cooking would bring joy to whoever ate it."

"What a simple fellow," Nori joked but in a gentle tone.

Bilbo smiled. "Yes, but he had his own set of rules he followed," he explained as he finally finished brushing out all the knots. "He would only make healthy food because he believed that it was his duty to both feed and nurture the eater. Once, back in Gondor, he refused to cook any sort of greasy meals for a nobleman on account of his ill health. Said it would go against his principles."

Nori let out a low whistle. "That's pretty ballsy of him. Was he fired or arrested?"

"No. He actually challenged the nobleman to prove him wrong," he said with a laugh, beginning to separate the thick hair into sections with the hairpins. "Father told the nobleman to eat only the food that he cooked for one week, and if at the end of the week he didn't feel better, he could throw my father into prison."

"What happened?"

"Well the nobleman accepted the bet, of course, and ate only the food my father cooked for one week. At first he hated it because my father only fed him vegetables and no meat," he explained, laughing again as he recalled the sullen look the nobleman used to wear around meal times. "But slowly he grew to enjoy it more and more. At the end of the week he was admitting defeat and begging my father to stay and cook for him for the rest of his life."

"Did he stay?" wondered the thief.

Bilbo nodded with a small hum. "For a time, yes. Until he got sick and died."

Nori tilted his head to the side to look up at him through his hair. "Your father or the nobleman?"

"My father, you ass," he laughed, flicking the Dwarf on the forehead before forcing him to turn back. "Now stop moving so I can finish this braid."

Nori grunted, and leaned further back against Bilbo's knee because he was a brat. "Do you know the illness that killed him?"

Bilbo clucked his tongue as he carefully wound the three strands in his hand together. "Yes. It was a blood fever. Very common in Gondor at the time," he explained absently, most of his attention focused on the red hair in his grasp. "My mother and I ended up with it too but we got better. Father was not so lucky."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Nori said awkwardly, drumming his fingers against his knee and hunching in on himself.

"It's fine. It was a long time ago," he reassured, finishing up the braid and tying it off. "I've come to accept it. Now I smile when I think back on him and my mother."

"That's good. I'm... glad you had that. Good parents, I mean," Nori said, stumbling over his words before clearing his throat and abruptly changing the subject. Bilbo allowed it and tried his best not to linger too much on the memories of his father. After all, he didn't want to prove himself a liar to Nori.

Dori was not impressed with their plan to visit the Lead District and had no problem sharing it. However he didn't attempt to stop them and only ordered them to be back before dawn before turning to start dinner. Bilbo felt a little guilty over it because he knew Dori was worried—the stony expression was a dead giveaway—but did his best to ignore it.

They set out for the 'Ur family home first to propose their offer of alliance to Bifur as Nori had suggested. They found them all home and happy to see Bilbo for the first time since the robbery. Dwalin had not allowed him to leave the 'Ri home until Motvari had been dealt with, and so Bilbo had been unable to visit and check up on his friends. Seeing them healthy and safe was a huge relief for him.

"Bilbo! Ya alive!" cheered Bofur when he saw them standing on his doorstep. Bilbo barely got the chance to open his mouth before he was scooped up into a hug that lifted him off his feet. He squeaked as the Dwarf squeezed him and spun around into the house and stumbled in while still shaking Bilbo back and forth in his arms.

"Sooo good to see ya amongst the living again," the miner practically cooed, burying his face in the Hobbit's hair. "Bifur was so sure ya would never wake up again! Salty old bastard!"

"Screw off, that's not what I meant and ya know it," growled Bifur as he came stomping over to his cousin to manhandle the healer away. "Let him go ya fool! Did ya forget he has a head wound? Ya think he wanna be swinging around with that?"

"Awww I didn't think you cared, Bifur," drawled Nori, closing the door behind him as he came sashaying into the small house. "You're so sweet I think I'm getting a toothache."

Bifur rolled his eyes and gave Bilbo a scolding look. "Ya couldn't leave the badger at home?" he muttered, scanning the healer up and down before giving a nod. "Ya look good, boyo. That healer did his job right."

"It wasn't a very serious injury. I could have dealt with it on my own," Bilbo reassured, smiling up at the Dwarf. "How about you? Are you and the others doing well?"

"Pfft, we're all fine," promised Bjarte, coming down the stairs with his hair undone and beard unbraided. He pulled his husband off of the Hobbit while giving Bilbo a wink and smirk. "Good to see ya again, lad. Heard ya got the evidence to your prince and then fainted on him. Good job."

Bilbo made a face at the reminder of his fainting act. That had not been one of his better moments. "Yes, but you all played a big part too. Thank you for that," he said, giving a bow to the trio. "I would not have gotten so far without your help."

Bofur scoffed and reached over to muss his hair up with one hand. "Don't be stupid, of course ya would've! Ya got friends in high places remember?"

"That's right. Lord Óin, Lord Dwalin, and Lord Fundin," Bjarte listed with one hand while propping the other on his hip. "Who's gonna pop up next? The King himself?"

Nori had a sudden and very violent coughing fit that forced him to lean on Bofur for support.

Bilbo sniffed, and reached up to fix the collar of the coat he had borrowed from Ori. It was several times too big for him but he couldn't complain. The coat was clean and protected him against the cold—what more did he need? "I had nothing to do with Lord Fundin's involvement," he vowed primly. "I've only ever met him that time I got arrested with Nori here. If you want to know his motives for helping, you'll have to ask him yourself."

Bjarte raised a dubious brow. "I did. He said he was doin' his son a favor. Do ya know what he meant by that?"

"I think... that is something you must take up with Lord Fundin and his son in question," the healer said slowly, taking care not to look in Nori's direction. "But enough about that. I didn't just come here to check on you all. I also came to ask you for another favor."

The three Dwarves shared a look. "Another one? Who ya planning to challenge now? The Iron Lady?" asked Bifur with a mocking smirk.

"I don't even know who that is," Bilbo retorted, rolling his eyes. "I'm actually trying to find the Shadow bastards now. I got a tip that they're trying to set up a base in the Lead District and I've been 'hired' to sniff them out."

Bifur immediately lost his smirk and grew serious. At his side, Bjarte's eyes narrowed while Bofur grew very still and silent. "I think ya better start from the beginning," ordered Bifur, gesturing for Bilbo to sit down on their worn down couch. "And don't leave anything out."

Bilbo did as told and shared with them his meeting with the Blue Iron and Lady Morwen, his bargain to gain their services, and finally his deal to track down the Shadow Blades for them. Nori helped now and again by filling in details Bilbo had forgotten and by showing them the map they had sketched out in order to track down possible locations. During the story, Bombur returned home and, after cheerfully greeting both Bilbo and Nori, joined his brother and cousins in their discussion. At the end of it Bifur had declared unanimously that they would help him get rid of the Shadow Blades.

"They won't stop hunting me now that they know where I am," he acknowledged grimly, dark eyes shadowed by the weight of his past. He had grown tenser throughout Bilbo's story until he resembled more of a rock than a Dwarf. "I gotta take them out before they can act again."

"It would be best to get them now while they're still tryin' to build up their power here," agreed Bjarte, leaning against Bifur's side while holding his husband's hand in his lap in silent support. "Even better if it's with help from the Blue Iron and Lady Morwen. They won't let any of them escape."

Bilbo nodded sadly as he studied his friend over his knees. "I'm sorry to drag you into my schemes again," he apologized, wrapping his arms tighter around his legs. "If I could, I wouldn't bother you with any of this, but I just have no choice."

Bifur scoffed. "Don't be stupid, boyo, it's not a bother," he rebuked, shaking his head. "No, this is a good thing. I gotta deal with these fuckers eventually so why not now when I got the power to do it?"

"He's right. With the back of the Blue Iron and Lady Morwen, the Shadow Blades won't stand a chance," agreed Bombur with his hands crossed over his belly. He closed his eyes and seemed to think deeply over something before nodding firmly. "Right. This is what we're going to do: we are going down to the Lead District tonight to gather information and only information. Once we know what's going on, we'll go from there."

"Sounds good. Who's going?" wondered Bofur, glancing over his brother and cousins.

"All of us except Bjarte," declared Bombur, opening his eyes and calmly looking to the blond in question. "Bjarte, please stay here with my wife and daughter. You know she doesn't like to be alone."

Bjarte nodded without complaint. "Will do. Make sure Bifur doesn't visit the gambling dens. Last time he lost us eighty coins."

Bifur hissed and elbowed his husband in the ribs. "Traitor! Ya supposed to be on my side!"

"Says who?" retorted the blond with a smirk.

"Are you sure you want to come? It isn't pretty down there," Nori commented, looking at Bombur with a brow raised.

Bombur nodded calmly as he rose to his feet. "I know. I've been to the Lead District before so I know what to expect," he reassured. "Plus, I can't leave these two alone again. The last time I did, they ran off and got arrested. That's not happening again on my watch."

"Ya know, I could've sworn I was the eldest in this family," muttered Bifur as he untangled himself from his husband.

"Well, ya definitely an elder," Bofur said cheerfully, and then cackled when Bifur cursed him out in Khuzdûl.

"If we're ready then we should leave now," advised Bilbo, ignoring the feuding cousins. "I don't want to be out all night. It will worry Dori."

Bombur nodded in agreement as he pulled on his coat. "Agreed. Let's head out. Bifur, stop swearing already. Bofur, just don't speak at all. Bjarte, guard the house. If we're not back before dawn, pay a visit to the prisons. We might just end up there after all."

When they arrived at the Lead District, it was decided that they would cover more ground by splitting up. Bombur dragged Bifur and Nori to the west side of the district while Bofur and Bilbo headed out to the east side together. Bilbo—who had been too busy trying not to faint or bleed to death the last time he was in the east section—was surprised by what he saw there.

"Is that Dwarf an amlâkul?" he asked Bofur, subtly pointing to a Dwarf nearby dressed in a blue and yellow gown with the sleeves ripped off and a slit on both sides.

Bofur glanced at the Dwarf in question and made a face. "Nah, that's just a Dwarf from the Crazy Ones."

Bilbo blinked a few times and looked closer at the Dwarf. "Why is his face painted white and half his head shaved off?" he asked, tilting his head to the side slightly. "And he has a tattoo on his cheek. Is that Khuzdûl?"

"Yeah, that's kinda their look," Bofur explained, awkwardly scratching at his nose. "See, the Crazy Ones are not so much a gang as they are a group of wild Dwarrows who do what they want. That's why they dress however they want, say what they like, and pretty much get on everyone's nerves. But they're also the most open minded of all the gangs and don't have no problem with outsiders, and they protect the amlâkul so not altogether a bad sort."

Bilbo nodded slowly. "Then they probably wouldn't be involved with the Shadow Blades, huh?" he mused, rubbing his bottom lip between two fingers. "That narrows it down to three. What do you think of the others?"

"Ehh, it could be any of them but I'm betting my money on the Thuggees," Bofur said, shrugging. "They the most violent and most ruthless of the four. Wouldn't be surprised to see them team up with those assholes."

"I see. Well, let's keep looking. Maybe we'll find a clue or a hint from the people living here," he suggested, and the miner nodded in agreement.

Their answer came to them an hour later in the form of an old beggar sitting at a corner. Bilbo first noticed him on account of the dirty bandage wrapped around his foot that was clearly mangled. Though he knew he didn't have time, he also couldn't ignore such an injury on a helpless person, and stopped to offer his aid to the Dwarf. The beggar eagerly accepted and allowed Bilbo to unwrap his foot and clean up the injury to the best of his abilities.

"Ya a kind one, lad," the beggar rasped, his voice low and weak. His green eyes were bright with fever and his face flushed and Bilbo knew, with a sinking heart, that the poor Dwarf was likely suffering more than just an injured foot.

"I'm sorry I can't do more for you," the Hobbit apologized softly as he cleaned out the wound with his supplies.

"Ya doin' more than most would," reassured the beggar, giving him a lopsided smile that showed off his missing teeth.

Bilbo tried not to show how much that affected him. "Do you have any other pain? Any other injuries that I can see to while I'm here?"

The old Dwarf shook his head and gave him a gentle smile. "Nuthin' ya can fix now, lad. Save ya stuff for another soul. I'm good with just this."

"I can still try. Just because you don't believe you're worth saving doesn't make it true," he protested, beginning to wrap up the beggar's foot in a clean bandage.

The Dwarf simply kept smiling. "What is a nice lad like ya doin' in these parts?" he asked, glancing up at Bofur, who stood nearby with his arms crossed over his chest.

"We're lookin' for a group called the Shadow Blades," the miner answered, gazing down at the two with a solemn expression. "Ya hear anything about it, old timer?"

"Not since I left Ered Luin," the beggar admitted with a toothy smile. "But I heard talk 'bouts them Order folks teamin' up with some group from outside. Might be them, might not, but still worth checkin' out, yea?"

Bilbo paused and exchanged a considering look with Bofur. "Indeed. Thank you for telling us that," he told the old Dwarf, patting his foot kindly after he finished wrapping it up.

The beggar simply kept smiling. "Thank ya for helpin' an old Dwarrow like me. Mighty kind of ya."

Later, after reluctantly leaving the beggar behind, Bilbo turned to Bofur as a plan began to form in his mind. "Let's go find the others," he whispered, mind going over what he just learned. "I think I have an idea of how to trap these Shadow Blades."

Chapter Text

When Bilbo told his friends of his plan to trap the Shadow Blades, they reacted much the way he had expected—with horrified disbelief.

"Are ya crazy?" asked Bofur, staring at Bilbo as if he just couldn't understand how such a person made it so far in life without permanent brain damage. "How do ya expect to meet and bargain with the most powerful folk in the underworld?!"

"Simple: I'm going to ask," replied the healer, raising his chin higher in challenge to the Dwarf. "I'm sure that these gangs don't want the Shadow fuckers teaming up with the One Order group. It would spark off a war between the four of them, and will change the order of things down here. So we'll off them a deal: find where the Shadow Blades are hiding, and we'll take them out before they can help the New Order take them down."

"Ya crazy," Bifur stated, slowly shaking his head and looking five seconds away from walking off because there were limits to friendship. "Ya off your nut. Nori, tell him he's crazy."

"You're crazy," Nori dutifully repeated with a nod, face set in a calm mask. "You're a crazy, crazy little bastard. Now who are we going to see first?"

"Nori!" Bifur hissed in betrayal, smacking him on the shoulder.

"The Crazy Ones," Bilbo replied with a perfectly straight face that he felt deserved an award. "They're the most open minded of all the groups, right? Then they're the ones who will most likely hear us out."

"Okay, sounds reasonable," acknowledged Bombur who, besides Nori, seemed open to Bilbo's plan. "But what if they say no? Or worse, what if the Crazy Ones are already allied with the Shadows?"

"Then we're screwed and probably gonna be killed," he answered point blank, shrugging one shoulder. "Look, I understand if you don't wanna come along and would rather go home now. I don't blame you and would never hold it against you. But this is the only plan I have and, unless anyone else knows anything, it's all I got to go on."

Bofur and Bifur shared a look that Bilbo couldn't read that involved a lot of eyebrow raising and scowling. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt just to talk to 'um," granted Bofur with obvious reluctance as he turned to meet Bilbo's gaze.

"And at least we know the Crazy Ones wouldn't ever work with the Shadow Blades. Goes against their chaos code or something," admitted Bifur, wrinkling his nose.

Bilbo rolled his eyes and shared a look with Bombur. "I don't know how you put up with these two all these years. You must have the patience of the Valar," he commented, ignoring the offended looks he received in turn.

"How do we find the leader of the Crazy Ones?" he asked, this time directing the question to Nori.

"His name is Yngvi and he's usually hanging around the gambling den he runs," the thief informed him, casting a side-eye at Bifur. "Of course, not too sure we should be going there with this one along."

"Oh, fuck off, I can control myself," snarled Bifur, turning on his heel and marching off. When he realized no one was following, he turned around and glared at them like an angry wolf. "Hurry up already! We don't got all night!"

"Ya don't have to yell, Bifur, we're right in front of ya," Bombur scolded lightly as he marched over to his cousin.

"Ya, Bifur, shut ya loud mouth before ya scare the neighbors," added Bofur, joining his cousin on the other side.

Nori rolled his eyes as he and Bilbo followed after them. "Wow, I can already tell this is going to go greeeat."

The gambling den was a stooped, decrepit building made of sandstone and mud. It had large, arching windows with red curtains and a door less entrance. As they grew closer, Bilbo could hear laughter, yelling, cursing, and even singing coming from the brightly lit building. If it wasn't for the location and circumstances, he would have found it an enticing place to explore for a few hours.

Inside the den, Bilbo found tables of Dwarves playing cards or dice or drinking and laughing. There was a bar set up in the back that was being manned by a tall, scarred Dwarf and a makeshift ring to the left where two Dwarves were attempting to grapple with each other and failed as they kept falling down. Bilbo could only hope that the reason was they were drunk, and not simply too injured to fight anymore.

As he followed his friends further into the den, he began to notice that most, if not all, of the Dwarves there were dressed or adorned in wild and extravagant ways. One Dwarf was wearing a pink gown that had been split down the middle and now acted as a strange cape for him. Another had painted or possibility even tattooed half his face with looping spirals and sharp curves. There were even Dwarves who had shaved their hair off completely and left only the smooth skin behind. It was a shocking mixture of styles that had no business going together, yet somehow still fit with the scene before him.

When they arrived at the back of the gambling den, they found a raised platform covered in tacky pillows where a group of four Dwarves sat playing a card game. Bilbo quickly zoomed in on the Dwarf sitting on a mountain of pillows in the middle. He was raised just slightly above everyone else in a manner that clearly marked him as the leader of the group. As they grew closer, Bilbo was able to get a better look, and found himself facing a rugged looking Dwarf with dark skin, tilted eyes, and a lean figure. Like his comrades, he wore a ridiculous attire that included a bright red robe that was left open to reveal his naked, tattooed chest, black leather pants, and bare feet. The best feature of it all though was the torn yellow skirt he wore over his pants. It was bright and eye-catching and Bilbo had a feeling that Lobelia would've been beside herself with jealousy if she saw it. Yellow was her favorite color.

"Are you Yngvi? The leader of the Crazy Ones?" called out Bombur when they were close enough.

The fetching Dwarf looked up with one dark brow raised as the Dwarves around him all paused to turn and stare at the group. "Depends on who's askin," he drawled, his voice deep and smooth. His dark brown hair—lumped together and twisted into thicker locks—fell into his face, and he pushed it back without a care.

"We're lookin' to make an offer to the boss," supplied Bifur, looking the group up and down. "Ya got the time for that?"

The Dwarf stared at them mutely for a moment before lazily flicking his fingers. As soon as he did, the group of Dwarves broke up and went their separate ways; taking with them their drinks and cards. Once they were gone, the remaining Dwarf stretched out his arm to the pillows around him.

"Take a seat," he said, leaning his elbow on a short iron table at his side. "I am Yngvi. You?"

"Bombur son of Baraldur," introduced the redhead, giving a cheerful nod as he gracefully sat down with his legs tucked under him. "This is my brother Bofur, our cousin Bifur, and our friends Nori and Bilbo."

Yngvi's eye flickered to each person and he nodded in greeting to them all evenly. His eyes though lingered the longest on Bifur and Bilbo. "Right. Good to meetcha. Now whaddaya want?"

"As I said, we're here to propose a deal," Bombur explained patiently, meeting Yngvi's dark eyes and holding his stare without flinching. "Have ya heard of a group called the Shadow Blades?"

Yngvi gave the barest tilt of his head. "Maybe. What's it to you?"

"The Blue Iron is looking to eradicate them," supplied Bilbo, speaking up for the first time and gaining the criminal's attention. "I've been sent to find their hideout. However, since I'm a stranger to the Lead District, I have no idea where to look. So I—"

"Came to me for help in finding the creepy bastards," finished the Dwarf, the corner of his pierced lips twisting into a vicious sneer. "Yeah, I've heard enough. Not interested. Get out."

Bifur and Nori tensed on either side of Bilbo but he ignored it. "May I ask why?" he asked politely.

"Because the Blue Iron has done nuthin' good for us," Yngvi explained, his dark eyes hard and cold. "They're just like the rest of this fucking city—turnin' their noses up at us like we nuthin' but soot. Fuck the Blue Iron, fuck this kingdom, and fuck you for tryin' to use us like your fucking blood hounds."

Bilbo cocked his head to the side as he stared at the criminal thoughtfully. "You're not afraid of the Shadow Blades taking over?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

Yngvi scoffed and made a rude hand gesture that, while he didn't understand, still got the gist of as it made Nori and Bofur choke. "Let them try! They ain't the first bastards to start somethin' and they won't be the last! We'll slit their throats and dance in their blood just like the rest of them!"

"Oh for the love of Mahâl—are ya fucking serious?" Bifur rose to his feet, obviously running out of patience for the younger Dwarf. He glared down at Yngvi as if he had just discovered the stupidest person in existence. "I know ya heard of the Shadow Blades, ain't no Dwarrow from the lower castes who hasn't heard of them! And ya just gonna sit back and let those bastards take over Erebor just like they did everywhere else? Worse, ya gonna try to fight them alone?! What the fuck is wrong with ya?!"

Yngvi sneered and leaned back into his cushioned throne. "Fuck off, old timer, you heard what I said. If they try anything here, I'll rip out their throats with my bare hands. Ain't no one taking my territory from me or my brothers and sisters!"

Bifur looked ready to throttle Yngvi. "Ya stupid little punk—!"

Bilbo let out a loud huff and reached up to loop his fingers in the leather belt around the miner's hips. "Bifur sit down! Getting angry and yelling isn't helping anything," he ordered, yanking the Dwarf back down to his knees with a grunt of surprise. He then turned back to the Dwarf before them and narrowed his eyes.

"You," he said, pointing a finger at Yngvi, and making him blink a few times and lean back. "I understand your anger for the Blue Iron and the nobles and everyone else who gets to live better than you. Trust me—I understand. But this isn't the time to try to get back at the Blue Iron or the higher classes. The Shadow Blades are moving in on Erebor and Dale and they're likely using the One Order to do it. Now unless you want the One Order expanding into your territory and killing your siblings, I suggest you listen to what we have to say."

Yngvi did not look convinced. But, before he could argue further, a soft voice interrupted him. "Yngvi. Stop it."

They all turned to see who had spoken and found a Dwarf walking towards them. It took him a moment, but eventually Bilbo recognized the stranger as the amlâkul who had helped him when he had been injured by the Shadow Blades. She wore a long, light blue gown that looked like rippling water as she moved, and had the same long black braids that Bilbo recalled. When he saw her, Bifur stiffened and leaned back into his seat with obvious surprise.

"Arnina," Yngvi said, his voice softening a tad and his eyes growing wider as the Dwarrowdam came to kneel down next to him. "What—?"

"Listen to what they have to say, Yngvi," Arnina pleaded, lowering her head to Yngvi. "Bifur and his friends can be trusted."

Yngvi stared at her bowed head for a moment before realization dawned on him. "Wait, you mean this is Bifur?" he yelled, pointing to the Dwarf in question. "He's the one who—?!"

Arnina nodded once. "Yes. Bifur is the one who saved me from being... attacked by those Dwarrows from the upper levels."

Yngvi clenched his jaw tightly and stared down at the Dwarrowdam as a mix of expressions danced across his face. Finally he settled on one, and looked up to meet Bifur's eyes with a hard set to his eyes. "Then... I owe you a debt, stranger," he said, his voice dropping into a lower tone. "You saved my sister from being taken against her will. I... I have no way of repaying such a gift."

Bifur shrugged and awkwardly scratched at the back of his head. "Ahh, no problem, don't worry about it," he said, obviously uncomfortable. "I could hardly let those fuckers touch her like that. But, Arnina, ya didn't tell me ya brother was Yngvi. What the fuck?"

Arnina looked up and gave the Dwarf a small smile. "Perhaps it would be a bit incorrect to call him my brother as we hold no blood ties to one another," she explained, reaching up and pushing some of her braids out of her face. "We simply grew up together and both joined the Crazy Ones so that's why we call each other sibling still. It is really just out of habit than anything else."

"She's also my lover so don't get any ideas," Yngvi added, baring his teeth in a menacing snarl. Bilbo couldn't help but notice that he looked at Nori when he spoke.

Arnina's pale cheeks turned pink, and she smacked the other Dwarf on the arm. "Yngvi! Bifur is married!"

"So? The rest of them ain't!"

"Relax, boyo, none of us would make a move on a lass already taken," reassured Bofur, rolling his eyes. He paused and, with a smirk and a side-eye, added, "Well, maybe Nori would..."

"Fuck you. Dori and Bilbo would slaughter me if I even thought of it," Nori deadpanned without hesitation. "Isn't that right, Bilbo?"

"I would push you off the mountain myself," Bilbo agreed cheerfully though that was the farthest thing from the truth. But he could see the game that Bofur was playing and had no problem following along. "Arnina helped hide me. I have a responsibility to keep fast-talking thieves like you away from her."

"Wow, you're such a great friend. It's moments like these that reassure me that following you into the Lead District was the right thing to do," Nori droned, leaning back on his elbows.

Arnina giggled and even Yngvi's lips softening into a more genuine smile. There was a noticeable change in the air thanks to Bofur's humor, and Bilbo mentally praised him for his quick thinking. Bofur's skills at reading people would never fail to surprise him.

"Does this mean ya'll help us?" wondered Bombur, titling his head to the side slightly. "As payment for saving Arnina?"

Yngvi glanced to the Dwarrowdam at his side before giving a grudging nod. "Yeah. Don't got much of a choice now do I? Can't disappoint Arnina. Not when she looks at me like that," he admitted, reaching up to trace Arnina's bottom lip with his thumb. In return, she blushed even deeper and shyly looked away.

"Stop it. Not in front of others," she mumbled, grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand into his lap.

The Dwarf laughed and leaned away from her. "Alright, alright, back to business. So the Blue Iron wants the location of Shadow Blades' den, ehh? Well, hate to break it to yah, but I really don't have any leads. They've been quiet ever since they hit the kingdom back in spring."

Bifur sucked in a quick breath. "They've been here since spring? Fuck. That's way too long. They must've been feelin' the place out before they moved in."

"Or the Blue Iron and the forces in Dale have been successful in fighting them back," pointed out Bombur, drumming his fingers against his raised knee in thought. "They obviously don't have as much power here as they did in Ered Luin. This is a good time to strike them."

"Do you know of anyone who could find leads to their location?" Bilbo asked Yngvi.

"Yeah, but you ain't gonna like it," admitted the criminal, raising his brows. "You still wanna hear it?"

"Yes," Bilbo replied promptly. "Now tell me."

"The Forty Diamonds are very good at getting information. If you wanna find anything in this kingdom, yah need to go to them. Double if it's something involvin' the district here," Yngvi advised seriously. "They're the best lead you're gonna get on any possible locations."

Bilbo looked to his friends before nodding firmly. "I see. Then it's off to the north we go," he declared, rising to his feet with the rest and then giving Yngvi a small bow of respect. "Thank you for your help. It is much appreciated."

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help," Yngvi said with what looked like honest remorse on his face. "If yah wait a moment though I can have one of my brothers take you all to the boss of the Forty Diamonds."

"Thanks. That would be helpful," said Bombur, flashing a dimple-smile that made the room feel warmer.

Yngvi shrugged one shoulder as he settled his eyes on the healer before him. "Hey, what'd you say your name is?"

"Bilbo Baggins."

"You're one of those Hobbit things, right?" the criminal pressed with a frown. "Whatta you doing here in a mountain with us Dwarrows anyway?"

Bilbo smirked, and gave the boss of the Crazy Ones a secret wink. "Why, I'm trying to save my brothers and sisters."

The guide Yngvi assigned to them was a young, energetic Dwarf with short, sandy blond hair that stuck up like the back of a porcupine, and a remarkable ability for talking endlessly without taking a breath. He introduced himself merely as Saksi and was happy enough to lead them through the winding, broken streets that led to the north side of the district. He spent the entire time chattering about a range of subjects that Bilbo gave up trying to follow after five minutes. The only person capable of keeping up with his endless babbling was Bofur, who happily listened and interjected with a wide smile.

Saksi ended up leading them to a large compound that looked out of place in such a rundown district. When he approached the gated wall, he was met by a Dwarrowdam in leather armor and a scowl. They spoke in hushed Khuzdûl before the female huffed and opened the gate. With a grin, Saksi gestured for them to follow him into the compound, and led them into a series of square towers that looked just as out of place as the compound.

Saksi did not stop until he came to a grand entryway with a staircase that was lavishly decorated with smooth marble furniture and exquisite artwork. If he didn't know any better, Bilbo thought that he had just stepped into one of the homes of the nobles in the upper levels. Clearly the Forty Diamonds took their name rather literally.

"Hey, Old Hag! Get your flat ass out here! You got visitors!" Saksi yelled in a sing-song voice as he leaned against the banister of the stairs.

Bifur seemed to choke on nothing but air while Bofur and Nori turned to stare at the young Dwarf with clear shock. Only Bombur remained unfazed as he examined the twinkling cream ceiling above them with interest.

"Um, should you be calling her that?" Bilbo asked, also rather surprised by the Dwarf's rude behavior.

"Yeah, it's fine. Dinna is my sister—that's why Yngvi sent me to bring ya'll here," Saksi said cheerfully, his grin going from ear to ear.

Before Bilbo could ask further on that new development, the sound of heels against the marble alerted them all to a new arrival. Looking up at the top of the staircase, they found a tall Dwarrowdam smoothly making her way down to them. Dressed in a long and elegant blue gown of silk and velvet, Bilbo could only assume he was looking at Dinna the leader of the Forty Diamonds.

Thick and broad shouldered, the boss of the Forty Diamonds was built much like her male counterparts with few curves that would otherwise distinguish her as female. Her face wasn't what Bilbo would call pretty by Dwarven standards, but it was certainly striking with sharp edges and a pair of hooded hazel eyes and thin lips painted a bright red. Her best asset was—as with most Dwarves—her thick, sandy blonde hair that was tied up in a massive bun on her head until it resembled a beehive. As she moved, the diamonds and sapphires woven throughout her hair flashed with light; catching Bilbo by surprise, and reminding him of the spiders that lurked in the darkness of Mirkwood.

"Is she...?" he whispered to Saksi, unsure if he was being offensive or not by asking.

"An amlâkul?Nah, just built like a fucking beast," Saksi answered cheerfully before waving to the dam. "Hey, Hag! Long time no see!"

"Gremlin," the Dwarrowdam returned with a cool nod as she came to a stop on the last step where she towered over them all. "What do we owe for this unwanted visit?"

"Brought you a present from Big Brother," Saksi explained, his smile never fading as he bounced closer to his sister. "They came to strike a deal with you or something on behalf of the Blue Iron."

She raised a thin brow and looked over Saksi's head at the group before her. She did not look impressed. "Hmm. We are Dinna the Queen of the Forty Diamonds," she greeted, raising her chin higher. "Who is it that stands before us?"

"Is she fucking serious?" Bifur whispered to Bombur, whose smile had grown even larger and eyes began to twinkle. Bilbo had a feeling he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing. Bilbo could relate. It was rather hard not to laugh at such a dramatic and audacious introduction.

Bofur—with an impressively straight face—stepped forward and introduced them all. When he landed on Nori, Dinna interrupted him. "We know your face. You are Riika's get," she proclaimed calmly, and Nori tensed up like a clam. "How disappointed she must have been when you were not born a girl."

"She got over it," he returned in a monotone, green eyes going murky and dangerous.

Dinna merely blinked and turned her gaze to Bilbo, who was the last person to be introduced. "You are the Hobbit who saved the prince and sent Eikar to prison," she stated without question, meeting Bilbo's eyes and holding his gaze. "You work for the Blue Iron now? How many masters do you serve?"

"Whoever pays the most," he retorted, giving the Dwarrowdam a nasty smile. His opinion of her was growing dangerously low. "Hence why I came here. The Blue Iron wants to find the location of the group known as the Shadow Blades. Can you find them here in the Lead District?"

Dinna cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "We... could find them for you. Our girls are very good at... persuading others," she admitted, blinking slowly. "But in return, you must do something for us."

Bifur snorted. "What, our charitable act of wiping out a fellow gang isn't enough for ya?" he drawled, arching a brow.

The Dwarrowdam merely stared at him coolly. "Not in this world."

"What's the favor?" Bombur asked before Bifur could open his mouth again.

"To the south of here are the Thuggees. They thrive in the art of disposing of others for payment and, for the most part, had no interest in our own craft or territory," Dinna explained, her demeanor never faltering. "But recently one of their members broke this delicate balance and assaulted one of our girls. She lives but her face has been ruined permanently." Here she narrowed her eyes and, for the first time, Bilbo could see something like emotion in her lowered brows. "We demand retribution for this."

"So what do ya want us to do? Kill him?" Bofur asked, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back and forth on his heels.

Dinna slowly shook her head, looking as if she was trying very hard not to overbalance due to her hair. "No. We want you to ask the leader of the Thuggees to give him to us so that we may repay him for his attack."

Bilbo felt that he needed more information before he could agree to such terms. "Why did he attack your member if your groups are on good terms?"

Dinna's pursued her lips until they all but disappeared. "She refused his offer of companionship. In response, he cut up her face so no Dwarrow would ever look at her again. We plan to return his gift by removing his face completely."

Well. He couldn't say no to that.

"Do ya think the leader of the Thuggees would allow that?" Bombur asked with his usual polite smile, but there was a hard gleam to his eyes that wasn't there before.

"We do not know. He is fickle and not easy to predict. But we would ask first for his permission before we tempt war by taking one of his," explained the Dwarrowdam, flicking her wrist at them. "Now go and ask him for us. Bring back the criminal and we will find these Shadows for you."

Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heel and ascended the stairs with her dress trailing behind like a veil. They watched her disappear into the complex in silence that was finally broken by Bombur's snickering. Soon he was joined by Bofur and Bifur, and even Nori was chuckling at the dramatics and absurdity of it all.

Bilbo ignored his friends, and turned to Saksi, who still stood nearby with a smile on his face. "Hey, mind taking us to the Thuggee territory? Looks like we got a Dwarf to find."

The leader of the Thuggee gang was named Ganar and turned out to be a tall Dwarf with wide shoulders and pale face lined with scars. He listened to their request with a stoic face behind a desk made of stone in a circular room with only one entrance, and far too many guards for Bilbo's taste. Two of the guards stood behind Ganar dressed in black leather armor with a red X slashed onto the front. At the end of their explanation, Ganar leaned back into his chair and regarded them without any expression.

"I will need some time to think this over," he said slowly, voice surprisingly soft and light for such a large Dwarf. "Come back tomorrow and I will have your answer."

Bilbo scowled and exchanged a look of unease with Bombur. But, before he could speak up, Nori stepped forward and said, "We're not going anywhere until we speak to the real Ganar."

"Um, Nori? What are ya talkin' about?" Bofur whispered, tugging on the thief's sleeve.

Nori ignored him and continued to stare down Ganar. "I know you're not Ganar. You're his double or bodyguard, maybe, but not the boss of the group."

The Dwarf merely stared back, unfazed. "How do you know?" wondered the supposedly false Ganar.

"A liar always recognizes a fellow liar," Nori explained sweetly, grinning with his canines exposed. "And you keep looking at your friend here too often to be a coincidence. Hence, you are not in charge, and he is."

'Ganar' looked to the guard in question—a young Dwarf with black, slanted eyes, pale skin, and a round face that made him look childlike—who gave the Dwarf a small nod. At his nod, 'Ganar' rose to his feet and stepped back as the young guard stepped forward and removed his helmet.

"Well done. Few people are able to see through my ruse," said the young Dwarf, pushing back his hair as it tumbled out and flashing them all a smile that looked about as real as false gold. Unlike most Dwarves, he wore his hair loose and unbraided and unadorned with any sort of decorative accessory. It fell to his ankles in straight lines and was a dark brown color with tints of red.

"I am Ganar son of Ganin and leader of the Thuggee Band," he introduced, giving an elaborate bow. "Welcome to my home."

"Why do ya hide who ya are?" asked Bifur, his eyes narrowed and shoulders tense

Ganar blinked at him with his brows stretched high. "Isn't it obvious? For protection, of course."

"I don't believe it," Bombur said, slowly looking the younger Dwarf up and down with his lips puckered. "If the leader of an assassin guild is too scared to show his face to others than he would've never lasted a day in training, let alone live long enough to become the leader. So ya must be doing it for another reason."

Ganar smiled and tilted his head to Bombur in acknowledgment. "My, aren't you the clever one?" he cooed. "Do you really want to know that badly?"

"No, we don't," Bilbo interjected, rolling his eyes and pushing himself to the front of the group. "We came here to make a deal with you, not listen to your paranoid antics. Now will you hear us out?"

"Do ya listen to yourself when ya talk?" wondered Bifur, staring down at the Hobbit with a smirk.

"Bilbo Baggins," Ganar acknowledged, turning his unusual but still rather stunning eyes to Bilbo. "You've caused quite a stir with your arrival. Did you know there's a bounty on your head? Five hundred gold coins if brought in alive, three hundred if brought in dead."

"Seriously? From who?" Bofur asked, looking far too interested for Bilbo's taste. When he saw Bilbo's look, he winked at the Hobbit. "Just for future reference, of course."

The leader of the Thuggees shrugged as he leaned back against his table and then hoisted himself up. "Oh, some nobles who chose the wrong side of the game and lost it all. I wouldn't worry about them too much," he said, waving a flippant hand. "Everyone knows you're under the protection of Lord Óin and the Blue Iron. No one would dare touch you even if you were worth five thousand coins."

Bilbo leaned back on his heels, surprised by the news. "Okay, the Blue Iron I can understand but Óin? Why would anyone ever fear him?"

"He wasn't always a healer you know. Before his injury, he used to be the King's Wraith," Ganar informed him, swinging his legs back and forth as if he was a child and not the leader of an assassin guild.

Nori sucked in a sharp breath. "The King's Wraith? Damn. Even I didn't know about that," he muttered sharing an alarmed look with Bombur.

Bilbo wasn't so impressed mostly because he had no idea what it meant. "What is it?"

"It's a fancy title for the King's personal assassin slash bodyguard," answered Bofur, rubbing his jaw in thought.

"You must be joking," deadpanned the Hobbit, staring up at his friend. "Óin an assassin? The guy can't even breathe without making noise. How can someone like that stalk and kill people?"

"That's the point. No one would have ever pegged him as the King's Wraith, which just sets him up for easy targets," pointed out Bifur with a knowing look. "Ya don't have to be quiet to kill someone."

"Well said, Master Bifur," Ganar chirped, grinning with all his teeth displayed. "I'm sure you're quite familiar with that trade yourself, hmm?"

Bifur glowered and pulled his shoulders back until he stood straight and tall. "That's all in the past. I'm just a miner now."

Ganar smiled. "Of course," he said with clear mockery, turning his eyes back to Bilbo. "Down to business then. You've come here today to ask for the release of one of my Dwarrows, correct?"

"Yes. Miss Dinna wants revenge for what he did to one of her girls. From the story she told, I can't say I blame her."

"I'm sure her reasons are just and true," granted the Dwarf with a small nod. "And I am willing to cooperate with you and her. However, in return, I want you to give me an audience with the leader of the Blue Iron."

"Do you know who he is?" Bilbo wondered, surprised by the request.

"I have a good guess but no, not officially," Ganar admitted. "He's been very careful about keeping his identity a secret."

"Why do you want to meet him?"

"Never mind why," Ganar replied, giving a sharp smile that made the hair on his feet stand up. "Just know that a meeting is my price for turning over my subordinate."

"I'll pass your message along but you should know that I can't guarantee he'll agree. He's... not exactly someone I can control," Bilbo said slowly, eyeing the leader of the Thuggees carefully for his reaction.

To his surprise, the Dwarf simply gave a languorous shrug. "That's fine. I had expected as much," he admitted, swinging his legs idly. "I will be satisfied as long as you pass on the message. Deal?"

As if he had a choice. "Deal," he agreed, and hoped (prayed) that Prince Frerin wouldn't mind meeting the young leader of the Thuggees Band.

Chapter Text

"I don't trust him," Bifur announced after they left the Thuggees behind and headed for the safer districts.

"Who, Ganar?" Bilbo snorted and shook his hair out of his eyes so he could give the Dwarf an obvious eye roll. "Of course he's untrustworthy, look at how we met him! I would trust an Orc before I trusted him to be honest with us."

"Are ya going to set up the meeting for him?" wondered Bofur; eyeing a passing trio of drunk Dwarves as they wandered a bit too close to the group.

"I'll pass along his request but I don't know if his wish will be granted. Probably not if Boss has any sense," the Hobbit mused, thinking it over. "Then again, he may just surprise me and agree to the invite. I guess we'll just have to see."

"Ya best get an answer soon. Ganar won't send his Dwarrow to the Forty Diamonds until his end of the deal is met," Bombur reminded him patiently.

Bilbo nodded, having already realized that. "I'll find a way to see him tomorrow," he promised, gazing around them before coming to a complete halt. When his friends noticed his sudden stop, they also paused, and turned to look at him in mutual confusion.

"What's wrong, Bilbo?" asked Bofur, nudging the Hobbit on the arm with his elbow.

Mutely, Bilbo raised a hand and pointed to what caught his attention, and the group all turned as one to follow his line of sight. When they realized what it was that had caught his attention, there was a noticeable shit in the atmosphere.

"What is that?" Bilbo whispered, unable to look away from the devastating scene before him. "What is it?"

"Dead Cat Alley," answered Bifur, shoving his hands into his pockets and carefully looking away from the alley and Bilbo. There was a noticeable tenseness to his shoulders that had not been there a second ago. "It's where the folk here go to die."

He could not believe his ears. "What?"

"It's where the sick and fatally wounded go to die if they don't have family to care for them," Bombur explained further, his dark eyes growing hooded and hard until they resembled ebony more than anything else. "It's the only place they can die in peace."

Bilbo felt bile rise to the back of his throat. "Why... How is this allowed? Why isn't anyone doing anything?!"

Bofur shifted awkwardly next to him before reaching out to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder. "C'mon, Bilbo, ya seen what kind of place this is. No one here cares what happens to a bunch of beggars and whores," he said quietly. "It's just how things are."

He couldn't believe it. How could anyone look at the ill and injured Dwarves before him and not feel an ounce of horror and compassion? Was Erebor so jaded and cold that they could not offer help to their fellow citizens in need? Were his friends truly so heartless? And what of Thorin? Did he know of the alley that sat at the bottom of his kingdom? Did he even care?

"Where are the guards? Why aren't they doing anything?" he asked, staring at a Dwarrowdam with open sores all over her skin that oozed blood and pus. Part of her hair looked to be falling out and he could see a yellow tinge to her skin that spoke of nothing good.

"The guards don't tend to come this deep into the district," Bifur replied, glancing at the alley before quickly looking away. "And even if they did, they wouldn't care. The district is all criminals or descendents of criminals, remember? There's no helping such folk."

Bilbo shook his head and curled his shaking hands into fists. His nails dung into the flesh of his palms but he barely noticed the pain through his whirlpool of thoughts. "This isn't right. You can't just leave people to die like this," he whispered feeling something like fire ignite in the pit of his stomach. "Someone has to do something. I..."

He didn't realize he was moving until a hand curled around his bicep and spun him around. "What are ya doing?" asked Bofur, staring down at him in alarm.

Bilbo snarled and ripped his arm free from the Dwarf. "To help them, obviously, since no one else seems to care!"

"Bilbo, some of those Dwarrows are seriously sick. There's no saving them at this point," Bombur reasoned, stepping forward with a frown on his pleasant face. "And, in case ya forgot, we're in the territory of the One Order—not exactly a group we want to annoy, yes?"

"I don't care! I still have to try. I can't just ignore someone in need. It goes against everything I am as a Hobbit and a healer!" he argued, turning on his heel and trying to stomp off again only to be stopped once more. When he looked to see who it was, he found Nori staring at him with swampy green eyes.

"Let go, Nori," he ordered, trying to break the tight hold on his wrist.

Nori didn't budge. "No. You can't do anything for them at this point."

"Like hell I can't!" he argued. "There's still a chance I can save some of them—"

"You don't have time for that, Bilbo!" Nori snapped, interrupting him. He jerked the Hobbit closer and leaned down until they were at eyelevel. "Don't you get it? Now is not the time for your charity acts! We are in the territory of our potential enemies and you have three very powerful groups waiting on you to seal your end of a very important bargain! So no matter how much it hurts you, you need to walk away for now because helping these Dwarrows cannot be the main priority."

"Saving a life should always be a priority," he hissed back, his eyes beginning to water. He jerked his wrist free and quickly turned away so his friends wouldn't see his tears. He held up a hand to his eyes to stem the water works and then forced himself to calm down. Bilbo knew Nori was right, he did, but oh! It was so hard to admit it. Because the deal did come first—his mission was first—and he knew that, he did, but never did he feel angrier about it than at that moment.

When he finally felt his eyes clear of their tears, he scrubbed his face with one hand and turned back around to face the four Dwarves. Bilbo didn't bother to soften his glare as he stared at them with anger and disappointment. To his satisfaction, none of them could meet his eyes let alone face him completely.

Good. Let them feel the shame and guilt. I refuse to be the only one miserable here, he thought viciously, lip lifting up into a sneer. "Let's go. Dori is probably worried by now," he ordered, marching off for what looked like the western exit.

The Dwarves trailed behind him like scolded children following a cross mother. Only Bofur had the courage to walk next to him, and even then he couldn't bring himself to look at the healer face on.

"I'm sorry, Bilbo," he said quietly, reaching up to pull his hat down lower over his face.

Bilbo stoically ignored him and marched on. He had more important things to focus on than half-hearted apologies.

This isn't over yet, he vowed to himself, heart hardening with resolve. Not by a long shot.

"Welcome back," Dori greeted with a smile when Nori and Bilbo finally returned in the late hours. His pleasant smile quickly dropped when he noticed the dark looks on both of them. "What happened? Did someone get hurt again?"

"No, everyone is fine," Nori replied in a clipped tone as he marched off for his room. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Nori," Dori replied without looking away from Bilbo. Silently, he watched the Hobbit as he took a seat at the table and buried his face in his hands before quietly setting down the half-complete scarf he was making. "Bilbo, what happened?"

Bilbo took in a deep breath and let it out slowly as he tried to gather his self-control into something reasonable. "I saw Dead Cat Alley for the first time," he eventually said, pressing the heels of his hands harder against his eyes. Maybe if he pushed hard enough, he could press the memory of the dying Dwarves out of his mind. "It was... I can't describe it. It was just too horrible."

"I've never seen the alley myself but I've heard stories of it. It sounds like a sad place," Dori said slowly, his voice even and calm. He took a moment to envy the Dwarf for his composure. Why couldn't he be the same?

"Nori wouldn't let me help any of them. He said I didn't have time to get involved or the safety," he said in a monotone, dropping his hands to the table and looking to the Dwarf sitting at his side. "He was right, of course. If I had stayed, I would've spent the rest of the night trying to help them, and would've drawn attention to myself from the group we're trying to expose. I know he was right, I do, but I can't help feeling wrong about leaving them behind like that."

Dori nodded as he folded his hands on the table and stared off in the distance with a distant expression. "Sometimes in life we are forced to choose from two impossible choices," he said calmly, his jade green eyes turning foggy and distant. "Sometimes there is no right or wrong answer to pick from. And sometimes the only choice you can make is the one you can live with."

Bilbo had a feeling that the Dwarf wasn't talking to him anymore so much as he was recalling his own past decisions. "Do you want to know something funny?" he asked sardonically. "I never wanted to be a healer to begin with."

Dori turned to him, blinking away the fog and bring himself back to the present. "Truly? But you're so good at it," he replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Doesn't mean I wanted to do it," he said, dropping his chin onto his cupped hands on the table. "It was a duty I was forced into due to the needs of my clan. My mother was the only healer we had, you see, so when she died it fell to me to take over for her. I've done my job to the best of my abilities, but it's not the path I would have chosen for myself."

"What would you have done then? If you had a choice?"

Bilbo gave him a half-smile that he was sure was as bitter as he felt. "I would've liked to been a scribe like Ori. Studying the ancient history of great empires, learning the tongues of other races, reading every book available to me—it was my greatest wish as a child. Maybe it still is."

Dori's face softened in understanding. "Do you take any pleasure in being a healer?"

"Sometimes. I like being useful and being able to help people," he admitted before letting out a deep sigh. "But other times... It gets tiring. Like today; seeing those Dwarves and walking away from them... it hurt, Dori, it really did. And I think that maybe if I wasn't a healer, if I didn't have this craft, then maybe it wouldn't have hurt so much." Bilbo let out a laugh that sounded fake and broken even to him. "Pretty awful of me, huh?"

Dori shook his head and reached out to take Bilbo's hands into his own. The weaver's hands were twice the size of his own and engulfed Bilbo's like a giant cupping a stone. Looking at their joined hands reminded him sharply of his parents, and how unwavering and strong they had felt in his own. He wasn't surprised to realize that Dori's felt much the same.

"Oh, Bilbo. My dear lad. You are not awful for wishing things were different," the Dwarf whispered, gently squeezing his hands. "We all do it from time to time. Even I have wished that my life had taken a different road at times. Wondering and wishing is normal no matter what our race or age is."

"I'm not going to give up on those Dwarves. I'm going to go back there and figure out a way to help them," he admitted, squeezing back. "No matter how long it takes, I will find a way."

Dori gave out a low chuckle that ignited a flash of warmth in Bilbo's chest. "Oh, I have no doubt of that. For now why don't you get some rest? I'm sure you'll have much to do tomorrow."

And for the first time that night, Bilbo let out an honestly happy laugh. "Oh, Dori, you have no idea."

The next day Bilbo paid a visit to his boss with a plan.

"Rabbit," Óin said in clear surprise when Bilbo popped his head into his office. "What are you doing here? You don't return to work until tomorrow."

"I know," he replied, slinking into the room and closing the door firmly behind him before marching over to the Dwarf. "I came here because I need a favor from you, Óin."

Óin narrowed his eyes and leaned back into his chair. "Oh? What type of favor?"

Bilbo took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "I need to borrow your pass to get to the upper levels. I have a message for Prince Frerin that I must deliver today."

Óin stared at him for a long, long moment before letting out a loud and noisy sigh. "You made a deal with him," he stated, slumping forward to prop his elbows on his desk and bury his face in his hands. There was no question to who the 'he' was. "Of course you did. That's what he was bragging about to Thorin. That brat."

Bilbo furrowed his brows. "He was bragging to Thorin? Why?"

"Because he's a little shit stain that's why," muttered Óin, massaging his eyes and forehead with his wide palms. Eventually he pulled himself together enough to peer up at Bilbo with a look that he had never seen on his friend before. "Do you know what you're getting into with this?" he asked, blue eyes drilling into him. "Befriending Frerin isn't like befriending Thorin or Kíli or even me. Gaining his attention has real consequences. It can be dangerous for you."

Bilbo nearly laughed. "More dangerous than befriending the King of Erebor?" he said, arching his brows.

Óin's gaze didn't waver. "Yes," he stated without doubt. "Thorin's fondness for you is little-well known and, if discovered, would not be seen as anything more than an eccentric whim of royalty. But Frerin is a different matter. If word got out that he likes you—and he does, it seems, if he was willing to brag to Thorin about it—then that is a different, dangerous story."

The Hobbit bit his lower lip as alarms began to sound off in his head. Óin was serious it seemed. Serious enough that he believed Bilbo needed to be warned. But why? What made Prince Frerin more dangerous than his brother, the most power Dwarf in Erebor?

"Befriending Prince Frerin is dangerous," he mused slowly, studying Óin's face closely for a reaction. "But not Thorin because... he's already powerful. There's no one who would challenge him over it. But Prince Frerin is not and that... make him dangerous? Or rather... it's dangerous to be around him because there are powerful people watching him? Is that it?"

"Got it in one, lad." Óin's lips quirked into the mockery of a smile that stretched his face into unnatural angles. "You're right in that. Frerin alone is not a danger to you as long as you don't betray him or hurt someone he loves. But not everyone is so trusting or easy to charm. Some people don't do well with strangers. Some people even hate them."

"In other words, Prince Frerin has someone close to him who won't approve of us becoming friends," he summarized, bracing his hands on his hips and thinking deeply. "Someone with a lot of power and connections. But who...?"

"The who doesn't matter," the Dwarf cut in quickly with a scowl. "Just be aware that they exist and they will hurt you if they deem you dangerous to Frerin or even a threat to their relationship with him. So you need to be careful around him. Do you understand?"

Bilbo nodded solemnly. "I understand," he promised, thinking over Óin's words with care. "I will keep my guard up around the prince's associates. Now may I borrow your pass to meet with him? I promise I'll bring it right back."

Óin gave a small grunt and pulled out his pass from his robes. He tossed it to Bilbo, who caught it with one hand. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask," he said slowly, watching Bilbo stuff his blocky pass into his pocket, "how did you and your friends ever get up to Motvari's place without a pass?"

"Oh, Nori took care of that," he replied airily, trying not to smirk. "He promised the guards a night filled of sweat and moans if they let us in. They agreed, naturally."

Óin raised one brow while his lips began to curl into a smirk. "And did he deliver?"

"Of course," he answered, giving his boss a dramatic look of shock and hurt as he turned to leave. "Took them right to the forge where he works and showed them how to shovel coal. Nori never goes back on a promise you know."

With time against him, Bilbo went straight to Prince Frerin's manor without stopping. But when he arrived he found the prince out on business at the time. Fortunately his chamberlain was there and promised to deliver Bilbo's message to the prince once he returned home. Hoping that he wasn't being tricked, he passed on the note and then returned to the clinic to give Óin his pass back.

The chamberlain proved to be true as the next day, before he even entered the clinic, Bilbo was stopped by an unknown Dwarf who silently gave him a letter before slipping away. The letter was from Prince Frerin himself who reassured him that he had gotten Bilbo's message, and had sent his own reply to Ganar though he neglected to mention if he agreed to meet with the young Dwarf or not. Relieved either way, Bilbo went into work hoping that the gang leader would honor his agreement with the Hobbit.

Two days later he got his answer.

"Master Baggins, there's a lass here to see you," called one of the guards of the clinic—a Dwarf named Ein who was Bilbo's personal favorite of the guards. "Says someone named Dinna sent her?"

"Thank you, Ein, I'll be right there," he called back before turning his attention back to the child who's arm he was wrapping up. Once done, he gave the small boy a pat on the head, snuck him a cookie while his father wasn't looking, and headed out to meet the stranger waiting for him.

He found her standing out in the lobby of the clinic, gazing up at one of the murals on the ceiling with a curious look on her face. She was dressed in a long, violet dress and a heavy velvet cloak that hung off her broad shoulders nicely. With her wide eyes, round figure, and long dark hair, he wasn't surprised to find most of the guards frozen and staring at the stranger. When he looked closer, Bilbo swore he could even see some drool forming.

Morons.

"Hello there," he called, catching the stranger's attention and holding it. "Can I help you?"

The Dwarrowdam gave him a sultry smile. "Greetings, Master Baggins," she purred, dipping into an elegant curtsy that was as good as any noble. "I come bearing a letter from my queen. Will you accept it?"

"Is that a trick question?" he wondered, blinking. When the Dwarrowdam gave him a small smirk, he scowled and held out his hand. "Yes, fine, hand it over."

She did as asked. "My queen wishes for me to express her gratitude to you for fulfilling her request," she commented, watching him examine the heavy parchment critically. "Should you ever wish to strike up another deal, we would be more than happy to listen."

"I'll keep that in mind," he promised, giving her a short bow. "Give your queen my thanks. I appreciate her quick assistance in this."

The Dwarrowdam gave him another sultry smile and, with another graceful bow, turned on her way and left. The guards all watched her go with a mix of awe and lust that bordered on ridiculous. Rolling his eyes, he opened the envelop and quickly skimmed the letter inside of it before grinning in triumph. Stuffing it back into the envelop and packing it away in his pocket, he turned around and nearly skipped back to work with a giddiness he had not felt in sometime. All the while the words he had read kept repeating in his mind:

'The Hidden Enemy is with the Western Traitors. Should you enter, you will find them there.'

Chapter Text

Prince Frerin wasn't surprised by the note.

"It was highly likely that they would be hiding with one of the four forces in the Lead District," he explained as he folded up the note Bilbo had delivered to him into what looked like the beginnings of a flower. "The rest of the kingdom is guarded by my people. They had nowhere to go to for help but the bottom."

"What are you going to do to them now?" Bilbo asked, rocking back on his heels as he watched the golden prince lounge on a leather sofa. He looked like a cat basking in the sunlight after catching the farmer's prized hen. "I mean, are you going to capture them or something?"

"Nope. I'm going to wipe them out," answered the prince with a lazy shrug of his shoulders and the smile of a predator. "They're an eyesore and a threat to Erebor's stability. They have to go."

Bilbo frowned as ice settled over his bones. "So you're going to kill all of them?"

"Of course," Prince Frerin said, drawing out the words and blinking his wide blue eyes a few times. "Why? Don't like that plan?"

"I don't like seeing people die even if they deserve it," he admitted quietly, trying not to think of his mother's bruised and bloated face, or how lifeless his father had grown in his last few days. "It's just too sad for me."

Prince Frerin nodded in understanding even as his face remained firm with his conviction. "As a healer I'm sure you've seen a great deal of senseless killings. So if it helps any, my soldiers have orders to make their deaths as quick and clean as possible. It's the only bit of mercy I can afford to show them at this point."

It did help, oddly enough. "Thank you for that," he said, giving a small bow of his head. "I know that these Shadow bastards are hardly innocent and probably don't deserve mercy, but I can't help but wish it for them. I'm afraid that I'm weak that way."

"Your compassion is not a weakness, Master Baggins," Prince Frerin disagreed softly, something undecipherable passing over his face as he stared at the Hobbit. "As long as you don't let it blind you to reason, it can be a powerful tool. Keep that in mind."

For some reason the prince's words brought up the memory of the Dwarves from Dead Cat Alley, and grimly reminded him of his vow to help them. "Speaking of compassion, I came across a disturbing scene in the Lead District: the Dead Cat Alley," he announced, straightening his spine and raising his chin high. "Care to tell me about that?"

Prince Frerin's face dropped slightly in pained guilt before growing composed once more. "I'm sorry you had to see that. It is a tragic place but there is little I can do about it. No matter how many times I clean it out, Dwarrows still return to die. I've given up trying to change it."

Bilbo sneered; completely unmoved and unimpressed. "Then why don't you just build a clinic close to it? At least then the Dwarves who go there would have a chance to survive!"

"We tried that once. The clinic barely lasted a week before it got caught in one of the fights between the syndicates. It caught on fire and burned down—taking with it all the healers who had been trapped inside," the blond reported with a scowl that sharply reminded Bilbo of Thorin. "Since then, no healer has dared to take a step into the district in fear of what could happen again."

"Not even Óin?" he wondered, trying to ignore the strange rise of longing that curled in his chest at the reminder of Thorin. He had not seen the royal liar in some time and Prince Frerin's presence reminded him of it.

Prince Frerin wrinkled his pointy nose. "Óin is forbidden from going down there," he explained, letting out a small huff. "Too many enemies still about who would like nothing more than to slit his throat open."

"Why would—? Oh. Because he was the King's Wraith, huh?"

"He told you about that?"

"No, Ganar did, actually," Bilbo explained, tilting his head to the side in thought. "I didn't believe him at first—because I've actually met Óin you know—but he seemed pretty convinced. From your reaction I'm guessing it's true after all?"

"Correct. Óin was trained from birth to be Thorin's Wraith until he was injured on the job," Prince Frerin recounted, finishing up his paper blossom. "He stepped down after that saying Thorin needed someone more capable, but I think he was just tired of it all." The Dwarf shook his head with a sad smile. "He never did like killing people."

Bilbo wasn't surprised. For all his sour words and grumpy disposition, Óin was really quite softhearted. "Why did he do it then if he didn't like it?" he wondered, tapping his finger against his chin.

Prince Frerin shook his head again and made a sewing motion by his mouth. "Not my place to say I'm afraid. If you really want to know then you'll have to ask him yourself," he said cheerfully, rising to his feet and presenting the flower to Bilbo with a flourish. "Now I think it's time you run along home. And if you could, please try to avoid the Lead District for the next few days. It's going to take some time to clean it up."

Bilbo reluctantly took the, admittedly, beautiful flower. "You're not gonna hurt the other residents down there right," he half-commented and half-questioned.

Prince's Frerin flashed him smile that could have made the meanest bastard bite his tongue. "Not if they stay out of the way," he said sweetly, and then waved Bilbo away with a wink.

"Dori is going to murder the both of us," Ori complained for the millionth time later that day as he trudged along behind Bilbo. "You remember what he said right? Not to come back here?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "And if you remember what I said it was that you're free to go," he reminded the scribe patiently, scanning the dimly lit area carefully. So far they had only come across a few Dwarves but none of them bore the markings of a member from the One Order—a detail that both reassured and alarmed him.

Ori huffed as he snagged Bilbo's sleeve like a child. "As if I could let you come down here alone. That's just asking to get mugged and stabbed," he grumbled.

"Ori, I have nothing of value to be stolen," the Hobbit pointed out, trying to shake off Ori's hold only to fail.

"Medicine is always valuable," the Dwarf argued, shaking his head.

Well, he had to give him that. "They won't know I'm a healer. Not with the way I'm dressed," Bilbo reasoned, gesturing to his attire with his free hand.

Ori didn't look convinced. "You should've asked Nori to come," he whined, eyeing up the decrepit buildings around them with a glint to his green eyes. "He's always good at scaring away creeps."

Bilbo scowled at the reminder of his friend that he was still giving the silent treatment to. "No. I'm still mad at him for being a heartless coward."

"My brother isn't heartless," Ori protested, shaking his head fiercely and making his elaborate braids bounce. Today he had coiled his hair into spirals of braids the wrapped around the back of his head before falling down his back like a waterfall. "He's just... bad at being nice. He's not like you who's nice to everyone."

"He should be. Everyone should be kinder to each other," the healer argued, taking a sharp turn around a corner in hopes of freeing his wrist from Ori only to fail once more.

Ori pouted and was silent for a few minutes before speaking up again. "You know, Bifur mentioned once that it was odd you're so kind all the time considering that you have the most reason not to be," he said, peering up at Bilbo from under his lashes like a curious kitten. "I didn't get it at first but now I do and it makes me wonder too: why are you so positive and nice?"

Bilbo thought about the questioned for a moment before shrugging one shoulder. "It's for a number of reasons with the first being that it's simply part of being a Hobbit," he replied. "After living so long in misery, we've made it a point to always be kind to others no matter how they treat us in turn. It's just proper manners is all. But mostly I'm nice to people because I don't want to live in a world that's only cruel and dark. I want to change it into something better than it is now."

He glanced over his shoulder and flashed the scribe a smile. "That's why I'm going into this dangerous place to help a bunch of strangers at death's door. Get it now?"

Ori stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment before nodding firmly. "Yeah, I get it. That's... a pretty admirable goal to have," he said, grinning with all his teeth exposed. "I like it. I think I'll join you in pursuing it. It's certainly a lot better than Dori's practice of being cold and stoic and Nori's philosophy of being a prick to everyone."

"You really shouldn't take anything Nori does as role model material. That's just commonsense," he pointed out reasonably.

Ori shrugged one shoulder. "So what's the plan when you get to the alley? Just start helping the closest Dwarrow?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Well, yes. I'll examine all of them first and see who needs the most help and then go from there," he explained, patting his satchel of healing supplies.

"What if they don't want your help?" Ori pushed, raising his chin and brows high in a manner that made him look like a miniature Dori.

"Then I will do everything in my power to convince them otherwise. And, if they still refuse, I'll leave them be. I can hardly force someone to accept help."

"Actually you can. There's a law here that gives healers the right to force the sick into clinics," Ori admitted, giving a sheepish grin. "It's mostly used for the ones who are ill in the head and don't know that they need help, but it can be used on other patients too."

"That's... not something I've heard of before," Bilbo said slowly, a bit taken back by the new piece of information. Of all the kingdoms he visited, none of them had ever forced their people to get help. "What a strange law. Is it a common practice with Dwarves? To ignore freewill, I mean."

Ori ran his tongue over his teeth as he considered Bilbo's questions. "Not really. It's a fairly new law that came about when the current king came into power," he explained. "See the last king—King Thrór—had spent his last year overcome by an illness of the mind. It grew so bad that he began to forget who he was and used to wander around the palace aimlessly; lost and confused by everything around him. When his family or the guards tried to help him, he would lash out and order them to leave him alone, and they had no choice but to do so because he was still the King Under the Mountain. That's why when His Majesty took the throne, he passed the law that allowed healers the power to force patients to receive treatment."

Bilbo shook his head; saddened by the tragic tale. "I had no idea Thorin's grandfather suffered so much. That poor soul."

"King Thrór suffered a lot of tragedy in his life," Ori admitted, green eyes growing dim and his mouth turning down at the corners. "He lost his father and younger brother early in life and his only remaining sibling left him to make his own way in the world. Then his first wife and son died together in childbirth, and though his second wife managed to give him two more sons, only one survived to adulthood. Then there was that mess with Lord Grór and Lord Náin before he finally lost his senses and passed away. It was a sad end for a great Dwarrow."

"A very sad life," Bilbo agreed, pity and sympathy worming its way around his heart. "I guess that just goes to show that death doesn't discriminate no matter who you are."

"Have you lost a lot of family, Bilbo?" Ori asked quietly.

Bilbo nodded. "Yes," he said simply, and tried not to think about all the names and faces of the kin he had buried. There were far too many and too little time for him to recall them all.

Ori nodded without surprise. Silently he slid his hand down Bilbo's wrist to his hand and wrapped his soft fingers around Bilbo's comfortingly. This time Bilbo didn't push him away.

"Wow, this is... this is not what I was expecting," Ori admitted, staring at the alley with his eyes so wide they threatened to pop out of his skull. "You certainly weren't exaggerating when you said they needed help. This is just horrible."

Bilbo nodded grimly as he checked the pulse of an unconscious Dwarf leaning against a broken down wall. "Hence why we're here," he said, mentally counting the beats before turning his attention to the Dwarf's face.

Ori crouched down next to him and watched Bilbo work with a deep look of concentration. "What do you need me to do?"

He pointed to the rest of the alley without looking away from his patient. "Check for more unconscious Dwarves and ones with open injuries," the Hobbit instructed, peeling one of the Dwarf's eyes open to study the color. "Those are the ones who will need to be treated first as they are the ones with the most risk. However don't touch any open wounds or go too close to the ones coughing or sneezing. I don't want you to catch something untreatable."

"Got it." Ori nodded firmly and rose to his feet before spinning on his heel and marching down through the wide alley. Bilbo gave him a fleeting glance before turning back to his patient as he whimpered from unknown pain.

The next few hours crawled by like a slug across a branch. Bilbo lost track of the minutes as he became engrossed in tending to one Dwarf after the other. As Ori had predicted, some tried to refuse his aid but eventually caved when they saw how unrelenting the Hobbit was. Others though easily welcomed the offer of help; crying tears and babbling as they grasped Bilbo's hands with the desperation that came from one who had lost all hope in seeing another tomorrow. Those were the hardest for him to face as they reminded him of some of his more broken family members.

Lost in his job, he failed to notice the Dwarf standing over him until they cleared their throats. Blinking a few times, he looked up and found a familiar face staring down at him with large dark eyes.

"Miss Arnina," he greeted in surprise, leaning back on his haunches to get a clearer view of the Dwarrowdam. "What are you doing here?"

Arnina's lips quirked up into a half-smile even as her brows remained furrowed in obvious confusion. "I think I should be asking you that," she said, shifting her basket of what smelt like meat to rest on her hip. "What are you doing down here, Master Baggins? Don't you know the district is at war right now?"

"Yeah, I heard there was some fighting going on but I still had to come. These Dwarves need help," he explained, turning his attention back to the Dwarf he was currently treating. He had been stabbed in the side and the wound had grown infected. He had managed to stop the bleeding and had sewed up the injury but the ill tumors were going to take more time and luck to tend to.

"Help?" Arnina repeated before her dark eyes widened in understanding. "You're a healer. And you've come to heal the Untouchables?"

Bilbo raised his brows at the unfamiliar term. "Untouchables? What's that?"

"What we call the Dwarrows who wander into this alley to die," she answered, her eyes flickering over the bodies dotted through the area before coming back to rest on Bilbo. "They become Untouchable because they're usually sick with something that no one wants to catch, or they've been injured doing something they shouldn't have been bothering with. Either way, no Dwarrow here wants anything to do with them."

Bilbo scowled in annoyance and had to firmly remind himself that getting angry at Arnina was pointless. It was not her fault that she did not know any better. "I guess it's a good thing I'm not a Dwarf then," he commented with forced lightness. "Now as nice as it was to see you, I have to get back to work now. So if there's nothing else...?"

Arnina shook her head and took a step back before pausing again. Once more her eyes flickered over Bilbo and the Dwarves before coming to a stop on Ori where he sat some distance away helping an old Dwarrowdam drink water he had collected. "I don't understand. Why are you helping them? Are you not afraid of what you might get from touching them?"

Bilbo snorted and shook his hair out of his face as he began to wipe down his feverish patient. "I would be a pretty pathetic healer if I feared my own patients," he commented dryly, trying not to laugh at the thought. "Besides, from what I can see, most of the illnesses here can't be caught just through skin. It would take a lot more than that."

Arnina blinked in obvious surprise. "Oh. I... didn't know that," she admitted, biting her lower lip as she continued to stare down at Bilbo and his patient. He watched as emotions flickered across her face rapidly before settling on a mulish sort of determination. Then, to his surprise, she kneeled down next to him and set her basket to the side and pulled off her frayed olive scarf and began to roll up her sleeves.

"What are you doing?" he asked, furrowing his brows together.

"I'm going to help you," she said as she began to wrap up her long braids with the scarf she had pulled off. "If you are not afraid than I have no reason to fear them either. So tell me what to do."

Bilbo was not convinced. "Really? And what brought on this sudden change of heart after years of ignoring them?" he asked with barely hidden scorn.

Arnina paused in her task and fixed the Hobbit with a look that could have melted the flesh from his bones. "Do not presume to know my past so easily, Master Baggins. Do you think the people here enjoy throwing away our kind? Would that we had a choice we would help them but what help can we give when we cannot even care for ourselves?"

"I have nothing yet I would still try," he argued, raising his jaw stubbornly. "What is your excuse?"

Arnina looked away with a small slump to her shoulders. "Not everyone is blessed with such bravery and brass," she said quietly, staring down at the delirious Dwarf lying halfway in Bilbo's lap. "Nor do we all have the skills needed to help."

Bilbo had nothing to say to that. He didn't really understand what she meant with the first part but he understood her point with the second, and he knew that she was correct—not everyone had a mother to train them as a healer. After a moment of tense silence he cleared his throat and gestured to the Dwarf between them. "If you really want to help then help me in moving him," he said, trying to ignore the sour of taste of guilt rising in the back of his throat. "I need to—what the hell is that noise? Has something bad happened?"

Arnina tilted her head to the side in thought as the sound of muffled horns ringing through the upper levels echoed above them. "I don't think so," she said slowly, staring above them with a look of concentration. "Those sound like the horns of greeting. They are announcing the arrival of our cousins."

"Cousins?" Bilbo repeated, baffled, until his memory kicked in and made his mouth drop open. "Wait, then that means—"

Arnina nodded without breaking her stare as a small smile played at the corner of her lips. "Yes. Lord Dáin has finally arrived to Erebor."

Chapter Text

"I still can't believe they're gone," Bifur confessed to Bjarte as he laid out on the ground with his head in his husband's lap. "Feels like a dream."

Bjarte clucked his tongue as he ran his rough fingers through Bifur's hair. "About fucking time. I always hated Herlígur and his stupid group. Good riddance."

"Ya hate anyone who steals Bifur's attention from ya," corrected Bofur, stretched out on the sofa with his boots kicked off and his hat pulled over his eyes. "Ya'd hate Hatice too if she wasn't so cute."

"He's my husband. I'm allowed to be possessive," the blond shot back, tightening his grip on Bifur's hair. "And Hatice is family, ya brat, why would I ever hate her?"

"Don't know. Why'd ya used to glare at me when we were sprogs and I used to hold Bifur's hand?" wondered Bofur, pushing his hat up with two fingers to give him a wide smile. He was always doin' shit like egging Bjarte on.

"Stop taunting him, Bofur, we all know ya only did that to make Bjarte mad," chided Bombur from where he sat sewing up a hole in Bjarte's shirt. He had a pile of clothes next to him and Bifur recognized his trousers among them. He felt a flash of guilt when he realized that Bombur was sewing up their clothes along with the usual loads he did for clients, but he forced it down before it could get to him.

Bombur had been doin' these types of chores all their lives; feeling guilty now was sort of... dumb.

"Do ya think Bilbo will be okay?" wondered Bofur, abruptly changing the subject because he had the fucking attention span of a gnat. "He was really upset when he saw Dead Cat Alley. I don't think he's just gonna forget about it."

Bifur scowled at the reminder of their Hobbit friend. "He might just sneak back down and help, the little shit," he admitted, recalling the look in Bilbo's eyes when he had seen Dead Cat Alley. "Better tell the brothers to keep an eye on him."

"I'll mention it to Dori over tea tomorrow," Bombur promised without looking up from his task.

Bifur relaxed a bit but not completely. He didn't know when the little healer snuck under his skin, but he did it, and now Bifur found himself worrying over the runt like he was kin and clan. It was... well, it was strange, because Bilbo was so different from him and what he knew, and he had never been big on outsiders to begin with, but with Bilbo...

He made everything confusing. He forced his way into his life and charmed them all with his persistent kindness. Even more, Bilbo had done something for him that no one before had ever thought possible—he had freed Bifur of the Shadow Blades. It was one of the greatest gifts he had ever received, and Bifur didn't know if he would ever be able to pay it back.

Well, that wasn't quite true. He did have one idea...

"Would ya hate me terribly if I said I wanted to go with him?" he asked Bjarte quietly, and he could see in the blond's face that he understood what Bifur was really asking.

"No, because I rather want to go myself," admitted his husband, giving him the smile that he only ever shared with Bifur. "But I know I'd only be a burden. Ya would put my safety above the mission and that's hardly fair to Bilbo."

"Does that mean I have ya blessing?" he teased, leaning into Bjarte's hand.

Bjarte rolled his eyes. "Bifur, if ya didn't offer than I would've," he retorted, tugging on Bifur's hair teasingly.

He raised his brows in surprise. "Really? But ya hate traveling." That was an understatement. Bjarte turned into a whiny little brat whenever he had to leave the comforts of home for more than a week. Bifur was still amazed he hadn't killed him during their escape to Erebor from Ered Luin.

Bjarte shrugged carelessly. Part of his shirt slipped down his shoulder and revealed the brown skin underneath. Bifur eyed it up in consideration, and made a mental note to leave a mark there later. Bjarte would probably bitch him out for it but it would be worth it. His husband always looked better with love bites.

"Yeah, but I like Bilbo more than I hate traveling so I'd endure it for him," Bjarte explained, giving him a smile while pushing up his shirt. "And I'm pretty sure he's gonna need all the help he can get, ehh?"

Bifur closed his eyes and recalled how pale and young Bilbo had looked when he had gotten injured in the Lead District. He thought of the look in the lad's eyes when he bartered with the three powers of the underworld, and how driven he was to help the people around him no matter the cost. Bilbo needed all the help he could get, yeah, but Bifur would bet his left nut it wouldn't be from the dragon.

"Lad is gonna need an army to keep him safe," he told Bjarte, and leaned closer to his husband as Bjarte laughed and laughed.

Chapter Text

It took only three days for Dori to figure out where Bilbo and Ori were slipping off to in the evenings after their jobs were done for the day. To say that he was unimpressed would be a gross understatement.

"Do you have a selective memory?" the Dwarf asked on the fourth night after they returned from their trip to the Lead District. He had his arms crossed over his expansive chest and an expression on his face that said he was seriously considering taking up drinking as a new pastime. "Did nearly bleeding to death down there teach you nothing?"

"I don't understand why you're so surprised by this. You know how seriously I take my job as a healer," Bilbo reminded him patiently as he massaged his left wrist. After using his hands all day, the joints had begun to grow stiff. He had a feeling it wouldn't be long before he was experiencing rheumatism just as his father had. "You really should have seen this coming."

Dori rolled his eyes, and turned to his youngest brother, who sat next to Bilbo trying to muffle a yawn. "And you, Ori? What's your excuse?"

"I didn't want Bilbo going down there alone so I went along," the scribe explained simply, rubbing his eye with two fingers. "But now I'm going back because I like helping the Dwarrows down there. Oh, and Miss Arnina is really nice too. I think we should join her for dinner. You'd really like her, Dori."

Dori gave him a thoughtful look before nodding. "I'll keep that in mind," he promised before looking back to Bilbo. "As for you, how long do you plan to keep this up?"

He shrugged, unconcerned. "Until I leave Erebor I suppose."

"I thought as much." Dori let out a deep breath from his nose and seemed to sag in defeat. "Since you insist on continuing this, you and I will be paying a trip to the Ministry of Vigor tomorrow morning before work. There I will file a request for a clinic to be built in the Lead District, and you will back up my claim as the healer working down there."

Since it was rather late and he had a long day, it took Bilbo a good while to make sense of what he was hearing. "I'm sorry but can you explain that a bit further? Since when do you have the power to make such a request?"

"Every citizen of Erebor has a right to put in a request for more clinics, schools, housing or anything else they feel their district is lacking in," answered Ori before his brother could speak up. He then quickly held up a hand to muffle yet another yawn that interrupted him mid-speech. "The–They're not—ahhh, sorry. They're not always answered, obviously, but the option is still there."

Dori nodded in agreement. "I will put in a request for a clinic to be built in the Lead District on the grounds that there are none available. It may take a good amount of time for it to be considered, and we'll probably have to go back more than once to get it approved, but I believe a center can be built there in time. Once it is there will be funding and healers available. You'll even be able to work there part time instead of on the streets."

Bilbo leaned back into his seat and regarded the weaver before him with a smile. "You've been planning this the whole time," he accused happily.

"Since you came home the first night practically shaking with rage," Dori admitted with an answering smirk. "Keep in mind though that none of this will be easy. There's good reason why no clinic has ever lasted down there."

Bilbo shrugged, uncaring of the dangers or conflicts that could arise. It wasn't as if he hadn't faced the worst of it already in his dealings with the three syndicates of the Lead District. "The good things never are."

"Great. Now that we got all that out of the way, can I go to bed now?" wondered Ori, rising from his chair and pulling off his fingerless gloves.

Dori glanced at the water clock in the corner of the room and gave a nod. "Agreed. It's long past our bedtimes. Go get some sleep and I'll see you both in the morning."

Bilbo and Ori mumbled their farewells and shuffled to their room while Dori went to his own. But when Bilbo opened the door, he stopped short as he found Nori stretched out on Ori's bed. When he saw the duo, he sat up and swung his legs around the side of the bed, and pointed in the direction that his own room sat.

"Ori, go sleep in my bed tonight. I'm gonna sleep here," he ordered, looking over Bilbo's head to give his younger brother a look that warned him not to disobey.

Ori stuck his tongue out at his sibling but didn't argue. "Fine. Night," he said, turning around and walking off with a wave over his shoulder.

Bilbo shot his friend a dirty look but didn't comment on his obvious betrayal. Trying to ignore Nori, he walked over to the corner and proceeded to change into his sleeping shirt. Once decent, he turned his attention to his nest of a bed on the floor, and began to arrange it to his liking.

"So how much longer are you going to pretend I don't exist?" wondered Nori as he braced his elbows on his knees and watched the Hobbit fiddle about.

Bilbo ignored him and began to fluff his pillow.

Nori sighed and dropped his face into his hands. "You know you're making this really hard for me to apologize," he said, his voice slightly muffled by his cupped hands.

"Forgive me but I didn't know you needed me to hold your hand through an apology," the healer retorted tartly.

Nori peeked up at him over his hands. "You know it's hard for me to say I'm sorry," he grumbled, voice still muffled. "I'm really trying here. So can't you just forgive me for being a prick and we can go back to being friends?"

Bilbo had to curb the urge to fling his pillow into Nori's face. "I'm not angry at you for being yourself, Nori," he corrected with a sneer. "I'm angry because you knew about those Dwarves yet you've done nothing to try and help them!"

Nori dragged his hands up through his hair with a huff. "And what should I have done, Bilbo? In case you've forgotten, I'm not a healer or someone with influence over these sorts of things. There's nothing I can do!" he snapped, digging his hands into the thick strands. "Ugh, you need to get off this self-righteous horse of yours and stop looking down on the rest of us for not being as kind as you! Not all of us can afford to go out helping every poor soul they come across!"

Bilbo jerked back, stung by his friend's sharp words. Nori in turn seemed to realize what he had said because he flinched and dropped his twitchy hands into his lap. "Shit, Bilbo, that wasn't what I meant. I didn't mean to say it like that."

"Yes, you did," he argued, shaking his head which made his curls bounce into his face. "And you're right, in some of it. I am self-righteous and I can be overly critical of others I believe lacking in principles. But it's not something I'm going to apologize for. I don't believe I have any reason to be ashamed for saying what I believe."

"It's not something I want you to change," Nori said, staring down at his hands with his swampy green eyes. "I... It's a good thing, what you say and do. I admire it. I just... I can't measure up to you, Bilbo, I'm just not that good. I'm a heartless asshole who's gonna keep disappointing you."

Bilbo couldn't help but roll his eyes at what he was hearing. "Nori, in the time that we've known each other, I have never seen you do or say anything that could be considered heartless," he said dryly, crossing his arms over his chest and arching his brows. "I mean, the asshole part is true, not going to deny that, but being a prick doesn't automatically make you cruel."

"I don't know. The other day I didn't hold the door open for an old Dwarrow behind me," Nori said, a crooked grin curling at the edge of his lips.

"You fiend," deadpanned Bilbo, lowering his voice to a mocking baritone. "Such evil deeds are unforgivable. I take back everything I just said. You are obviously the spawn of Morgoth."

Nori let out a rusty laugh as he rubbed his face again with one hand. "Smartass," he teased, nudging Bilbo's thigh with his bare foot. "So... now that we talked about our feelings, am I forgiven? Can we go back to speaking again?"

Bilbo rolled his head back in thought. "I don't know. I'm kinda enjoying the silence."

"Liar. You like my stupid remarks."

Bilbo didn't bother to deny it. "If I forgive you, then you need to make things up to me," he commented, giving the thief a firm look. "Tomorrow night you're coming with me and Ori to tend to the Dead Cat Alley folks."

"If I must," granted Nori, rolling his eyes and letting out a deep sigh as if he was doing Bilbo a great favor. "Move over."

Bilbo frowned as the Dwarf stood up and joined him on his frumpy bed. "What are you doing? There's a perfectly good bed right over there," he reminded, pointing to it incase Nori had forgotten what he had been sitting on.

Nori twisted his face into a grimace. "I don't feel comfortable sleeping in a bed while you're on the floor," he explained simply before dropping to his knees next to the Hobbit. "So. Scoot over."

Bilbo sighed as he moved over to the side of the bed. "You're not going to hog all the blankets are you?"

"Only if you kick me in the balls," Nori promised, making himself comfortable on the small and squished bed.

"I only do that with bedmates who snore," he said, laying down and pulling the quilt up to his chin.

Nori snorted as he crossed his arms behind his head. "Never sleep with Dori then. He sounds like a cross between a bear and a cave-in," he revealed with a wicked grin.

Bilbo snickered quietly. "Are you going to blow out the lantern?" he wondered, closing his eyes and allowing his body to finally relax for the first time that day.

He felt Nori hum next to him. "I will before I fall asleep," he promised quietly. "I... Bilbo, are we really okay now?"

He smiled into his pillow while reaching over to pat Nori on the arm. "Yes, Nori. We're okay now."

The Ministry of Vigor was an ancient and towering building that sat in the very center of the Beryl District on the Fourth Level of the city. It was built out of sterling silver and decorated with pretentious bits of red beryl and ivory carvings of Dwarves performing unknown tasks. Bilbo found it to be a bit gaudy all in all but kept his comment to himself when he saw Dori admiring the red stones.

"I didn't think you liked jewels," he commented as they stood outside the massive doors where the largest cut beryls were mounted. "I've never seen you wear anything but metals and wool."

"I usually don't care for minerals," Dori admitted as he stared up at the stones with a hint of longing in his face. "But I have always found the red beryl to be an exception to this."

Bilbo decided he was in no place to judge taste—his favorite flower was counted among weeds after all—and merely nodded in acceptance. "Shall we head in then?"

Dori gave the beryls one last look before pushing open the heavy doors with one hand. Bilbo followed and found himself in a massive room filled with well-dressed Dwarves in red robes rushing about. Dori caught one by the elbow and spoke to him quietly in Khuzdûl before releasing the Dwarf to march off into another chamber to the left.

"He went to get the form we need to fill out," Dori explained to Bilbo after the Dwarf had left. "I will fill it out and you can sign it at the end as the acting healer."

Bilbo nodded as he crossed his arms over his chest and observed the bustling room styled with cream and ruby colored stones. "So what does a Ministry of Vigor do exactly?" he asked, leaning back against the colossal pillar behind him.

"They're in charge of seeing to the construction and maintenance of healing centers," Dori explained, also joining him in watching the busy Dwarves. "They also oversee the training of healers and decide where to send them when they're done. I believe they even see to the distribution of food and clean water to the poorer sects of the kingdom, and deal with any plagues that may arise. I'm sure they deal with other issues too but I don't quite recall them all."

"What are the different ministries? Nori mentioned seven but he didn't recall all their titles," Bilbo wondered, watching a Dwarf attempt to carry a stack of books higher than him without running into anyone.

"Well there is Vigor, of course, then Foreign Affairs which you've been to. Then there's the Ministry of Knowledge which is where Ori took his exam, so you've been there too," counted Dori, holding up a hand and listing them with his fingers. "There's also War, Stone, Coin, and finally Law. All of them are located on this level but not in the same district. I believe that the Ministry of Stone is the only other one that shares a space here."

Bilbo nodded slowly as he tried his best to remember all the names. "Those are a lot of branches. Do you know who runs each one?" he questioned.

Dori frowned and ran his tongue over his canines in thought. "Hmm. Well, I know Lord Balin runs the Ministry of War, and of course Lord Eikar ran the Ministry of Stone before his death. I don't think they've selected a replacement for him just yet. Lady Súna is in charge of Foreign Affairs, as I'm sure you recall, and her husband, Lord Glóin, runs the Ministry of Coin. Then there's Lord Rathsin who runs this place—the Ministry of Vigor."

"What about the Ministry of Law and Knowledge?" wondered the Hobbit, glancing at his friend expectantly.

To his surprise, Dori stiffened and refused to meet Bilbo's gaze. "Lord Víggrímur runs the Ministry of Knowledge," he finally said quietly. "Law is run by Lord Kálvur."

Bilbo raised his brows and leaned forward a bit in order to gain a better look at Dori's expressionless face. "Is there something wrong with those two?" he probed, watching the Dwarf closely for a reaction.

Dori remained stubbornly straight-faced. "No. Both are Dwarrows of integrity and honor," he replied, scanning the room in an obvious attempt to avoid Bilbo's stare. "I'm going to check on our appeal. Wait here for me."

Bilbo pursued his lips as he watched the weaver stomp off without another word. He played with the idea of tagging along and bugging Dori for a clear answer, but ultimately decided to let it go. Dori was not like his brothers who, if Bilbo whined enough, would eventually give in and tell him their troubles. Instead Dori was like the stone—solid and unwavering and incapable of opening up without extreme measures. He was better off leaving the subject alone until the Dwarf was ready to talk about it.

"Master Baggins? Is that you?"

Bilbo looked around at the sound of his name, and found himself facing a distantly familiar Dwarf with blond hair and blue eyes. It took him longer than he cared for to realize that he was staring at the Crown Prince of Erebor—Prince Fíli.

"Prince Fíli!" he yelped when he finally made the connection. He pushed himself off the pillar and quickly gave a messy bow. "My apologies for staring! I didn't recognize you at first!"

Prince Fíli smiled widely; revealing two dimples in each cheek and showing off the sharp cut to his jaw. "No apologies needed. I hardly look like a prince right now so your confusion is understandable," he reassured with genuine warmth while gesturing to his appearance. Indeed, the prince was dressed in plain and generic red robes that made him look like any other employee of the Ministry of Vigor. His hair was in a simple topknot and the only jewelry he wore were a plain pair of silver hooped earrings and beard clasps. If the prince had not approached him first, Bilbo would never have noticed him from any other Dwarf in the room.

"How have you been, Master Baggins?" the Crown Prince asked cheerfully, stepping closer to him and lowering his voice a tad. "Have you completely recovered from your injuries?"

"Yes, I'm fine now. Thank you for your concern," Bilbo reassured before biting his lower lip. "Um, may I ask why your highness is here? And in such... different clothes?"

Prince Fíli chuckled and patted his hair subconsciously. "Yes, I suppose I do look rather odd considering my normal attire," he admitted with an easy smile. "But the clothes are necessary for this line of work. I'm performing a secret inspection of the premises. Each ministry is subjected to them at least once a season in order to weed out any irresponsible activities or negligence. Rather boring to be perfectly honest. Most of these places are run by people who are wise enough not to cross my uncle."

"Now which uncle would that be? The lying one or the sneaky one?" wondered Bilbo, rocking back slightly on his heels.

Prince Fíli's smile shifted into a smirk that wouldn't have looked out of place on Prince Kíli. "I'll let you be the judge of that. So what brings you here, Master Baggins?"

Bilbo felt his good cheer melt away as he recalled the reason for his visit to the ministry. "I'm here with a friend to file a request for a healing clinic to be built in the Lead District," he explained simply.

Prince Fíli's smirk didn't waver. "Oh? And what brought this on?"

"I saw Dead Cat Alley," he said, trying not to sound too accusing towards the prince.

To his surprise, Prince Fíli didn't look guilty or ashamed like Prince Frerin had. Instead, he wrinkled his nose like a pup encountering a kitten for the first time. "What's Dead Cat Alley?"

"You... don't know?" Bilbo said slowly, studying the prince carefully.

Prince Fíli simply shook his head. "No. Should I?"

"I... suppose not. Prince Frerin knew of it so I guess I just assumed that you would know too..." he said, thoughts straying to if Thorin knew before cutting them off there. "Well, to put it simply, it is an alley in the Lead District where the Dwarves of that level go to die, or are intentionally left there due to illness or injury."

"That's... illegal," the Crown Prince said slowly, his brow beginning to lower in the same way Thorin's did when he was thinking deeply about something. "They should be taken to clinics to be treated. If not by their families, then at the very least by the guards in charge of that district."

"The guards down there don't go past a certain point on account of how dangerous it is. There are also no clinics down there for any Dwarf to go to."

Prince Fíli shook his head and began to pace. "That isn't right," he muttered, one hand rubbing the hem of his sleeve. "How can there be no clinic? Every level—every district—is meant to have at the very least one clinic. For there to be none..."

Bilbo watched the prince pace and mumble to himself before commenting, "I'm surprised Your Highness cares so strongly about this. Most leaders I've met wouldn't be so enraged."

Prince Fíli swung around to level his blazing blue eyes on Bilbo. "You insult me, Master Baggins," he said, his voice a carefully controlled storm. "I am the Crown Prince of Erebor and future King Under the Mountain. That makes Erebor and all her children mine; mine to care for, mine to protect, and mine to guide. That they are suffering without my knowledge... it boils my blood."

Bilbo took a step back and held his hands up to show he meant no harm. "I apologize. I didn't mean to offend you," he said sincerely. "Actually, I'm rather impressed. You have very strong convictions. Most nobles I've met wouldn't even spare a thought for the lower classes."

"My father was born to a lower class. Though he is of the Third Rank now, it does not erase his blood," the Crown Prince revealed, raising his head high and straightening his spine. "He has never allowed my brother nor I to forget where we come from. I am the son of the highest bloodline and the lowest and I am proud of both."

Bilbo felt his respect for the Prince Consort rise a notch. "Your father is an honorable Dwarf."

"Thank you. I have great respect for him and appreciate everything he's sacrificed for my brother and I," the prince admitted, glancing around in distraction before stepping closer to Bilbo and lowering his voice. "Master Baggins, I have to depart now but I would like to continue this conversation at another time. Would you mind coming to the palace in three days time at noon? I will reimburse you for the work you will miss and keep Óin from harassing you."

Do I have a choice, Bilbo wondered briefly before nodding his head. "I can do that," he promised.

Prince Fíli's face relaxed back into the easy smile he had worn earlier. "Perfect. I will send a servant to escort you to the palace. Until then, have a good day, Master Baggins."

"You as well, Your Highness," Bilbo returned, and dipped into a brief bow as the Crown Prince turned and left. He watched the blond go and hoped, fleetingly, that whatever the prince had planned would be of help to the Dwarves of the Lead District.

"Bombur why am I here?" Bilbo asked as he followed Bombur through the stands of the market that evening. It was part of the Copper District and held the best selections when it came to food from Dale and Mirkwood.

"Because I need someone from the surface to help me select the best vegetables," Bombur patiently replied, humming to himself as he swung his basket back and forth.

"What makes you think I know?" the Hobbit nearly whined.

Bombur laughed and fondly mused Bilbo's hair with his free hand. "Ya a Hobbit, Bilbo, of course ya know about vegetables. It's practically an unspoken rule."

Bilbo pouted and pushed the heavy hand off of his head. "Rude. So rude."

Bombur simply kept smiling as he reached down to exam a beetroot. "So how are the Dwarrows in Dead Cat Alley? Have ya managed to save any?"

Bilbo nearly tripped over his own feet in shock. "How do you know about that?" he asked, grabbing onto the Dwarf's shoulder in order to balance himself.

"Bifur told me," the cook replied, setting the beet back down and picking up a leafy green plant.

"How does he know?"

Bombur sighed and gave the Hobbit the same look a parent would to a very dense child. "Bilbo, who do ya think has been payin' yar protection fee?"

"Protection fee?" he repeated dumbly.

"What, ya thought those thugs were leavin' ya alone out of the goodness of their hearts?" the Dwarf teased, tossing the plant back into the pile.

"Honestly, I thought they just didn't care because I only ever bother with the Untouchables," he admitted, wrinkling his nose at the last word.

"A few sick Dwarrows ain't enough to stop the spice users from ya," Bombur warned gently. "The groups down there usually keep them in one place but if one wanders out, there's no tellin' what they'll do."

Bilbo scrunched up his nose in confusion. There was a term he had not heard before. "What are spice users?

"Dwarrows who crush up minerals and smoke it for pleasure. They end up becoming a slave to it and eventually lose their minds," replied the Dwarf as he held up another leafy green vegetable. "Does this look like watercress to ya?"

Bilbo glanced at it and shook his head. "That's garden cress."

"Is it really?" Bombur held the vegetable up to the light for a better look. "Huh. How does it taste?"

"Like water."

Bombur sniffed at the plant and then wrinkled his face. "Well that's not very good now is it?" he said, putting it back and moving onto the next stall.

Bilbo trailed behind, biting his lower lip as he mused over the news of Bifur's involvement. "How much is it costing him? Because I'll pay him back—"

"Don't bother. He won't take it," Bombur interrupted, examining the next stand selling carrots. He held up five fingers to the merchant who muttered something in Khuzdûl. Bombur nodded and handed over a copper coin before selecting his carrots.

"Get the ones on the left. They're sweeter," Bilbo advised after giving the food a quick glance over. "Why won't Bifur accept my money?"

"Pride. And probably guilt too. He felt real bad after that scoldin' ya gave us." Bombur looked over to the healer and gave him an intense look. "We all did, really. But Bifur and Bofur took it real personal like they failed to live up to ya expectations or something. This is Bifur's way of making amends."

Bilbo groaned; torn between annoyance and fondness for his friends. "Why can't I have normal friends who react in rational ways?" he grumbled under his breath.

"Funny, I was just thinkin' the same thing about ya the other day," commented Bombur, flashing him a grin.

Bilbo was about to retort when he was interrupted by the sound of horns echoing through the district. He winced at the pitch and instinctively raised his hands to cup his sensitive ears from the noise. In contrast, Bombur lit up with excitement.

"It's the party from Orocarni! Oh let's go take a look!" he cried out in delight, snagging Bilbo's wrist and dragging him along as he forced his way through the crowds. "I've never seen the Dwarrows from there before. I wonder what they look like?"

"Isn't your wife from Orocarni?" Bilbo asked dryly, allowing the hearty Dwarf to drag him along.

Bombur shook his head and smacked a passing Dwarf in the face with his braids. "That's different. She was already livin' here when I met her so she didn't look like she came from the east," he explained, failing to notice the Dwarf he had hit via hair.

Bilbo gave the abused Dwarf an apologetic smile before his attention was caught by the huge party of Dwarves entering through the gates into the city. They marched in rows of five with some walking while sat atop strange beasts that he had never seen before. They resembled a cow only smaller with narrower faces and curved horns that extended out to the side. The Dwarves were dressed in dark green and black uniforms with gold breastplates and round helmets with pointed tops and chainmail veils. Others dressed in brightly colored robes that completely covered their heads and hosted the most jewelry he had ever seen on a Dwarf. Some were dressed more plainly with scarce adornments and he could only assume they were servants or hired help. No matter what they wore though, they all boasted the same dark hair and brown complexion as Hamide. But what really caught Bilbo's attention was that some Dwarves were completely beardless.

"Some don't have beards!" he gasped to Bombur, staring at one of the passing warriors in stunned fascination.

Bombur made an agreeing grunt from the back of his throat; looking unfairly unfazed by the sight of Dwarves without beards. "Nope. Dwarrows from Orocarni can shave it off and tattoo their faces instead."

"Why?"

Bombur shrugged. "Don't know. Try askin' Ori. I'm sure he'd know."

He nodded slowly, still unable to tear his eyes away from the visiting Dwarves. He was too far to make out the exact details of the tattoos, but what he could see was that they were dark green or blue and only covered half of the face. "Do you think Hamide would tell me why they shave if I ask?"

Bombur hesitated before slowly shaking his head. "Best not to bring it up. She gets very emotional about her old home. I know she misses it a lot but she refuses to go back. I think somethin' bad happened to her there before she was made a slave."

Bilbo frowned as anger and pity welled up inside of him for the fragile Dwarrowdam. "How is she taking this visit and treaty deal then?" he questioned quietly.

"She's ignoring it," the cook admitted with a tired sigh. "Refuses to talk about it and leaves the room whenever the topic comes up. So best not to mention it around her."

He nodded as a large and grand carriage came into view. It was built of dark wood and silver and was being pulled by four of the strange cow-creatures. It was surrounded by soldiers and trailed by servants and through the wide windows, he caught a glimpse of a Dwarrowdam covered in layers of fabric dyed bright blues and yellows. That was all he could see before the white curtains were drawn down to hide her from view.

"That must be Lady Hafsa," he commented to Bombur, pointing to the carriage. "It has the most guards around it."

"I think ya right," Bombur admitted, squinting at the carriage. "It certainly has the most silver to it. Poor dear must be so scared. I've heard she's only just come of age and already gettin' sold off to a foreign kingdom. Poor thing."

"Do you know a lot about Lady Hafsa?" the Hobbit asked, his curiosity rising.

"Only the basics," the Dwarf replied, shaking his head. "She's a cousin of the king and the only Dwarrowdam to be born in her family. Her father's the king's uncle and second in command of the kingdom, and her elder brothers are all generals or scholars. I think her dowry is a diamond mine or something."

"Do you think she had any choice in this marriage?" he wondered quietly, recalling Ori's words on the treatment of Dwarrowdams in the kingdom.

Bombur's pained silence was his answer.

Bilbo sighed and turned to make his way back to the market stands. "Didn't think so either."

Chapter Text

In hindsight, Bilbo should have expected this outcome.

"Would it make a difference if I said it wasn't me?" he asked Óin as he folded his arms over his chest.

Óin's pinched lips and furrowed brows were answer enough. "A patient is dead, Bilbo," he reminded him quietly. "I don't think now is the time for jokes."

"Do you see me laughing?" he retorted, clenching his hands around his elbows. He knew how serious the dilemma was; probably even more so than Óin. A patient—his patient—had died on account of negligence and (supposedly) an incorrect prescription ordered by the Hobbit. Bilbo was calling bullshit on both accounts but knew with a heavy certainty that Óin wasn't going to buy it.

"The diagnosis and prescription were both written in your hand," the old Dwarf said, setting a piece of parchment on the center of his desk for Bilbo to see. He took one look at it and immediately shook his head.

"I didn't write this," he protested, reaching down to tap one finger against the paper. "This isn't even the diagnosis I made—Skafar had Bilious fever, not ague. I told the aids to give him yarrow and elderflower tea to counteract the fever. I would never have prescribed alum because I know he was allergic to it."

"The evidence tells a different story," countered Óin, reaching up to rub his forehead with two fingers. He looked like someone who was in the middle of a thunder storm with no way out.

"Bilbo, I want to believe that this is all a mistake and you didn't make such obvious errors. But the facts line up and I can't ignore that," he said quietly, a sense of finality to his tone. "I'm afraid that I have no choice but to suspend your practice here."

Bilbo's stomach dropped. "Óin..."

"I'll find you another clinic to work at," the older Dwarf continued, steepling his fingers together and peering over them. "It will be on the lower levels and you won't be paid as much as here, but it will be work."

He snorted. "Don't bother. No clinic will hire me with this hanging over my head," he said with bitter certainty.

"Not without my help, no," agreed Óin, nodding. "But the lower clinics are short on healers and they won't turn away anyone under my recommendation. I'll send notice to you once I have it worked out."

Bilbo looked away to stare at one of the massive bookcases in Óin's office. It was built with glass planes to protect it and stood as tall as a Man. Usually he enjoyed looking at it and admiring the many works of knowledge, but the sight of it today made something unpleasant curl in the pit of his stomach. Was it because it was yet another reminder of the class differences between him and Óin? Or perhaps it was because it reminded him that no matter how hard he worked or how many he helped, he was still an outsider to the Dwarves of Erebor.

"Have you told his family yet?" he asked softly, thoughts straying to his (deceased) patient's family.

"Who?"

"Skafar. Does his family know that he's...?"

"Not yet," Óin admitted, stroking the end of his beard. "I'm going to tell them this afternoon."

"Can I be there for it?" he asked, recalling that Skafar's sister had recently given birth to a daughter. He had been so excited to finally be an uncle. Now he would never get to know the pleasure. "I must apologize to them for failing to save Skafar."

"As you wish," granted the old Dwarf as he stared at him with sad eyes. "Bilbo... I am truly sorry about all of this."

Bilbo gave a humorless smile that he was sure didn't meet his eyes. "I know you are, Óin. I know you are."

Skafar's family took the news of his death as he had expected—with great sorrow and rage. His grandfather sobbed as if his entire world had ended. Skafar had been his favorite grandchild. Skafar's younger brother tried his best to appear strong but his shaky fists and watery eyes said it all. Skafar's elder sister actually stepped up and slapped him; a blow Bilbo took without complaint because even though he hadn't killed Skafar himself, he had still failed to protect him in the end.

"We trusted you to care for him," she hissed with an ugly scowl and glassy brown eyes—brown eyes that Skafar had shared. "How could you make such a mistake?! My brother—"

She broke off into a broken shriek that made his heart throb. Her husband quickly stepped up and pulled her back into his arms while whispering into her ear. At his side, Óin stepped forward and gave another bow before having the guards escort them to where Skafar's body laid. Once they were gone, he turned back to Bilbo, and carefully tilted his head to the side to exam his swelling his cheek.

"Are you all right?" he asked, blue eyes dark and somber. "That was quite a blow she gave you."

Bilbo nodded wordlessly and stepped away from the old healer. "I'm fine. This is nothing I can't handle."

Óin frowned, obviously unconvinced. "Still, I think we should—"

"I'm fine, Óin," he interrupted harshly, irritation beginning to chip away at his guilt and grief. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other things to do today. Like finding a new job. Goodbye."

He stormed off before the old healer could stop him and didn't stop until he was well enough away from the clinic, and almost out of the Amber District. He knew, objectively, that Óin had no choice but to let him go after so many unexplained 'accidents' occurring. But logic didn't lessen the sting that came with being dismissed, and it certainly didn't lighten the load of remorse and sorrow that came with Skafar's death.

Skafar was not the first patient he had lost since coming to Erebor, and nor was he one Bilbo had been particularly close with. But he was the first to die thanks to the bastards seeking to ruin him. The very idea of it all—that Skafar had been used as a pawn against him—made Bilbo want to scream. Skafar had been a good Dwarf who had treated Bilbo fairly and had trusted him with his life and wellbeing. He did not deserve to die just to satisfy the means of another.

Downhearted and broody, Bilbo spent the rest of the day and the next down at the Lead District attending to his patients while waiting for the notice from Óin on his new job. He told none of his friends of his predicament though he had a feeling Dori and Nori were onto him. Then, on the dawn of the second day, he finally received a message from Óin asking for him to come to the clinic. There he found the old healer waiting for him in his office with a strange look on his face.

"Do I want to know why the Crown Prince is asking for your company this afternoon?" he asked as soon as Bilbo closed the door behind him.

"That depends. Do you want to yell at me?" the Hobbit retorted, walking over to stand in front of Óin's large and cluttered desk.

Óin gave him a squinty-eyed glare that made the lines around his face stand out sharper. "What did you do now?"

Bilbo thought about lying for half a second before promptly dismissing the notion. It wasn't as if he could actually keep anything from Óin. "I'm trying to start a clinic in the Lead District," he replied, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Óin stared at him for another moment before leaning back into his chair. "Huh."

Bilbo waited for the inevitable rebuke. When he didn't immediately hear it, he frowned and gestured for the Dwarf to start speaking. "Aren't you going to call me dumb and reckless?"

"Quiet," ordered Óin, beginning to rub the end of his beard with one hand while the other drummed against the arm of his chair. "I'm thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself," he muttered sullenly, rocking back on his heels.

"Have you filed a request yet with the Ministry of Vigor?" Óin asked after a minute of silence.

Bilbo nodded. "Yes. My friend Dori did it for me."

"Mmm. All right!" Óin declared suddenly, smacking the armchair with a firm hit before rising to his feet. "You stay here and wait for your escort. Read one of my books or take a nap. I'll get you when it's time to go."

Bilbo stared at the old healer blankly, unsure of where he was going with such orders. "Your books are all written in Khuzdûl. And your couch is lumpy."

"Sleep in the chair then," retorted Óin, shrugging. "Just don't leave. I don't want to have to hunt you down when the escort arrives for us."

"You're coming too?" he realized, raising his brows. "Why?"

Óin rolled his shoulders back and leveled his steely blue eyes past some point that Bilbo couldn't see. "Because I have a few things to say about this endeavor too."

The escort arrived promptly at noon and, though confused over the addition of Óin, did not question the added person. He simply nodded in acceptance and led them through the levels and up to the palace. For the third time in his life, Bilbo found himself marveling over the grand architecture and fascinating art that made up the residence of the Royal Family. Óin seemed less impressed and hurried him along to the familiar wing belonging to the Crown Prince.

Prince Fíli was waiting for them in his personal chambers; dressed in splendid robes dyed a dark purple with gold trim and practically dripping diamonds and amethysts. He looked like the heir to the richest kingdom in all the land once more. When he saw Bilbo, he lit up with a bright smile that grew strained when his eyes landed on Óin.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Master Baggins," he greeted with a nod to the Hobbit before meeting Óin's iron stare. "And I see you've tagged along too, Óin. Why am I not surprised?"

The old healer scowled and rudely slammed the door shut behind him. "Shut up. What is this about? Why are you suddenly interested in the Lead District? You've never even seen it before," he growled, stomping over to loom menacingly over the prince.

Prince Fíli though didn't look fazed at all. Bilbo wasn't surprised. When one had a mother like Princess Dís, fear probably didn't get you very far.

"That is exactly the problem here," countered the prince, his smile taking on a dangerous edge. "Why did no one tell me that there are no clinics down there? Or that there exists an actual alleyway where Dwarrows go to die in seclusion?"

"Because it's not a problem you can so easily fix, Fíli," Óin snarled, pointing down where the Lead District sat. "That district is filled with criminals and former-prisoners who don't give a rat's ass about anyone. They only care about themselves."

"That's not true!" Bilbo protested, stepping forward and grabbing the attention of both Dwarves. "There are good people down there who are just trying to make the best with what they've been given. They shouldn't be lumped in with the criminals nor do they deserve to suffer for their crimes!"

"Exactly!" Prince Fíli crowed, pointing to the Hobbit. "These people need help and it is my job to provide them with it! That's why I would like Master Baggins here to accompany me down to the Lead District so that I may see for myself how badly my people are suffering."

Bilbo's jaw dropped in shock while Óin's face went white and then red with rage. "Fíli! You are not going down there!" he nearly roared, looking torn between smacking the prince and having a heart attack. "Do you have any idea to what could happen to you down there?!"

"Yes, I'll finally be getting the truth to how my people are really living!" snapped the blond, opening his arms wide as if to invite said truth to tackle him with its honesty. "Since I obviously can't count on the people I trust most to be frank with me!"

Óin jerked back as if struck and his blue eyes grew wide in the lines of his face. Bilbo decided it was time to calm down and stepped between the two Dwarves with his hands raised in a calming gesture.

"Alright everyone just calm down now," he soothed, looking between the two. "Yelling at each other isn't going to solve anything. Now let's approach this rationally: Prince Fíli wants to see the Lead District for himself, and I agree that he should. However Óin's concerns for your safety are valid—it's very dangerous down there and the only reason I don't get mugged is because I have paid protection. So if we take you down there, then you're going to have to go with a disguise and a guard."

"You're taking Dwalin," Óin immediately declared in a tone that reminded Bilbo of his mother when she had decided on something she didn't want to do. "And you will tell your parents about this yourself."

Prince Fíli rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "Fine. And for a disguise?"

Bilbo slowly looked the prince up and down as his mind went through possible ideas. "Well first you need to lose all that gold and silk," he mused before grinning widely as he came up with a plan. "And how do you feel about dresses?"

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

"You're welcome to go back to the palace. I'm sure Master Baggins and I will be fine on our own."

"Please don't drag me into this."

"You know your mother is going to stab me in the arm again right?" Dwalin growled as he followed his charge and Bilbo down the jadeite steps that led to the Lead District. "And your father is going to give me one of those looks—the one that makes even Balin feel guilty. Thorin is probably going to punch me in the face and Frerin... Well, he probably won't care because he does this sort of shit all the time. Kíli is probably going to ask me to take him next!"

"I'm surprised he didn't visit sooner," Bilbo muttered, exchanging an eye roll with Prince Fíli.

"And why am I in this dress?" the guard demanded, gesturing to his bright periwinkle gown that had been torn and dirtied before being combined with his leather armor. It had lavender lace hems and light pink designs stitched into the bodice. "What was wrong with the blue one?"

"This one matches your eyes better," Prince Fíli replied with an innocent look. He had no reason to complain being dressed in a plain green skirt with rips running up to his thighs and a fluffy black top that hid the protective chainmail underneath. Óin had mixed together some dye that made his blond hair a ruddy brown and left it loose to curl around his elbows. On both of them Bilbo had painted the signet of the Crazy Ones—completing their disguises as members of the gang, and making Bilbo and Óin laugh themselves sick.

Óin was still laughing when they had left.

"I still can't believe I'm doing this," Dwalin muttered, wearing the expression of one who had managed to burn off his own beard and couldn't even get angry because it was his own damn fault. "This isn't what I signed up for when Thorin asked me to protect you. Nowhere in that conversation did he mention playing dress up or sneaking into dangerous districts. Nowhere."

"This is sounding more and more like it's not my problem," commented the Crown Prince, casting a snobbish look over his shoulder.

"Oh look we're here," Bilbo interrupted loudly before Dwalin had a chance to reply or maim his charge. Both Dwarves fell silent as they finally came face-to-face with the most dangerous district in the kingdom. Bilbo gave them both a moment to absorb their first look at it all, and watched as the different emotions danced across their faces. He couldn't imagine what was going through their minds at the sight of it all. He had never lived the life of luxury that was their norm and so he couldn't understand what they would feel or even think when confronted by the poorest of lives.

"This... People actually live here?" Prince Fíli whispered, looking on the verge of tears. His blue eyes practically engulfed his face with how wide they were. For the first time since they met, Bilbo realized that the prince was really quite young underneath all that maturity and confidence. It made him feel a bit more sympathetic to the Dwarf.

"It's... a lot worse than I thought," admitted Dwalin, his face taking on a granite mask that reminded him of Dori when he was upset. "A lot worse than Óin ever said."

"Yes. I imagine he tried to spare you the details of it all," Bilbo agreed, taking a look around and trying to see what they saw. Everything was old and falling apart from the streets to the awkwardly built homes carved out of the mountain. The air smelt stale and thick with urine, old ale, and feces. There weren't many lanterns so the majority of the light came from the mold and minerals in the ceiling and ground which cast a sinister glow to everything. However the streets were fairly clean as far as slums went and there were no wild animals wandering about. There was also no threat of dangerous weather which was very important in his opinion. Out of all the places he had lived in, Bilbo found the Lead District acceptable enough.

"It's not so bad. I've lived in worse," he said cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood. It fell flat as Dwalin and Prince Fíli both swung around to stare at him with mixed expressions.

"What?!" squeaked the prince, his brows fleeing north to hide in his hair. "How?!"

"I think the better question is where," said Dwalin, looking between Bilbo and the Lead District as if it could provide an answer.

"Well, the slums in Gondor are really the worst," the Hobbit explained, wiggling his toes as he recalled the (in)famous city. "It's outside in the open so you're exposed to the elements all the time. Most of the homes are really just tents and they sit right next to the pits—that's where they throw away all their garbage and shit—so the smell is awful, and you get sick a lot. The wells are always dirty so you have to boil the water from there if you want to use it. Then there are the animals... I think they're the worst because not only will they try to eat you, but they also carry sicknesses in their bodies that can kill you."

Prince Fíli swallowed slowly as his hands began to shake slightly. "I didn't know... I didn't even think..." he trailed off, clenching his hands into tight fists in a futile effort to stop their shaking. Dwalin didn't look any better. He had grown a few shades paler and had adopted a bruised look to his eyes that Bilbo had only ever seen in dogs beaten by their owners. The healer suddenly had the urge to pat him on the head and tell him everything would be alright.

"It's not so bad you know," he said gently, giving the Dwarves a smile. "Certainly could be a lot worse. They could be completely homeless!"

Neither noble looked at all comforted by the idea.

"Where is the alley that you spoke of?" Dwalin asked gruffly, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest.

Bilbo pointed to the south. "It's this way. Follow me."

The subdued duo followed him through the winding streets to the now familiar alleyway. Bilbo noted the suspicious looks they garnered and made a mental note to make the visit as quick as possible. The last thing he needed on his plate was the Crown Prince and Captain of the Royal Guards getting mugged. When they finally did arrive to the alley, he found that it was pretty much how he left it: filled with makeshift shelters and cots with healing patients. He spotted a few friends of Arnina who had volunteered to help, and waved to them in greeting. Then he searched for Arnina and spotted her attending to Bersi and waited until she looked his way to wave her over.

"Oh. There's a lot more Dwarrows here than I expected..." Prince Fíli commented quietly almost to himself.

"Master Healer, welcome back," Arnina greeted as she walked over, smiling gently at the Hobbit while wiping her hands clean on her apron. Her dark eyes glanced fleetingly over the two strangers before returning to Bilbo with obvious curiosity. "I see you've brought... friends?"

Bilbo waved an irrelevant hand at the duo lurking at his shoulder. "Yeah, they're just visiting. Please ignore them. How is everyone, Arnina?"

Arnina raised a brow but silently accepted his answer. "Good. Manni has gotten over his cough and is breathing better now," she reported cheerfully. "Gylta is able to stand but she says her foot still hurts."

"Of course it hurts—it's broken," he said dryly, rolling his eyes. "Tell her to sit still or the bones won't set correctly and I'll have to do it all over again."

"You know she won't listen to anyone but Nori. Poor thing is half in love with him," Arnina pointed out.

"Tell her to raise her standards," he advised, making a face at the idea of anyone falling for the charms of his best friend. "Also tell her that if she doesn't listen then I'm tying her down and not letting her up until her foot is completely healed."

Arnina covered her mouth as she giggled. "As you say. Oh, Rúni has a new joke he wants to share with you. Make sure you stop by and listen to it," she said before turning on her heel and fluttering off in a whirl of black braids and yellow skirts.

Once she was gone, Prince Fíli leaned forward and tapped Bilbo on the shoulder until he got his attention. "Hey, that Dwarrow... is she an amlâkul?"

Bilbo nodded as he glanced back at the prince. "Yes. Why?"

"Well, I've never seen one before," explained the blond, straining his head to the side to get a better look at the departing Arnina. His expression was open and considering and reminded the Hobbit of a child examining a new type of pet. "She looks... well she's quite pretty isn't she? I wouldn't think she was a Dwarrow in passing."

Dwalin grunted as he too watched Arnina with a narrow eyed look Bilbo didn't care for. "Mmm."

"She's not a Dwarrow she's a Dwarrowdam," he corrected, pivoting on his heel so he could face the two head on. He placed his hands on his hips and stared up at the guard in challenge. "And you need to stop looking at her like that, Dwalin, or I'm going to kick you in the balls."

Dwalin crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at the healer with a clenched jaw. "She's amlâkul. They're unnatural and that makes them dangerous," he growled, eyes turning into slits of obsidian. Bilbo was suddenly reminded of the first time they met, and how Dwalin had seen him as a threat to his king. It wasn't a very good feeling to recall.

But Bilbo Baggins had never allowed his fear to rule him.

He raised his chin stubbornly and straightened his spine as he held Dwalin's dark gaze firmly. "She's a person just like you and me," he said quietly but firmly. "There is nothing unnatural about her or anyone else like her. All she has done is help me care for the sick and dying—which is far more than anything you have done for them."

Dwalin's face took on a stony look that once more reminded him of Dori when he was truly angry. But before the guard could act on that anger, Prince Fíli reached over and laid a restraining hand on his tense arm.

"Dwalin, he's right," he said softly, blue eyes suddenly a lot darker than before. "We're not here to cause trouble but to help. Besides, look at how tiny she is—how could anyone that frail be a problem?"

The guard said nothing but he did relax a slightly. He glanced down at his charge and gave a nod to whatever unspoken question he had found in Prince Fíli's face. Bilbo took that as a sign of cooperation and began to roll up his sleeves for work.

"I'm going to check over my patients. You two are welcomed to follow me as long as you don't get in the way," he ordered. "Just observe and keep your opinions to yourself. If I hear one negative remark I will punch you."

"You're very bossy for someone with no real power behind him," the Crown Prince commented, a hint of a smirk shadowing the corner of his lips.

Bilbo shrugged, accepting the truth for what it was. "I've already threatened Thorin and used him as a stool. What's there left to fear?"

Dwalin snorted but Prince Fíli threw his head back and laughed like he had heard the greatest joke of the century. It came from the very depths of his chest and made his face light up like a roaring fire. Bilbo couldn't help but stare—fascinated and a bit smitten by how beautiful the prince looked when he laughed. Briefly he wondered if Thorin looked the same when he laughed as such, and the idea of it made him flush hotly.

What's wrong with me? he wondered before shaking the fantasy and confusing heat away. He had more important matters to attend to. "Follow me now. And remember—keep your mouths shut."

Dwalin and Prince Fíli managed to keep their comments to themselves for the rest of their visit to the alley. Bilbo was thankful for it because it allowed him to devote most of his attention to his patients. Half of them were slowly on the mend and looked like they would make a full recovery in time. The other half still looked uncertain but Bilbo wasn't discouraged. Until a patient was cold and stiff, he wasn't going to give up on them. Once done with his rounds, he decided it was time to take the two nobles back to the palace as they had been exposed to enough of reality for one day. Bidding Arnina and the rest goodbye, he began the task of escorting the duo though the district and back to the staircase that would lead them home.

"So what do you think of the Dead Cat Alley, Your Highness?" he asked the Crown Prince as he examined the blood under his nails. He was going to have to get Dori to help him clean them again.

"Just call me Fíli, please," said the prince, shaking his head in distaste. "You already refer to my uncle by his name—rather pointless to use titles with me."

The Hobbit grinned, oddly pleased by the admission. "In that case, I must insist that you call me Bilbo."

Fíli returned his grin with a dimpled smile. "Deal. As for the alley... I think that building a clinic would be for the best. Actually, I would like to do a full haul of the whole district from repaving the streets to rooting out the criminals, but that will take more work. For now I will start with the clinic and go from there."

Dwalin snorted, looking oddly amused. "Your mother is gonna love that."

"She'll get used to the idea once I explain it to her," reassured the prince, pushing back his hair from his face. "Father will help too when I tell him. I know he'll think this is a good thing."

"And Frerin?" Dwalin asked, giving the blond a look Bilbo couldn't read.

Fíli paused for a moment in consideration and furrowed his brows before coming to a conclusion. "I'll double-team him with Kíli," he declared with a nod. "And if I must, I'll even go to Uncle Dáin for help."

Dwalin simply snorted again but Fíli didn't look discouraged.

"I also have to say that I was really impressed with what I saw," he said, obviously changing the subject as he turned to Bilbo. "You're a very skilled healer, Bilbo. I see now why Óin kept you."

Bilbo winced a bit at the mention of his (ex) boss but still forced himself to smile in acceptance. "Thank you. My skills are rough at best but I can get the job done."

"Do you like helping people or something?" wondered Dwalin, looking down at the Hobbit with one brow raised. "You helped Thorin in the forest that time without even knowing who he was. Now you're helpin' outcasts and beggars who most of us wouldn't even glance at in the street. Why? Is this a Hobbit thing? To go about doing good deeds and charity acts?"

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder. "I suppose so," he said simply, tired of having to explain to Dwarves why helping another soul wasn't a freak accident but just the decent thing to do. "I wonder the same about you Dwarves sometimes. Is it custom to abandon some of your people to a life of misery just for being born differently?"

Both Dwarves tensed at the question.

"You're referring to the amlâkul," Fíli said quietly.

"And others. It's not just the amlâkul who suffer for what they are," the Hobbit explained, ignoring the awkward air growing between the three of them. "There are a lot of other Dwarves who live harsh lives. It makes me wonder how the richest kingdom of all the Dwarven nations could allow such a thing to occur."

Neither Dwarf had an answer for him—or any excuses. Bilbo appreciated that.

"But then again, I wonder the same about the Elves and Men," he continued, hopping up the last few steps to the Ebony District. He turned around to look down at the pair following him, and gave them a small smile. "Maybe it's just my people who treat everyone the same. Probably because we have nothing left but each other."

Fíli gave him an answering smile but it lacked the brilliance it usually held. Bilbo's words had left a mark. "An interesting concept indeed. Maybe your people have the right idea after all. Huh, Dwalin?"

Dwalin grunted as he stared off at something in the distance. His dark eyes looked considering. "A good idea. I know more than a few Dwarrows who could use a lesson in that," he commented, casting a look to his prince that Bilbo couldn't read.

Fíli nodded to the unknown question and turned to Bilbo with a more cheerful look to his face. "Bilbo, would you care to join us tomorrow at noon for a luncheon? Thorin is throwing it to officially welcome Uncle Dáin and Lady Hafsa to Erebor. Most of my family will be there, and you'll be able to meet Uncle Dáin."

Bilbo blinked a few times, taken back by the unexpected invitation. He weighed the idea of it and unsurprisingly found that a large part of him did not want to go—one lunch with Princess Dís was more than enough for this lifetime. But a smaller part of him—the part he always thought of as his survival senses—couldn't turn down the invitation to free food.

"My parents and brother would enjoy seeing you again," the prince added, noticing his hesitation. "Even Uncle Frerin would be happy to see you. He thinks you're funny."

"My brother wants to meet you too," Dwalin added grudgingly, wrinkling his nose. "He's been bugging me and Ori to bring you around ever since he heard you used to live with the tree humpers. He thinks it's interesting."

Bilbo wasn't sure what to make of that. "Would I... Would I even be allowed? I mean, I'm not exactly family or very important..."

Fíli's blue eyes flickered with a familiar fierceness he had come to associate with Óin. "You are important to my family. You are important to Thorin. What more reason do we need?" he asked plainly, holding out his hands.

Well. He could hardly say no after that. "I'll come then. Um, should I...?"

"I'll come to get you," Dwalin said, answering his unspoken concern about getting past the guards. "Wait for me outside the clinic a bit before noon. I'll tell Óin so he'll let you leave early."

"Is Óin not going?" he asked, deciding not to mention that Óin wouldn't care because Bilbo didn't work for him anymore.

"No. He'll come to the main events but never the little ones like these," explained Fíli, looking a bit envious. "I think he threatened Thorin into it with bitter medicine."

Bilbo wasn't surprised. "Then I'll wait for you tomorrow before noon," he confirmed, looking to Dwalin. "Thank you for making the trip. I appreciate it."

Dwalin shared a look with Fíli before shooting him a grin that made the hair on his feet rise up. "No, thank you for agreeing to attend," the guard said, patting Bilbo gently on the shoulder as he glided past. "It's going to be fun."

Chapter Text

Bilbo decided to share the news of his invite to the palace with only Dori. He did this partly because he didn't want to cause all his friends unnecessary worry, but mostly because he didn't want to listen to Nori nag him about 'borrowing' expensive items from the palace. Dori, for his part, took the news with a raised brow that said more than words ever could.

"Please don't. I've been thinking it all day," Bilbo said in defense, pulling off his coat and hanging it up next to the door. He walked over to the table that Dori sat at and collapsed in the seat across from him. Then he dropped his head to the table and proceeded to bang his forehead against it a few times in half-hearted hope of maybe knocking some sense into himself.

Dori's judging eyebrow went up another notch. "Do you have anything appropriate to wear to a lunch with the King?" he asked, glancing back down to his knitting.

Bilbo snorted and dragged his head up to rest his chin on the table. "What do you think?"

"You don't want to know what I think. It will only hurt your feelings," the Dwarf replied dryly. "I supposed you can borrow something from Ori. You're around the same size."

"I don't really care about my appearance," he admitted, watching Dori's patient hands pull and swoop the wool into order. "I'm not ashamed of being poor. But I know how those nobles will act if they see me like this. It's kinda sad how predictable they are no matter their race."

"Snobbery is something that transcends all boundaries," acknowledged the weaver with a nod. "Much like stupidity."

Bilbo ignored the jibe. "I'm mostly going for the food. One should never turn down free food," he commented.

Dori hummed and glanced up at him without pausing in his weaving. "Speaking of food, are you still hiding your leftovers in your pockets?"

Bilbo winced. He had hoped no one had noticed that. "Sorry. Childhood habit."

"I'm not scolding you," soothed the Dwarf, shaking his head and making his braids jingle. "I just want you to know that you never have to worry about going hungry with us."

"Thank you, Dori," he said sincerely, feeling a tender warmth spike through him. Dori really was far too good to him. What had he done in a past life to deserve such a friend?

"You're welcome," the weaver said evenly, a small smile pulling at his lips. "Do you have any idea who will be at this gathering tomorrow?"

"Thorin and his family I assume. Lord Dáin and Lady Hafsa too." He strained to remember if Fíli had mentioned anyone else but couldn't recall. "I can't think of anyone else who would be there."

"So all the major powers of Erebor," Dori summed up, looking back down to his work. "Should be quite a sight."

Bilbo couldn't decide if that was a good thing or not. "I think your father might be there too."

Dori nodded calmly. "Most likely. Give him my regards."

Bilbo raised his brows in surprise. "Really?"

"Yes." Dori pursed his lips as his green eyes grew still like the surface of an untouched lake. "I've... thought about what you said and decided... that perhaps it wouldn't be... too horrible to speak with him. As long as he understands that I'm not looking for a father figure in my life."

"I'm sure he'd be more than willing to agree to anything you offer," he pointed out, trying to restrain his grin of glee. "What about his sons?"

"What about them?"

Bilbo rolled his eyes so hard that he nearly got a headache. "Dori, c'mon," he said, sitting up properly and plopping his elbows on the table. "I saw how you treated Dwalin when he stayed with us. You already think of him as your little brother."

"Perhaps." Dori's lips grew thinner until they threatened to disappear entirely. "But there's no reason they would think the same."

"You won't know that until you give them a chance," he retorted, singing the last word.

Dori finally paused to look up and give the Hobbit a warning look. "Bilbo, enough. I'm giving Fundin a chance. Can we just focus on that for now?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll back off. So any advice on how I should greet these nobles?"

"Only one—don't trust anyone who is not a Durin."

That was... oddly specific. "Why?"

"Because they'll most likely try to use you for some scheme or another," the Dwarf explained simply, tying off the end of his thread as he finally finished his weaving.

"And you don't think the Durins would?"

Dori sighed deeply, and looked at Bilbo like one would an exceptionally dense child. "Bilbo, King Thorin likes you and all of his family knows it. That means they will accept you and trust you. Once the rest of the nobles see this, they will see you as a chance to get closer to the Royal Family and the King. Understand now?"

"Unfortunately," he admitted, making a face at the realization that he was going to be spending his time playing mind chess. "Ugh, how annoying. I hate these sorts of games where everyone has two faces and hidden agendas. The Elves are always doing this and it used to drive my mother crazy."

"Some people enjoy it," Dori said in the same voice people used when speaking of disruptive and scandalous neighbors. "They like the thrill of outsmarting others and playing people against each other."

"Well I don't. I have better things to do with my time than think up plots to one-up a rival," he said, beginning to list them all in his head before an idea distracted him. "Do you think it's maybe a rich person thing? Since they don't have to worry about food or shelter, they have a lot of free time on their hands, and need something to waste it on?"

"Probably," Dori said, his face clearly saying that you couldn't pay him to care about such struggles. "I imagine being waited on every minute of the day gets boring after awhile."

"It's actually kind of sad now that I think of it. Imagine being so bored that you would waste your time making up imaginary traps for people you dislike."

"A pathetic life indeed," Dori intoned, folding up his finished product—a deep red scarf—and standing to put it away. "Unfortunately you're going to have to learn these skills if you spend more time with the King and his family. All those plots revolve around gaining their favor."

Bilbo imagined spending his time amongst a bunch of snobby Dwarves with false smiles and could actually feel his blood begin to boil. "Dori, I think I made a mistake."

Dori scoffed, and looked at Bilbo like he was the saddest, most pitiful child he had ever seen. "You're only realizing that now?"

The next day came far too quickly for Bilbo's taste and soon enough he was waiting outside the clinic for Dwalin. Dori had made good on his promise and had found him a decent set of Ori's robes to wear—a white piece with brown geometric designs sewed onto the sleeves and hem. They were a bit loose on Bilbo's skinny form and he needed to double tie the sash to keep it from slipping off, but altogether he couldn't complain. It wasn't as if he owned anything as nice or clean.

Dwalin strolled up just before noon as he had promised—dressed in his official Captain of the Royal Guards uniform that made people in the street skitter away. For once Bilbo couldn't help but appreciate that they were in a mountain; being outside in the sun with all that shiny armor would have surely blinded him.

"No dress today?" he said in greeting, standing from his seat on the stairs.

"I'm saving it for a fancier party," Dwalin retorted, sweeping his eyes over the Hobbit. "You look clean for once. I think I can actually breathe through my nose when walking with you."

"Always aiming to please," Bilbo replied, rolling his eyes and walking over to the Dwarf.

Dwalin grinned. "C'mon then. The lunch will be starting soon and I want to get back before all the good wine is gone," he said slyly.

The walk to the palace was a quiet affair and when they finally arrived, Dwalin led them to a section of the palace that Bilbo had never been to before. When they finally came to a stop, it was before a large set of doors made of a pale peach stone with gold handles. Two guards stood at attention on either side and, seeing Dwalin, saluted him before opening the doors.

Before they entered the chambers, Dwalin held out his arm to Bilbo. He looked at it and then up to the Dwarf's face in confusion. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to escort you in," Dwalin said slowly, giving Bilbo the same look he would give the village idiot.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Why?"

"Because... it's tradition?" offered the guard, shrugging one shoulder.

Bilbo was skeptic but still reached over to take Dwalin's arm. Together they entered the bright chamber crafted out of a strange white stone with silver veins that Bilbo didn't recognize. Like the rest of the palace, it was filled with displays of wealth from the furniture to the pointless decorations in the form of wax displays. Bilbo mentally gagged at the sight of such tackiness but decided not to question the artistic taste of Dwarves. Instead, he focused his time in searching out the free food he had really come to see.

"Where's the food?" he whispered to his escort, straining to see around a servant dressed in emerald green robes.

"In the next room," replied Dwalin, patting his hand in sympathy. "Got to mingle with the family first. Another tradition."

"A pointless tradition," he muttered sullenly.

"I think I see Thorin," Dwalin commented, ignoring his comment. "Let's go see him."

Bilbo didn't have much of a choice as Dwalin dragged him over to the King Under the Mountain. Like Dwalin, Thorin was dressed luxuriously in blue and gold robes with his thick hair done up in braids so elaborate that Dori would have been impressed. He had on a gold crown that made Bilbo wince with how thick it was. He didn't even want to think about how long that could feed his clan. When they grew closer, Dwalin let out a low whistle that caught Thorin's attention, and he quickly dismissed the servant he was speaking with. When he turned to face Dwalin, his somber expression quickly dropped into a surprised one.

"Bilbo! What are you doing here?" he asked, hurrying over to the duo.

"Wow, nice to see you too, Thorin," Bilbo said dryly as Dwalin cackled next to him.

Thorin winced and flashed him a contrite smile. "My apologies. I'm just surprised to see you here. No one mentioned that you would be joining us," he explained, giving Dwalin an accusing glance.

The guard held up a hand to forestall any blame. "Hey, don't look at me. Fíli is the one who invited him."

Thorin's brows began to furrow. "Fíli? Why would he do that?"

"Because I actually like Bilbo's company," answered the prince in question, sashaying up to them with his brother in tow. Fíli was dressed in blue and silver robes with his hair back to its normal blond hue and done up in elaborate braids like Thorin. Prince Kíli, in clear rebellion, had left his hair wild and free to fall around his shoulders like a curtain. His green and gold robes were just as grand as his sibling's but he lacked the same amount of jewelry.

Bilbo gave a short bow to both princes. "Hello, Fíli. Prince Kíli. It's nice to see you again."

Prince Kíli frowned and looked between his brother and Bilbo. "Why do you get to call him by name?" he asked Fíli, poking him in the shoulder. "I want to call Master Boggins by his first name too."

"You just answered your own question with that sentence," mocked Fíli, wiggling his brows.

"You can call me by my first name, Your Highness," Bilbo said before anything could escalate further.

The brunet beamed. "And you can call me Kíli!" he chirped, his smile making Bilbo relax and smile back. "I'm so happy you decided to come. I almost didn't believe Fíli when he told me he invited you."

Fíli gave him a weird look. "Why would I lie about that?"

"To mess with your brother's head," Thorin replied dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Did everyone know about this but me?"

"Pretty sure my father has no idea he's coming," Dwalin said unhelpfully.

Thorin only shook his head and turned to gaze down at his nephews. "Boys, go find your parents please," he ordered politely, nudging his head in the direction of another set of doors. "Lady Hafsa and her company will be arriving soon and I want everyone here to greet them."

Both brothers rolled their eyes but dutifully followed their uncle's command. With them gone, Thorin then turned to Dwalin and nodded to the arm he still held in his. "I'll escort Bilbo now, Dwalin. You go... hover uselessly over Great-Aunt Óluva. Keep her away from the servants please."

Dwalin nodded, and released the Hobbit as his eyes began to scan the room. "Right. I'll get her something to drink..."

"No wine, Dwalin," Thorin deadpanned.

"I need wine if I'm going to get through today," retorted the guard, raising his nose in the air and marching off.

"Ugh. Useless." Thorin shook his head and looked back to Bilbo and held out his arm. "Well. Shall we?"

Bilbo nodded and slowly wrapped his arm around Thorin's. For some reason it felt... different holding Thorin's arm than it did with Dwalin. It wasn't a bad difference just... odd. Bilbo felt aware of every detail of the Dwarf—from the silky slide of his sleeve to how firm and hard his arm felt under Bilbo's. He even noticed Thorin's smell—sandalwood and iron which was the weirdest combination ever.

What the hell is wrong with me? he wondered, shaking his head slightly. It's just Thorin. Snap out of it!

"You look very nice today," complimented the Dwarf currently confusing him. "I didn't know you owned any Dwarrow robes."

"Oh, they're not mine, really," Bilbo explained, holding up some of the white skirt with two fingers. "I'm just borrowing them from a friend. His brother thought I should wear something nice for the occasion."

"You don't look like you agree."

"I don't really care about my appearance very much."

Thorin snorted and gently reached out to tug on one of Bilbo's wild curls. "Yes, I picked up on that."

Bilbo gave a mock scowl and batted his hand away even as a sweet pleasure rushed through him. Though he didn't care about how he looked, he also couldn't deny that it made him happy that Thorin had complimented him. "Hush you. You're the last person who should be throwing stones about crazy hair," he teased.

Thorin grinned, unashamed, and tossed back some of his braids over his shoulder. "Despite my initial reaction, I am happy you're here, Bilbo. You will make this boring affair much livelier," he said, smiling down at the Hobbit.

Bilbo slowly rose his brows. "Um, okay? I'm not sure how but I'll do my best?"

"Just be yourself," advised the Dwarf, still failing to make any clear sense. "Now come; time to meet the rest of my family."

"Do I have to?" he muttered to himself as he allowed Thorin to lead him to an older Dwarf dressed in black and gray robes. He had long white hair tied up on the back of his head, dark eyes, and a familiar shape to his nose that stood out to Bilbo now that he knew the truth.

"Hello, Lord Fundin," he greeted before Thorin could speak. He gave a short bow to Dori's father and felt Thorin start in surprise.

"Master Hobbit," Lord Fundin greeted back, raising up his glass of wine in salutation. "We meet again."

"Yes, but this time I'm not in chains," he teased, widening his eyes innocently.

Lord Fundin chuckled as he finished a swig of his drink. "That is a good thing from where I'm standing."

Thorin sighed so deeply that Bilbo could hear the air leave his lungs. "Do I even want to know what you two are talking about?" he asked, looking between the two with a face that said he really didn't.

"Nothing but a little misunderstanding, lad," Lord Fundin soothed, giving him a wink. "Don't worry about it."

Bilbo nodded and patted the Dwarf's arm. "That's right. Lord Fundin and I just happen to know the same person. Dori says 'hello' by the way."

Lord Fundin paused. "Ahh... Did he now?"

"Yes." Bilbo looked up at the noble and studied his withered and tired face with its familiar slants and curves, and felt his heart go out to him. "He says that, after much consideration, he wouldn't mind another visit. Maybe one without any yelling or patronizing advice?"

"I will... take that into consideration," Lord Fundin said slowly, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. When he opened them again, there was a light to them that wasn't there before.

"Thank you, Master Hobbit," he said sincerely, holding Bilbo's stare for a long moment before looking over to his king. "Thorin, I think see your favorite aunt over there. Why don't you go introduce our young friend here before the rest arrive?"

Thorin scowled but nodded. "I suppose now is a good time as ever. Come, Bilbo."

"We'll speak more on this later, Master Baggins," Lord Fundin promised, giving him a secret smile before Bilbo was whisked away by the king.

"Should I ask what that was about?" Thorin questioned in a low voice once they were far enough away from Lord Fundin.

He shook his head firmly. "No. It's not my secret to share."

"Fair enough," Thorin acknowledged as they came upon a Dwarrowdam dressed in an olive green gown with white fur trimming and more emeralds than he could count. Her gray hair still had a hint of red to it and was decorated with silver chains and amethysts. When she looked up at them, the Hobbit found himself staring at a recognizable face highlighted by moles and hooded hazel eyes.

"Aunt Ábria," Thorin said, giving a strained smile. "Allow me to introduce you to a good friend of mine. This—"

"Bilbo Baggins," said the Dwarrowdam, interrupting him and snapping open a white lace fan in one hand. She began to fan herself while looking the Hobbit up and down. "Really, Thorin, you think I don't know who he is? He's the only Hobbit in the kingdom you know."

"Forgive me. I didn't know if you had heard of him or not."

"I'm old, boy, not dumb," droned Lady Ábria. She gave Bilbo a nod of welcome but nothing more. "Good to finally meet you, Master Baggins. I am Lady Ábria daughter of Turith. I believe that you are acquainted with my sons, yes? Óin and Glóin?"

Bilbo suddenly understood why she looked so familiar. "Y-Yes, my lady," he stuttered, giving her a bow. "I know Óin very well and have met both Lord Glóin and Lady Súna on multiple occasions."

Lady Ábria's face soured. "Ah, yes. The Tin Tart."

Thorin made a noise of disgruntlement in the back of his throat. "Aunt Ábria, please stop calling her that. She's your daughter by marriage."

"And that erases her blood now does it?" Lady Ábria asked with a poison sweetness, snapping her fan shut with a jerk of her wrist. "Or her occupation as a... entertainer?"

"She sang songs on the streets, she didn't sell herself," her nephew corrected, looking like he wanted to roll his eyes but couldn't out of respect for an elder relative. "And why does any of it matter? She has given you a grandson to be proud of. What more do you want from her?"

"A separation would be nice but even I know that won't be happening. Hmp." When Thorin continued to scowl, she rolled her eyes and reached up to bop him on the nose with her fan. "Oh, stop glaring already before your face gets stuck like that. Honestly, how do you ever expect to find a spouse with such expressions?"

Thorin said nothing but his look suggested that he was prepared to die alone. "I think Fundin was looking for you," he lied, his shoulders beginning to tighten up. "I last saw him by the wine."

"Was he? Hmp. What does that old fool want now?" she asked before stomping off without another word.

Bilbo could only stare after her in wonder and shock. "What... was that?"

"That is the reason Óin is the way he is today," Thorin answered, reaching up to rub his nose.

Bilbo suddenly understood his former boss a lot better. "I see now why he avoids these engagements."

"It's more for our sake than his," the king admitted. "Aunt Ábria and him are a bit too much alike and tend to clash if left together for long periods of time."

"I'm surprised Lord Glóin didn't turn out like that."

"Believe me, he has his moments," the Dwarf corrected, scowling briefly before shaking it away. "But enough of them. Come now and meet one of the guests of honor—my cousin Dáin."

Bilbo followed Thorin as he led him over to a Dwarf standing in front of a massive painting of a giant at a forge. The Dwarf—who he could only assume was Lord Dáin—stood at the same height as Thorin and boasted the same broad shoulders. His waist was a bit leaner though and his hips and thighs thicker than his cousins. His face was round with high cheekbones, a wide forehead, and sharply slanted brows. His blood red hair was curlier than the Dwarves' of Erebor and braided differently with numerous beads plaited in. Even his skin was a few shades darker than Bilbo was used to seeing. But his eyes—slanted like Princess Dís's—were the exact same shade of blue as Thorin's and the rest of the Durin descendants.

"Dáin," Thorin called, catching his attention. "I want to introduce you to a new friend—Bilbo Baggins."

Lord Dáin's slowly raised his brows. "Since when do you have friends?" he asked, his deep voice tainted by an accent that Bilbo had heard through Erebor but could not identify. He had a feeling he had finally found the source in the Iron Hills.

"Around the same time you found a sense of humor," Thorin shot back, lips curling up into a smirk. He looked down to Bilbo and swept out his arm towards the redhead in a grandiose gesture. "Bilbo, meet my cousin Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills."

Bilbo bowed his head in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Lord Dáin."

"Likewise, Master Baggins," returned the Dwarf, giving his own nod. "It's been many years since I've seen a Hobbit. Your people usually don't travel so far east."

"True enough. We prefer to stay to the west where we're from," he acknowledged, wiggling his toes beneath his heavy robes.

"Bilbo has come for a good cause," Thorin added, giving his cousin a look Bilbo couldn't read. "I think you would be interested in hearing of it."

"I'm sure," Lord Dáin commented, looking anything but interested. "It will have to wait though—"

"Dáin!"

The trio turned together at the sudden shout to find Prince Frerin standing at the doorway. He was dressed in light blue and yellow robes and—like Kíli—had left his hair down to cascade about him like threads of gold. He was scanning the room and, when he spotted the Dwarf in question, his face lit up like the rising sun.

"It's about time you got here!" Prince Frerin crowed, hurrying over to them. "I've been waiting for weeks!"

"Frerin," Lord Dáin greeted, turning to face the beaming Dwarf as an honest smile crossed his lips. As Bilbo watched, something in the Dwarf's face seemed to relax and brighten at the same time. As if Lord Dáin was watching something beautiful occur before him for the millionth time, yet still could not help but be blown away by it.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to greet you earlier. I've been very busy with work," Prince Frerin said cheerfully as he threw his arms around Lord Dáin's neck and gave him a hug that would have made a bear proud. "But I knew you wouldn't mind waiting for now to see me! It's been far too long, cousin!"

Lord Dáin said nothing. Instead, he wrapped a tight arm around the prince's waist and cupped the back of his head gently. He then bent down and buried his face in Prince Frerin's hair while tangling the wild curls around his fingers possessively; like a child might do with a favorite toy or blanket. It looked nothing like the sort of hugs that Bilbo had shared with his own cousins during their reunion. In fact, it reminded him more of his parents when one had been gone for too long for work.

"Frerin," he whispered again in a low voice, and the sheer longing in his tone made Bilbo both flinch and flush with embarrassment. Feeling like a voyeur, he looked away and soon realized that he wasn't the only one who noticed Lord Dáin's reaction.

Lord Fundin was drinking again—likely in hopes of drowning out his family. Dwalin was staring up at the ceiling with a long suffering expression of one who didn't understand what he had done to deserve such relatives. Lord Glóin—who he only now noticed—was exchanging furious whispers with his wife. Lady Ábria actually looked bored—like she couldn't be bothered to give a damn. But Thorin, though—Thorin looked to be in deep pain.

"Dáin," he said, the heavy order in it unmistakably clear.

Lord Dáin opened his eyes and stared over Frerin's head at his elder cousin. His blue eyes were hooded and within them lurked something... something wild and calculating and dangerous. Stuck by the familiarity of such a look, it took Bilbo a moment to place where he had seen such eyes before—Lady Galadriel. But then he blinked and the look was gone and Lord Dáin was releasing Frerin from his grasp. However he didn't let go completely; instead he kept a possessive hand on the small of Frerin's back as he guided him to a nearby lounge.

"Come, sit with me and tell me how you've been," he said, giving Prince Frerin a charming smile. "Kíli told me of all the work you've been doing. It sounds quite tiring."

Prince Frerin sat down while rolling his eyes. "Sometimes I think you forget who the elder is here," he teased as Lord Dáin took a seat next to him. He skimmed the room and, when his blue eyes landed on Bilbo, he brightened into a dazzling smile.

"Bilbo! How wonderful of you to join us!" he greeted cheerfully, waving the Hobbit over. "Come, sit next to me. Have you met Dáin yet?"

"We met," he reassured, not daring to take the seat and glancing up to meet Lord Dáin's eyes. When he did, he found himself being coolly dissected like a child with an unusual bug.

"Bilbo is my new Hobbit friend and savior," Prince Frerin told Lord Dáin, oblivious to the ice forming in his cousin's eyes. "He saved Kíli twice, got rid of that worm Motvari, and stands up to Thorin. He's great, I just love it!"

"A marvelous feat indeed," Lord Dáin deadpanned, looking completely unimpressed. "So is he your new pet then?"

"Dáin, don't be rude," ordered Thorin with a scowl that was harsher than Bilbo had ever seen before.

"Yes, please don't, it's too early for the knives," droned Princess Dís, slinking into the room like a lazy lioness roused from sleep. In one hand she held a crystal goblet of red wine and in the other her husband. Both were dressed in matching outfits of yellow and black with enough blue diamonds to start a small kingdom. Behind them followed their sons who were huddled close together and exchanging whispers.

"Dís," Lord Dáin said, his lips twisting into a sneer that made a scar on his right cheek stand out vividly. "I was under the impression you weren't coming. Something about not approving of this 'farce of a marriage' I believe?"

"I changed my mind once I learned of who would be attending," Princess Dís replied, red lips turning up into a smirk that could have cut through iron. "It wouldn't be right to ignore our Hobbit guest, no?"

All eyes immediately turned to Bilbo. He stared back for a second before deciding that hiding behind Thorin's bulky form was the wisest choice. Thorin, surprisingly, allowed it while giving his family a scolding look. "Leave Bilbo out of your little spats," he ordered, looking between his sister and cousin. "He has nothing to do with this."

"Yes, please don't be mean to my new friend," requested Prince Frerin, tugging on Lord Dáin's arm and capturing his attention. "Bilbo has been of great help to me. Without him, I would be in a lot of trouble right now."

Wrong thing to say, Bilbo mused, watching Lord Dáin's shoulders straighten into a sharp line.

"Thorin, I spoke with Lady Hafsa's servant. He says they'll be here within the hour," Prince Vílin suddenly said, catching everyone's attention. Steadily, he looked at the king and then to Bilbo and added, "Perhaps, while we wait, you can show Master Baggins the gallery? I'm sure he would love to see it."

Thorin slowly nodded. "A good idea. Come, Bilbo, its right next door."

Bilbo willingly followed the king to a set of doors to the far left. All the while he could feel the glacier eyes of Lord Dáin tracking his progress. He realized, abruptly, that he finally understood what Óin had meant when he warned him to stay away from Prince Frerin.

Guess I know now what Dáin would fight Erebor for, he thought grimly as he left behind the jealous lord and oblivious prince.

The gallery Thorin ended up leading him to reminded Bilbo more of a memorial than any workshop of art. It was filled with figures of the Seven Fathers and their creator. They were everywhere it seemed—carved into the walls, painted on the ceilings, etched into the marble floor. There were statues of them stationed throughout the room with Mahâl set in the center of it all with his massive hammer and amber eyes. It was an impressive sight for sure but Bilbo couldn't see the point of it all.

"I am sorry for Dáin's behavior," Thorin said as soon as they entered the gallery. "He's usually not so... prickly."

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder as he studied the different maps of mountains etched into the floor. "It's fine. I'm used to dealing with pricks," he commented, making the king snort. "I'm sure he had his... reasons."

"His jealousy is never a good reason," Thorin disagreed, crossing his hands behind his back as he watched the Hobbit. "But I'm afraid he's never been good at sharing Frerin's attention with others."

"I take it they've been close since they were young?" Bilbo wondered, following what looked like an underground highway that connected all the mountains together.

"Yes. We all grew up together but Dáin and Frerin have always been closer than anyone else. Probably why he fell in love with my brother so easily," Thorin admitted, scowling.

Bilbo stopped and looked up in surprsise. "You know—about Dáin and Frerin?"

Thorin snorted. "Of course I do. I have eyes don't I? And even if I didn't, it's not exactly a well-kept secret in the family. Everyone knows Dáin is in love with Frerin—except, of course, Frerin himself."

The Hobbit nearly fell over in shock. He had heard the prince was dense but this was taking it to new levels. "How can he not know? The amount of attention Lord Dáin gives him is obsessive and intense. I think he could set fire to the room with his stares alone!"

Thorin shrugged, holding up his hands to show that he too was amazed by his brother's obliviousness. "Frerin has never been good at recognizing those sorts of things. He assumes it's merely lingering hero-worship from when we were children. Dáin is the youngest and he always looked up to Frerin, you see. I think a part of him still does."

"Have you ever considered telling your brother the truth?"

"No," Thorin declared vehemently, shaking his head and nearly sending his crown to the ground. "I would never encourage a relationship between them."

"Why not? I thought you love Dáin like another brother?" wondered the healer, squatting down to examine what he assumed was Erebor. It had five tunnels leading out from it; two to the east, two to the west, and one heading south.

"I do love him," confirmed the king, his voice losing some of its steel. "He's my favorite relative from the Iron Hills and if I didn't have Fíli and Kíli, he is the only one I would entrust Erebor to. But I love my brother more and it is out of love that I wish to keep them apart."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and then his body so he could sit comfortably on the cold floor. "Okay you're going to have to give me more to work with here if you want me to follow the storyline," he said, smoothing out his robes around him and settling his hands together in his lap. "Now why are you trying to keep them apart? Because of politics? Traditions? Fear?"

Thorin shook his head as he too made himself comfortable against one of the statues. "While their union would be a political mess, it is not my main concern," he explained, blue eyes darkening until they were nearly black. "Dáin... He has a sickness. It is a common sickness that runs though the Line of Durin and affects the mind. Many great kings and princes have been brought down by it, including my grandfather in his later years. Even I have struggled with it and I have even seen it to a lesser extent in my distant relatives. We call it Durin's Curse for it was with him that it all started."

Bilbo leaned forward, fascinated despite the grave undertone to Thorin's words. "What does it do to you?"

"It is... difficult to describe," the Dwarf said slowly, his brows beginning to furrow together. "Some would call it madness but that is too simple a term to use. The best way I can think to describe it would be to call it an obsession. We focus on one thing—power, wealth, war, a certain brand of wine, the options are endless—and become consumed by the desire to posses this one entity entirely. For Durin the Deathless it was preserving his legacy. For my grandfather it was a special jewel called the Arkenstone. For Dáin... it is Frerin."

"Does this obsession make him dangerous then?"

"Somewhat. It's different for everyone and can range from mild to extreme. Dáin has always been able to maintain tight control over it so I don't know how bad it can get for him. But this is only due to the fact that there is no romantic relationship between Frerin and him. If things were to change, I don't know how he would react," Thorin admitted while reaching up to push some of his braids over his shoulder. "Now do you understand my wish to keep them separated?"

"Sort of," he acknowledged, wrapping his hands around his ankles and rubbing the bones in thought. "I understand that you want to protect them both from getting hurt, but I don't think it's really fair of you to make such a decision for your brother. He should be allowed to choose whether or not to pursue a relationship with Dáin."

Thorin snorted, shaking his head. "Bilbo, making decisions for others is my job as the King Under the Mountain," he pointed out, clearly amused. "That includes my family."

Bilbo rolled his eyes but pressed on. "Still, have you ever approached Dáin himself about it? Maybe he has more control over it than you think," he said, gazing up at the Dwarf.

"I'm sure he does," the king agreed with a nod. "But I would still not risk the safety of my only brother on a 'maybe.' For now it is better to simply leave things as they are with Dáin marrying Lady Hafsa."

"But... he doesn't love her," the healer reminded, feeling a twinge of pity for the Dwarf lord. "Doesn't that strike you as sad? To marry someone you don't love?"

Thorin shook his head, obviously unmoved. Bilbo wasn't very surprised. For his friend—a king—making personal sacrifices was just part of the job. "Not all marriages are built on love. Some are built on friendship and mutual understanding," he explained. "I believe that while Dáin may never come to love Lady Hafsa, he will at the very least appreciate her assistance in running his kingdom. Young Thorin is also in need of another parental figure as Dáin cannot always be there for him all the time."

"Young Thorin? Who is that?"

"Dáin's only son and heir. He was born through... other means," Thorin admitted, looking away from the healer. "So he has only ever had Dáin for a parent. Having someone else around will be good for him."

He's Stoneborn, Bilbo realized but knew better now than to say anything. "What about Lady Hafsa? I don't think she would want to marry someone who is in love with another."

"While I don't know her personal thoughts on the matter, I assume she is at least accepting of the situation. Otherwise why else would she agree to come?" the Dwarf said logically.

Bilbo wasn't so sure. "Maybe she didn't have a choice," he muttered.

Thorin smiled, looking far too amused. "I take it that you plan to marry for love then?"

"Of course!" he scoffed, raising his chin high. "My parents married for love and they were the happiest couple I knew! I will do the same if given the chance. Wouldn't you?"

"Marriage has never really interested me. Vílin says it's because I haven't met the right person, but I think I'm just not built for it," his friend answered, looking unbothered by the idea. "Besides, marriage usually means children, and any children I have would be a threat to Fíli's claim on the throne, and I could never do that to him."

"You would put your sister's son before your own children?"

"Yes. Fíli and Kíli may not be my sons by birth but I still consider them mine in a sense. It's... a difficult feeling to explain, really. Loving a child so deeply when that child is not even yours. I've been there for them since the beginning and I would give my life to keep them safe and happy. To lose them... I grow cold just from the thought."

"I don't think you have to worry about that. Not as long as you pay attention to what type of stone is being used to build their baths," Bilbo reminded gently with a small grin.

Thorin let out a huff that tricked into a low chuckle. "I will monitor the selection in person," he vowed, pushing himself off of the statue and walking over to Bilbo. He held out a hand to the Hobbit as he said, "Shall we return to the hall? I'm sure Frerin has managed to calm Dáin down by now."

Bilbo nodded and took the king's hand and found himself being easily lifted to his feet. He tried to pull free only to find himself stuck as Thorin refused to let go. Instead, he frowned down at the hand in his grip before sliding his own hand up to Bilbo's wrist where he circled his fingers around the delicate bones.

"I did not realize how small you are under all those layers," the king commented, looking up to the Hobbit's face with his brows furrowed. "You come off as... bigger somehow."

"Really? Must be the hair," he teased, tugging his hand free at last.

Thorin titled his head to the side and looked him up and down with a quick glance. "Well," he began slowly with an expression Bilbo couldn't read. "It's certainly something."

Chapter Text

When Bilbo and Thorin returned to the hall, they found it quieter and filled with the same people they had left behind. Bilbo found his eyes instantly drawn to Prince Frerin—that hair was just too yellow to ignore—who was still sitting with Lord Dáin. The prince looked to be telling a story with a lot of hand gestures that threatened to smack anyone who got too close. Lord Dáin didn't seem to mind and was still staring at Prince Frerin like it was the last time they would ever be together. It was so pathetic that Bilbo felt his earlier fear and annoyance for the Dwarf lord evaporate.

"This is going to be painful to watch," he told Thorin, looking up at the king. "Can I be seated somewhere far away from them? I really don't want to have to see this."

"You can sit next to me. I won't be sitting near Dáin," Thorin promised, staring at his brother and cousin across the hall with his brows furrowed. Bilbo could almost see the thundercloud forming above his head.

He lightly nudged the Dwarf in the ribs with his elbow. "Stop that before you give yourself a headache," he chided quietly. "Glaring at them isn't going to make Lord Dáin's feelings disappear."

"He needs to learn some tact before Lady Hafsa and her party arrive," Thorin replied, looking down at him and losing his brooding-thinking look. "I doubt they will be impressed with him drooling over my brother."

"Do you even know what that word means?" Bilbo wondered, tilting his head to the side.

"Yes. It means everyone keeps their opinions to themselves and don't give me any lip," said the king, his lips beginning to twitch into a smirk. "A lesson you should really indulge in."

"Uh-huh." Bilbo playfully elbowed the Dwarf in the ribs again. "Did your parents ever ask you to run away from home?"

"No, but they did ask my sister."

"Thorin!"

Bilbo looked up to see a short Dwarf dressed in neat but simple gray and purple robes walking up to them. He had fluffy white hair and a messy beard and a friendly face that made Bilbo relax. His dark eyes scanned Bilbo briefly before focusing on the king at his side. "I was wondering where you had gotten to," he said jovially. "But then Dwalin mentioned Dáin and that explained it all."

"Yes, he was being a brat again," Thorin agreed before gesturing to the Hobbit holding onto him. "Balin, allow me to introduce you to Bilbo Baggins. Bilbo, this is Balin son of Fundin and Minister of War."

"Wonderful to finally meet you, Master Baggins," Lord Balin greeted cheerfully, giving a graceful bow to the healer. "I've heard a great deal about you from my brother and cousins."

"All good I hope," Bilbo replied, returning the bow awkwardly.

Dori's elder brother simply smiled wider. "I'm sure it was good from their perspective," he said, black eyes twinkling.

"Balin is Dwalin's elder brother and Fundin's heir," Thorin explained, nodding to the shorter Dwarf. "He's also one of my cousins. We grew up together here in the palace."

"Then you have my sympathies, Lord Balin," Bilbo said to the Dwarf, giving him a remorseful look.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at the Hobbit next to him. "I'm beginning to rethink my promise to let you sit with me."

"You make me sit anywhere near Lord Dáin I'm going back to calling you Corin," the healer warned, pointing at the king.

"Going back...?" Thorin repeated, brows furrowed until the connection finally dawned on him. "You were getting my name wrong on purpose!"

"Of course I was. Thorin isn't that hard to remember," he mocked, deepening his voice when he said the king's name.

"You know I can have you arrested for that. It's a serious crime to disrespect the King Under the Mountain. But since I am a benevolent ruler I will forgive you. Much like how I forgave you for using me as your personal ladder."

"Oh, yes, reminding me of the time I was a moron is very benevolent of you."

"I said I was benevolent not vengeful."

Bilbo rolled his eyes and was about to retort when he noticed Lord Balin watching them with wide eyes and a growing smile. "I'm sorry, we're being rude," he apologized, finally recalling his manners.

Lord Balin waved his apology away. "Oh no, don't stop on account of me!" he insisted airily. "I'm enjoying this. I didn't even know of how... familiar you two are with one another."

"Bilbo is very easy to get along with," Thorin explained simply. "Even if he is bad at being respectful to the reigning monarch."

Bilbo gave such an insult the retort it deserved: he stuck his tongue out at the Dwarf.

"Wow, Óin wasn't lying about that no fear trait, huh?" Lord Glóin commented, joining the trio with his wife. They were both dressed in matching colors of teal and white and looked like something out of a storybook. Bilbo didn't think he had ever seen a handsomer couple.

"Hello, Lord Glóin, Lady Súna. It is good to see both of you again," he greeted, giving them the most respectful bow he could just to spite Thorin.

"And you as well, Master Baggins," returned Lady Súna, her lovely face as smooth and expressionless as the last two times they met.

"I hope Dáin didn't scare you too much back there," her husband commented, giving Bilbo an apologetic look. "He's usually not so intense. I think something must've rattled him earlier."

"I'm not frightened," Bilbo answered honestly, giving the redhead a wide smile to show his sincerity. "Thorin explained things so I understand why he acted the way he did."

"Thorin, I'm surprised to see you escorting Master Baggins," Lady Súna commented, staring down at their linked arms. "I thought you would pawn him off to Fíli or Dwalin."

Thorin sniffed and drew himself up. "Bilbo is my friend and guest. It is only natural that I be the one to escort him."

"You didn't even know he was coming until he got here," Lord Glóin reminded, looking unimpressed.

"So? It doesn't make what I said any less true."

The sound of a horn echoed through the palace and made everyone go silent. Before Bilbo could ask what it meant, Thorin sighed and gave his cousins a heavy look. "They're here."

Bilbo's first impression of the Dwarves of Orocarni was that they were very colorful. Their tunics—which were tighter across the chest and waist and fell to their knees—was a combination of three different colors that should have clashed yet somehow worked together in a flattering way. Their sashes and wraps and robes were just as colorful with twinkling beads and jewels added to the ends. In contrast to their bright outerwear, they wore plain and loose slacks beneath and thinly covered shoes that Bilbo had never seen before.

They look more comfortable than boots, he mused, watching as an older Dwarf with graying black hair stepped forward to greet Thorin. He was handsome enough fellow with smooth brown skin, a wide nose, and the same slanted eyes as Hamide but with a turquoise coloring that stood out vividly against his dark skin. He wore his long beard loose and free to his knees while keeping his straight hair tied up under a white turban with gold beads. Dressed in white, red, and gold, he looked every bit as noble as Thorin did.

"Greetings to Thorin II Oakenshield!" the stranger boomed, his voice deep and sweet like honey and tinged with an accent Bilbo had never heard before. "Son of Thráin II, King Under the Mountain, Father of Erebor, King of Durin's Folk! I come with greetings from your brothers across the sand! Will you accept them?"

"I accept them with gratitude and honor," Thorin greeted back, holding his arms open and stepping forward to clasp the stranger on the shoulder with one hand. He leaned down and touched their foreheads together with his eyes closed and, for a moment, they shared the same breath. Then he opened his eyes and pulled back with a final clap to the stranger's shoulder.

"Welcome to my Halls, Grand Vizier Sözen son of Soyer son of Soykan," Thorin said, giving the Dwarf a small but genuine smile. "Be at peace and know that I share with you all that is mine."

The Grand Vizier laughed. "Be careful lest I take from you your greatest treasure," he teased, turning around slightly and holding out a hand to a smaller figure standing at his shoulder. The new stranger stepped forward and took Lord Sözen's hand and allowed him to pull them to his side.

"I now present to you my greatest treasure," Grand Vizier Sözen announced with clear pride and love in his voice. "My only daughter—Lady Hafsa daughter of Hasibe daughter of Handegül."

Lady Hafsa silently bowed to Thorin. When she lifted her head, Bilbo saw that she was a young and pretty Dwarrowdam with full lips, a rather wide and flat nose, and high cheekbones. Her eyes were the same as her father and her loose black curls hung down her back with gold chains and jewels twisted in. She wore a long white, gold, and turquoise gown that covered her from the neck down and clung to her body tightly; highlighting her wide hips and large breasts. Bilbo had a feeling that it wasn't an accident that her gown showed off such assets so clearly.

"Greetings to the King of Durin's Folk," the Dwarrowdam said, her voice soft and sweet like a bird. She stood straight and tall and was staring directly at Thorin's chin as if afraid to meet his eyes. "Thank you for inviting us into your city."

Thorin gave the Dwarrowdam a small smile even as his brows furrowed together. "Be welcome, Lady Hafsa. You are among friends here."

"And soon to be family!" cheered her father, his turquoise eyes turning on Lord Dáin, who stood to the left of Thorin. "Lord Dáin, come forward and meet your bride!"

Lord Dáin smoothly walked forward and gave a graceful bow to both newcomers. "A pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Hafsa," he said, giving the Dwarrowdam a charming smile. Though he looked pleasant and friendly, Bilbo couldn't help but find it lacking. Compared to how he had looked at Prince Frerin earlier, there was no genuine emotion to his eyes or smile.

Lady Hafsa gave her future a husband a stiff smile. "And a pleasure to meet you at last," she replied, staring at Lord Dáin's chest with a strange pinch to her brows.

"Grand Vizier, I would like you to meet my sister's son and Crown Prince of Erebor," Thorin said suddenly, nudging Fíli forward and moving his body to allow Lord Dáin to step behind him. Fíli easily obeyed and stepped forward to give a graceful bow and the charming smile he shared with his brother.

"Fíli son of Vílin," he introduced warmly, his dimples on clear view. "I'm so happy to finally meet you, Grand Vizier Sözen. My grandfather has spoken very highly of you."

"I'm sure he exaggerated most of it," Grand Vizier Sözen returned just as cheerfully, patting Fíli on the shoulder in the same manner an uncle would with a favorite nephew. "But thank you for the compliment. You have a very handsome lad here, Majesty. I'm sure he will make an impressive king."

"A feat I cannot claim ownership of," Thorin said dryly, turning to Princess Dís who stood to the right of Fíli. She was still holding her goblet of wine and looked distinctively unimpressed with what was before her.

The Grand Vizier followed Thorin's gaze and stared at the princess for a moment before a smile split his face from ear to ear. "Princess Dís! I did not even recognize you there! My, how you have grown!" he boomed, moving over to take the princess's free hand into his and pressing his forehead to the top of it. When he looked back up, his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

"You are the splitting image of your mother, Mahâl rest her soul," he said, giving her hand a squeeze before releasing them. "She was the best of ladies and the wisest of wives."

Princess Dís raised a slender brow as the corner of her lips twitched. "Thank you," she said simply before taking a sip of her wine. To her left, Prince Vílin sighed and shook his head.

Grand Vizier Sözen beamed and moved onto Prince Frerin, who was trying to hide behind his siblings. As he pulled the blond prince out for another loud welcoming, Bilbo looked up at Dwalin, who stood with him in the very back of the group of nobles.

"How much longer is this going to last? I want to eat," he said impatiently, tapping one of his feet.

Dwalin shrugged, staring off at the far wall with a bored look on his face. "Depends how long introductions go," he said, hands crossed in front of him. "The Vizier has to meet all of the Royal Family before introducing his family. Then he gets to meet the rest of us lesser nobles. Finally, after that, we get to eat."

Bilbo groaned as his shoulders dropped. "I should've come late," he muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of the robe. To his surprise, he found a piece of writing charcoal in one of them, and when he pulled it out to examine, he realized it was one of Ori's drawing instruments.

"Hey, wanna play 'Gallows' why we wait?" he asked Dwalin, wagging the charcoal at the guard.

"On what?" deadpanned the Dwarf, looking pointedly around the vast chamber that housed only furniture and wine.

Bilbo sat down on the cold floor and folded his legs under him. "Right here," he said, patting the smooth marble floor before him.

Dwalin still looked skeptic. "Will it come off this stone?"

"Yeah, it's only ash." Bilbo proved this by making a black mark on the tile and then smoothly wiping it away with his hand. He held up his black hand as proof of his success. "See? Completely clean."

Dwalin stared at him for another moment, looked up at the group in front of them, and then finally shrugged and sat down in front of the Hobbit. "Fine, but I'm going first."

They played two rounds (with Dwalin winning one and Bilbo winning the other) and were well into the third when they were interrupted by a soft cough. "Thorin is coming," warned Lord Fundin, staring forward and smiling blandly. They both quickly rose to their feet and Bilbo wiped away evidence of their match with his feet while Dwalin stood in front of him to hide what he was doing. By the time Thorin had gotten to them, there was nothing left but a black smear.

"—this is Dwalin son of Fundin and Captain of the Royal Guards," Thorin said to the Grand Vizier, gesturing to his cousin, who gave a perfect salute to the Grand Vizier.

"Another fine son, Lord Fundin. You must be proud," complimented the Vizier, giving Lord Fundin a wink.

Lord Fundin bowed his head modestly. "They make me very proud."

Grand Vizier Sözen laughed as he looked beyond Dwalin and met Bilbo's eyes. He blinked a few times before his eyes widened dramatically and his mouth fell open in shock. Next to him, Lady Hafsa and another Dwarf—dressed in bright green and yellow with straight black hair—also spotted the Hobbit, and they too froze and went wide-eyed.

"I see you've noticed Bilbo," commented Thorin, smiling as he reached over and tugged the Hobbit out from behind Dwalin. "Grand Vizier Sözen, this is Bilbo Baggins—a Hobbit who is visiting our kingdom and sharing with us his talents as a healer."

"A... Hobbit?" Lady Hafsa repeated so softly that Bilbo almost didn't hear it.

"A Hobbit? But I thought they were extinct!" cried out the Dwarf next to her, looking between Bilbo and Thorin.

"No, we're... quite alive," replied the healer, awkwardly scratching at the back of his knee with his heel.

"By Mahâl's Blessing, I never thought I would meet a Hobbit in this lifetime," breathed the Grand Vizier, his turquoise eyes slowly tracking over Bilbo's frame. "It is truly a pleasure, Master Bilbo."

"Please, you must tell me of your people!" pleaded the Dwarf next to Lady Hafsa, practically bouncing where he stood. "I have so many questions for you!"

He slowly nodded and leaned back a bit from the excited Dwarf. "Sure, but... who are you?"

Thorin groaned lowly. "Bilbo, this is Pasha Sermet, the Grand Vizier's youngest son," he explained, giving his guests an apologetic smile even as his free hand lightly pinched the back of Bilbo's bicep. "Please pay better attention."

Bilbo scowled and roughly yanked his abused arm away. "How do you expect me to know that when I was standing behind all of you unnatural giants?" he snapped, taking a step away from the king before returning his attention to Pasha Sermet.

"Nice to meet you," he said, giving a short bow. Now that he looked, he could see a resemblance to the Vizier in his wide forehead and turquoise eyes.

Pasha Sermet smiled widely, showing that he wasn't offended by Bilbo's words. "Oh no, the pleasure is all mine! Surely, meeting you is one of the greatest moments of my life!"

Bilbo slowly raised his brows. "You've led a very boring life then."

"Sermet is a scholar," the Vizier quickly explained, looking at his son with fond exasperation. "He has spent most of his life studying with the masters in our holy libraries. He is here to record our journey and the signing of the treaty."

"And now I may add Master Bilbo to it too!" crowed the young Dwarf, grasping his hands together and holding them up before him as if he was giving thanks to his creator. "Truly, I have been blessed this day!"

Bilbo took another step away.

"I believe it is time for lunch," announced Thorin, stepping forward and gesturing to another set of grand doors. "Please, come right this way. The dining room is right through here."

As the Orocarni guests followed Thorin's invitation, Bilbo slid closer to the king and grabbed his arm before he could leave. "Please don't leave me alone with that guy. I think he may try to hug me," he whispered frantically.

Thorin snorted and patted Bilbo's hand. "I'll seat you between Dís and me," he promised, and then dragged Bilbo along to lunch.

The luncheon was held in a room as grand as the previous—though not as grand as the Great Hall, as Fíli whispered to him—and boasted a large, circular marble table covered in food. As soon as Bilbo saw it all, he felt a mix of hunger and resentment spike through him. Such a grand meal was only a wistful dream to Hobbits, but to Dwarves it was nothing more than a simple midday meal. It was enough to make him wish, fleetingly, that he had brought his pack along to take some of it back with him.

Thorin made good on his promise and sat Bilbo to his left while Dís took the seat on his other side with her husband next to her. To Thorin's right sat Fíli and Kíli and Prince Frerin and so through rank before ending with a withered old Dwarrowdam who had an attendant standing behind her. The Durins took up half of the table with the rest filled by the visiting party from Orocarni. Directly across from Bilbo sat a pair of what looked like brothers with the same coloring and features as the rest of the Dwarves from Orocarni. He gave them only a brief look over before focusing his attention completely on the food.

Thorin gave a brief speech that Bilbo didn't bother listening to before finally granting permission to eat. Bilbo wasted no time filling his plate to the rim with food—taking a bit everything within reach. It didn't matter what it was—meat or fish, vegetable or fruit, he didn't discriminate—and he gave little care to the fact that he didn't even know what half the dishes were called. It was food and it was free—what more did he need to know?

"The food isn't going to runaway, you know," commented Princess Dís as she watched the Hobbit begin to demolish his meal at a rapid pace.

"Oh, let him go, darling. He needs to eat more. He's far too skinny," said Prince Vílin with a light laugh.

"Bilbo, maybe you should slow down. You're going to make yourself sick," Thorin commented in concern, watching him with furrowed brows.

The healer waved him away as he dipped a roll of bread in gravy. "Thorin, I'm a Hobbit, we don't get stomach pains from eating," he said between bites.

Thorin didn't look convinced but didn't push it. Instead he turned his attention back to his guests and struck up a conversation with them that Bilbo only paid half his attention to. He caught flashes of the conversation such as 'restorations' and 'trade routes' that, while interesting, was not enough to tear him away from his meal. It was not until the conversation turn to him personally that Bilbo finally looked up from his plate.

"Your Majesty, do you not feed your Hobbit here in Erebor? The poor thing has not stopped eating since we sat down," commented one of the Orocarni Dwarves, drawing a round of chuckles.

Bilbo looked up to see who had spoken, and found that it was one of the Dwarves sitting across from him. He was watching the healer with a smirk that Bilbo knew all too well. Thankfully he also knew how to treat such people.

"You are mistaken," he said brightly, giving the stranger a smile that couldn't be faker. "Thorin is not in charge of 'feeding me' like some exotic pet. I can take care of myself just fine, thank you."

"Your ninth plate tells a different tale," returned the stranger, his smirk growing larger as more laughs followed.

"And your rudeness tells another," Bilbo retorted sweetly, widening his eyes. "Tell me, do you know the state of my people?"

"Obviously not," scoffed the stranger, leaning back into his seat. "I didn't even know your kind still existed until a mere hour ago."

Bilbo grinned and leaned over to rest his elbows on the table. "Then allow me to educate you: Hobbits are nomads," he said with the same sugar sweetness. "We have been ever since a fire-breathing dragon drove us from our homeland for no apparent reason. Since then we have been wandering from kingdom to kingdom, struggling to stay alive after losing everything we had. Hence the reason why I am taking advantage of the feast presented here today with my 'ninth plate'."

The table went awkwardly silent.

The stranger had lost his arrogant grin and now looked rightfully ashamed of his words. At his side, another Dwarf cleared his throat and looked at Bilbo apologetically. "Forgive my brother, Master Bilbo," he said, bowing his head. "He has offended you with his thoughtless words. He is still young and does not always think before he opens his mouth. I ask that you please forgive him his offense."

"You are forgiven. I am not the type to hold a grudge over something so simple," granted the healer, picking up his fork again and pointing it at the pair across from him. "I do ask though that you all stop regarding me as some exotic new creature. I am a person just like you and everyone else here. Just shorter and I can't grow a beard."

"Don't worry, Bilbo. Kíli can't grow one either," comforted Fíli, leaning forward to meet Bilbo's eyes with a playful grin.

Kíli squawked in offense as the tense silence was broken by a scatter of laughs. "Hey!"

"Now that we have touched on it, may I be so bold as to ask you of your people?" requested Pasha Sermet, perking up and staring at Bilbo intently.

The Hobbit sighed. He had been expecting the interrogation but that didn't mean he was going to enjoy it. "If you wish. What do you want to know?"

"Well, for starters, why are you here?"

"My Thain sent me here to find work and complete a task for him."

"What is this 'Thain' you speak of? Is that your king?" wondered Grand Vizier Sözen, tapering his fingers together before him.

Bilbo made a face of disgust. "Oh no, Hobbits don't have a king or queen like other races. Instead we have a Thain, who is something like a leader but not very powerful," he explained, trying to think of the right way to phrase his words. "They are in charge of seeing to the wellbeing of their clan and tend to make most of the big decisions for everyone like where we should live, who should go where for work, and other things like that. However, everyone in the clan has a say, and a Thain can't really make anyone do something if they don't want to. He's treated like everyone else and is expected to perform the same tasks too."

"Who is the Thain for your clan?" asked Lady Hafsa, speaking up for the first time. Her turquoise eyes were pinned on Bilbo with a fierce intensity that overshadowed her brother's next to her.

"Well, I live with my mother's clan—the Tooks—so the one is charge is my uncle, Isengrim," he explained, holding her gaze. He had a feeling that she didn't get a chance to speak out in such gatherings.

"What happen when your uncle... passes on? Does the leadership go to his son?" Pasha Sermet questioned, hands twitching as if he wanted to write down everything he was hearing.

Bilbo nodded. "Usually that's how it would work, yes. But my uncle has no children so it will go to my oldest cousin Fortinbras. But if something happens to him—as it's quite common for my people—then it would be my third eldest cousin, Flambard. Next would be me and after me my cousin Sigismond."

Lord Glóin suddenly held up a hand and stared at the Hobbit with a look that reminded him of Óin when a patient refused to say what was wrong with them. "Wait a minute. You're third in line to being a... a king?!"

"Not a king, a Thain," he corrected, raising his brows at the gasps that followed and the stunned faces. What were they so surprised about? He already told them what it meant. "Hobbits don't have a caste system like other races. We're all the same."

Lady Ábria let out a very un-ladylike snort.

"You never told me you were third in line," Thorin commented quietly, staring at the Hobbit as if he had never seen him before.

"Well, you never told me you were the King Under the Mountain. Guess we're even now, huh?" Bilbo teased, widening his eyes innocently.

Next to him, Princess Dís snorted violently into her drink and started to choke. Her husband had to slap her on the back a few times before she was fine.

"This is fascinating!" gushed Pasha Sermet, pounding a hand on the table and sitting up straighter in his seat so he could see Bilbo better. "Please tell us more! What other clans are there? Are you related to any of them?"

Bilbo studied the Dwarf mutely for a moment before his eyes flickered around the table over all the expectant faces. He didn't like to share information about his people with strangers he just met, but at the same time even he knew he couldn't just dismiss the request. It would backfire on Thorin and could lead to a political mess. He couldn't do that to his friend.

"I'm related to all of them but the closest one would be my father's clan, the Baggins," he started slowly, trying to make his explanation as simple as possible. "He was the heir but gave it up when he joined my mother's clan. Now my uncle Longo is Thain and his son is next in line. I'm also third in line for that clan too but no one actually expects me to accept the position." Again he got gasps and dropped jaws that he didn't understand. Thorin was beginning to look a bit pale and Fíli was staring at Bilbo as if trying to recognize the stranger before him. He ignored them and continued on. "But other than those two clans, there are the Brandybucks, Bracegirdles, and Grubbs. There are two joint clans as well: the Gamgee-Underhill and Boffin-Goodbodies. They were smaller families who saw the wisdom in banding together to survive. There are also three smaller families that did the same only in a village. The Bolger, Mugwort, and Noakes families all decided to stay in Bree, which is the closest village of Men to the Shire. They've become their own clan in a way but they consider themselves to be citizens of Bree now."

"Do you have no caste system at all then? No manner of weeding out the weak from the strong?" asked one of the Dwarves from Orocarni. He was older with graying black hair and pitch black eyes and a hooked nose.

Bilbo shook his head. "We Hobbits don't believe in castes, no. To us everyone is the same."

"But your people must have had something of a hierarchy when you still lived in your lands," the Grand Vizier insisted. "Surely some families must have been better than others."

"From what I've heard, everyone lived pretty much as equals with some individuals being more respected than others. But this respect was earned through their merits or character and had nothing to do with their bloodline. The only 'legacy' that was ever passed down were character traits associated with certain families. But again, these traits didn't make any one family better than the other."

"Hmp. Perhaps it is time to rethink such foolishness."

Bilbo looked to who had spoken and found it to be another older Dwarf with a look of contempt on his features. The healer returned the look with his own icy stare. "Excuse me? Would you care to elaborate?"

"I simply mean that, perhaps, if your people had some sort of leadership, than they would have fared against that dragon more easily," the Dwarf drawled.

"It's a fire-breathing dragon the size of a mountain. I don't think it mattered who the leader was at the time," deadpanned Bilbo, causing Fíli and Kíli to erupt into muffled giggles. "Smaug would still have defeated us."

The Dwarf gave him a nasty smile. "Certain about that are you?"

"You—"

"Watch your words, Pasha," warned Lord Dáin, speaking up for the first time. He idly swirled some his wine about in his goblet and peered at the rude Dwarf with a smile that showed a hint of teeth. "You speak to one who King Thorin calls friend. An insult to him is an insult to the Line of Durin."

"An insult we would all take quite personally," added Lady Ábria, cutting up her meat with more viciousness than was required.

The Dwarf lost his arrogant sneer. "Apologies. My words got away with me," he said sullenly, lifting up his goblet to hide his mouth.

"That's not all that got away from you," Bilbo muttered, going back to his food. "I'm done answering questions. Talk about something else now."

"Indeed, let's get back to the mining agreement," requested Lord Balin, smoothly changing the subject to safer waters.

For the rest of the meal no one asked him anymore questions, but Bilbo could still feel their eyes watching him. He told himself it was only normal and tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that he had just made things harder for himself in the future.

Chapter Text

When the meal finally came to an end, Bilbo slipped out of the hall without anyone noticing and asked a nearby guard to escort him out of the palace. He knew that he was being very rude by leaving without saying anything to Thorin and the rest, but could not bring himself to care very much. He did not want to spend any more time playing the sideshow attraction to a bunch of strangers while sharing intimate details of his people with them. Even his father—the very personification of manners—would have agreed that that was a bit too much to ask for.

"It's official—rich people are pricks," Bilbo declared when he came marching into the 'Ri home later that day. He pulled off the outer layer of his robes and tossed them to Ori, who caught it with a brow raised in silent inquiry for more details. He sat at the table with parchment and books spread out before him and his hair unbound from their usual braids.

"I was invited to the palace for lunch," he began to explain while trying to untie the ridiculous amount of laces at his waist in order to take off the next layer of robes. "Prince Fíli made the offer and I couldn't say no to all that free food, right? So I went and ate with all those nobles and ended up being gawked at, questioned, and insulted—all within the space of five minutes!"

"Sounds like a marriage interview," commented Ori, folding up his robe before gesturing for Bilbo to come closer so he could help him. "Or a night with Dori's tea cup friends."

"As soon as the meal was over I scrammed. I didn't even bother to stick around to see if they were going to serve snacks! That's how annoyed I am!" he snarled, throwing his arms up to give Ori room to work.

"I would have never guessed," droned the Dwarf, fingers easily sliding through the laces and knots.

Bilbo flicked his ear. "Why aren't you at work?" he asked, realizing that it was far too early for the young Dwarf to be home.

"Master Balin gave us the day off because he had to go to your horrible luncheon," Ori explained, glancing up to meet his eyes before looking back to his task. "I've been using the free time to catch up on a few things."

"Oh, that's right; I met your Master Balin today," he recalled as the memory of the polite Dwarf popped into his head. "He seems nice and friendly. What is the work you're catching up on?"

"Boring stuff," dismissed Ori, making a face of contempt at the piles of parchment and book logs. "Master Balin deals with all war affairs and that includes the creation of new weapons and armor. His second in command, Master Pátrin, gave me his log books and told me to go over the cost of each success and failure, and mark how much it's costing us. Easy enough to do—just repetitive and boring."

Bilbo's brows shot up in surprise. "I didn't know Erebor has so much interest in war," he commented, tugging off his sash as Ori finally finished untying it. "Thought that was a hobby more common with the Iron Hills."

Ori shrugged as he took the white and black sash from Bilbo to place it with the robes on the table. "Master Balin is just fascinated with inventions and improving upon the weapons we possess now," he explained simply. "So did you get to meet the Dwarrows from Orocarni?"

"Yes. They were... very colorful," the Hobbit said, carefully choosing his words.

Ori snickered behind his hand. "Dwarrows from Orocarni like very bright colors. I think it's because they're surrounded by a desert and got sick of only seeing brown everywhere."

"Is sand brown? I thought it was lighter," he wondered, curling his foot around the leg of a chair and pulling it out to take a seat.

Ori shrugged, looking largely unconcerned. "I have no idea. I've never seen sand before. I'm only going by what I've read."

"It's definitely lighter than brown. More like a tan shade, I think. It's been a long time since I've seen it so I can't quite remember."

"Who did you meet from the Orocarni party?" Ori asked, leaning forward in his chair with an eager gleam to his eyes.

"I met the Grand Vizier Sözen and his children—Pasha Sermet and Lady Hafsa. Pasha was annoying but Lady Hafsa seemed nice," Bilbo recounted, thinking of the stiff expression on Lady Hafsa's face. "Kind of feel sorry for her. She didn't look too happy to be here."

The Dwarf nodded in sympathy. "No, I don't expect she would be. Orocarni is very far and very different from Erebor and the Iron Hills. It's going to be hard for her to adjust to it all. Even the languages are different."

Bilbo hummed in agreement before Ori's words caught up to him and had him sitting up straighter. "Wait, what? I thought you Dwarves all spoke Khuzdûl?"

"Not quite," said the scribe, running his tongue over his canines as he stared up at the ceiling in thought. "See, Khuzdûl is a term we use to describe the family of Dwarrow languages that all share the same starting point—Khuzdûl. No kingdom really speaks the exact same language anymore—too much has changed for it to remain constant. Now we just have tongues that follow the same patterns and share words."

Bilbo could only gape at his friend, feeling unfairly betrayed by the world. "I can't believe I never knew any this. I'm usually so good at picking up different accents! How could I have missed this?"

Ori patted his knee in sympathy. "Don't feel too bad. The knowledge that there are different forms of Khuzdûl isn't really shared with outsiders. Our language is also very harsh sounding so it really does all sound the same if you don't know any better."

"So what do you all call the tongue spoken here in Erebor?"

"We speak Sutumkhuzdul and it's the closest to the original Khuzdûl out of all of the others. It's used a lot in the royal court and trade and is the most well-known."

"And in the Iron Hills? Orocarni?" he pressed, hungry for more information.

"The Iron Hills speak Zirinkhuzdul and you can spot it by the way they sort of drag their letters out when they speak," described the Dwarf, wrinkling his nose a bit to show what he thought of that. "Orocarni uses Barazkhuzdul which has a uvular trill and a habit of rising in pitch when it comes to pronouncing the last syllable of a word."

"Can you understand them all?"

Ori nodded. "Pretty much. Erebor has a lot of Dwarrows from all the kingdoms so I've learned to tell them apart. Speaking it is a bit harder but I can get by."

"Wow. That's incredible." Bilbo felt a rush of longing flood through him as he wished—not for the first time in his life and unlikely to be the last—that he could learn Khuzdûl. Words—whether written or spoken—would always be his passion in life no matter what his trade was, and Khuzdûl was the ultimate treasure cove to him.

"You're doing it again," Ori suddenly commented, leaning closer to poke the Hobbit in the forehead a few times. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" he questioned, batting the hand away and leaning back so he wasn't in clear range.

"Being sad." Ori sat back into his chair and studied Bilbo with his bright green eyes. Out of the three brothers, he had found Ori's gaze to be the most difficult to stare down because there was such depth to them that he feared he would fall in if he stared too hard. Dori's eyes reminded him of frozen lakes and Nori's of murky swamps but Ori was the ocean—deep and mysterious and entirely unpredictable.

As expected, he could only hold that green gaze for a few seconds before looking down at his hands. "I'm not sad, not really. Just thinking sad thoughts."

"Stop thinking them then," ordered the scribe, leaning over until he could rest his forehead on Bilbo's shoulder. "I don't like seeing that look on your face. None of us do. It makes us feel... helpless."

Bilbo couldn't think of anything to say to that so he ran a free hand through Ori's thick hair instead. "Would you like me to brush out your hair?" he asked quietly as his fingers snagged on a few knots. "Nori's been teaching me how to do some of your fancy braids."

Ori snorted and shifted so that his cheek rested on Bilbo's shoulder and he could look up at the Hobbit. "It figures that Nori would be the first to let you braid his hair. Dick. Why does he got to be so greedy?"

"I didn't know it was a competition," he commented, having zero understanding of what his friend was speaking of and even less interest in learning.

"Everything's a competition between siblings," the Dwarf stated imperiously, rising to his feet and holding out his hand. "C'mon. I'm going to teach you how to weave in beads and ribbons. He hasn't taught you that much right?"

Bilbo shook his head as he took the Dwarf's hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. "What about your work?"

"Nothing that can't be finished later," dismissed the scribe, easily dragging Bilbo off for their room without hesitation. "This is more important than anything else right now."

"Because you have to beat Nori?"

Ori laughed, and gave him the sort of smile that made Bilbo want to both hug him and clip him behind the ears. "Yeah. That's that reason."

Bilbo had hoped that, with his obligation to Fíli fulfilled, he would be left alone by the upper-class scion for the foreseeable future. Surely the nobles had better things to do than harass foreign Hobbits looking for work. His hopes were quickly dashed though when he came down for breakfast the next morning and found a fancy letter waiting for him on the table.

"The messenger said it's from Grand Vizier Sözen," Dori said before he could ask. He seemed to be the only brother awake and was cooking eggs over an open fire.

"Great. I wonder what he wants now," Bilbo muttered, breaking the red wax seal and unfolding the letter. As his eyes skimmed over the slanted letters, he couldn't help but groan and begin to lightly bang his forehead against the table.

"Bad news I take it?" Dori asked mildly without looking away from his task.

"He wants to meet with me again today," the healer whined, continuing to bang his head with the hopes of knocking himself unconscious so he wouldn't have to deal with such nonsense. "Why can't these Dwarves just leave me alone? Don't they have jobs to do?"

"No. They're nobles," Dori deadpanned as he slid the eggs onto a plate and brought it to Bilbo. "Eat something now before Ori gets in here and devours it all."

Bilbo paused in his self induced punishment to cast a questioning look at the older male. "Wait, where's Nori? Didn't he come back last night?"

Dori's lips thinned into a straight line. "He came home alright but it was very, very late. He wouldn't say where he was either but claimed it wasn't anything illegal. Like I've believed anything he's told me since we were tots. He also left early this morning before the fifth hour and still didn't say where he was going."

"Could he have found a new job?"

"Unlikely. He doesn't hide his work from us so why start now? He's up to something I'm sure, but I just don't know what it is yet."

Bilbo shrugged a shoulder as he began to scoop up his eggs. "I'll see if I can get anything out of him whenever he gets back," he promised between bites. "Maybe guilt him with the bail money and pull out the big, teary eyed look."

"If it doesn't work, flash him a look at the scar on your leg. That should get him talking," suggested the weaver, and went back to cooking more eggs for Ori who could nearly match a Hobbit for appetite.

Bilbo lingered as long as he could at the 'Ri home but eventually had no choice but to drag himself back up to the palace. He got a few looks for his appearance when he arrived, but the guards didn't stop him when he showed them the letter from Grand Vizier Sözen. One escorted him through the halls to a new section of the palace that he dimly remembered Óin referring to as the guest quarters. It was there, in a bright room of yellow, green, and blue that he found the foreign Dwarf waiting for him.

"Master Bilbo! Thank you so much for coming!" the Grand Vizier greeted warmly, rising to his feet with a smile that split his face in half. He came forward and eagerly took both of Bilbo's hands into his own and squeezed them gently. "I am happy to see you got my letter!"

Bilbo gave an awkward smile and subtly tried to pull his hands away. He really didn't like touching people he just met. "Thank you for inviting me," he said stiffly. "I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye to you and your family yesterday. I had some work to see to."

"No apologies needed. I completely understand," the Vizier promised, patting one of the smaller hands in his before leading Bilbo to the table he had been sitting at. "Come, please, join me. Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can have the servants bring something."

Bilbo was tempted to say yes but resisted as he wanted to get the whole meeting over with as quickly as possible. "No thank you. May I ask why you sent for me?"

"Hmm? Oh, of course, of course! I have a request to make of you," the Dwarf explained, leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingertips together.

The healer narrowed his eyes. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like this. "What is it?"

"I was hoping that you would consider acting as a companion to my daughter during her stay here in Erebor," the Vizier said with a small smile. "She is very curious about your people and would like to hear more of them. She is also quite alone and has no one close in age to keep her company throughout the day. Your presence would be a great comfort to her."

Bilbo stared and then blinked very slowly. "Um, would that even be... acceptable?" he asked, brain scrambling to comprehend what he had just heard. "I'm a foreign male and... not exactly highly ranked here."

"You are a respected friend and guest of King Thorin and his family—such high esteem is not given so casually," the Vizier replied, smiling kindly at the confused Hobbit. "You are also a prince of your people, and as for your gender... it is not an issue as you are so... small."

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. "What."

"I don't mean to offend you," the Dwarf reassured, holding up a hand. "I simply mean that you would pose no physical threat to my daughter's honor as she is taller and stronger than you. She also has a bodyguard with her at all times so even if you did manage to overpower her, you wouldn't get very far before he killed you."

The Hobbit could only keep staring before huffing and falling back in his chair. There was no point in getting angry with someone so dense that he didn't realize he was still insulting Bilbo while apologizing. "What would I be expected to do?" he asked instead, moving the topic along.

"Oh nothing too difficult. Just sit with her, tell her stories, perhaps even accompany her on her visits as she gets to know the Dwarrows here," the Vizier explained, his smile growing larger. "It would only be during the day and I will compensate you for your time, of course. Please, I know it would mean so much to her."

Bilbo stared at the eager Dwarf before letting out a deep sigh and banging his head back against the chair. "I... suppose I can keep her company," he said reluctantly, trying not to show his annoyance. As if he ever really had a choice. "If only for a short while and as long as I'm paid for the work I'm missing."

The Vizier clapped his hands together with a hearty laugh. "Wonderful! Let me pull up the contracts then!" he said, rising to his feet and walking over to a ruby studded chest with golden birds chiseled on it. "We'll have you start tomorrow as to give you time to inform your master of your new obligations. I can also inform my daughter of the situation and give her time to make the proper arrangements."

"Lady Hafsa doesn't know about this?" the Hobbit said with no small surprise. Did Lady Hafsa have any sort of control over her life?

"No, I didn't see the need to tell her unless you agreed," replied the Dwarf as he returned to the table with two thick scrolls that he spread out between them. "Please read over the contract and sign both at the bottom. You may keep one scroll and I will keep the other."

Bilbo grudgingly pulled one of the scrolls over to him and began to read it with only half of his attention. The other half was wondering exactly what the hell he had just gotten himself into.

Bilbo left the Vizier's chambers an hour later with a rolled up contract in one pocket, a pass for the palace in another, and a growing headache from reading so much small print. His intention was to hunt down one of guards and ask them for help in escaping the palace, but found himself sidetracked by a Dwarf dressed in a plain maroon tunic and green leggings. His brown hair and beard were braided simply and he wore only the barest of jewelry on his person.

"Are you Master Baggins?" the stranger asked him bluntly, voice tinged by the rough accent of the Iron Hills.

Bilbo eyed him warily and quickly took note of all possible exits. "Possibly. What's it to you?"

"Lord Dáin sent me to fetch you," the Dwarf explained blandly, looking unconcerned of the look. "He wishes to speak with you. If you would follow me, I will take you to him."

Bilbo sucked his cheeks in as he weighed the possibility the offer was true and genuine against the chance that he was being tricked and about to be murdered by someone who thought maroon and green looked good together. Finally he shrugged in defeat and made a shooing gesture to the stranger. "Fine. Lead on then," he said, resigning himself to either possibility.

To his relief, the stranger turned out to be trustworthy and did not lead him into an ambush, and instead brought him to the living quarters of the Royal Family. There he found Lord Dáin waiting for him in a casual attire and reading a long scroll. When he saw Bilbo, he set the scroll down on a nearby table, and gestured for Bilbo to take a seat on one of the stuffed chairs placed around the room.

"Master Baggins, thank you for taking the time to see me. I apologize for the sudden invitation but I wasn't sure when I would get the chance to see you again," the Dwarf said, waving his servant away with one hand.

Bilbo gave a half-smile that felt awkward and fake on his face. "Um, of course, it's no problem. So why did you call for me?"

Lord Dáin walked closer to him and suddenly gave a deep bow that had his long hair sweeping the polished cream colored floor. "I wish to apologize for my behavior at the luncheon yesterday," the Dwarf said, his baritone voice honest and clear. "I was rude and disrespectful to you when I should have been welcoming and kind. I have brought shame upon my kingdom and myself with my immature behavior and I beg for your forgiveness."

Bilbo stared down at the bowing noble until he realized the Dwarf was waiting for his reply. "O-Oh, yes, apology accepted, no harm done," he said quickly, getting to his feet and reaching down to help the other to his feet. "Please, get up now. There's no need for you to go so far as to bow to me."

Lord Dáin allowed the Hobbit to pull him up, the edge of his lips creeping up into a lopsided smile. "You are far too kind just as Frerin said," he commented lightly. "What a novelty to see in this day and age."

"You need to get out more. Nice people are not as rare as you assume," he disagreed, thinking of his friends in the lower districts.

Lord Dáin's smile grew into a complete one. "It says much about your character that you believe so, Master Baggins," he countered, gesturing for Bilbo to return to his chair while he took a seat in a nearby blue monstrosity that looked like a cross between a throne and a bed. "So tell me of this mission of yours. Both Thorin and Frerin have brought it up in conversation and keep hinting that it's something I would be interested in."

The Hobbit made a mental note to scold both brothers for being gossipy gossips. "Well I don't know about that..."

"Share it with me anyway," the Dwarf lord said, waving an encouraging hand. "Please, I would like to hear it."

Bilbo shrugged and did so. At the end of his tale, Lord Dáin's smile had grown into a grin and one of his brows was raised slightly in intrigue.

"So you've come to us Dwarrows for help then? Smart of you. We are the best at making war and have more experience with dragons than any other race." The Dwarf drummed his fingers against one of his knees as he stared off at the distance. "I think I can help you, Master Baggins. My engineers have been working on a new weapon and a dragon would be the perfect test subject!"

"Um, you do understand that dragons aren't small right?" he questioned, eyeing up the rather alarming grin growing on the noble's face. "And that they breathe fire? So he's not exactly a safe 'test' subject."

"Good because this weapon isn't small," retorted the Dwarf before laughing at the look Bilbo gave him. "Don't worry, Master Baggins, nothing is set in stone; it's just a thought. I can't promise you warriors just yet but I will look into it. I'm sure I have a few hundred I can spare."

"Anything you can offer would be more than enough, milord," the healer said honestly, giving a small bow of his head. "Thank you for even considering the idea. There are no words to express my gratitude."

Lord Dáin shook his head making his braids bounce against his face. "On the contrary, it is I who should be thanking you for all the work you've done for Erebor since you arrived," he disagreed as his expression softened. "Frerin has told me of all your services and how you saved Kíli on more than one occasion. Such deeds are priceless."

"O-Oh, you're welcome then. I... didn't think they would mean so much to you," Bilbo admitted before wincing as he realized how rude his words were. "Err, no offense."

"None taken," Lord Dáin reassured, making a sweeping gesture with one hand. "I care because other than my mother and son, I have no other family but the ones here in Erebor. To lose even a single one would be..."

"I understand. I too have lost a lot of family over the years due to our lifestyles. I know how important it is to treasure the ones you still have," the Hobbit said quietly, thinking of the endless and unmarked graves of his kin that dotted the land.

Lord Dáin's bright eyes—the same shade of blue as Thorin's which made Bilbo feel a bit more relaxed with the Dwarf—tempered down into lighter shades. "It seems we have something in common then, Master Baggins," he said quietly, an unspoken sorrow lacing his words.

"So it seems," he agreed before impulsively adding, "And you can call me Bilbo. Everyone else around here does."

"And you may call me Dáin," said the Dwarf, rising to give another sweeping bow that had Bilbo giggling, "as all my friends do."

Friends, huh? Guess it wouldn't hurt to have a few more of those.

Chapter Text

After his meeting and agreement with Vizier Sözen, Bilbo spent the rest of the day down in the Lead District with Arnina tending to his patients and making arrangements to see to their well-being. While he wouldn't be able to spend as much time with them as he would have liked thanks to his new unwanted career as a nanny, he still wasn't going to ignore them completely. He even informed Arnina to fetch him from the upper levels if there ever was an emergency. Arnina took the news well and promised that she would keep a close eye on the patients for him.

Neither Dori nor Ori were impressed with Bilbo's news of his upgraded position as a royal babysitter, but understood that it wasn't his choice either. He had no idea what Nori would think of it all as he was still missing due to his apparent new 'job' that no one knew of.

The next day came far too quickly for his taste and soon enough he was back at the palace; sitting in yet another richly decorated room, waiting to meet with Lady Hafsa. Around him stood no less than three huge bodyguards; one of whom was even a Dwarrowdam who made Dwalin look petite. Unsurprisingly, they did not make him feel any better about his situation.

When Lady Hafsa finally did make her appearance, he jumped to his feet and gave her a clumsy bow that he hoped wasn't too offensive. "Good morning, Lady Hafsa. Pleasure to see you again," he said, looking up at her from beneath his lashes.

"Master Bilbo," the Dwarrowdam returned coolly, bowing her head. She was dressed in a bright yellow and orange gown that hugged her chest and waist painfully tight. Her black hair was hidden beneath an orange and gold veil that had little jewels sewn onto the edges that jingled with every move. She looked very beautiful and every inch a princess.

"Gratitude for agreeing to act as my chaperone during the duration of my visit," she said, blinking her kohl-lined eyes slowly, "It was very kind of you."

As if either of us had a choice on the matter, Bilbo mentally scoffed while giving her a strained smile. "Of course. I have to admit though; I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do here," he said cautiously. "I've never been a... companion of foreign nobility before. Are there certain rules I should follow around you?"

"I... suppose there are some," Lady Hafsa admitted, scrunching her finely plucked brows together, "keep a respectable distance from me, refrain from physical contact, keep a level voice, and bring no shame upon me or my house with your actions."

"Those aren't rules, milady, just basic manners," he commented dryly, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Lady Hafsa blinked a few times, looking faintly surprised. "Is that right? Is that a Hobbit custom then? Or a personal choice?"

"A... Hobbit custom, I guess? My parents taught me to be polite?" Bilbo answered, taken back by her words and unsure how to answer for a moment. After a second of thought he added, "I mean, manners are very important to my people, but being decent to others isn't only limited to Hobbits. It's something that everyone should be doing regardless of race."

Lady Hafsa glanced to her female bodyguard with her red lips pursued together. "That is a very interesting outlook for a prince—"

"Oh, please don't start that again," he begged with a groan, covering his face with his hands, "I told you all already that I'm not a prince because Hobbits do not have such titles."

"Apologies, Master Bilbo, but the concept is very difficult for me to grasp. The only way I can translate it is by using the ways of my own people."

Well, he couldn't fault her for that. "So... what is the plan for today?" he asked, deciding to change the subject to something safer and less focused on him.

Lady Hafsa gracefully folded her hands together before her and nodded to a basket of cloth sitting nearby on a chair. "I have been invited to partake in tea and embroidery with Her Highness Princess Dís and the other ladies of nobility," she explained promptly.

"That's..." Bilbo trailed off, unsure how to phrase 'unbelievably boring' without coming off as rude but kept coming up shot. Finally he decided that lying was really the best choice. "Nice?"

Lady Hafsa blinked her eyes again as something like amusement passed over her face. "As you say," she commented, picking up the basket and holding it on the crook of her elbow, "Shall we depart?"

Bilbo did his best to give the Dwarrowdam an encouraging smile. "Sure, let's go see Princess Dís and... have tea and... gossip. With noble ladies. Should be... fun."

The walk to the salon was a silent affair with Lady Hafsa leading it while Bilbo followed behind her along with her guards and maids. They drew stares from the Dwarves they passed but Bilbo had expected as much and thus did his best to ignore them. Instead he tried his best to get a sense of where they were going and began to sketch out a mental map for future reference. If he was going to be in the palace more often than he needed to know where the hell he was.

The room they ended up in was large and brightly lit and decorated with numerous chairs and divans and low tables covered in teas and desserts. Sitting around enjoying these sweets were twelve Dwarrowdams dressed in luxurious gowns and sparkling jewelry. Sitting on an elevated platform behind them was Princess Dís—dressed in a black and white gown and covered in enough diamonds to cause massive blindness should she ever venture out under the sun—and when she saw him she gave him the same smile he imagined a snake would wear when it spotted a mouse.

At their entrance most of the Dwarrowdams rose up and gathered to greet Lady Hafsa in a flutter of Khuzdûl. Bilbo stood back with the guards and maids and watched as Lady Hafsa gave a stiff smile and greeted the ladies back. None of them paid him any mind which, while unusual considering the usual stares, was not unwanted. He was content to stay with the maids in the background but Lady Hafsa caught his eye and gave a small nod to her side. Reluctantly he wandered over to stand at her side as she took a seat in the center of a sea of silk, lace, and endless frills.

Time passed by achingly slowly as the Dwarrowdams around him chattered and giggled to one another in Khuzdûl. Bilbo entertained himself by trying to piece together what he could understand from the conversation, and when that grew dull, he turned his attention to studying the three ladies who had taken to conversing with Lady Hafsa on a more personal level.

All three looked older than his lady and all wore a ridiculous amount of jewels but boasted some impressive beards. Since he had no idea what their names were, he had mentally labeled each with a nickname according to their hair colors: Lady Rose, Lady Sunshine, and Lady Ebony. Out of the three he found Lady Ebony the most pleasant as whatever she said had Lady Hafsa smiling the most. Lady Sunshine came in second as she kept dotting on Lady Hafsa's clothes and jewels and thus also earned a few smiles from his lady. Only Lady Rose seemed to make Lady Hafsa frown and look away whenever she opened her mouth to say something in Khuzdûl.

Bilbo soon realized why.

"Your mother must be very proud to have a daughter marrying into the House of Durin," Lady Rose eventually commented in Westron, catching Bilbo off guard with the change in language. She slowly stirred her tea with a golden spoon and peered up at Lady Hafsa with a gleam to her green eyes that reminded Bilbo of a Man about to step on a small animal. "Who would ever have imagined that the daughter of a handmaiden would be the Lady of the Iron Hills?"

Bilbo raised his brows in surprise while Lady Hafsa went completely still. Handmaiden?

"Hnoss," hissed Lady Sunshine, her fair face heating up as she glared at her friend. "You go too far."

Lady Rose let out an obviously fake gasp and covered her mouth with a hand covered in rings. "Oh, do forgive me, my dear, I meant no offense. I just think it is very admirable that you were able to rise above your birthmother's lowly status to marry one of the noblest Dwarrows around. Truly a story for the ages!"

Around them, the other Dwarrowdams broke out in twittering giggles that made Bilbo's ears ache from the high pitch. He subtly reached up to rub one and glanced down to Lady Hafsa to see her reaction to the laughter. The young Dwarrowdam still sat straight and poised but there was now a stiffness to her smile and a faint tremble to her hands where they were buried in her lap. Her large eyes even looked glossy as if she was trying to hold back tears of humiliation.

Bilbo immediately scowled as rage sparked up within his chest. Before he could think too deeply about his actions, he stepped up to stand in front of Lady Hafsa in order to shield her from the malicious Dwarrowdams around her. Raising his chin high, he looked down at the redhead before him with his best impersonation of a haughty Elf.

"You go too far, milady," he said mildly as the voices around them began to lower in pitch. "There was no need for your insensitive words. Please apologize to my Lady Hafsa for insulting her and her birthmother."

Lady Rose gaped at him for a moment; eyes blown wide and her mouth hanging open unattractively so that Bilbo could see all of her teeth. Then the anger seemed to set in and a flush came to her freckled face as she shot up out of her seat; throwing down her delicate teacup and platter in a mess of tea and chipped porcelain. Then she moved towards Bilbo with one arm raised high above her head in a move he recognized far too well.

Bilbo saw the slap coming as soon as she got to her feet, and thus braced himself for the impact. His actions turned out to be wise as the left side of his face erupted into shocking pain that nearly threw him to the ground. He heard a multitude of gasps and cries echo around the room but ignored it all in favor of feeling out his cheek and jaw. All his teeth were accounted for, and though there was some blood from one of her rings slicing open his cheek, the wound itself was not deep. Again, he mentally patted himself on the back for having the sense to prepare himself for the slap. Though a lady of leisure, Lady Rose was still a Dwarrowdam, and therefore had the unnatural strength that all her people possessed.

"Lady Hnoss you overstep yourself!" scolded Lady Ebony, jumping to her feet in alarm.

Lady Rose—or Lady Hnoss now, as it seemed that was her real name—simply sneered as she set one hand on her hip. "Nonsense! I am completely within line of the rules of the palace!" she snapped, pointing at Bilbo, "This peasant is currently a servant to Lady Hafsa and therefore falls under the same rules as the rest of them!"

"But he's also a visitor to our city!" protested Lady Sunshine, holding her fan to her chest as if she was trying to calm her heart. "You can't expect him to know our ways—"

"Then his mistress should have educated him better!" interrupted Lady Hnoss, throwing her head back and making her red braids bounce about, "He's lucky that a slap is all he got from me! It is only out of the kindness of my heart that I do not call for my guards to drag him out and beat him for speaking to his betters in such a way!"

Bilbo rolled his eyes and gently nudged Lady Hafsa back into her seat when she attempted to rise to her feet. He met her stunned eyes and gave a quick wink to show that he was fine and did not need her interference. He knew exactly what Lady Hnoss was going for and he wasn't about to let her get her way.

"I will forgive him this once only because Lady Hafsa is still new here and still so very young," the redhead said in a self-righteous manner. "But it cannot happen again. Imagine if he mouthed off to someone like Lord Fundin—"

"Enough, Hnoss," ordered Princess Dís, still lounging on her divan and watching the scene with an ugly curl to her lips that made her look even more like her eldest brother. At the sound of her voice, all noise ceased, and the room seemed to drop in temperature. Even Lady Hnoss went silent and still as they all stared at the royal Dwarrowdam who finally sat up straight.

"You have made your point," the princess said, her cat eyes fixed unblinkingly on Bilbo. "Now sit down and shut up. Your voice is making my ears ring. Master Baggins, come here."

Bilbo wordlessly obeyed. When he got to her side, she gestured for him to kneel down in front of her, and once he did the conversation in the room started up once more as if some signal had been given off. Silently, Bilbo held still as the princess reached out and, to his surprise, cupped his jaw gently with one hand.

"Does it hurt?" she asked quietly, lightly prodding his cheek with her fingers. Her hand was soft and smooth in a way that only nobles were able to pull off.

"No, Your Highness, it just stings," he reassured, willingly tilting his head to the side as the princess tried to get a better look.

The Dwarrowdam made a rumbling noise in the back of her throat. "Hmm. I see she got you with one of her rings," she commented, and then shocked him again when she wiped away some of the blood with the sleeve of her gown. He never thought someone like Princess Dís could do something so... motherly.

"I will send you home with some cream to help with the swelling," she declared after another moment of silent inspection, finally releasing his jaw. "It will ease the bruising and keep the wound from leaving a scar."

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he got to his feet. "Thank you, Your Highness, but you don't need to. I am a healer and have quite a collection of scars already. This is hardly anything new."

For some reason, his words seemed to make Princess Dís's chilly eyes grow even chillier. "Do not argue with me on this. It is the least I can do for you after..." she trailed off and glanced at something over his head. Whatever it was, it made the corner of her red lips pull back into a snarl that reminded him of an angry bear. "There are rules set in place here that even Thorin cannot break without consequence. Hnoss was within her rights to slap you as you are employed under Lady Hafsa. But she did not have to make such a spectacle..."

"Your Highness, you don't have to explain it to me," the Hobbit said gently, feeling sympathetic to the simmering princess who clearly hated that she was powerless thanks to the customs of her own people. "I am very well acquainted with the rules of the serving class. I've been living under it all my life. A slap on the cheek is hardly anything to make a fuss over."

Princess Dís's snarl grew deeper. "Yet a fuss will be made on your behalf once Thorin hears of this," she stated, raising her head higher and tossing some of her hair over her shoulder, "Don't be surprised if he comes hunting for you later."

"I'll keep an eye out," he promised, wrinkling his nose at the thought, "But if possible, try to stop him beforehand. I'm sure he has more important things to do than berate me for being rude."

His words made the princess smile like he had told her an amusing joke. "My brother never wastes time on matters he does not deem important," she stated ambiguously before waving him away.

Princess Dís dismissed them all shortly after Lady Hnoss's tantrum with the excuse that she had other matters to see to. Bilbo was relieved and quickly hurried after Lady Hafsa, who seemed just as eager as him to escape the room. It was a tense trip and no one spoke until they were back in Lady Hafsa's chambers with the doors securely closed and locked.

"Unwise were your actions," Lady Hafsa said once her guard had turned the locks on the doors. She was fidgeting with her numerous bracelets and bangles as she paced around the room and smearing the paint off her lower lip as she bit it. "Most unwise. Reckoning will soon follow. I will need to inform my father..."

She trailed off and then abruptly turned around to face Bilbo with a frown. "Why did those words escape your mouth?" she demanded, a flush of color rising to her cheeks.

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder as he did his best to become one with the wall behind him. "She was being intentionally rude to you for no reason," he replied honestly. "I couldn't let that stand. Just because her rank is high doesn't give her the authority to be a bitch to others."

Lady Hafsa's eyes grew wide and her three guards seemed to freeze in place around them. Then, before Bilbo could apologize for his big mouth yet again, the Dwarrowdam broke out into a fit of giggles that reminded him of the twittering of birds. It made her face loosen up and relax until she finally looked like the young Dwarrowdam she really was.

"Y-You called her a-a—" she stuttered between her giggles, cupping a hand around her mouth.

Bilbo sheepishly scratched his nose. "Best not to repeat that word around others. I hate to have to explain to your father why you know it," he said, glancing at her bodyguards who all looked like they too wanted to laugh.

"Serkan us-uses fouler w-w-words," reassured Lady Hafsa, moving to sit on a settee while still trying to contain her giggles.

"Who is that?"

"The eldest of my brothers. He sat across from you at the luncheon," explained the Dwarrowdam as she peered up at Bilbo with what looked like brighter eyes.

Bilbo thought back to the luncheon and made a face that earned him a snort from one of the bodyguards. "Is that the one who insulted me?" he wondered out loud.

"No, that was Şevki, my fourth brother," Lady Hafsa clarified, gently shaking her head, "Serkan was the one who gave his apologies for Şevki's foolery."

"How many brothers do you have?" the Hobbit asked, deciding to venture away from the safety of his wall now that the Dwarrowdam was no longer pacing.

"Seven," Lady Hafsa calmly replied, and Bilbo nearly tripped on his own feet in shock.

"Seven?!" he squawked, gaping at the noble and then her guards in turn before back to Lady Hafsa, "Seven?! How is that even possible?! I thought Dwarves struggled to conceive?!"

Lady Hafsa nodded calmly. "We do. That is why in Orocarni a Dwarrow may take..." she trailed off with a frown and a small dent between her carefully groomed brows and looked up to her female guard. "I do not know the word for this. What would pass in Westron?"

"Concubine, Lady," replied the Dwarrowdam in a low, guttery voice.

"Concubine," repeated Lady Hafsa before flashing her guard a warm smile, "Gratitude, Asya. Yes, Dwarrows of Orocarni may have concubines to help their clan produce children. Father has three to bear his seed and a lady wife to raise them. Born to them were my brothers and I."

Bilbo nodded slowly as he took in the information. He had never heard of a kingdom that was so open and obvious about taking other lovers to bed. Hobbit marriages tended to be monogamous as were most kingdoms of Men, but he knew the Elves tended to take on new lovers over the years due to their long lifespan. He had assumed Dwarves to follow something similar to Hobbits but that clearly was no longer true.

"So... what that harpy said back there was true then?" he asked as he recalled the incident from earlier. "Your birth mother was a handmaiden?"

Lady Hafsa nodded again, looking completely unashamed. Bilbo was beginning to think it was not her origins that had embarrassed her among the Dwarrowdams from earlier, but simply the context in which they were said.

"Yes. She was a handmaiden of my `uhmad whom my father favored. She died after bringing me into this world," she explained calmly, gracefully folding her hands in her lap.

"I'm sorry."

"Do not be. I have a mother yet—Lady Hasibe, my father's wife," she reassured, her face softening with love and respect. "She is `Uhmad, the 'great mother' who reared my brothers and me from our very first breath. She is the only mother I have known and the only one I need."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose as he mentally took note of the new words. He was going to have to find another book to write down all the new information he was learning. "So then these concubines—they were fine with all of this? Giving up their children to be raised by another?" he asked.

"Of course. It is expected of them," Lady Hafsa said, looking surprised by his question.

"Do they ever see their children? Do they even want to?" he wondered, finding the idea of it all—having children just to give them away—rather odd.

"They are free to share in the company of their sons so long as they remember their place," Lady Hafsa reassured, pushing back a lock of hair that had slipped through her veil, "But they tend to keep to their own quarters."

There was an awkward pause between them for a moment as the two struggled to find a new topic. Finally Lady Hafsa cleared her throat and adopted a more serious manner.

"Gratitude for defending me to Lady Hnoss," she said, bowing her head slightly. "Your intentions were kind though your manner was not wise. But I can appreciate your sincerity."

Bilbo shrugged uncaringly. "Like I said, she had no right to be rude to you or your birthmother. She's probably just jealous because you're prettier and marrying one of the best Dwarves around."

Lady Hafsa gave him a strained smile. "I fear it is more complex than that," she said slowly, glancing at her female bodyguard before looking back to her folded hands. "Lady Hnoss has the means to... disturb things if she desires. Let us hope her anger has been appeased and she will leave things be."

Bilbo frowned as he digested the new information before another question suddenly dawned on him. "Um, I know this is probably late to ask," he began, digging his hands into his pockets, "but... do you want me to be here?"

Lady Hafsa looked at him in bafflement. "Why does that matter? You are bound by oath to my father are you not?"

"Yeeees," he agreed, dragging out the word as he considered how to reply. "But I did so without asking for your input at the time, and I realize now that was wrong of me. So I'm asking you now: do you want me here?"

Lady Hafsa considered him for a moment with a pensive look. "And if I said no?" she finally asked, tilting her head to the side slightly, "What would you purpose to do? Break the contract?"

"Well—yes," Bilbo replied, holding out his hands as if the answer should have been obvious. And while it was to him, he had come to understand that Dwarves took a bit longer when it came to seeing the obvious. "While I hate to break my word, your feelings are more important than a contract."

Lady Hafsa's eyes grew wide as she stared at him as if she was just seeing him for the first time. "I—I would like it if you stayed, Master Bilbo," she said, stumbling over her words and glancing to her female guard as if looking for guidance, "you are—you are good company."

Bilbo smiled as the knot of tension in his stomach finally dissolved. "Then I will."

Lady Hafsa dismissed him shortly after as she settled in to take her daily nap—sleeping for fun in the day was apparently a practice of nobles—and so Bilbo decided it was time to use his connections to the Royal Family to educate himself. With the help of Lady Hafsa's maids and the Royal Guards, he was able to track down the nearest prince which happened to be Kíli. He was training in the public grounds with a bow which surprised Bilbo greatly—he had never seen a Dwarf use a bow before.

"I didn't think Dwarves were allowed to use bows," he commented once Kíli had finished hitting all of his targets. To his surprise, the prince managed to hit nearly all of them on point.

Kíli jumped and spun around with a frown that melted quickly into a smile when he saw who it was. "Bilbo! What are you doing here?" he asked, setting down his bow on a nearby rack and then bounding over to Bilbo.

"Looking for you, actually," replied the healer, smiling as the prince patted him on the shoulder in greeting.

Kíli pointed a finger at himself. "Me? Why?"

"I need you to teach me the rules of the palace."

Kíli quickly jerked back as if Bilbo had just started spewing vomit. "What?! Why?!"

"Because I don't know them," he replied, giving the prince an annoyed look.

"Can't I teach you how to fight instead?" Kíli asked, obviously eyeing up the entrance behind Bilbo.

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "I know how to fight," he reassured, ignoring the look of disbelief the prince gave him. "What I don't know is how to conduct myself here in a manner that won't get Lady Hafsa in trouble."

"So you came to me for help?" Kíli said dubiously, cocking an eyebrow.

"You're a prince aren't you?" Bilbo retorted, bracing his hands his hips, "Look, I've been assigned as Lady Hafsa's newest helper so I kind of need to know how to survive here before someone bigger than a Dwarrowdam takes another whack at me."

Kíli's hesitance instantly turned into one of concern. "Someone hit you? Who?" he demanded, leaning closer to Bilbo's face while staring intently. When he finally noticed the swollen and wounded cheek, a dark scowl spread across his face like rumbling rain clouds on a lovely spring day.

Bilbo leaned back and waved an irrelevant hand at the prince. "It was just some noble who was being a bitch to Lady Hafsa so I told her to knock it off and she slapped me for it," he said quickly, trying to nip the concern before it could grow into something bigger. "Your mother stopped her before she did anything else so don't worry about it."

Kíli scowled harder until he looked like a mini version of Thorin. He continued to stare at the slice on Bilbo's cheek for another long moment before giving a firm nod. "Give me a moment," he said before he began to strip off his archery leathers.

"Does this mean you'll help me?" Bilbo asked, watching the prince strip down into his normal palace attire. Of course, for a prince, it was still an elaborate thing lined in gold but Bilbo was learning how to ignore these sorts of things now.

"Yes, but first tell me the name of the Dwarrowdam who hit you," the brunet ordered as he tossed all of his possessions onto a nearby table.

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder. "Don't remember," he said honestly. "She had red hair so I kept calling her Lady Rose in my head. Why do you need to know?"

"No reason. No reason at all," Kíli said airily before he snagged Bilbo's hand and tugged him along. He allowed the prince to drag him along like a toy and soon realized that they were heading to the familiar quarters of the Crown Prince. The guards there bowed when they saw Kíli and didn't even react when the prince threw open the doors without bothering to knock, and then proceeded to drag Bilbo in with him.

"Fíli! We are in need of your scholar skills!" he announced, kicking the doors shut behind them and marching over to where his brother sat in an adorning room.

Fíli looked up from a pile of documents he had been reading and narrowed his blue eyes. "Kíli, aren't you supposed to be helping Gimli with his training right now? Why is Bilbo here? And what happened to your face?" he demanded in quick succession, rising to his feet and stalking around his desk to meet them.

"Gimli ditched me to train with Dwalin," Kíli answered, tugging Bilbo to stand in front of him and therefore between him and his brother.

"I opened my big mouth and got smacked for it. No big deal," Bilbo replied, shrugging one shoulder.

Fíli's face said differently but before he could say anything, Bilbo reached up to push the prince's scowling mouth up into a smile. "Stop channeling Thorin, it's creepy," he ordered. "Everything is fine now, your mother was there and she took care of everything."

"Which means she's putting a hit out on someone right about now," translated Kíli with a knowing nod.

"She wouldn't—could she?"

"Of course she would. Have you met my mother?"

"Wait, I want to know more about this noble who hit you," Fíli interrupted, grabbing Bilbo's attention again. "What did you say to them?"

"Weeeel, I don't remember exactly what I said, but I think it was something along the lines of 'knock it off, you're being rude' and it got her mad so she smacked me for 'speaking out against my betters' or some nonsense like that," Bilbo mused, tilting his head back in thought, "Not that the words really mattered. I knew she was going to blow up at me anyhow."

"How?" wondered Kíli.

"Because everyone there was speaking in Khuzdûl but she suddenly switched to Westron," Bilbo explained. "It was clearly because she wanted me to understand which means—"

"She was fishing for a reaction," Fíli finished with a scowl. He shared a look with Kíli that Bilbo didn't bother trying to understand—it was one of the sibling looks he always caught the 'Ri brothers passing—but Kíli did as he nodded and tugged Bilbo to sit in one of the overly stuffed chairs in front of Fíli's ridiculously large desk. Kíli then took a seat on the arm of the chair while Fíli hoisted himself up onto his desk and braced his elbows on his thighs.

"So you want to know the rules of the palace, huh? I don't think you have the time," the Crown Prince mused, rubbing the hem of his sleeve.

Bilbo raised his brows. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are five volumes on the rules and etiquette just for the palace alone," Fíli explained, holding up five fingers and then another three with his other hand, "then there are three on how to interact with the nobles who live in the palace, another one on the ones who visit, and then two more on how to behave during important events and ceremonies. And that just covers rules and etiquette—we haven't even addressed on how to dress, ranking between different servants, and how to address everyone depending on your own status."

Bilbo made a face of disgust and banged his head back against the chair. "Ugh, I don't have the time for all of that! Not to mention the energy to care! Why are you Dwarves so needlessly complicated?" he complained, glaring up at Kíli since he was easily in sight.

Kíli held up his hands innocently. "Don't look at me. I didn't write any of this garbage."

"We Dwarrows have long lives. We need to do something other than drink and fight," defended Fíli with a snobbish tilt to his head.

"Then learn to garden. It's very calming," Bilbo retorted, not in the mood to entertain such bullshit. "Is there any quicker way for me to learn all these rules? Or at least get an overview of the really important rules and protocols?"

"Well... I could ask Balin for help. He knows all the shortcuts to these sorts of things," Fíli mused, returning to rubbing his sleeve between his fingers, "Maybe he can put something together for you."

"Only if it's not too much trouble," Bilbo cautioned. "I don't want to inconvenience him."

"You won't," Fíli deadpanned. "Balin likes doing stuff like this. He thinks it's fun."

"He also likes to carve wooden dolls in the shape of a penis but we won't hold that against him," Kíli confided, leaning closer to Bilbo to whisper the words.

Bilbo leaned away as doubt began to rise in him. "Maybe I should've just gone to someone else for help..."

"Oh, it's almost time for tea," Fíli suddenly commented, looking at a water clock before turning back to the duo stuffed on the chair. "Bilbo would you like to join us for tea with our father?"

"That would be nice but I think I should return to Lady Hafsa's rooms," Bilbo admitted, also glancing at the clock and seeing that he was almost out of time.

"Nooo! Come have tea with us!" Kíli half-demanded and half-whined while grabbing Bilbo's hand and holding it tightly between both of his, "Papa will be so happy to see you! He was sad that you left the luncheon before he could speak to you."

The Hobbit winced. "Really? Sorry. It was rather rude of me to run away like that."

"No one was offended," Fíli began to reassure before pausing and shaking his head, "Well, no, some were offended but most of us understood why you left. That pasha wasn't very kind with his words."

"What does 'pasha' mean? Is that a title?" Bilbo wondered out loud.

"Mmm-hmm. It means 'lord' in Westron," explained Kíli, still keeping a death grip on Bilbo's hand.

"I don't think Lady Hafsa will mind much if you're late. Mother told me the only event she had to attend today was the one earlier with the Ladies of the Court," Fíli commented, watching his brother and the healer. "We also don't spend too much time drinking tea with Father as we all have a busy schedule."

"Not me. I get to do what I want most days," confided Kíli with a cheeky grin.

Fíli scowled and lightly kicked his younger sibling in the shin. "That's because I get stuck with all your work."

Kíli stuck out his tongue in retaliation. "No one made you be the Crown Prince. Uncle Thorin said you could refuse."

"And leave the kingdom in your hands? We'd all be dead within a season." Fíli scoffed, rolling his eyes and sliding off of his table, "Well, Bilbo, coming with us?"

Bilbo glanced at the hand still being held hostage by the prince before giving the other prince a dry look. "Do I have a choice?"

"Master Baggins! What a pleasant surprise!" Prince Vílin cooed—actually cooed like Bilbo was a baby chick or a baby hare—in greeting when they arrived. He didn't hesitate to back up his words with a hug that could have rivaled a bear in its strength.

Bilbo released a squeak "H-Hello, Prince V-Vílin," he gasped, trying to wiggle free from the Dwarf only to find it impossible. He was pretty sure he could feel his ribs cracking.

"Papa, you're strangling him," Fíli said in a bored tone as he swept past the two with Kíli.

Prince Vílin instantly released him and stepped back with a laugh. "Oh! My apologies! Sometimes my emotions get the better of me," he said brightly, keeping a hand on Bilbo's shoulder and guiding him to a table where an elaborate setup of tea and desserts awaited them.

"I'm so happy you get to join us today," Prince Vílin said with obvious sincerity, steering Bilbo into a seat between his sons before taking one himself. "I'm sorry about the lack of selections available; I'm afraid no one told me you were coming."

"It-it was a l-last mi-minute idea," Bilbo reassured, still trying to catch his breath and feel his side for any broken bones, "Your sons just invited me."

"Did Nan send her cinnamon cookies?" Kíli wondered, shifting through the plates and trays of desserts.

"No, but she sent the nutmeg ones!" cheered Fíli, lifting up a gold plate and scraping half of the cookies onto Bilbo's plate before stealing the rest for himself.

"Cheater," Kíli hissed, glaring at his smug brother.

"I'm still pleased to see you. What brings you to the palace today?" Prince Vílin asked Bilbo, seemingly oblivious to his sons' exchange.

"I'm working as Lady Hafsa's attendant at the moment," Bilbo explained, ducking his head as Kíli reached over him to nab a plate of plum tarts, "so I came to your sons for some help on learning the rules of the palace. But they told me it will take too long to be of any use."

Prince Vílin nodded regretfully as he poured Bilbo a cup of tea. "That's very true I'm afraid. It took me two seasons to learn them all and even longer to remember it all," he said, shaking his head.

"We told him we'll get Balin to help. He likes this sort of stuff," Kíli reassured, dumping some apple tarts onto Bilbo's plate before taking the remainders.

Prince Vílin beamed and looked close to patting his youngest son on the head. "What a great idea! Balin loves a good challenge. I'm sure he'll be able to think up something."

"In the mean time, you can ask us about anything you're still unsure of," added Fíli, nabbing an apple tart from his brother's plate before he could stab his hand with a fork.

"There is one thing I don't understand about this engagement," Bilbo admitted, sipping at his tea, "What exactly does the Iron Hill get out of a treaty with Orocarni?"

"They get access to the largest diamond mines in all the kingdoms," Kíli answered easily as he swiped the platter of marzipan before his brother could.

Bilbo nearly choked on his tea. "What? Are you serious?"

Kíli nodded; slicing the marzipan into halves and then handed over the biggest half to Bilbo's growing collection. "Yup, yup. Lady Hafsa's dowry is a set of diamond mines. That's why the Iron Lady has been pushing for the marriage."

"How did she ever get that as a dowry?" Bilbo demanded, looking to Prince Vílin for the answer as he was the only one not concentrating on winning the dessert conquest occurring across the table.

"King Ahmed promised it for her," Prince Vílin explained, tapping a finger against the rim of his tea cup, "Originally it was the dowry for his elder sister but she was killed in the takeover so the king gave it to the only other dam in their family—Hafsa."

Bilbo nodded slowly as he began to put the plot together in his mind. "So the Iron Hills want the diamond mines—"

"No, the Iron Lady wants the diamond mines," Fíli corrected, shaking his head, "Dáin could care less. He is more than smart enough to figure out another way of boosting his kingdom's wealth."

"Who is the Iron Lady? I keep hearing that name. Is she someone I should be afraid of?" the healer wondered, trying to recall where he had heard the name and failing.

"It's the nickname for Dáin's mother, Aslaug daughter of Asta," Fíli said while stealing all of Kíli's sugared almonds and transferring them to Bilbo's plate, "and she's called the Iron Lady because she is the most ruthless and intelligent Dwarrowdam you'll ever meet. Our mother even looks up to her."

"She's really scary," admitted Kíli with a shudder.

"She's also very powerful. She has the backing of the Ironfists Clan—they are the direct descendents of Hermóðr the Warrior and the strongest of the Clans here in Erebor," Fíli added, his mouth beginning to turn down into an ugly grimace. "Her father was the previous Head and now her cousin rules. He's pretty neutral in politics but he's fiercely loyal to his family and Aunt Aslaug is his elder cousin. He'll support her in anything even if he doesn't personally agree with her."

"So... does this mean that Dáin is just going along with this because he can't stand up against his mother?" Bilbo said slowly, still struggling to make sense of all the new information he had been given.

Fíli shrugged as he finished swallowing some of his tea. "Maybe? It's hard to say. Uncle Dáin is... complicated."

"Understatement," muttered Kíli.

"He seems nice to me," Bilbo defended, feeling oddly protective of his new friend. "He apologized to me yesterday for his behavior at the luncheon and asked if we could be friends. I agreed."

"Dáin has a good heart that is constantly at war with his fierce intelligence," Prince Vílin revealed with a smile that made the edges of his wild eyes go softer. "Vé says that it is an ongoing struggle for him to find a balance."

"Who is Vé?"

"My twin brother and bodyguard of Lord Dáin. It is actually through him that I met Dís," Prince Vílin explained, his smile growing larger.

"He used to complain to Papa about her bullying his precious lord. He's convinced she's the reincarnation of Morgoth," Fíli translated for Bilbo, rolling his eyes, "You can't imagine the horror he felt when she started courting Papa."

"They totally hate each other. It's great fun to watch them bitch and pick fights," added Kíli with glee as he started to demolish a small hill of prune tarts.

Bilbo wasn't too sure about that. All he was picturing was a mess of blood and bones. "Is he here too then? With Dáin?"

Prince Vílin nodded as he took a sip of his tea. "Yes. I'm sure you'll see him around the palace, following Dáin like a shadow. He takes his duties very seriously."

"He's like another mother hen," Kíli translated between bites before nudging the Hobbit with his elbow, "Bilbo, less talking and more eating please!"

"Kíli, leave him alone; he'll eat when he's ready," Prince Vílin ordered gently, giving his son a look that was about as threatening as a sleepy and disgruntled kitten.

"And what he doesn't finish he can just try next week when he comes back," Fíli added, dipping a cookie into his cup of tea and flashing Bilbo a grin that brought out his dimples.

Bilbo adopted a look of surprised. "Oh I'm coming back am I? I didn't know I made such a decision. When did I do so?"

"Would you really say no if I invited you to have tea with us every week?" retorted the Crown Prince, flashing him a cheeky smile.

"That depends on if you two are going to be there."

"Master Baggins, I would like it if you could join us for tea once a week," Prince Vílin admitted, smiling at Bilbo over the rim of his cup. It was a kind smile and it made Bilbo a bit uncomfortable with how open and welcoming it was. He wasn't used to having people he didn't know very well look at him like that.

"Well... maybe I can swing by a few times. If it's not too much trouble," he mumbled, finally picking up a tart and taking a bite.

Prince Vílin's smile grew larger as his sons began to fight over a bowel of grape pudding in front of him. "It would be no trouble at all," he reassured, and took another sip of his tea.

Chapter Text

"What the hell happened to your face?" Ori questioned when Bilbo returned to the 'Ri residence that night.

"Ori, language," Dori scolded even as he wiped his hands on his apron and moved over to examine the Hobbit.

Bilbo rolled his eyes but knew better than to avoid the mothering hen masquerading as a Dwarf. "It looks worse than it is," he reassured, tilting his head up to give Dori easier access.

"It looks like you walked into a wall," Ori described helpfully as he stole some potatoes from the chopping board where Dori had been at work preparing dinner.

"Or got into a fight with something with claws," Dori added, tracing the slice on his cheek with his rough thumb. He gave Bilbo a knowing look. "Who was it?"

"Um, some noble lady with too many rings," he replied, shrugging one shoulder. "I opened my mouth when I shouldn't have and… well, paid the price. Nothing I didn't expect."

Ori choked on his potatoes. "A Dwarrowdam did that?!"

"Never underestimate a dam. They can be twice as vicious as a Dwarrow in a fight," Dori advised with a knowing nod. He patted Bilbo's bruised cheek gently and jerked his head towards the bedrooms. "Nori is back. He won't tell us where he's been but maybe he'll speak to you."

"Is that your veiled hint that I need to interrogate him?" the Hobbit wondered, leaning slightly against Dori's hand. Though he didn't want to admit it, it felt nice having someone fret over him like he was a child.

"I trust you're smart enough to figure that out by yourself," the Dwarf replied, giving him one more pat before turning back to his youngest brother. "Ori, stop eating the potatoes or we won't have any left for the stew!"

Bilbo made his way to the rooms as Ori began to whine about hunger pains and being a growing Dwarf in need of food. He dropped off his things in his room before venturing into Nori's room. There he found the thief slumped horizontally on his bed with his booted feet on the floor and an arm thrown over his face. At the sound of his door opening, he lifted his arm and looked up at Bilbo before letting out a loud and dramatic groan.

"What did you do now?" he asked, dropping his arm back over his eyes.

"Got mouthy with some noble dam. She got offended and whacked me," Bilbo replied, walking over to the head of the bed and climbing on. Without any shame, he stretched out and shoved his cold feet under Nori's back, which earned him a grunt of annoyance. "Now where have you been?"

"I leave you alone for a few days and you get beat up by some uppity lass. Good job," the Dwarf mocked, sitting up slightly to give Bilbo a chance to get comfortable before flopping back down on his bed and Bilbo's feet.

Bilbo shrugged and deliberately wiggled his toes into his friend's back. "Shut up and answer my question. Where have you been?"

"Working. And it's nothing illegal so don't worry," Nori ordered, peeking one green eye out from under his elbow to glare at the Hobbit.

"What about dangerous?"

Nori remained tellingly silent.

"Nori—"

"It's not too bad. I've certainly done worse jobs. This one, I don't think I'll even see any action," the thief admitted, dropping his arm onto Bilbo's shins and turning to look at the healer. "I can't tell you what it is I am doing just yet, but I promise that I will. It's just not the right time."

Bilbo frowned but decided to trust his friend for the moment. "Fine. But I expect a full explanation when you do."

Nori grunted in acceptance. "I heard you got roped into working for the Orocarni nobles," he commented, changing the subject.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose. "Unfortunately. But I suppose it's not too bad. Lady Hafsa is good company but she's so... quiet. I'm not sure how to handle it," he admitted as he reflected over his new boss. His interactions with Dwarrowdams had been severely limited to Hamide, Arnina, Princess Dís, and Lady Súna. Hamide he never really spoke to thanks to the language barrier and her unease around him, which he tried his best to respect. Arnina was a new friend so he was still getting to know her while Princess Dís and Lady Súna were considered oddities among Dwarrowdams. Thus, his expectations of what to expect of Dwarrowdams was a bit lacking.

"She's probably scared of you. Probably never saw anything so fluffy and small before," Nori mocked, poking Bilbo's thigh with interest. "Look at that. You finally got some meat on your bones and it's all pudgy. No muscle to be found."

He batted the hand away with a scowl. "That's perfectly normal for my kind. We're supposed to be fat and soft."

"Really? Then I'm going to tell Dori to feed you some more. I want to see how round you can get."

"Dori feeds me enough. I don't think I've eaten this well in... well, years," the Hobbit realized, blinking in surprise. "Huh."

Nori's teasing grin fell away. Bilbo could see a brooding storm rising in the Dwarf and quickly cut it off. "I need to go down to the Lead District later to check on my patients. Wanna come?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Like I'd let you walk down there alone," Nori scoffed, and rose to his feet. "First let's see what Dori's making. I'm starving."

Bilbo rolled his eyes as he too got to his feet. "Subtle, Nori. Real subtle."

When he arrived at the palace the next morning, Bilbo found himself waylaid by a prince and given a surprising gift.

"It's a book," he said blankly, staring at the neatly bound tome that Kíli had just shoved onto him. "Why are you giving me a book?"

"It's a guide on all the important rules and customs of the palace," Kíli explained, trying to untangle a knot in his hair. "Balin found it for you after Fíli and I asked him for help."

Bilbo swallowed thickly as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Lord Balin—a mere acquaintance—had gone so far as to find a book just for Bilbo. It was mind boggling. "I... How can I repay such a gift? What would Lord Balin like?"

Kíli shrugged; looking altogether unconcerned by the hitch in the Hobbit's voice and more interested in his hair. "I don't know. He didn't say he wanted a payment or anything. Just mentioned that if you have any questions, then feel free to visit him and he'll do his best to help."

Bilbo nodded slowly as he hugged his treasure to his chest. "I-I'll, I will do that to give him my thanks. It is the least I can do to repay him for such a precious gift."

Kíli rolled his eyes. "It's a book, Bilbo, not the Arkenstone," he scoffed.

"Maybe to you it is worthless but to someone like me—who has nothing—it is a priceless treasure," the healer retorted sharply, glaring up at the Dwarf.

The prince flinched back like a puppy who was just scolded by his master. "I... My apologies. I guess I… I didn't think of it that way," he said quietly, releasing his knotted hair and casting his eyes to the floor.

Bilbo felt his heart soften instantly which both surprised and disturbed him. He didn't realize he was so attached to the innocent prince that the mere sight of him hurt made Bilbo melt. Pushing that realization away for later reflection, he reached out and patted the brunet on the arm.

"Come now, don't make that face. I know you didn't mean it that way," he said quietly, earning a hopeful look from the Dwarf. "Just—Just try to think more before you open your mouth."

"Mother tells me that all the time. Only in a meaner way," Kíli admitted sheepishly, scratching at the tip of his nose.

"Yeah, that sounds like her," Bilbo remarked with a smirk before casting his eyes to the knot in the prince's hair. "Would you like some help in untangling your hair? I have some time to spare before I have to join Lady Hafsa."

Kíli's eyes grew wide and he suddenly took three giant steps away from the healer. "What?!" he squawked, a hint of red rising to his face. "No, no, of course not! That would be... indecent! Don't you know what it means to brush a Dwarrow's hair?! You can't just offer that to anyone!"

Bilbo blinked and leaned back slightly on his heels. "Oh. Um, I didn't know? I help Nori and Ori with their hair sometimes, so I just thought..."

Kíli's eyes grew wider until they nearly bulged out of his head. "Brushing a Dwarrow's hair is a very intimate act that only occurs with someone you really trust," he explained slowly as if speaking to a child. "Like your parents, siblings or a spouse—family, really. You don't... It's not something a Dwarrow would offer to just anyone, let alone an outsider..."

"Oh." Bilbo stared back at the prince blankly; unsure how to react to such news that his friends had apparently given him permission to engage in such an intimate affair without telling him the importance of it. Suddenly, Nori's initial reaction made a lot more sense to him. "I didn't know that."

The prince nodded slowly; his eyes still blown wide and a red tint lingering on his skin. "Clearly," he muttered, circling widely around the Hobbit in order to get to the stairs. "I'm going to go now. Uhm, have a nice day, Bilbo. Enjoy the book."

Bilbo merely waved goodbye as Kíli made a hasty retreat from the Hobbit. He couldn't even bring himself to feel offended by the Dwarf's behavior; too busy thinking over what he had just learned. Dazed, he put his book away in his pack and then made his way to Lady Hafsa's chambers as he had been originally before Kíli had waylaid him. Lost in his thoughts, it took him a bit longer than usual to take notice of the extra guests settled around in Lady Hafsa's sitting room.

"Oh. Good morning," he said blankly, staring at the two extra Dwarves who rose to their feet at his entry. They looked familiar to him and it took him a moment to realize that that they were part of the Orocarni party though he could not recall their names.

"A good morning, Master Bilbo," greeted the older looking Dwarf as he gave a graceful bow to the Hobbit. "Introductions have not been made between us. This one is Serkan son of Sözen and General of the Second Legion of the Orocarni Army."

"And this one is Şevki son of Sözen and Lieutenant in the Second Legion," added the second Dwarf, giving a stiff bow before collapsing back into his seat. He didn't look too thrilled to see him and Bilbo soon realized why—he was the Dwarf who was rude to him at the luncheon.

"You're... Lady Hafsa's brothers," he guessed, looking to his lady for confirmation, who gave him a small nod. "She mentioned you two in passing. It's... good to meet you both officially."

General Serkan gave him a bright smile that Bilbo usually only saw on really conniving merchants. "Mahâl's blessings on this meeting for you are as lovely as a fairy from the heavens," he practically purred. "Truly, this one is honored to be granted a chance to gaze at your radiance."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose and took a closer look at the Dwarf. "Isn't it a bit early to start in on the wine?"

Lieutenant Şevki snorted loudly while Lady Hafsa politely cleared her throat. "Brother, please cease attempts to woo Master Bilbo. He is far too smart for your games," she said sweetly to her elder sibling though her shoulders had grown stiff.

"She's right you know. I grew up among Elves so I'm very good at detecting bullshit," agreed the Hobbit, moving to take a seat next to Lady Hafsa after she gave him a small nod to her side.

"Then more efforts must be undertaken to persuade otherwise," General Serkan declared, his smile relaxing into something more genuine and playful. It made Bilbo take a closer look at the Dwarf with his wavy black hair and coiled beard and sensuous dark eyes. He could see a resemblance to Lady Hafsa in the shape of his mouth and forehead but nothing else. He was, from an objective view, a very handsome Dwarf but Bilbo felt no stirring in him to get closer to the stranger.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Not interested," he told the Dwarf frankly, and then turned back to Lady Hafsa while Lieutenant Şevki broke out laughing. "What are we doing today?"

Lady Hafsa stared at him in wide-eyed wonder as she looked between Bilbo and her brothers. "I... There are no engagements that requires presence at the moment. The only appointment is tonight when we are to attend a play."

"Hmm. That leaves us with free time then," Bilbo mused, glancing around the room for something to do only to find nothing of interest. Typical. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"I take pleasure in stitching and crafting jewelry," replied Lady Hafsa, still looking between her brothers and Bilbo. "But… Would Master Bilbo not like to converse further with this one's brothers?"

The healer raised his eyebrows in surprise and made a point not to look at the two Dwarves sitting by them. "No. Why should I? I'm here for you, not them."

Lady Hafsa's eyes grew wider until Bilbo could see all the whites of her eyes while Lieutenant Şevki's cackles suddenly grew louder. "I... don't..."

General Serkan gave a small cough for attention that Bilbo refused to give him on principle. "Apologies. Little sister is used to being overlooked in favor of the sons. In Orocarni it is custom for a Dwarrowdam to be seen but not heard," the Dwarf explained quietly.

"Good thing we're in Erebor then, huh?" the Hobbit commented, looking to Lieutenant Şevki, who was wearing a smirk of approval. "And I'm a Hobbit, not a Dwarf. Do not expect me to completely follow your ways."

"Corrections before you go on there," said Lieutenant Şevki, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat and pointing to Bilbo. "You call us Dwarves when it should be Dwarrows. Speak it correctly or don't speak at all."

"Şevki," sighed his elder brother.

"If one is to live here, they should use the proper terms," defended Lieutenant Şevki, crossing his arms over his chest.

Bilbo nodded in agreement as he thought it over. "That's very true. I guess I just used the name I heard from others and took it to mean the same thing. Thank you for pointing that out, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Şevki shot his brother a smug look. "See? Master Bilbo agrees," he gloated before looking back to the healer. "No need for rank. Şevki works just fine. No formality here when you are meant to be the companion of Little Sister."

Bilbo raised his brows in surprise but still nodded. "In that case, you may call me Bilbo."

"You may call this one by name as well," added General Serkan, clearly still trying to win his attention.

Bilbo didn't bother to even look at him. "No, I believe General works just fine."

Şevki cackled again and even Lady Hafsa let out a few giggles into her hand. Bilbo merely smirked when General Serkan give a loud and heavy sigh. He had found a new way to amuse himself.

"What are the two of you here for?" he asked Şevki, leaning back into the stiff cushions of the couch. It was uncomfortable and made him long for the worn and soft stuffing of Bombur's furniture.

"To pay greetings to Little Sister," General Serkan replied before his brother could. When Bilbo glanced at him, he found the Dwarrow staring at Lady Hafsa with a smile that made his face softer and kinder. "There will be few chances after she marries and leaves for the Iron Hills."

"No one from your family will be going with you?" Bilbo clarified, looking to Lady Hafsa for the answer.

The Dwarrowdam gave a small shake of her head. "No. Orocarni custom is to leave behind all birth family and embrace the family of the husband," she explained quietly, her shoulders dropping slightly. "It is so that loyalty will not be compromised between father and husband."

Bilbo winced at her words. He couldn't imagine leaving behind his family and clan forever just for a spouse. No one had that much value to him. "That's a sad custom. Will you at least be able to visit each other?"

"Yes, but… visits will be scarce," Şevki confirmed with a downward twist to his lips. "Orocarni is many leagues from the Iron Hills and not yet secure to leave alone for long. Our Padishah has need for us there."

"Padishah?" the healer repeated, unsure of the meaning behind the new word.

"It is the title for king," General Serkan explained quickly. "Padishah Ahmed of Orocarni is her liege and lord. He is a direct descendent of Meili the Wild; one of the Seven Fathers. Have you not heard his name before?"

Bilbo furrowed his brows in thought as he tried to remember what he knew of the Padishah Ahmed. "I know he's related to you lot and that he... survived a coup attempt? And came back not so long ago and reclaimed the throne from the usurpers?" he said slowly, glancing to the Dwarrowdam for confirmation. "Is that right?"

Lady Hafsa nodded. "Padishah is the youngest child of Father's eldest brother," she said, gracefully folding her hands together in her lap. "He alone survived the bloody overthrow of the palace."

"Due to the efforts of Father, Padishah lived and built up his forces in safe territory until strong enough to exact revenge and reclaim his birthright," General Serkan added, strumming his fingers against the armrest of his chair. "It was... a black time for all."

"But do not wallow in such dark memories. Let us instead talk of more pleasant topics like the wedding," ordered Şevki, straightening up in his seat with a grin. General Serkan agreed and began to speak on the guest list with his brother while their sister remained oddly silent.

Bilbo listened to it all but eventually lost interest as he didn't know any of the people they were speaking of. Instead, he watched Lady Hafsa as she seemed to shrink into herself the longer her brothers spoke of the wedding. With a clenching feeling in the pit of his stomach, he was beginning to believe he knew the reason why.

"Apologies for this one's brothers being... themselves," Lady Hafsa said quietly after her brothers had finally left. Her shoulders were drooped, and she looked a bit frazzled after an hour of dealing with her siblings. Bilbo could relate; he suddenly felt like he needed a nap.

"They weren't so horrible. I've certainly met worse people," he reassured, flashing her a smile.

"Gratitude for such kindness," she said, returning his smile with a strained one.

Bilbo studied her for a moment longer before clearing his throat and bracing himself for the mess he was about to jump into. "Lady Hafsa, may I ask you a... personal question?"

Lady Hafsa blinked and glanced to her guards before focusing back on Bilbo. "There… are no reasons not to. Speak on."

Bilbo took in a deep breath and, before he could change his mind, said: "You don't really want to marry Lord Dáin do you?"

Lady Hafsa frowned and looked away. "Personal desires matter not. Padishah has ordered it and this one will obey," she said dully.

"But if you did have a choice? Would you have agreed to this marriage?" Bilbo persisted.

Lady Hafsa stared down at her hands for a long time until her bottom lip began to tremble. "No," she whispered as her eyes began to water. "This one has no desires to marry Lord Dáin. This one… I have no desires to marry any Dwarrow. The only desire I hold is to return to Orocarni to be with family and clan. I... I just want to go home!"

Bilbo felt something hard take up residence in the back of his throat. Lady Hafsa looked so lost and miserable at that moment that he wanted to do nothing more than to take her into his arms and tell her everything would be alright. It was a feeling he only ever felt around children and, staring at her face, he realized that she was a child underneath all that makeup and pretty gowns. She was a child being used in a game of politics that she wanted no part in.

This isn't right, he thought as the familiar feeling of anger began to resettle in his bones. None of this is right.

"Lady Hafsa, is your marriage to Lord Dáin absolutely necessary for the treaty to work?" he asked while digging out a handkerchief from his pocket. When he found it, he handed it to the Dwarrowdam who took it with a wobbly smile of gratitude.

"Well... the original treaty was an exchange—a trade route to be built between the Iron Hills and Orocarni. The soldiers from the Iron Hills to guard it and Orocarni to fund it," she explained while dabbing at her eyes. "Father later offered this one as a bride to Lord Dáin as a show of good faith. This… there is little understanding as to why Lord Dáin accepted. It is as clear as water that it is not me he desires to stand at his side."

Bilbo winced. "Saw him with Prince Frerin did you?"

Lady Hafsa nodded miserably. "Yes. They were walking together in the halls and..." she trailed off, shaking her head and squeezing the handkerchief in her hands. "It is unclear why Father believes any of this will work. Lord Dáin loves another and this one desire to go home. What marriage could be built on this?"

"Why has your father pushed so strongly for this marriage? He clearly loves you and sending you so far away to marry a stranger is... odd."

Lady Hafsa thought about the question for a moment while twisting the handkerchief in her hands before slowly explaining, "Father desires the best husband and the best is Lord Dáin. But he also… Father longs for a blood link to the Line of Durin. That could only happen through the joining of Houses and birth of a grandchild. That this child would inherit the throne of the Iron Hills is an... unavoidable advantage."

"But doesn't Lord Dáin already have a son? Isn't he the heir?" he wondered.

"Yes, the young Prince Thorin is the heir. But if… children were to come from our union, then they would rank above him as their births are legitimate," the Dwarrowdam explained with a small flinch. "The prince is a bastard child by law as no second parent has sought to name claim."

Bilbo felt his opinion of Vizier Sözen fall a few points. "That's a pretty underhanded move to pull on a child. Your father doesn't sound like a very noble Dwarf–I mean, Dwarrow."

Lady Hafsa shrugged helplessly. "Father is Father. He survived so long for good reason."

Bilbo privately disagreed but pushed away such thoughts for another time. "So, what I'm getting from all of this, is that it all started with Lord Dáin agreeing to the engagement," he reflected, thinking over the new facts. "I need to speak to him then and get an idea of why he's willing to marry you when it's clear he doesn't want to. Then maybe from there we can break this engagement without breaking the treaty..."

Lady Hafsa stared at him with wide eyes. "Apologies but... why do you seek to aid in this, Master Bilbo? Our meeting was only days ago and we have no bond or alliance. Master Bilbo stands to gain nothing by ending the engagement. No reason for any of your interest."

"I'm not doing this for personal gain. I'm doing it because you are being forced to do something you don't want to do for the benefit of someone else," Bilbo answered, trying not to sigh at the fact that he was, once again, having to explain that doing something kind without expecting something in return was possible. "I won't stand by and allow that to happen. Dwarves—no, Dwarrowdams, are not property to be bartered with based on the whims of Dwarrows. Allowing such a thing to occur is not right."

Lady Hafsa's jaw dropped as she stared up at him. Then, suddenly, she broke out into loud, noisy tears that had Bilbo jumping to his feet. "Wait, why are you crying again?!" he yelled before looking to Asya for help. She and the other two bodyguards were perfectly calm. "Why is she crying?! Did I say something offensive?!"

The guard shook her head with a bemused smile. "No, Master Bilbo. Lady cries for no one has offered such kind words to her."

Bilbo had never heard of anything more ridiculous in his life. "Oh. Should I... I mean, what do I—?"

"Leave our Lady be for now," Asya advised, nodding to the door while moving over to the crying dam. "Go stretch your legs for a time and leave care to us."

Bilbo took another look at the sobbing Dwarrowdam before giving a confirming nod and then leaving as quickly as possible without being rude. No matter how fast he moved though, he couldn't escape the echoes of her cries nor the knowledge of why she was brought to such tears.

I'm gonna need some help, he thought and mentally began to plot.

The first thing to do was to speak to Dáin. He was the one to accept the engagement in the first place and was the only one he could think of who could end it. After asking some guards, he found the lord in question in his chambers going over a stack of letters. When he saw Bilbo, he smiled and rose to his feet in greeting.

"Bilbo! To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked while gesturing to an empty seat. "Please, sit, sit. Would you like any refreshments? Some wine? Some food?"

Bilbo shook his head and waved the tempting requests away as his time was short. "No thank you, Dáin. I'm sorry to intrude on you so suddenly but I'm afraid I have no choice. I need some answers for some serious questions."

Dáin pursued his lips but nodded. "Very well. Ask and I will do my best to clear things up for you."

Bilbo nodded in gratitude and took in a deep breath to steady himself for the mess he was about to engage himself in. "Dáin, I must ask a rather… personal question. Is that acceptable?"

The Dwarrow arched one red brow high. "I suppose. As long as I can ask one too."

"Deal," he agreed without hesitation. "Now… Why are you marrying Lady Hafsa when you're in love with Prince Frerin?"

Dáin blinked slowly for a moment before leaning back in his seat. "Wow. You don't hold back your punches, huh?"

"I'm rather short on time and patience."

"Mmm. Well, before I answer, would you mind sharing why you care so much?"

"Because Lady Hafsa is little more than a child who has been thrown into a very serious situation without her consent or desire," Bilbo listed a bit viciously, trying to reign in his anger but finding it too bothersome. "She is scared, lost, and very much homesick. Marrying you and moving to the Iron Hills will only make all of that worse."

Dáin stared at him for a moment before reaching up to rub his forehead while releasing a loud sigh that had his wide shoulders dropping. "She is much younger than Sözen claimed," he admitted quietly, and Bilbo could see that he too was disturbed by the age of his bride. "I was not expecting him to lie. Most fathers try to keep their daughters with them for as long as possible in order to protect them."

"Which the Vizier is not doing at all," he pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. "He's barely waited for her to reach her majority before selling her off to the highest bidder. Is that normal for your people?"

"Some families marry off Dwarrowdams once they reached majority, but it is more common for them to remain with their families until they have matured more. We are a long-lived race, so it is not a burden for us to give our children time to find themselves," Dáin explained, dropping his hand from his face.

Bilbo nodded in understanding. "Then you see why I am so angry over this engagement."

"Mmm. And… I admit, I… I do not take any pleasure in the idea of bedding someone so young and unwilling," Dáin revealed, rubbing his chin while his brows began to furrow together. "But this engagement… it is not something so easily broken. There are many players pushing for it to go through with the greatest being my mother."

"The Iron Lady," Bilbo connected, recalling his conversation with the princes and their father. "I heard she's pushing for this in order to get the diamond mines attached to Lady Hafsa?"

"That is part of the reason," admitted the Dwarrow lord with a nod. "Publicly my mother seeks this marriage for the diamond mines but privately… that is a different matter. She's seeking a way into the line of succession for Orocarni and she sees Lady Hafsa as that way. Ahmed, you see, is unmarried and has not named an heir yet. If he is to name someone than it will have to be from Vizier Sözen's children. And who better than the one with Durin blood?"

Bilbo wrinkled his brows together in confusion. "Why does your mother want Orocarni so bad? It's not even close to the Iron Hills!"

"My mother wants the world, but she'll settle for the Dwarrow Kingdoms."

"Really? Even Erebor?"

Dáin's eyes turned steely and he sat up straighter. "Erebor is off-limits and she knows it," he growled, staring over Bilbo's head into the distance. "She has made peace with ruling through her clan only here."

"Did you tell her this? Because of Frerin?"

"Mmm. She hates that I have... feelings for him. He is… my greatest weakness other than my son and others can exploit that."

"Do you want control of Orocarni?" Bilbo wondered though he had a feeling he knew the answer.

Dáin scoffed and shook his head as he had expected. "Of course not. I have no interest in any kingdom outside my own and Erebor. But my mother... she is a different story."

"You really can't oppose her?"

The Dwarrow slowly shook his head as his mouth twisted into a frown that stretched out the scar on his cheek. "I cannot go against her wishes. I don't know how it works for your people, but for Dwarrows, we owe everything to our mothers. They risk their very life to bring us into this world and raise us up. My mother nearly died in childbirth with me and the complications left her unable to bear more children. I can never repay her for these sacrifices, but I must try."

Privately, Bilbo thought that was a bullshit reason. Hobbit mothers always made it clear that they would also sacrifice everything for their children but did not expect anything in return because it was a choice they made to bring forth a new life. They chose to have a child so why would they burden said child for it?

"Lady Hafsa told me her father also wants a child to inherit the Iron Hills," he commented, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "She said this would occur because your son is not legitimate. Does your mother realize this?"

"Mmm, yes, but there is little threat to my son's position as heir regardless if I have more children or not," Dáin explained, carelessly flicking back one of his braids that had fallen into his face. "I have used ancient laws to privately install him as the sole heir to the Iron Hills. So, even if I have other legitimized children, none of them will be able to claim Thorin's position as heir to the Iron Hills."

The Hobbit whistled lowly, feeling a bit impressed at the level of thought the Dwarrow had put into his son's future. "Wow. How did you do that?"

"It's a bit complicated to explain but the general idea stems from the parentage of his second parent. Their identity is secret and known only to the Keepers and myself presently, but they carry a high enough bloodline that allowed me to guarantee my son's position."

Bilbo nodded slowly in understanding as he felt some relief that the position of the little prince was safe. Though he had never met the Dwarrow, he didn't like the idea of him being used or tricked out of his rightful inheritance. "That's good… Hey, why did you name him after Thorin? I would think Frerin would be your first choice in names."

Dáin gave a small smile as something unknown tightened in his face. "Thorin is the most honorable Dwarrow I have ever known and so I gave my son his Outside name in hopes that he will carry these same traits," he explained simply before leaning further back into his seat. He stared at Bilbo for a moment before asking, "Do you really intend to break the engagement?"

"Yes," Bilbo replied without hesitation before catching himself. He paused for a moment to collect his words and slowly said, "It's not… Lady Hafsa looks so sad and scared when she speaks of the engagement. The very idea of standing by and allowing her—an innocent child—to be sold her own father just for power… It goes against everything my parents ever taught me. I'm sorry for interfering in matters that are not my business, but I must do something to help her."

"You may be inviting more trouble than you can handle if you get involved in this," pointed out the Dwarrow, tilting his head to the side as he regarded him with familiar blue eyes. "For all his friendly and cheery words, Sözen is a cunning and ruthless Dwarrow at heart. He won't take kindly to someone ruining his plans."

"That's fine. After learning of his plans to whore out his own daughter, I don't really want to have anything to do with him," Bilbo deadpanned.

Dáin broke out into roaring laughter that shook the very walls. "Well said! I too find little interest in maintaining relationships with such folk," he proclaimed before his face grew serious once more. "But Sözen is not only one who you must contend with. My mother will not stand idly by. If she catches wind of it, there will be little I can do to protect you from her."

"You don't have to do that, Dáin," Bilbo objected with a frown. "I wouldn't ask you to fight your own mother because of me."

"I am not doing it just for you," Dáin denied, shaking his head. "I am doing it for myself. I have no desire to marry anyone who is not Frerin. Less so a child who doesn't want to be involved in any of this. So, in private, I will support your efforts to end this engagement but publicly I must remain the dutiful son obeying his mother's wishes. Does that sound fair?"

Bilbo nodded. "Yes, it does," he said, feeling a knot of tension ease up in his stomach. "I… thank you for agreeing to this. I know I have no right to step into this whole affair."

"Perhaps, but that doesn't make it wrong," the Dwarrow lord explained, plopping an elbow on the arm of his chair to rest his chin against. "You're speaking up out of altruistic reasons which is more than any of us can claim. And you're the second person to object to this marriage on grounds of it being unfair to Lady Hafsa."

"Who was the first?"

"Dís," Dáin answered, and then laughed as Bilbo's jaw dropped open. "You look so surprised! Is it that hard to imagine? Dís is a Dwarrowdam too and knows better than anyone the troubles that come with being a daughter of nobility."

"I find it hard to imagine her as anything but the strong and dominating Dwarrowdam she is today," he admitted, trying to picture a younger Princess Dís crying over an unwanted engagement only to keep coming up with an image of her burning the palace down. "I don't think anyone could make her do something she does not wish to."

"While that may be true now, it wasn't always," Dáin replied, furrowing his brows together. "When Uncle Thrór was still alive, she was much more submissive and passive. It wasn't until Uncle Thrór tried to make her marry a Dwarrow old enough to be her father that she spoke out and demanded the right to choose her own husband."

"What did King Thrór do?" Bilbo asked, curious.

"Oh, he was pissed. He ranted and raved about her duty as a Daughter of Durin, but it was all for naught. Nothing would change her mind and when he threatened to disown her, she retorted by swearing to cut off her beard and burning it before Mahâl. He quickly gave in after that."

"Cutting off your beard and burning it isn't a good thing I take it?"

"No. It is the ultimate sign of disrespect towards Mahâl. Doing it will bring about only disaster and death on yourself and your clan." Dáin grinned widely, looking far too amused by the concept. "Little surprise why Uncle Thrór was quick to back down."

Bilbo nodded, not at all surprised by the bold and daring threat. "That sounds more like the princess I know."

"Indeed. Dís is strong and dominating now but only because she fought for that right," Dáin agreed before waving a lazy hand. "But enough about her. I want to know what you plan to do to end this engagement without breaking the treaty and causing a war between three kingdoms."

He wrinkled his nose in distaste at the Dwarrow's words. "Don't describe it like that," he whined, trying to ignore the bubble of unease rising in his stomach. "I'm sure we can solve this without starting a war. We're much more civilized than that."

"You haven't seen Dwarrow politics in action yet," Dáin retorted. "Now what's the plan?"

"I have an idea, but I have to speak to Lady Hafsa about it first," he explained, scratching his nose. "I will need her help… and her permission."

"It's not anything that will endanger her is it?"

"What? No, of course not, what do you take me for?"

"Just checking. I have no desire to marry the lass, but I also don't want her hurt," the lord explained. He then cocked his head and narrowed his blue eyes. "Is it my turn now to ask you a question?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, I suppose so. Go ahead."

"Don't worry, it is very simple. My question for you is this—what do you think of Thorin?"

"W-What? What sort of question is that?"

"As I said, it is a simple one. What do you think of him?"

Bilbo blinked and flopped back into his seat. "I-I think he has a good heart but little sense of how the real-world works," he said slowly, trying to find the right words only to find himself coming up with a complete blank. "He's… He's also dedicated and loyal and honorable and kind in his own way. He can be funny too when he wants to and—why are you smiling like that?"

Dáin—whose smile had grown until it bordered on unsightly—just shook his head and chuckled to himself. "Oh, no reason. No reason at all…"

With his business with Dáin completed, Bilbo decided to return to Lady Hafsa's chambers with hopes that the crying spectacle was done. To his relief, it was, and Lady Hafsa seemed in a much better although strange mood. She kept looking at Bilbo like he was a puzzle piece that wouldn't fit into the last space no matter how she turned it. She made no mention of the previous conversation, so Bilbo decided to keep his plans and discussion with Dáin to himself for the time being. No need to restart the waterworks for round two.

Lady Hafsa decided that she wanted to spend some time exploring the palace outside of the guest wing that she and her party had been set up in. Bilbo didn't mind the excursion as it gave him a chance to study the palace in more detail. He did his best to share what he knew of the different areas with Lady Hafsa, but it was difficult as he only knew the basic of details from Óin.

It was during this walk that they ran into a party of noble Dwarrowdams. Bilbo immediately recognized two of the five from the day before as Lady Sunshine and Lady Ebony—the Dwarrowdams who had treated Lady Hafsa kindly and even spoke up for Bilbo when Lady Hnoss had slapped him. When the group spotted Lady Hafsa, they quickly descended upon her like a flock of birds upon a helpless worm. Bilbo felt a bit bad for her as he stood in the background and watched them coo and giggle over Lady Hafsa who endured it all with a stiff smile of a martyr who was walking to their own execution.

As Bilbo glanced over the group, he caught the eye of Lady Ebony who stepped away from the crowd and closer to him. "Master Baggins," she greeted, giving him a small nod of acknowledgement. "It is good to see that Hnoss did not scare you away."

"I've encountered scarier females than her," he returned with a grin as he thought of his mother and many aunts. Now those were the females to fear.

Lady Ebony's lips curled up into a little smile as her posture seemed to relax slightly. "I don't believe we have been properly introduced. I am Kára daughter of Kárunn."

"A pleasure to meet you, my lady," Bilbo greeted back politely. "I am Bilbo Baggins as you obviously already know."

"Indeed. You are the healer who saved Prince Kíli and exposed that rat Motvari and all his crimes," Lady Kára said, turning her body to face him completely. "You are also a friend of the King. Anyone lucky enough to be considered as such must be one of considerable honor and integrity."

Bilbo felt his cheeks flush with the high praise. "I—I wouldn't go that far. Thorin is just too easily impressed by commoners like me."

Lady Kára laughed lightly into her hand. "I heard rumors of your honesty but did not expect to see it for myself. How very refreshing. I see now why His Majesty is so enthralled by you."

"H-H-He's not enthralled!" Bilbo squawked, feeling his blush deepen even further until his entire face felt hot and uncomfortable. His reaction drew the stares of Lady Hafsa and the others which just made him feel even worse while Lady Kára just laughed again.

"Please stop teasing me, milady," he muttered, looking down at his feet and wiggling his toes.

"My apologies. I meant no offense," Lady Kára said, still looking unfairly amused by his reaction. But then her face grew serious and she leaned forward until they were close enough that Bilbo could count her lashes.

"I have a… question for you," she said, dropping her voice into nearly a whisper. "I have heard that you have been trained by both Elves and Men in the craft of healing. Is this true?"

"I suppose. I have lived in many different kingdoms, so I've been around a great deal of different healers."

"Then would you… perhaps know of a method to cure insomnia?"

"Um, yes? But I thought Dwarv—I mean, Dwarrows have medicine for that?"

"We do but… they do not work on everyone." Lady Kára awkwardly looked away before turning her eyes back to him. "I… have suffered from insomnia for many years and no healer in the kingdom has been able to help me. But when I heard of you and your different masters, I thought perhaps…"

Bilbo nodded in understanding. "I see your point. Well, there are some methods I could suggest you try, but they are practices done by Elven healers. Do you still wish to know them?"

Lady Kára gave him a stiff smile. "Master Baggins, at this point, I would swear myself and my future children into the service of Elves if it meant curing this wretched illness."

"No need to go that far," Bilbo promised, feeling a bit amused and sympathetic to the Dwarrowdam. It said a lot on the severity of her condition that she was willing to swear allegiance to Elves just to get some sort of relief. "I can write you a few different prescriptions to try out. If one doesn't work, go onto the next and so on. If none of them work, please let me know and I can recommend some others."

Lady Kára nodded as some of the tension faded from her face. "Of course, of course. Thank you, Master Baggins. I will not forget this kindness," she vowed as fiercely as a knight swearing an oath to his king.

Bilbo just shrugged. "No thanks needed. I'm a healer and it's my job to… well, heal," he explained awkwardly.

Lady Kára smiled at him kindly. "Will you be joining us tonight at the theater?" she asked, smoothly changing the subject as some of the other Dwarrowdams moved closer to them. "They will be performing the Iron Butterfly. It is a classical Dwarrow tale."

"I'm afraid I've never heard of this play before," he admitted, racking his memory only to find it blank. "What's it about?"

"Oh, it is a beautiful tale of love, duty, and honor!" gushed one of the Dwarrowdams who had drifted over. She latched onto Lady Kára's arm and looked at Bilbo with bright hazel eyes. "You will love it, Master Baggins! It is one of Erebor's most treasured tales!"

"Katla, please show a little more self-control. We are still in the palace," advised Lady Kára, patting the other's hand with fond exasperation. "And did you forget your manners? Introduce yourself to Master Baggins."

The Dwarrowdam giggled behind her free hand that was covered with pearl rings of various colors. "My apologies. I am Katla daughter of Ata," she chimed sweetly, giving a shallow bow. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Baggins."

"Uh, you as well, Lady Katla," Bilbo replied as he returned the bow. "I take it you too will be attending the play tonight?"

"As if she would ever miss the chance to make moon eyes at the Crown Prince," teased another Dwarrowdam with striking red hair and sharply shaped brows. "It's her favorite thing to do at these sorts of things."

"Marjun! Don't tease me!" Lady Katla whined as red bloomed across her fair face while the other Dwarrowdams laughed.

"She's been carrying a torch for Prince Fíli since they were tots," revealed another Dwarrowdam in a mocking whisper.

Bilbo smiled as Lady Katla turned even redder. "I'm sure she's not the only one. Fíli is very kind," he said reassuringly to the young lady.

"You call him by name? I did not realize the two of you were so close," commented the redhead, tilting her head to the side as she regarded Bilbo with dark blue eyes.

"He insisted on it, but I think it was only because he wanted to lord it over Kíli," Bilbo confided, earning another round of giggles from the dams.

"Our princes are very competitive," agreed Lady Kára, nodding knowingly. "Remember the time they waged a prank war on the guards?"

"Which time? There has been more than one prank war waged in their names," wondered the third Dwarrowdam, giving Bilbo a wink when he looked at her in question. "I believe the last one was focused on His Majesty's council and ministers. It ended in a tie after Lord Rathsin's beard caught fire and had to be put out with a pot of ink that ended up staining his face purple for a few weeks."

This time, Bilbo couldn't help but join in with the Dwarrowdams as they laughed at the antics of Erebor's future rulers.

"Master Bilbo is good at speaking with strangers," Lady Hafsa commented later after the noble Dwarrowdams had gone on their way.

"Really? What makes you think that?"

"You carried on a pleasant conversation with the ladies of high birth. That is a skill not many can claim. Even this one admits to having… difficulties in holding conversation with others who share her rank of birth."

"You've been doing fine from what I've seen, or, heard."

"Gratitude for your kind words. But… this one knows her weaknesses and strengths. Sharing words with others is not one of them."

"Well, it just takes practice. Have you spoken to a lot of people outside of your family?"

"That… no. No, there have been few chances to do so."

Bilbo had assumed as much. From what he'd seen so far of the Orocarni party and Dwarrows in general, Dwarrowdams were very sheltered and hidden away from strangers for their own safety. Living like that, it was no surprise that Lady Hafsa was at somewhat of a loss in how to make small talk with her peers.

"That's the problem then. The more time you spend speaking with different people, the better you'll get at holding a conversation," he explained, glancing over his shoulder to get a second look at a vivid painting of a giant with black skin and amber eyes that they passed by. "So, really, it's not really your fault if you don't know how to speak to strangers because you haven't been given the chance yet."

Lady Hafsa went silent after that. When he looked over at her to see if she was crying again, he instead found her wearing the puzzle look again as she stole glances at Bilbo from the corner of her eye. Bilbo couldn't imagine what she was thinking of his words.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in Lady Hafsa's chambers until evening finally rolled around and Bilbo found himself being dragged off to a new section of the palace that held the theater. It was an oval amphitheater with seating tiers that surrounded a central area. The whole thing was made of green and white marble and had battles of Dwarrows etched into it.

"Is this play going to be in Khuzdûl?" Bilbo asked Lady Hafsa as they made their way through the small crowd of nobles and royals. For some reason, they were all dressed even more elaborately than usual. Bilbo could not imagine why.

Lady Hafsa nodded as she looked at him through a veil of diamonds and sapphires. "Yes. Is that a problem?" she wondered softly.

"No. I just won't be able to understand it." When Lady Hafsa continued to stare at him blankly, he added, "I don't know Khuzdûl."

Realization dawned on Lady Hafsa's face as well as a hint of embarrassment. "Oh. Apologies. This… That is a problem."

"Not really. I'll just watch it for the acting," he reassured, scanning the crowd for a familiar face and then grinning when he found it.

"Is it alright if I go and give my greetings to Thorin?" he asked the Dwarrowdam, looking over to her for permission. "It won't take too long."

Lady Hafsa paused for a moment before nodding slowly. "Of course," she said, glancing over the Hobbit to something beyond them before meeting his eyes. "But please be quick."

"I will be," he promised before slipping into the crowd of mingling nobles with ease. Sometimes it paid to be short.

When he got to Thorin, the Dwarrow was in the middle of what looked like a serious discussion with an older and distinguished looking Dwarrow. But when he noticed Bilbo, his face broke out into a smile that made quite a few Dwarrows around them stop and stare.

"Bilbo!" Thorin greeted, waving away the noble he was speaking to and turning to face the Hobbit. "I was hoping to see you here tonight."

Bilbo smiled as pleasure surged through him at the admission. "Hello, Thorin. How are you?"

"I am well, thank you. How are you?" Thorin questioned, looking over Bilbo before settling his gaze on the bruised cheek. "Dís told me of the incident with Hnoss…"

"It's fine. I knew I would get into trouble before I even opened my mouth," he reassured. When he saw that his words didn't ease Thorin's concern, he added on, "I broke a rule and she was right to punish me for it. You can't be mad at her for that."

"She did not have to make it so public," Thorin refuted, shaking his head and causing his hair to whip through the air like angry snakes. "Hnoss has always been arrogant and domineering but I did not think that she would be so bold as to hit you before Dís."

"I thought that was pretty gutsy of her too. Is she someone very powerful?"

"In a manner of speaking. Hnoss is the eldest daughter of Lord Petrur who rules Clan Bloodstone. They are the second strongest clan in the kingdom and rivals of Clan Ironfists—Dáin's maternal clan. Hence why Hnoss was so eager to get a rise from Hafsa."

"Which she got by angering me," Bilbo translated, finally understanding why the Dwarrowdam had switched languages when conversing with Lady Hafsa. "I didn't know I was so predictable."

"Word of your honorable actions have made their way through every noble clan in Erebor," Thorin admitted, smiling slightly without any hint of remorse. "It is no surprise that Hnoss knows of you and was betting on you speaking up in order to embarrass Hafsa."

Bilbo wrinkled his nose in distaste. He didn't like the idea of nobles gossiping about him. "Do you think she meant to only embarrass Lady Hafsa and Dáin? Or did she have deeper motives?"

Thorin furrowed his thick brows in thought. "It is… difficult to say. It is possible that Hnoss was simply being childish in her attempt to rile up Hafsa and through her Dáin. It would not be the first time she had pulled such an act and I doubt it will be the last," he admitted slowly. "But… there is also a chance that it was part of something… more elaborate. I cannot say for sure unless she acts again."

"Well, I won't let her pull another one on me. Lord Balin gave me this book of rules and etiquette of the palace that I'm going to study. Next time she tries to pull something, I'll know just how to react!" he cheered, gesturing to his pack.

Thorin frowned as he looked to the bag. "Why did you not come to me for help? I would have aided you."

"Eh, you're the king. You've got more important stuff to do than help me with something so small," he replied, shrugging one shoulder.

Thorin's frown only deepened. "It is not a small matter," he growled, pointing at the Hobbit. "The next time someone tries to pick a fight with you in the palace, come and find me. I will handle them. Understand?"

Bilbo rocked back from the Dwarrow and tried not to roll his eyes. He didn't know why the Dwarrow was being so stubborn over something so trivial but guessed that his pride was probably hurt by Lady Hnoss's bold actions. "Fine, fine! I'll come find you. Now stop growling. You're a king, not a dog."

"Some would beg to differ," a jolly voice commented from behind Bilbo. When he turned to see who it was, he was met with the pleasant face of Lord Balin.

"Lord Balin!" he squeaked and then cringed in mortification. Did he just squeak like a kitten? From the odd look Thorin flashed him, the answer was most likely.

"Good evening, Thorin," Lord Balin greeted, giving his king a small nod before turning to the Hobbit. "And a good evening to you, Master Baggins. Did Kíli give you your book?"

"Y-Yes! Yes, he did! T-Thank you so much! I truly appreciate it," Bilbo said, feeling his face flush for reasons he couldn't pin. It wasn't the first time he met the Dwarrow and he wasn't attracted to Lord Balin and he didn't really know the Dwarrow very well, but there was something about him that just… drew Bilbo's attention.

"Bilbo, your face is turning red," Thorin said unhelpfully.

"Shut up, no one asked you," he hissed back, feeling his face burn even deeper.

Lord Balin smiled and it made his face transform into something beautiful like some old and forgotten piece of art. "You're quite welcome. I hope it will be of help to you," he said kindly, dark eyes twinkling like stars. "If you have any questions, I am free later this week if you would like to meet and speak."

Bilbo nodded and hoped it didn't come off as too eager. "Yes, please! I would like that," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"I can answer questions too," Thorin muttered somewhere off to the side.

Lord Balin's smile stretched up even higher. "Wonderful. I will send you an invitation tomorrow so Lady Hafsa will grant you a leave of absence. Now, if you would please excuse me, I am going to escape before Dís forces her pet onto me."

Bilbo blinked a bit as Lord Balin turned around and swiftly disappeared into the crowd. When he looked to see what Thorin thought of the Dwarrow's strange exit, he instead found him scowling at his sister as she came sashaying up to them in a white gown with a black blob in her arms.

"I can't believe you brought that thing here," he told the Dwarrowdam, crossing his arms over his chest.

Princess Dís ignored him in favor of greeting Bilbo. "Master Baggins, how nice to see you again. Have you met Snowflake yet? He's my dearest companion. Isn't he cute?"

Bilbo nodded as he eyed the pup carefully. "Very, but why is his name… Snowflake when he's… black?"

Princess Dís narrowed her eyes. "Because I like that name. Is there a problem with that?"

Bilbo quickly shook his head and took a large step back. "No, no, nothing wrong at all. Very good name, I totally approve. It really fits him."

Princess Dís smirked. "I'm glad I have your approval. Would you like to hold him?"

Not really, he thought but knew better than to refuse someone who could have him beheaded with a snap of her fingers. "Sure. Give him here," he said, giving a fake smile.

The Dwarrowdam smirked and shoved the small dog into his arms. Bilbo couldn't help but tense up as he wrapped his arms around the furry worm wiggling about. Snowflake looked up at him with bright black eyes and his tongue hanging out, and he tried not to wince at the sight. He liked animals well enough, true, but he had never had the best experiences with dogs. In the cities of Men there were many feral dogs about, and he had seen more than one of them attack a Hobbit as they were close in size to the beasts. Though he had managed to overcome that fear, Bilbo still held a great deal of wariness for the furry creatures who could rip his throat out.

"He likes you," commented Princess Dís as she watched Bilbo stare down her pet. "Don't you think so, Thorin?"

"It's a dog, Dís, they like everyone," Thorin replied as he began to scan the crowd. "Did you see where Balin went? He was just here."

Bilbo rolled his eyes. "He said he was leaving because he didn't want to be near the dog," he muttered, stiffly lifting the creature in question to the king. "Weren't you listening?"

"Balin is allergic to dogs. He runs away if he so much as hears a bark," Princess Dís explained uncaringly. "Where are you sitting, Master Baggins? With Lady Hafsa's party?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Bilbo asked, inching closer to Thorin so the dog could 'accidently' leap into Thorin's arms instead.

Princess Dís shook her head as a smile began to form on her painted lips. "Not a problem. I was just thinking that, since Snowball likes you so much, he should stay with you for the duration of the show."

Bilbo lost his grip on Snowflake and had to scramble to catch the dog before he fell. "W-What?! No, that—!"

Princess Dís broke out laughing. The reaction drew the stare of everyone around them and made the conversations go quiet as everyone took in the sight of the usually fierce Dwarrowdam laughing freely and without restraint. Even Bilbo had to pause and stare because he had never seen the princess look so relaxed and happy before.

"Dís, please stop. You're scaring the guests," Thorin commented, looking completely unfazed by his sister's reaction, and actually a bit annoyed.

Princess Dís shook her head and muttered something lowly in Khuzdûl to Thorin before she began to wipe at the corner of her eyes where Bilbo could see a glimmer of tears. A smile still lingered on her lips though and the softness and light it brought to her face reminded Bilbo of Fíli when he smiled.

"Master Baggins, you never cease to surprise me," she commented, still dabbing at her eyes with the sleeve of her gown. "I hope you never lose that honest spark of yours. It would be a waste for us all."

Bilbo had no idea what that meant but still nodded in what he hoped looked like a grateful and appreciative manner. "Can you take your dog back now?" he asked, holding Snowflake up to her.

Princess Dís, thankfully, did indeed retrieve her pet from the Hobbit without further trouble. "Enjoy the performance, Master Baggins," she said in farewell before waltzing off into the crowd. Bilbo watched her go and wondered, not for the first time in his life, why he couldn't ever meet normal people.

"I should return to Lady Hafsa before the play starts," he realized after a moment, noticing that some Dwarrows were moving to their seats. He looked back at Thorin and gave him a small smile. "I guess I'll speak to you later?"

Thorin nodded as he returned Bilbo's stare with an intense one of his own. "Yes. Bilbo?"

"Hmm?"

"I meant what I said earlier. If you have any more troubles, please… don't hesitate to come to me for help," the Dwarrow said softly, and something in his stare made Bilbo feel like blushing again. But unlike with Lord Balin, it was not a blush that stemmed from excitement or embarrassment but from something… something else. Something he couldn't place because he had never felt it before.

It was not a feeling he particularly liked.

Bilbo swallowed it all down and gave the king what he hoped was a cheery smile. "O-Okay. I'll remember that. I promise."

And oddly enough, despite the scary emotion welling up in him, Bilbo knew that that was the truth.