Chapter Text
There was much that Bilbo loved about the Lonely Mountain. He loved the crisp mountain air, he loved the way the forges warmed even the furthest of rooms no matter how cold the winter became, he loved the mountain springs which provided the baths with their water. He loved the dwarrow of Erebor, from those in the Company to the newcomers returning to their ancestral home. He loved visiting the guilds, the kitchens, the mines, he even loved sitting in on council meetings even though they were either boring or resolved to fighting.
But, out of everything in the Lonely Mountain that Bilbo loved, he loved his garden the most.
Thorin had commissioned it as soon as the glassmaker guild had reopened, gifting it to Bilbo on their first anniversary. It wasn’t much, something Thorin had felt so badly about thinking it was not good enough for Bilbo, but Bilbo adored it. The little balcony had been fitted with glass creating a little greenhouse on the side of the mountain. It was not all that big, but the soil atop that part of the mountain was incredibly fertile and within months his flowers had begun to bloom. Hamfast Gamgee had sent him a collection of seeds, flowers and crops alike, and already his tomatoes were on the table every dinner. Bombur adored receiving new crops, and though he often grumbled about the amount of greens Bilbo liked to eat, he happily accepted whatever Bilbo brought him. The flowers adorned rooms all over the Royal Wing, where the Company and their families all lived. The dwarrow cared little for plants, their crafts focused on that of stone and gems, but they all constantly complimented the flowers they saw and the younger dwarves - Ori mostly - had even taken to keeping a small potted plant of their own.
Yes, out of everything in the Lonely Mountain, Bilbo adored his garden the most. That was why, when he wasn’t working or visiting friends, he spent his free time tending to his garden. Despite the mountain growing colder as winter approached once again, the greenhouse was warm as Bilbo watered his sproutlings. Primula had kindly sent some more seeds just a month ago, and the flowers looked about ready to bloom.
Bilbo couldn’t wait; the seeds that had been sent were edelweiss, his mother’s favourite flowers. Since he could remember, Bilbo had memories of helping his mother care for the small white flowers, the blossoms being braided into her hair every time there was a celebration. All her dresses had edelweiss embroidered into them, and her handkerchiefs - which later became Bilbo’s - were decorated with the flowers as well as the initials “B.B.”. Bilbo grew up around the flowers so much he grew to adore them, so when Primula sent him edelweiss seeds, he planted them immediately.
A shuffling from behind him drew Bilbo’s attention, so he glanced over his shoulder and found Thorin leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, a smile on his lips. He was still dressed in his formal robes, still had his crown on his head, but unlike when he was in the presence of… well, really anyone who wasn’t a part of the Company or their families, he looked relaxed, happy. He had grown out his hair and beard in the years, no longer in mourning, and he looked awfully handsome with his beard braided so. “How long have you been watching me for?” Bilbo asked, standing up from where he was kneeling next to the flower bed.
“Not long. I like watching you tend to your plants,” Thorin told him. Bilbo couldn’t help the flush that found its way to his cheeks. Even after two years of courting, Thorin still had a way of making Bilbo feel like he was young again, fawning over a crush and making a fool out of himself as he stammered and stumbled. Bilbo had resigned himself to the life of a bachelor that at times, being with Thorin - being loved by Thorin - it felt like a dream. Or a dream of a dream.
“I haven’t missed supper, have I?” Bilbo inquired, glancing up at the sky. The sun was already setting, though it always set earlier in the winter and Durin’s day had passed not three weeks earlier.
“No, I came to meet you so we could head down together,” Thorin said, and well, if that didn’t make Bilbo feel special. He placed down his watering can and cleaned his hands on a nearby cloth, dusting off his trousers. If his old travelling clothes were good for one thing, they were good for getting dirty in the garden. There was no way he was letting any of the beautiful dwarven fabric which had been used to make the best hobbit-style clothing that side of the Misty Mountains get covered in soil and risk ruining them.
“What are those plants?” Thorin asked, nodding at the sproutlings. Bilbo couldn’t stop himself from smiling.
“They’re edelweiss flowers,” he happily explained, arm linked with Thorin’s as they left the garden, door closing behind them, “my mother’s favourites. They should blossom any day now, I should think!”
“I’ve never heard of an ‘edelweiss’,” Thorin muses, “what do they look like?”
“Oh, they’re gorgeous. They’re small flowers with petals as white as snow and little yellow centres. I didn’t think I would be able to get them to grow so late in the year but the seeds were healthy and the sproutlings have taken to the new soil very well! It’ll be almost like Ma’s flowerbeds from Bag End- oh, goodness, I’m rambling again aren’t I?” Bilbo sheepishly grinned, but Thorin didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered.
“You do not have to stop, I quite enjoy your ramblings.” Bilbo’s cheeks went red again. He never could get used to that, used to Thorin so openly giving him compliments. Even as they walked through the halls of Erebor, arm in arm, he so willingly told Bilbo just how much he loved him and cared not for who saw or heard. Such things were not done in the Shire, no, such public displays of affection were often looked upon with mutters of shock. The most that would be done would be an exchange of flowers, or maybe a linked arm or holding of hands. The first time Bilbo had been kissed so openly outside of their rooms had come at such a surprise that Bilbo had feared he had offended Thorin when he pulled away, the dwarf having looked so heartbroken.
They were both still learning. There were many differences between hobbits and dwarrow, and that meant there was a lot they had to learn about each other's ways. Just as Bilbo was learning to accept the openness and the gift giving, Thorin was learning to accept the flowers and the home cooked meals. It was… rather sweet.
The walk to the Royal Wing of Erebor from the garden wasn’t very far, and soon the two of them were almost to their door, but just as they turned a corner two bundles of energy nearly barrelled into them. It came as no surprise to Bilbo that said bundles of energy were none other than Kíli and Fíli, who were dressed in their old travelling clothes and had weapons strapped to their persons.
“Yavanna’s Gardens! Boys, watch where you’re going!” Bilbo lightly scolded, though he knew there wasn’t much point as there wasn’t anything the princes could do that Bilbo wouldn’t immediately forgive them for. He would be lying if he said that Bilbo had not grown fond of the two boys over the course of their quest, and seeing them on their deathbeds after the battle nearly broke Bilbo. He thanked the Green Lady every day that they survived. They both had scars, but they had healed and they both finally looked as healthy as they had done the day they knocked on his door at Bag End all those years ago. Though it would take a bit of prodding, Bilbo would admit that he never thought he would get to be a parent, or even an uncle, but he adored Fíli and Kíli as if they were his flesh and blood. “What’s got you two so excited?”
“They’re nearly finished unblocking one of the old mine shafts-” Fíli began.
“- and apparently there’s a huge vein of citrine inside!” Kíli continued.
“We’re going to go and explore with the miners!”
Bilbo let out a hearty laugh, one that had Thorin chuckling. “Well try not to knock anyone over on your way down there,” Thorin told them, and with twin nods the two princes went running off again, calling out goodbyes as they disappeared around a bend. Bilbo shook his head.
“Those two are going to get themselves hurt one day,” he sighed.
“Not that it would stop them,” Thorin mused, “Kíli broke his arm as a lad and was still trying to climb trees just days after the cast had been set.”
“And how did he break his arm in the first place?”
“Climbing a tree.”
Bilbo’s laugh could be heard all the way down in the kitchens.
Though he spent a lot of time in his garden, Bilbo did in fact have duties under the mountain. At Thorin’s request, Bilbo had joined the council as Erebor’s Minister for Agriculture. He was in charge of the alliance with Dale’s farmers and ranchers from whom Erebor received their main income of food. It wasn’t all he did; Bilbo often sat in on trade meetings and was something of a mediator for the council, since he was the only one who didn’t go straight for a weapon at the slightest hint of disagreement. When asked, Bilbo would be found at Thorin’s right hand, Fíli sat on Thorin’s left, doing his best to understand dwarven politics whilst also trying not to get a headache.
That didn’t mean that Bilbo felt all that welcome with the council. Thorin, Fíli, Dís and Balin were kind enough, but the rest of the lords, well… they looked at Bilbo with suspicion to say the least. It was to be expected. He was a hobbit in the world of dwarrow and he did not expect everyone to be as welcoming as the Company were. Dís certainly hadn’t been when they first met, even if it only took one dinner for the princess to warm up to him. Regardless, Bilbo kept his head held high and worked through it. If he could put up with whisperings from neighbours back in the Shire, he could handle a few distrusting dwarrow with ease.
All of this work came with a lot of paperwork, and so most of Bilbo’s evenings were spent at his desk signing documents and filing them away or sending them off for the royal seal of approval. His study in Erebor was much like his study from the Shire, small and cosy with a roaring fireplace and armchairs perfect for reading in. Shelves were lined with books in both Westron and Khuzdul, and there was always a pot of tea ready.
A knock sounded at the door and Bilbo, without looking up from his paperwork, called out for whoever it was to enter. The door opened, and all Bilbo saw was a figure carrying the largest pile of paper he had ever seen. Fíli’s head peeked around the side of the stack.
“I’m not disturbing you, am I, Mister Boggins?” the prince asked.
“Not at all, my boy,” Bilbo replied, hurrying to get up from his chair and take some of the papers from Fíli’s arms before he dropped them. “These… don’t all need my signature, do they?”
“Oh, no! Most of these are signed already, Balin just said you liked to organise them.”
“Only because my system makes much more sense than whatever you had in place before,” Bilbo tutted, placing his portion of the papers down on the desk. He turned back to take the rest, but paused.
Fíli looked worse for wear. He had dark bags under his eyes that had not been there earlier that week when the boys went running off to explore the mine. His skin was paler, almost sickly, and though Bilbo wasn’t sure if it was possible for a moustache to be droopy, Fíli's certainly appeared to be. He looked half as bad as he had done after the battle, something Bilbo had never wanted to see again.
“Are you alright?” He asked. Fíli nodded.
“I’m fine,” he said with a smile, one that did not reach his eyes. The prince looked exhausted. Well, being the Crown Prince was no easy job, and though Thorin did his best to shoulder the responsibility so Fíli and Kíli didn’t have to grow up too quickly, there was only so much he could do as Fíli needed to learn what it meant to be king, even if he wasn’t yet a hundred years old.
“Why don’t you stay and have a cup of tea with me?” Bilbo suggested as he took the rest of the papers, nodding at the hearth over the fire where his kettle had been bubbling away.
“I wish I could but Kee and I have training before lunch. I’m currently winning twenty-three out of forty-five and I intend to keep my streak.”
Biting back a sigh, Bilbo gave Fíli a smile and thanked him for bringing him the documents, and after promising to see him at dinner, Fíli left the study. His movements were sluggish, to put it nicely, feet dragging along the ground. Bilbo shook his head, making a mental note to speak to Thorin about maybe letting the boys have a weekend off soon. They were still so young. They deserved a break, even if it was just from their duties. Perhaps Bilbo could steal them away for a few days in Dale? He could arrange it all and make sure they don’t miss anything important. Bard had asked Bilbo to visit soon and his children loved spending time with the princes, especially Sigrid if the heart-eyes she sent Fíli’s way were anything to go b-
CRASH! Bilbo’s head shot up from where he was sorting the paperwork and in an instant, he was running from the study. He barely made it into the living room when he froze and gasped.
Fíli was on the floor in a crumpled heap next to the low table. Bilbo hurried to his side, kneeling down on the cold stone floor. He pulled Fíli into his arms and shook the prince as carefully as he could, eyes going wide at the bleeding gash on his forehead that was staining blond locks deep red. Fíli didn’t stir, he didn’t wake.
“SOMEBODY HELP!” Bilbo screamed, holding Fíli as close as he could. In seconds, two guards came bursting into the room. “He just collapsed, I-I don’t know what happened!” Bilbo stuttered. One of the guards hurried out of the room at Bilbo’s orders to fetch Óin, the other helped Bilbo to carry Fíli across the hall and into the master bedroom, where they laid the young prince on the bed.
In the light of the room Fíli looked even worse. The guard went and threw long on the fire whilst Bilbo began to fuss, removing as much of Fíli’s armour as he could and depositing it on the nearby table. He then ran into the washroom and returned moments later with a bowl of warm water. He fished around for a clean cloth, not even caring that the one he found was one of his mother’s hand-embroidered handkerchiefs, and got to work cleaning the wound on Fíli’s head.
His head was racing, heart was pounding, and Bilbo was trying his best to keep himself calm. He had no idea what happened, or why Fíli had collapsed, but what he did know was that there was no point in panicking. That would get him nowhere. Instead, he just focused on doing what he could do, like clean up the blood and make his dear boy comfortable. He leaned down and rested his ear on Fíli’s chest, and found that the boy was breathing fine and his heart was still beating steadily, which helped calm some of Bilbo’s nerves.
The door was thrown open and Bilbo jumped a mile, nearly knocking over the bowl of water in the process. Óin strode into the room, Glóin, Nori and Dori following in behind him. They must have heard the commotion.
“He collapsed. I think he hit his head on the table,” the hobbit explained. Óin got straight to work and Bilbo took a step back to let the healer work, his hand finding its way into Fíli’s.
As he watched Óin work, he tried not to think too much of those long, long weeks after the battle, when he stood in that exact same spot next to the bed where Thorin lay, healing ever so slowly.
Shouts came from outside the room. Shouts for help. Though he wanted to stay with Fíli, Bilbo left the bedroom and followed the shouting all the way out of the main door and into the corridor of the Royal Wing. Just in time to see Dwalin running his way, an unconscious Kíli in his arms.
By Yavanna’s Grace, no.
“What happened?” Bilbo demanded, ushering Dwalin inside and down the hall to the bedroom where Óin was still inspecting Fíli, the others let out a series of gasps when they saw the younger prince.
“He just passed out on our way to the training grounds. Nearly fell down the staircase,” Dwalin laid Kili down next to his brother. Kíli looked just as terrible; bags under his eyes, sickly pale skin. Now they were lying in a bed together like they had done when-
No. No, they survived the battle. They survived and healed. Whatever was wrong, it was not to do with the battle. Or, at least, Bilbo hoped it was not. Óin continued his checks, Bilbo helped him to remove Kíli’s armour - silently cursing the fact that the dwarrow insisted on wearing their armour everywhere even when there was no danger inside the mountain - but then he paused. As he removed a shoulder plate, his hand brushed some of Kíli’s hair aside and there, spread all across the side of the boy’s neck, was a rash.
“What’s this?” Bilbo asked, moving Kíli’s hair back fully so Óin could take a look at the rash. The older dwarf swore an expletive Bilbo had only ever heard once before, back when the boys’ fevers spiked during their recovery, when everyone feared they wouldn’t make it through the night. Óin turned to Bilbo.
“Get Thorin.”