Chapter Text
The book Lord Balin had given him was as complicated and strange as he had expected.
From what Bilbo could summarize, the etiquette of Dwarrow nobles was based on honor and tradition and needlessly detailed rules. While the reasoning behind it all was interesting to read, he found himself skimming over it and focusing more on the rules because he knew they were the most vital to his survival in the palace. Most of it was what he expected to find, such as how close a servant should stand from their lord or lady (an arm’s length away for personal servants and even further for lower-ranked servants) and when to speak in the presence of nobles (only when spoken directly to by said noble) and other such details that were followed by noble houses of Men and Elves.
But other rules were… odd to put it lightly.
“No one is allowed to continue eating if Thorin leaves the room?” he repeated to Ori, who was reading through his own mess of books and parchment as they camped out in Ori’s room on the floor. “Isn’t that ridiculous?”
Ori nodded as he flicked through a few pages of the giant tome in his lap. “Mmm.”
“Nobles are also only allowed to wear a certain amount of jewelry depending on their rank and family,” he continued, wrinkling his nose as he went through the list of clans, family lines, and the types associated with them. He only recognized Durin in all of it. “I don’t get how any of this applies to my mistress. She’s not even from Erebor.”
“Very strange,” agreed Ori, reaching over Bilbo’s legs for a parchment even as he continued reading from his book.
“Servants are also supposed to dress a certain way and wear their hair, beards, and jewelry in a way that reflects their master’s position. Lady Hafsa hasn’t mentioned anything like this to me. Do you think she doesn’t know? Or do I just, maybe, not count because I’m a Hobbit?”
Ori shrugged one shoulder as he scratched something out on the parchment and then began to flick through the tome again. “Maybe.”
“I’m not sure how I’m gonna recall all of these rules,” Bilbo admitted, shaking his head. “I mean, how do these—Ori, are you listening to me?”
Ori shamelessly shook his head. “Not really.”
Bilbo scowled and elbowed his friend in the ribs. “What are you doing then?”
“My work,” Ori said curtly, his eyes still glued to the tome.
He peeked over and realized that he had seen the books before. “Are those the logbooks for the war things?”
“Mmm-hmm. Still going through them,” the Dwarrow replied as he scribbled something down again.
Bilbo huffed and turned back to his own book. His friend was clearly not interested in his whining, so there was no point in continuing it without an audience. He flopped his head back against Ori’s bed and stared up at the ceiling. While he felt that he had a better grasp of the rules of the palace and nobles, he still didn’t feel very confident in himself. Lady Hafsa did not seem to apply to any of the rules he had covered, and his own position as an outsider left him in a strange middle zone where he was expected to follow some rules and ignore others. He had a sinking feeling that others were aware of it and planning to exploit his weakness.
“I’m going to have to speak to your boss about this. I just don’t understand them,” he said to Ori, rubbing his forehead. “And that ignorance is gonna get me into trouble again, as I did with—hey, why didn’t you or Nori tell me about the hair thing?”
“What hair thing?”
“You know, how combing a Dwarrow’s hair is only between family and stuff,” he quickly explained, recalling the incident with Kíli that morning. “Why didn’t you guys mention that before I made a fool of myself in front of Kíli?”
Ori finally looked away from his work to face Bilbo with a puzzled frown. “How did you make a fool of yourself?”
“I offered to help him with his hair, and he nearly jumped out of his skin,” Bilbo quickly explained, wrinkling his nose as he recalled the look Kíli had given him. “Next time, warn me about these sorts of traditions. I don’t want to offend someone or embarrass myself again.”
“Just don’t try to brush another Dwarrow’s hair, and you should be fine,” offered Ori as a rather nasty scowl formed on his face. It made him look a lot like Dori.
“Obviously, I won’t now that I know how important it is. I might offend someone again!”
Ori shook his head and clucked his tongue. “No, I mean don’t do it ‘cuz you belong to us and can only brush our hair.”
Bilbo squinted at his friend. “What?”
“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” Ori reassured, a scowl still lingering at his lips. “Just that you’re our Hobbit and part of our family now, and we don’t share, so those other Dwarrows need to remember that.”
Bilbo kept staring at the young Dwarrow; torn between annoyance at how he was being treated like a pet and a sweet fondness for the Dwarrow brothers who had accepted him into their family. He decided to settle on the latter but still gave a scolding tug on one of Ori’s braids.
“Who said I joined your family? Hmm? Did anyone ask me?” he asked with a mocking tone.
Ori stuck his tongue out in retaliation. “Dori filed for rights a week ago. He wants to add you to our family registry. He was waiting for it to be approved before he offered it to you.”
Bilbo paused and stared at the Dwarrow to see if he was telling the truth. “And… if I declined?”
“That’s fine. The offer will always be there even if you don’t want it,” Ori quickly consoled, patting him on the shoulder. “Oh, and I told him about how I wanna go with you back to the Shire to fight Smaug, and he… well, he said some things, and I said some things, but long story short, Dori is also coming along now.”
“Oh.” Bilbo had no idea how to feel about that. Should he be happy? Worried? Concerned? Mildly horrified that he was dragging more of his friends into his battle? The possibilities were endless. “I… guess he can come? I mean, not that I could ever tell Dori what to do…”
Ori nodded in sympathy. “Yeah. That’s why Nori and I don’t bother arguing with him about this kind of stuff anymore. Just not worth it.”
“Will he be allowed to leave? Will you? You both have important jobs,” he wondered.
Ori snorted and patted him on the shoulder. “Sure. Dwarrows going off to fight a dragon? Lord Balin will probably try to tag along, too.”
Bilbo decided to take his concerns about appearance and protocol to Lady Hafsa the next day, as she was, ultimately, his current mistress for the moment. At first, she seemed confused about his words, but she quickly caught on after he explained the rules he had mentioned regarding the garb of servants.
“This one did not think on it as Master Bilbo is a Hobbit and visitor,” she admitted, rubbing at the faint hairs on her chin. Bilbo had noticed that, oddly, Dwarrowdams from Orocarni like Lady Hafsa and even Hamide did not have very much facial hair like the Dwarrowdams of Erebor. He wondered whether it was by choice or just a quirk of those from Orocarni.
“That’s what I was thinking too. I’m not really from here, so I don’t really count as a citizen. Throw in the whole race thing too, and we’ve got a pretty big mess,” Bilbo agreed, playing with one of the decorative pillows on the stiff sofa.
Lady Hafsa nodded slowly. “Yes… This one will bring attention to the matter for Father to decide. His word will be followed.”
Bilbo tried not to make a face at the mention of the Vizier but recognized the chance to bring up the matter of the engagement. “Speaking of your father… Do you think anything could change his mind over the engagement?”
“It… Possibly?” Lady Hafsa offered, blinking slowly in consideration. “This one cannot say for sure. Perhaps, if better choices came about? Great disadvantages may also change his mind. It is… hard to foresee.”
“Who would be a better choice to engage you to than?”
“One who can compare to Lord Dáin. That would be… Crown Prince Fíli, but all know that the Crown Prince has vowed to marry for love,” the Dwarrowdam reflected, her brows furrowing slightly. “There are other lords of great power, but none as great as a son of Durin. Father will not choose anyone less.”
Okay. Then we’ll have to go at this from a different angle, Bilbo mused, playing with a stray piece of lace on the pillow. “I see. What about in Orocarni? Surely there must be some virtuous Dwarrows there who would be a good match.”
Lady Hafsa paused and looked at her Dwarrowdam bodyguard, Asya, for what Bilbo was beginning to suspect was reassurance in her answer. “Some offers were… considered by Father and Mother. Talks, even, of this lowly one joining Padishah Ahmed as his wife. Mother supported this as it would allow mother and daughter to remain together.”
Bilbo nodded in agreement. “That sounds like a pretty good deal. Why didn’t your father choose that one then?”
“The Iron Hills sent word of their offer shortly before decisions could be made,” Lady Hafsa admitted, nibbling on her bottom lip.
“Does your mother agree with sending you so far away?”
“No. Mother… Mother desires for her only daughter to remain at her side, but…”
But was powerless to do so, Bilbo finished to himself, easily connecting the dots. Dwarrowdams had little say as daughters, so he wasn’t surprised that the same deal went for the wives. He was beginning to recognize increasingly what an oddity Princess Dís and Lady Súna really were for Dwarrows. It also made him respect them even more for the mountain of expectations and laws that they had to overcome to be seen and heard by Dwarrows.
“What of… What of Master Bilbo’s mother?” Lady Hafsa asked quietly, peering at him while nibbling on her bottom lip. “Where does she lay her head?”
“My mother?” he repeated, surprised by the question. “Oh. She died some years ago due to an accident.”
Lady Hafsa’s eyes widened, and the three guards all exchanged a look that Bilbo could not read. “Apologies,” the Dwarrowdam quickly offered as something sad settled over her. “It is mournful to lose a parent. To lose Mother… this one believes the sadness alone would bring her to death’s side.”
“It was hard at first,” Bilbo admitted, recalling the first few years when he had quietly cried himself to sleep each night. It was the only time he had allowed himself to mourn and long for his parents. “But I got through it.”
Lady Hafsa nodded. “And… what of Master Bilbo’s father?”
Bilbo awkwardly scratched at his elbow. “Um, he also passed away. He got sick and just… didn’t get better.”
Lady Hafsa blanched. “Apologies—”
“No, no, it’s fine, you didn’t know,” he quickly reassured, waving away her words and plastering on a smile that he usually used on his patients. “So, how about you show me how you sew those patterns? I’ve never seen that stitching style before.”
Lady Hafsa, thankfully, took the cue and quickly launched into a detailed explanation of her stitching. They passed the morning this way before taking a short walk around the palace and then returning for Lady Hafsa’s daily nap. While she napped, Bilbo spoke to the bodyguards and officially learned all their names (Mehmed, Faik, and Asya) and that they had been serving as guards to their mistress since her birth. They were all related and had been serving Lady Hafsa’s family for generations. When Bilbo tried to ask them about what they thought of the engagement, the Dwarrows clammed up, but Asya admitted that it was not what they expected for their ward.
After Lady Hafsa woke up and was refreshed, they went to visit one of her brothers, Sermet, the scholar who had an enthusiastic interest in Hobbits. Bilbo was not looking forward to this visit as he recalled the rather… passionate Dwarrow who nearly jumped him when he met Bilbo. He didn’t think that enthusiasm had dampened. Bilbo’s hunch was proved correct when Pasha Sermet arrived, all but bouncing in excitement.
“Master Bilbo!” he greeted cheerfully, waving at him as they entered the room. “Greetings on this beautiful day! This lowly servant is so happy to see you again!”
Bilbo gave him a polite enough smile back and a small bow. “It is good to see you, too, Pasha Sermet. How are you today?”
“This lowly servant is well!” the Dwarrow chirped as he swooped down to give his little sister a kiss on the cheek. “Greetings, Little Sister. How goes your day?”
Lady Hafsa gave him a sweet smile and patted his hand. “This one is well, Sermet. Gratitude for joining us this day,” she said, taking a seat next to him on a sedan while Bilbo claimed a single chair off to the side. “This one has much to share with you. Master Bilbo has vowed to help find a way to end the engagement.”
Bilbo sat up straighter in alarm as Pasha Sermet turned his wide eyes to the Hobbit. “Oh? Why?” he asked without any anger.
“Um, because Lady Hafsa doesn’t want it?” Bilbo offered up, thrown off by the lack of fury from the Dwarrow. “I don’t think she should be forced into a marriage she doesn’t want to be in.”
“Oh.” Pasha Sermet looked to his sister and said something in Khuzdûl to her, to which she replied to him in the same tongue. Whatever it was she said, it had the Dwarrow beaming again as he looked back to Bilbo. “Much gratitude for your assistance, Master Bilbo!” he said, bowing his head to the Hobbit. “Kind, you are, to offer such help to this one’s precious sister!”
“It’s fine, it’s no problem,” Bilbo reassured, waving away the Dwarrow’s words. “I admit, though, I’m surprised by your lack of anger. I thought you would scold me for getting involved in this engagement or perhaps for messing up a great deal for your family.”
“Sermet has always been against the engagement,” Lady Hafsa quickly filled in, sitting up straighter in her seat. “Sixth Brother spoke out when the engagement was announced, but could not persuade Father. Only Mother listened to his words and saw reason.”
“Why have only you and your mother spoken out against the engagement? Why not more of your family?” Bilbo wondered, thinking of his own family and how they would have reacted to such a thing. While they would not force a marriage if one party was vehemently opposed, there would still be pressure if the marriage benefited the clan overall.
The two siblings exchanged a look of mutual frustration. “Our brothers Suat, Serdar, and Şükrü also oppose it, but would not give voice to stand against Father and Serkan. They only refused to come,” Pasha Sermet admitted. “Even Padishah was hesitant to agree, as Little Sister is still so young. But it is not in his power to oppose Father on the subject of her marriage. Serkan and Şevki also support it, and Padishah values Serkan’s word highly. He will not listen to us over his general.”
Bilbo felt his opinion of the Padishah drop slightly. “I see. Is your family the only family he has left?” he questioned, prodding a bit deeper. If he was going to dissolve this engagement yet keep the treaty between the two kingdoms, he was going to need as much information as possible about all involved.
“Yes. The rest of the royal family died in the coup,” Pasha Sermet explained, his face growing distant as he seemed to reflect on their bloody past. “Padishah Soner was the Padishah before Ahmed. Murdered, he was, with his husband and son and daughter. Only Ahmed survived as our father snuck him out and took him to our lands and hid him away. Then, when older and stronger, he returned with his army and avenged the fallen.”
“Long was the battle. We did not hear word from Father and Serkan for many days. Then, on the eighth day, they sent word of victory,” Lady Hafsa added, her expression also growing distant. “Padishah Ahmed was crowned the next day.”
“And currently, your Padishah remains unmarried and has no heirs from his own line, so if he does name someone as heir, it will have to be from your family,” Bilbo mused, tapping his fingers on his knee. “This is why Dáin’s mother, the Iron Lady, is also pushing for the engagement. She wants you to have a child with Dáin and for that child to be the heir of Padishah Ahmed. And likewise, your father wants a child born to you to be the heir to the Iron Hills. So, all of this relies on Lady Hafsa’s ability to give birth to a child…”
Lady Hafsa shuddered at his words, making Pasha Sermet pat her on the arm. When he noticed Bilbo’s look of confusion, he quickly explained, “Little Sister does not want to bear a babe. She is afraid of dying as her birth mother did.”
“The idea of carrying a babe makes this one’s skin crawl,” she added, her lips twisting down in visible disgust. “This one does not enjoy children either. Too loud, they are.”
Bilbo started to nod in understanding when he was hit with an idea for a possible solution to their problem. It made him sit up straight again, and so quickly that he drew the attention of both siblings. “I think I know how to break this engagement,” he said excitedly, looking to Lady Hafsa. “But I will need your permission to do it. We need to fake that you are infertile by temporarily stopping your moonblood.”
Pasha Sermet immediately turned a dark red that was visible even against his brown complexion and even browner beard, while the male bodyguards shifted in clear discomfort. But Lady Hafsa and her female guard, Asya, immediately focused on Bilbo with an intensity that surprised him. “Please, speak more, Master Bilbo,” Lady Hafsa requested, leaning towards the Hobbit and staring him down. “How would this method work?”
“It’s a mixture of herbs that, when consumed in a small dose, will stop your moonblood. But you must be careful in taking the prescription, as too much of the medicine may make you permanently infertile,” he cautioned. “It will also take the length of a new moon to show any results. Is it possible to stall and keep your party here for that long?”
“We are meant to stay for thirty days. Is that enough?” Pasha Sermet replied, shifting in his seat as he glanced between Bilbo and his sister.
Bilbo mentally does the math and reluctantly nods. “It will have to be. You will need to take the medicine by tomorrow to see a result before the thirty days are up,” he explained. “You may also deal with some side effects of nausea and headaches, but I can help you deal with all of that.”
“And-And it will not make Little Sister infertile for good? Yes?” Pasha Sermet questioned, biting his lower lip as he played with his sleeve.
“So long as she doesn’t take more than what I give her, then no, it won’t make her infertile for longer than two moons,” Bilbo explained, giving the nervous Dwarrow a smile that he hoped was kind and reassuring. “I wouldn’t risk Lady Hafsa’s health and ability to have children.”
Pasha Sermet nodded with visible relief as he leaned back in his seat, while at his side, Lady Hafsa stared down at her hands, her brows furrowed in thought. “We must reward Master Bilbo for taking on such a risk,” she murmured lowly, which made her brother nod in agreement.
“Oh, yes, we must,” he agreed, looking back to the Hobbit with a thick brow raised. “Master Bilbo, would you like to learn to speak Khuzdûl? This servant would be happy to teach you.”
Bilbo jerked back into his seat in surprise. “Please don’t make such cruel jokes with me, Pasha. I don’t find them so funny,” he said firmly, trying not to scowl.
Pasha Sermet merely blinked back at him owlishly. “This one is being honest in his question. It would be an honor to share this one’s mother tongue with you.”
Bilbo allowed his scowl to break through. “Dwarrows do not share their language with outsiders, no matter how close they may be. It’s the law,” he reminded the Dwarrow.
Pasha Sermet shook his head firmly. “No, it is a tradition only and holds no weight in law. It is also one that is practiced only here in the West. In Orocarni, we freely and proudly share our mother tongue with all who ask. It is the only way to ensure the language will live on.”
“Sixth Brother speaks true,” Lady Hafsa added, looking up to give Bilbo a nod of encouragement. “No kingdom has truly outlawed the practice of teaching the mother tongue to outsiders. And in Orocarni, it is common to teach the language with others. In the past, Brother has taught others.”
Bilbo could only look between the two siblings as a feeling of excitement and fear began to bubble in his chest. “You... You’re both serious. You would really teach me.”
Pasha Sermet nodded happily. “Yes, it—Master Bilbo, why are you crying?! Did this one offend you?! Apologies—”
Bilbo shook his head as he held up a hand, interrupting the babbling Dwarrow. “No, no, these are tears of joy, Pasha,” he stressed, rubbing his watery eyes clear. “I’m happy. So very, very happy. You cannot imagine what your offer means to me.”
Pasha Sermet stared at him hard for a moment before slowly nodding his head. “No. This one does not. But am pleased to offer it.”
Bilbo could only nod in agreement.