Chapter Text
The last time Bilbo had seen Lake-town, it was a shell of itself. A graveyard of charred remains stuck out from the earth like broken limbs. Now, however, new life had sprung up in the remains of the old city, like new seeds sewn in barren land. The buildings in the center of town had been rebuilt and there were several more in the process of being repaired. A handful of men were out on the water with fishing nets. Children played between blackened ruins.
As they passed by the children in the street stopped to stare. Frodo waved at them from the cart. One little girl waved back, but another child quickly scolded her.
“The children of men are very shy creatures,” Bilbo told Frodo softly. “Don’t take it to heart.”
After some time, the city of Dale became visible on the horizon, and Bilbo felt a bit breathless.
“Is that Erebor?” Frodo asked, pointing before them. The mountain was far more visible now, jutting up from the earth behind the city and looming over them all.
“It sure is, lad,” said Nori from atop his pony. “An beneath it is the greatest dwarven city you will ever see.”
“The city is underground?” Frodo asked.
“Of course,” said Nori with a chuckle.
“But why would you want to live underground?” Frodo asked him.
“Dwarrow feel best when they are surrounded by stone,” Nori said. “The same, I suspect, as hobbits and their greenery.”
They arrived at the gates of Dale in the late afternoon, as Frodo was beginning to complain of hunger and ask for dinner. Men stood dressed in armor at the gate and stopped them as they approached.
“We are dwarves of Erebor returning from the West,” said Fíli, sounding much like a real prince. “We would like to speak with King Bard if he is available.”
“They aren’t dwarves,” said one of the guards, pointing to Bilbo and Frodo.
“That is Bilbo Silvertongue, the Hero of Erebor, and his son,” said Fíli pointedly. The guard cleared his throat awkwardly and waved them through.
“The King’s home is just straight ahead, you’ll have to ask there if he can see you,” said the other guard.
As they passed through the gate and headed into what had become a bustling city, Frodo leaned close to Bilbo.
“Your name isn’t Silvertongue, it’s Baggins,” he whispered.
“That’s certainly true,” said Bilbo. To the dwarves he said, “My name is not Silvertongue.”
“It’s the battle name that was given to you after you left,” said Kíli. “You got us out of trouble with your wit, and you saved our lives more than once.”
“Battle name?” Bilbo sputtered. “I don’t need one of those! Baggins is perfectly acceptable.”
“We could just say Bilbo, Hero of Erebor,” said Fíli.
“Absolutely not!” Bilbo exclaimed. The two dwarves laughed.
“It’s a thing of respect, Master Boggins,” said Kíli. “It tells people that you’re important, and it will help dwarves to take you seriously without you having to prove yourself like any other outsider would.”
Bilbo scowled. He couldn’t deny that it would be nice to be respected without all the hassle of proving himself, but there was nothing wrong with just calling him by his name!
They arrived at a grand looking house in the center of the city. To Bilbo, it looked like a castle. Guards stood atop towers and stared at them from the great door. People milled about, carrying jugs of water and bags of flour, or leading horses to and from stables.
Before they even made to approach the door, it swung open and a tall boy ran toward them. His hair was long, and his clothing was well-made, if simple. He looked remarkably like Bard had when Bilbo had met him, but years younger. This must be his son Bain, but significantly taller than he’d been then.
“It’s you!” He said. “The hobbit!”
“It’s me,” said Bilbo. “Is your father available to chat?”
“I’m sure he’ll be available when I tell him it’s you asking.”
“Don’t interrupt his work if he’s busy,” Bilbo insisted, but Bain acted as though he hadn’t heard them.
“Come inside,” he said. “Someone will keep your things safe for a while.”
So they handed off the cart to a servant and stepped into the house. On the inside it was much more like a regular house, if much larger than any Bilbo had ever seen. More servants bustled about. Bain lead them down the halls and around corners to large open hall where luncheon was being served.
“Sit and eat, I’ll go get my da,” said Bain. “It’s about time for him to take a break from work anyway.”
The boy left them and they happily made plates from the many dishes on the table. Frodo stared around the room wide-eyed as he chewed on fish and root vegetables, having never seen so many men in one room in his life. Dale had recovered magnificently in so short a time. While it was clear that repairs were slow, the population had boomed and the economy seemed to have flourished with trade from Mirkwood and Erebor supporting it.
A hush went over the hall and Bilbo turned to see that Bain had returned with Bard at his side. Bard wore very simple clothing for a king, but made from expensive, hardy fabrics. There were gold rings on his fingers and his boots were hardly scuffed at all. He looked around and headed right for them once he’d found them in the crowd.
“Welcome,” he said, sitting down beside Bilbo. “I thought you had returned to the West.”
“I did,” said Bilbo. “But my dear friends here decided to come retrieve me.” Frodo peeked his head out from Bilbo’s other side and Bard visibly started.
“Who’s this?” he asked with a bewildered smile.
“My son, Frodo,” said Bilbo.
“Hello,” said Frodo quietly.
“Hello, Frodo,” said Bard. “My name is Bard.”
“Are you the king?” Frodo asked him. Bard winced.
“I am,” he said. “But you can just use my name, it’s alright.”
“We aren’t planning to stay long,” said Nori. “I think we would feel better if we got home today since the mountain is so close.”
“It will be quite late when you arrive,” said Bard.
“That’s alright,” said Nori.
“You wouldn’t rather stay the night so we’re rested when we arrive?” Bilbo asked. To the dwarrow, it was just arriving home. They could go right to their beds and ber certain of a meal in the morning. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was going to have to defend himself the moment he arrived or not, and he would much prefer to do so after having slept and eaten than after a long day of travel and while consoling an overtired faunt.
“It’s a waste of time when we’re but a few hours’ travel away,” Nori said. Bilbo frowned, but said nothing when Kíli started talking about how his amad had been living in Erebor again for just over two years and how she hadn’t wanted him to go all the way to the Shire but had relented, and how she would be so excited to meet Bilbo.
“Is there somewhere we can speak?” Bilbo asked Bard quietly. Nori stared at him across the table, but Bard just nodded and stood.
“I’ll be just a moment,” Bilbo told Frodo. “Stay right here and I’ll be right back.” Frodo furrowed his brow nervously but he nodded. Kíli moved around the table to take Bilbo’s spot next to the faunt and continued his story about his mother’s reaction upon returning to Erebor. She had apparently been furious about how her sons’ lives had been so at risk and had chewed Thorin out in front of everyone for how he’d nearly died and how her boys had been injured.
Bard brought Bilbo to a sparse office down a hallway. There were large doors kept open to let in the spring air which led to a balcony with an excellent view over the city center. There was a sturdy wooden desk, a large painting of Bard’s children on the wall, and a mostly empty bookshelf, but not much else.
“We passed through the Woodland Realm on the way here and I was told that the Elvenking wanted something delivered to you, but I figured that was better done away from so many eyes,” Bilbo said, retrieving the little brocade pouch from his pocket. Bard’s lips parted in surprise.
“Indeed, I appreciate your discretion,” he said. He took the pouch reverently and opened it at once, even though Bilbo hadn’t expected him to do so. The necklace he pulled out of it was not any kind of necklace Bilbo had ever seen. The chain was made of delicate silver links, already ethereal in its own right, but the pendant truly took his breath away. He might have believed that Thranduil had simply reached up into the sky and pulled one of the stars down to place on this chain. It was some kind of crystal or gemstone carved into a distinctly elven star shape with fine, glittering points. It seemed to emit some kind of light in its own right, even in the day.
“It’s like a silmaril,” Bilbo whispered. Bard didn’t reply, staring at the stone with a slack jaw. It wasn’t a silmaril, that much Bilbo knew for sure. It wasn’t magical or ancient, but everything the elves created bore something of elven magic left over from being handled by creatures so set apart. This necklace would not have any power of its own but, in a way, it bore some essence of its creator. If it had actually been Thranduil to make this, it was as though he had given Bard a piece of himself. If it had not been, but it had been owned by Thranduil for a long time, it could possibly have the same kind of meaning. It occurred to Bilbo that he, in delivering this gift, had witnessed something no one else would ever get to see, and something that was likely never meant to be explained out loud.
“Thank you for bringing me this,” said Bard softly.
“Of course,” said Bilbo. Bard clasped the necklace on his neck and then hid it beneath his clothing, then looked over and made very deliberate eye contact. They didn’t speak, but there were layers to their friendship that hadn’t been there before. There were very few people in Middle Earth who could understand this part of them. The part that loved a creature who had seen so many more years than they had and yet would see so many more than they ever would. The part that had loved knowing that they would someday leave their partner to face centuries more without them.
Bilbo could only hope that Bard got to cherish that love for as long as he had it, instead of abandoning it to time and distance like Bilbo had.
—
There was a sickness in the forest of Mirkwood that Bilbo could feel like a physical weight. It was a thick fog when they traveled through the trees, and worse so once the company had left the path within the home of the Elvenking the weight was much less, but still noticeable in the back of Bilbo’s mind. A paranoia, a shadow around every corner.
Bilbo had gotten lucky and had slipped on his ring before the elves could catch him, following them through a colorless world so that he wouldn’t be separated from the others. Thorin was taken to see the king while the other dwarves were put directly into cells below the earth. Bilbo hardly allowed himself to remove the ring, and spent most of his time hiding in dark halls and storage rooms, constantly afraid that the keen hearing of elves would reveal him to them. The little time he did spend without the ring on, he was scarfing down any snack he could find and talking quietly with the imprisoned dwarves. Wherever Thorin had been taken after his talk with the Elvenking, it was separated from his company. Perhaps as a punishment, or simply to lower the chances of their escape.
Bilbo felt sick all the time. He wasn’t sure if it was the constant, clawing hunger, or wearing the ring for so long, or simply the same darkness that hung over Mirkwood seeping into him. He never mentioned it to the dwarves. They already got so little to eat, and they were facing potentially missing the deadline to retake the mountain, so truly his problems weren’t so insurmountable. When they asked, he hinted that he stole from the elven stores and larders and that he slept in abandoned closets, even though he had hardly slept at all since they had been captured.
He came across Thorin’s cell quite by accident. He’d hidden in a corner and saw an elf carrying a plate down into the lower cells where Bilbo hadn’t gone before. They were dank and wet and dim, a completely unsuitable place for even the worst of criminals. Yet, when he crept after the elf, that is where he found Thorin. The dwarf had been stripped of all his weapons and fineries, left with only his plain trousers and tunic for warmth in the dark, chilly dungeon. The elf slipped the plate into the cell with little fanfare and then left him. There were no guards save the ones on the floors below. Perhaps they assumed that even if Thorin did escape his cell, that he couldn’t leave without being seen.
As soon as the elf had gone, Bilbo pulled the ring from his finger and revealed himself. Thorin started at once, but smiled in relief when he saw it was Bilbo.
“Bilbo!” He exclaimed. “I had believed you lost!”
Bilbo went a bit warm. Since their… conversation at Beorn’s home, Thorin had dropped the titles and called Bilbo by his first name. He was glad for it, of course, as it was quite odd to him to be referred to as ‘Master Baggins’ all the time, but knowing that it was significant to Thorin made him feel quite flustered each time his name was said. Many of the other dwarves had taken to using his name as well, but out of a friendship borne of the many battles they had fought at each others’ sides. With Thorin, it was different.
“I’m not your burglar for nothing,” said Bilbo. “They haven’t caught me yet.”
“You’re eating?” Thorin asked. Bilbo refrained from looking down to check if the weight he could feel he’d lost was so visible through his clothes.
“I take what I can when they’re not looking,” he said. Thorin furrowed his brow in concern.
“Please find a way to take care of yourself,” he said. “It will be of no relief to me if you are uncaptured only to starve anyway.”
“I’m doing the best I can,” said Bilbo. “Look, I’m going to find a way to get you all out of here.”
“It cannot be done,” said Thorin with finality.
“Of course it can,” said Bilbo. “The Elvenking may not believe so, but I’m not convinced there is any kingdom in all of Middle Earth that cannot be broken out of.” Thorin clenched his jaw.
“Come here,” he said, waving Bilbo toward the cell bars. Bilbo stepped closer and Thorin reached out between the bars to grip him by the collar and kiss him. The bars pressed uncomfortably against Bilbo’s cheeks, and he couldn’t wrap his arms around Thorin’s neck as he wanted, settling instead for gripping his strong biceps, but it settled something in him that had been restless since they had entered the forest.
“If you say you will find a way out, then I believe you,” said Thorin fondly when he pulled away. Bilbo squeezed his arm.
“Just give me a few more days,” he said. Then there was a noise like footsteps from somewhere too close for Bilbo’s comfort and he stepped away. “I’ll visit as often as I can.”
“Don’t get caught for my sake,” Thorin hissed. “Stay safe!”
Bilbo slipped the ring back onto his finger and pressed himself against the wall as an elven guard came down the steps. Bilbo quickly hurried up and out of the dungeon, looking for a dark corner where he could sit and come up with a plan.
—
The group left Dale after their meal. Bard, Bain, and Bard’s younger daughter Tilda – who had been visiting a friend and had only come back in time to say her hellos and goodbyes in the same breath – waved from the door as they headed north toward Erebor along a winding, sloped path. Bilbo was driving this time, hoping that focusing on the ponies would help keep him from overthinking, and Frodo was easily entertained by Kíli’s stories of the Blue Mountains and the reclamation of Erebor. Fíli moved to sit just behind Bilbo once they had been on the road for a few hours.
“Can I ask a personal question?” He asked quietly. “I won’t be offended if you don’t want to answer once I ask it.”
“You can certainly ask,” said Bilbo. There was very little he would consider too personal to tell the young dwarf, but still much that he didn’t want to discuss in so public a setting.
“Is it possible…” Fíli trailed off and then continued even quieter than before. “It’s really none of my business, but I’ve been wondering… Can you- not you, really. But… it is possible for male hobbits to… to become…” Bilbo began to think he knew exactly what Fíli was asking, but chose to let him finish speaking before he said anything at all. He hoped that would make less uncomfortable for them both. “...to bear children?” Fíli said eventually, flushed red and fidgeting with his sleeves.
“It is,” said Bilbo simply. “And it is certainly a personal thing to ask, but I think we’re quite close enough after everything for you to know that much.”
Fíli stared at him, opening and closing his mouth a few times. His eyes briefly darted to Frodo and then back to Bilbo, who sighed.
“Yes, that is how Frodo came to be,” said Bilbo. “I’m not sure what other scenarios you came up with to explain him, but you may clear your mind of them.”
“I’m so sorry,” Fíli whispered, looked horrified. Bilbo wasn’t sure whether he was referring to the conversation they’d had in the Shire and if he was still feeling like Bilbo might be upset with him, or if he was referring to pregnancy in general until he managed to speak again. “You should not have had to go through something like that alone. I can’t… I can’t even imagine…”
“I wasn’t alone, dear boy,” said Bilbo meaningfully. He reached over with one of his hands and took Fíli’s. “That is how I made such good friends out of the elves of Imladris and Mirkwood. It was Aramil who spoke to me with kindness when I felt most alone, it was Lord Elrond who helped me through labor and who held my hand and consoled me, it was Aranduil and Galithil who came to my home with me and helped me in the early weeks when I didn’t have a clue how to raise a child.” Fíli looked stricken.
“We should have been there, he said.
“You’re here now,” said Bilbo. “You’re becoming a friend for my Frodo, you’re giving me back a family I had thought lost forever.”
“A family?” Fíli asked.
“Of course we’re family,” said Bilbo fondly. He squeezed Fíli’s hand and pretended not to notice when the dwarf began to weep silently.
They only stopped once, briefly, to let Frodo see all the new wildflowers along the path. Fíli took over driving for the last few hours of the journey, Frodo chatted loudly, interrupted only by big yawns they all chose to ignore to be sure Frodo slept once they arrived. By the time they approached the mountain, the sun had fully set. Still, the gates were opened without fanfare, likely due to the status of the dwarves in Bilbo’s company. Bilbo fiddled with his buttons to hide the way his hands trembled, especially as Kíli jumped from the cart once they were inside.
The kingdom had become truly magnificent in the years Bilbo had been gone. In the entrance hall, there was hardly anything left of the destruction left by Smaug and the battle which had nearly taken Thorin’s life. There were very few dwarrow about, mostly guards and a handful of others who watched them curiously as they climbed out of the cart. Fíli gave instructions in Khuzdul to a finely dressed servant, who seemed to be put in charge of Bilbo’s things since they took the ponies away and then began taking his things out of the cart.
It seemed that Bilbo would have until the morning before he would have to face Thorin. He gripped Frodo’s hand while the boy tried to take everything in and breathed deeply. Even the scent of the mountain was different. It was clear of smoke and despair, giving the whole place an entirely different feeling. Without the darkness in Thorin’s mind and the orcs slaughtering them all, Bilbo could take a moment to admire the kingdom’s beauty before he allowed himself to worry about where they would sleep and how he could face Thorin in the morning.
“Irak’adad! Amad!” Kíli cried. Bilbo froze before he looked further down the grand entrance hall to find the very dwarf who had plagued him so dressed in a fine dressing gown and looking very much like he had just seen a corpse get up and walk. His hair,where before it had born silver like a vein in a deep mine, now looked more akin to a clear, starry sky. His hair was long as ever and spilled attractively over his shoulders, unbraided. His beard was longer too – though not as long as that of any other gathered there – and bore different braids than the ones he had worn during their journey, not nearly as intricate as some others in the Company. Beside him was a dwarrowdam who looked as though she could be his twin, though her nose was wider, her waist was thicker, and there was much less grey in her hair and beard. This must be Dís, Thorin’s sister. Her dark hair was gathered into one long, thick braid down her back. There were a few beads within it, but many were placed within her beard and the many, intricate braids it bore. She was clearly dressed for sleep, but much more regally than Thorin, looking much more the part of royalty than he did.
Kíli tucked himself under her arm, but her eyes were on Bilbo, whose heart was pounding as he clutched Frodo’s hand. From behind the dwarves, the company appeared, all dressed for bed. They went right past the royalty and came to greet Bilbo. Nori knocked heads with Dori and then went to Dwalin, grazing their noses together affectionately. Bilbo watched for a moment, wondering when that had happened, before Bofur punched him in the arm hard enough to throb.
“It’s good to see you, my friend,” Bilbo said, unable to begrudge the dwarf the hit.
“It would have been good to see you three and a half years ago,” Bofur said before pulling Bilbo in for a tight hug. There was a series of greetings as each dwarf said their hellos and diplomatically avoided asking why he had left.
“Who is this?” Glóin asked gruffly, with a gesture toward Frodo, who had pressed himself against Bilbo’s leg.
“This is Frodo,” said Bilbo. “My son.”
“Your son?” exclaimed Ori, from where he stood beside Fíli. The two dwarves had greeted each other immediately, pressing their foreheads together and now stood separately, clasped hands between them. Bilbo barely had time to wonder about that development, because he faced a barrage of questions from everyone at once. Then, suddenly, Thorin was there, watching with mixed emotions on his face. Bilbo couldn’t quite tell what exactly the dwarf was thinking as the king approached, looking him up and down.
“It’s good to see you, Burglar,” said Thorin, eventually. Bilbo swallowed.
“And you as well,” he said. He wasn’t sure if he still had the right to call Thoirn by name or if he should say something silly like ‘Your majesty’ just to be safe. Thorin wasn’t using Bilbo’s name, even though they knew each other quite well enough for it to be acceptable, even after parting. But then, Bilbo realized, he had been silent long enough that something in Thorin’s eyes shuttered and went cold.
“I imagine you’re both quite tired from the journey,” said Thorin stiffly. “There are rooms for you. Of course, I wasn’t aware we were expecting a child as well, but I’m certain that won’t be an issue.”
“Thank you,” Bilbo said. Balin, who stood closest to Thorin, watched them with a strange expression. Dwalin and Bofur were openly frowning. Perhaps there was something Thorin wasn’t saying? He knew that Dwalin and Balin were close with Thorin, being both actually related to him and close political allies. Had he told them something that he was now hiding? But then what would Bofur be upset about? He had never been particularly close to Thorin, as much as they respected each other.
The dwarrowdam approached, now that all the company had greeted them, first greeting her eldest son quietly and then walking toward Bilbo. Thorin barked something at her in Khuzdul and she only cracked a smile, then very stiffly shook his hand, as though she had never done so before.
“My name is Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thrór,” she said.
“Oh!” said Bilbo. “I’m Bilbo Baggins-”
“I know,” she interrupted. “My brother never stops talking about you.”
“Dís,” Thorin hissed in warning. The princess laughed, the metal beads braided into her beard clacking together as she did.
“I only tease,” she told Bilbo. “If you would allow, I would like to walk you and your… dashat to your rooms.”
“Of course,” said Bilbo. He said his goodnights to the company, who were all suspiciously quiet as the princess led him and Frodo down a side hall, and pondered the way she had paused when speaking about Frodo. Did that word dashat mean child? Son? Or was it some kind of insult disguised by her mother tongue?
“I have been quite eager to meet you Master Baggins,” said Dís. “Thorin has spoken of you very fondly since I arrived here. Given your exemplary reputation, I looked forwardto speaking with you myself.”
“Well, I certainly hope to live up to your expectations,” Bilbo said,feeling quite out of his element. Dís only hummed noncommittally and he felt stomach squeeze anxiously.
“Da, are we sleeping under the ground?” Frodo asked quietly from Bilbo’s side. He has dragging his feet on the stone floor and his eyes drooped sleepily.
“I would imagine so,” Bilbo said gently.
“Oh,” said Frodo. “I’ve never slept under the ground before.”
“I’m afraid all of the rooms in the mountain are underground,” said Dís, “since that is where we dwarrow like it best.”
“You’ve done a lot of new things in the past months and none of them were all that bad,” Bilbo told the faunt.
“I didn’t like Mirkwood,” said Frodo. Bilbo chuckled.
“I suppose that is an exception,” he said. “Mirkwood is not a good place for little faunts, is it?”
“I’m not little,” said Frodo frowning.
They were descending flights of stairs, now, and passing through empty hallways lined only with oil lamps. The shadows cast on the stone walls were eerily similar to the caves below the Misty Mountains where Gollum lived, if a bit more nicely carved. Dís’ heavy boots, worn with her sleeping clothes, thudded as they walked, while Bilbo’s bare feet were nearly silent.
“They call you Silvertongue,” she said after a moment.
“Fíli mentioned that once,” said Bilbo bashfully.
“I’m beginning to wonder how many of the stories are true,” said the princess. “Not to disparage your name, of course, but many of those you traveled with do tend to exaggerate, and you’re only a halfling, after all.” She said it all so conversationally, so casually, that Bilbo could hardly do more than splutter in indignation before they arrived at a door far too large and ornately carved for Bilbo’s liking and the princess wished him a good night before disappearing down the hall.
“She’s not very nice,” said Frodo, punctuating the sentence with a large yawn.
“Let’s get you in bed,” said Bilbo. Privately, he agreed. But, contrarily, dwarrow were not a polite race. It was in their nature to speak their thoughts and to doubt outsiders. Dís was clearly protective of her kin and her kingdom, it was only natural that she would have a difficult time believing Bilbo had really been of any help on their journey.
Bilbo resolved to form his opinion on her another time when he’d had more than one conversation with her and after he’d had a night’s rest. Once he had a better idea of what stories were being told about him and how much Erebor had changed, he could better decide how to approach someone so formidable.