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He must have taken a wrong turn. Again. Bilbo sighed as he stood in front of the unfamiliar room. It was some sort of storage with spare tables and chairs stacked against the far wall.
Where did he go wrong? Right, left, right again, then straight ahead over the long bridge, left, left, right at the broken bannister and one more left. Right? Or was it right, right, left at the broken bannister?
He groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. Even a year worth of getting lost in this bloody mountain did not make it any easier. Thorin has, of course, insisted on assigning Bilbo a guide, especially after he got lost in the lower levels for almost a day a few months ago. The whole kingdom had been in an uproar about the missing Consort by the time he was found by several very harassed-looking royal guards, but Bilbo put his foot down. He was an adult Hobbit, damn it, and he could find his way around perfectly fine, thank you very much!
Except for the times when he couldn’t, of course. Like right now, for instance. He shifted the book he was holding in his arms, swearing under his breath. Curse his wandering thoughts! Walking back from the library was always tricky since Bilbo’s mind tended to get distracted by whatever it was he had been reading about, causing him to miss a turn without really noticing it. Well, but that wasn’t very helpful now, was it?
He took a few tentative steps back and considered his options. He could try to retrace his path and see if he came upon a familiar spot. Except all of the confounded halls and passageways looked exactly the same. Bilbo spend months trying to find little imperfections to help him navigate the place only for them to be fixed some time later and mess up his sense of direction completely.
There was no point in simply picking a course and starting to walk in the hopes of running into someone who could point him the right way because some of the older corridors were barely used. If he was unlucky, he might end up wandering the mountain for hours again, getting everyone into a tizzy, and Bilbo was not keen on that. The last time this happened, Thorin looked ready to declare war on Thranduil because he somehow became convinced that the elf king had kidnapped Bilbo and was holding him hostage. No, better avoid any large scale political conflicts.
His best chance was to try and retrace his steps the best he could and look for anything familiar. It wasn’t the ideal plan, but he couldn’t just sit here and wait to be rescued. Not to mention that his pride simply would not let him admit defeat. He had talked his way out of stickier spots than this, after all. For Yavanna’s sake, he faced a dragon and lived to tell the tale! If the orcs and goblins hadn’t done him in, this blasted maze of a mountain wasn’t going to either.
Bilbo kept his eyes peeled for any distinct features as he marched determinately back to the intersection he had passed a few minutes ago. If he wasn’t mistaken, he had turned left there, which meant that now he should go right. So far there wasn’t anywhere else to take a wrong turn, and—
As he approached the fork, still scanning the walls for any distinguishing characteristics, Bilbo suddenly noticed something carved low into the stone wall of the opposite corridor. A symbol of some sort. He bent down excitedly, examining the strange rune only to realise that it wasn’t a rune at all. An acorn! How peculiar. Bilbo ran his fingers over the outline, wondering what it meant. The edges were smooth, suggesting skilled dwarven hands left it there, and he wondered if it was some sort of remnant of days old from before the dragon came.
It was barely visible in the dark of the passageway, and if he wasn’t deliberately looking for any signs of familiarity, Bilbo would have missed it. I wonder if… he thought and turned to inspect the other corridors leading from the intersection. The one he came from didn’t have anything, but the one on the right had a little quill and the one to his left a small apple. How curious!
Bilbo paused and thought for a second, surveying the three symbols with narrowed eyes. He noticed that the space around them seemed a little brighter than the rest of the stone, as if someone took the care to polish it before carving the mark, which suggested that they were in fact new rather than some long lost artefact. A creeping suspicion settled in Bilbo’s gut as he finally made up his mind and continued straight ahead into the passageway with the acorn.
It didn’t take long to find a second one, hidden once again all the way to the floor in a hall to his right. He continued to follow the symbols, noticing other ones pop up every now and then. A tiny crown, a single leaf and one that looked like the imprint of a bird’s foot. By the time he encountered a little symbol for a market stall, Bilbo started to recognise the corridor he was in, spotting the broken bannister and a pale stretch of lichen growing low in the corner.
When he turned into the hall where their royal chambers were, Bilbo was sure he knew where exactly did the little symbols come from, where each of them lead and who were they meant for. That bastard, he thought affectionately as he nodded to the two dwarves standing guard in front of their door. So he did find a way how to help him navigate the mountain after all. Bilbo almost laughed because it was very like his infuriatingly stubborn king to not give up.
To be fair, he might have been a little more grumpy about his husband’s sneakiness if he hadn’t discovered the symbols right at a moment of great need. Well, Bilbo though, at least I don’t need that guide now. Which was just as well. Trust to leave it to Thorin to find a way how to keep him safe despite everything.
He opened the door to their study and found his dwarf hunched over one of the desks, reading a long scroll of parchment with a pinched frown. “The council is giving you trouble again?” he asked nonchalantly, depositing the book he brought from the library on his work table.
“Still, rather than again,” Thorin grumbled, taking off the adorably small reading glasses and rubbing his eyes. There were little pink indents on the bridge of his nose, and Bilbo wished to kiss them. “How was your expedition into the library?”
“Successful,” Bilbo informed him, tapping the cover of the book.
“And you found your way back without any trouble?” Thorin asked, mischief twinkling in his eyes.
Bilbo couldn’t help but grin, shaking his head in exasperation. He walked over, nudging his legs together, so he could straddle Thorin’s thighs as he settled in his lap.
“I did, but you already knew that,” he muttered, placing a slow kiss on his chapped lips. “I discovered your little present.”
“Mm.” Thorin smiled lazily, kissing Bilbo back and sliding his hands up his back. “I thought it rather clever.”
Bilbo laughed and grabbed hold of Thorin’s beard-braid, pulling him down to take control of the kiss. The king hummed happily, surrendering to his husband’s will.
“Do you need to get back to reading?” Bilbo asked after a few minutes, lips red and shining with saliva as he pulled away.
Thorin groaned. “Eventually, but a little break won’t hurt.” He ran his large hands up Bilbo’s thighs, digging his fingers hungrily into the soft flesh. “Would you be amenable to helping me relax?” he asked suggestively.
“I’d love to,” Bilbo purred before avoiding Thorin’s mouth and quickly jumping off his lap. “A quiet contemplation with some tea would be very relaxing, I’m sure,” he added wickedly, laughing merrily as he scurried out of Thorin’s reach and into their little kitchen. “I’ll put the kettle on,” he called, grinning at the crestfallen expression on Thorin’s face.
“You’re cruel, husband,” Thorin groaned from the next room, huffing at Bilbo’s tinkling laughter.
“Take it as my little revenge.” He struck a match to heat some water. “I trust you can find your way to the sitting room, or do you need me to carve a few symbols along the way?”
Thorin barked a laugh but didn’t say anything more. A second later, Bilbo heard the click of his cane as he moved out of the study. He smiled, selecting their favourite blend of tea and humming happily to himself. Who knows, maybe if his husband was suitably remorseful, he might get a reward later. There was no hurry after all.