OMG -we're finally here.

Many, many thanks to the amazing talents of some very special ladies - krystal lazuli and NepthysMoon. Without your help, this would never have come into being.

And WFT? I thought that Epilogues were supposed to be short? But even after 17,500 words, neither of my betas thought that this should be split into more manageable lengths, so without further ado, here it is; the end.

Forge of Origins:

The Legacy of Our Fathers

Epilogue

The Words of Mazurbul

And There Shall Be Shown a Token

~In which Thorin makes tea, Kíli really wishes he hadn't and Dwalin's softer side is exposed ~

-..-

THEY HAD DECIDED on tonight to attempt the Bonding Rite, and Thorin had found that he felt as if he were going to crawl out of his skin between anxiety and nervous energy.

Sometime during their time in the Healing Halls—well, most likely during their tryst if Thorin wanted to be honest, the bond stretching between them had strengthened, lending much-needed stability and peace after the painful distending during their time apart. Thorin was really hoping that this was going to make the actual bonding process easier; in all the history of his people, no dwarrow had ever taken a hobbit as their Bondmate. Rationally, Thorin knew Bilbo was experiencing their Bond—he had seen evidence of it himself; had felt evidence of it himself. Still, he couldn't quite calm his fears that when it came down to it, he would be unable to guide them through it, either down to his own inadequacies, or Bilbo simply being unable, because he was a hobbit.

And hobbits don't have Bondmates.

Round and round his fears and thoughts chased each other until he was glad he had decided to surprise Bilbo with his Tea ceremony before they tried to consummate their Bond. Trying to remember all the myriad details was just the distraction he needed.

The candles had been Bofur's idea, and they threw a gentle flame that helped push back the gloom of a rainy afternoon, defining a warm nest within the empty space of his unadorned chamber in which their small rite could take place. The scent of beeswax hung in the air, pure and fresh, tickling Thorin's nose and reminding him of their time spent in Beorn's house and how much he had admired the rosy glow being safe and warm and well-fed for a few nights had brought to Bilbo's skin. He had longed then to run his finger over the roundness of Bilbo's cheeks, and gauge the fine texture of his skin for himself—to take his warmth within his heart so that it might brand him in ways Thorin daren't even dream about back then.

It had been a long journey from that place to this night. Tonight, though, he got to appreciate the shining russet gold of Bilbo's curls, and the fact that he could finally brush the hobbit's soft skin with his own and know that the small, heartfelt touches were welcome.

There was a table sitting in the centre of Thorin's chamber where no table had stood previously; a relic from his grandfather's time. It had been unearthed from a dusty corner somewhere in the kingdom, and patiently hand polished by Dwalin until it glowed in the flickering light as though new. The snowy white linen it was laid with was a gift from Balin, while Glóin's wife donated the fine Belegostian china. A long narrow table sat by the door, placed for Thorin to throw his crown and other badges of office on when he came in after escaping the Guilds and their endless bickering. It was now adorned with an…unusual, and large, arrangement. Containing both flower stalks, with all the flowers removed, and an assortment of what looked to be leafy vegetables, he felt safe in assuming the amalgam was a gift from Bifur, though he was uncertain if it was supposed to be decorative, or if they were supposed to eat it. Thankfully, Fíli had arranged with the girl from Laketown—Bard's eldest—to bring in fresh flowers, and they filled little vases scattered on every surface. Thorin wasn't sure if he was more warmed by his company's desire to help, or embarrassed that they obviously felt he couldn't woo Bilbo without it.

Privately, he was forced to acknowledge that they were probably right. He focused on feeling pleased, instead, counting each small gesture of support amongst the treasures of his heart; even, reluctantly, Óin's carefully prepared pot of scented oil that the aged healer had left for him, along with an embarrassingly detailed list of instructions and suggestions for its usage.

The penmanship looked suspiciously like Ori's.

Ori, who was less than half of Thorin's age, and who only barely qualified as an adult.

Little Ori, who it turned out, had some very creative suggestions.

A beautiful, and priceless, teapot of the rose-gold that only came from the old Firehalls of Nogrod crowned the table as a centrepiece, lined in hard-fired ceramic and inlayed with beautiful patterns in mother of pearl and opal. Beside it lay his original gift; the finely-wrought bird resting on a scrap of deep forest green velvet from Dori's stores. A small gleaming wooden box adorned in platinum and peridot sat slightly apart, lid propped open to display Bilbo's Tea, the final product of Dori's patient tutelage.

Next to the table, on a delicate wheeled cart, which Dori had told him was specifically used for such, was his tea service—a brazier full of glowing coals, a small iron pot with a pouring lip, and various sundries he hoped he remembered the purpose of.

A deep breath; he could do this. He knew in his heart that Bilbo would forgive him any failures tonight, but Thorin wasn't entirely sure how to forgive himself. This was important in Bilbo's tradition, and Thorin was prideful enough to want it to go perfectly. This was another craft of his hand, to show his care for his One, to show Bilbo his own worth. And Bilbo deserved that he spend a lifetime learning the intricacies of this ceremony, as hobbits no doubt began learning the needed skills as fauntlings, much as dwarf badgers did, perfecting and practicing as tweens until, finally coming of age, and sharing the summation of their skills with one worthy of their efforts. In the end, he hoped he could manage a credible apprentice effort with the time he'd been able to give it.

Shortly after they'd breakfasted, Bilbo had been swept away by his nephews, begging advice and attention and giving Thorin time to smuggle in an ornately carved pastry board (the precise hand that carved was of course, very familiar, evident in the delicate turns and whorls that adorned it), bearing the fruits of Bombur's patient lessons in the kitchens, but he knew the appointed time was drawing near, and his sister-sons would ensure Bilbo was back shortly.

And he'd run out of time. The door was opening, and Thorin could hear the teasing sounds of his nephews' laughter as Bilbo was speaking; too indistinct to make out the actual words. Somewhere along the way, the little party had picked up Nori.

"Good evening, Master Baggins," Thorin said, feeling all his nerves settle at the sight of Bilbo's wide smile and bright eyes. He could feel his lips curl in response, a soft, involuntary smile.

Had he smiled, before Bilbo came into his life? Surely he must have, but he wasn't positive anyone but the closest of kin would believe it.

"Thorin!" Bilbo smiled just a little bit wider, a little bit warmer as he turned. Thorin could see the exact moment when Bilbo stopped looking at him, and noticed the changes to the chamber. "What's all this?" he asked, but his voice was much softer now, obviously recognising Thorin's preparations.

Fíli gave one glance around the room, as if noting that everything was ready, and turned to Bilbo, taking one of the hobbit's hands in his. "Enjoy your afternoon, Uncle Bilbo," he smiled, turning to leave. He gave a brief nod to Kíli and Nori, and slipped out the door before the stunned Bilbo could find his tongue.

Bilbo's fingers were trembling, and Thorin knew he was desperately trying to maintain his composure. Since the traumatic events during their injured state, Bilbo had struggled, finding his emotions closer to the surface and harder to control. Progress was being made; moments where Thorin would find him and hold him through storms of uncontrollable weeping, or moments of targetless anger were growing fewer, and Bilbo no longer flinched when he felt overwhelmed in the presence of unfamiliar dwarves. He'd told Thorin in the dark hours they'd spent together healing in Óin's infirmary that it had felt like where the back of his head should be, there was nothing but a gaping void, from which pieces of himself kept falling out. He'd talked about trying to build a wall, to quarantine that part of his mind so that he could think and deal with Jústi and the invasion of their mountain, and Thorin had struggled hard to contain his horror when he realized just how close they had come to Bilbo dying through septic shock, while he himself had been protected by the mediation rites and sigils cast by his family when he'd first fallen. The fact that Bilbo had somehow found the strength of will to function through it? The songs sung of his diminutive Consort would go down through the ages as Hero's Ballads, and were destined to make Bilbo very uncomfortable with their popularity by season's end.

A quiet word with his nephew, and Fíli had taken to spending time with Bilbo in the mornings, helping him learn the simpler runes, meditations and mysticism of everyday dwarven rites, and slowly, Bilbo was recovering from his psychic injury, though it was like watching someone learn to depend on a crutch, when before they'd had a whole and hale leg. Thorin longed to wrap him up, keep him safe and wait on him hand and foot for all his needs for the rest of his days. He had enough sense to realise that to do so would in a very real sense, smother his hobbit, and so he was learning the equally difficult task of not hovering and letting Bilbo stand on his own as much as he was able. Still, surrounded by the company's unending support, Bilbo flourished, and it was only in private moments like this that Bilbo showed signs of his struggles.

He stepped forward, smoothly sliding one of Bilbo's shaking hands into the crook of his arm as he turned him to face the area he had so painstakingly prepared. "I hope I have everything right, Beloved," he murmured softly, for Bilbo's ears alone, "But if I perhaps failed utterly, please be kind enough to leave my pride intact before my nephew, or I will never hear the end of it."

As intended, Bilbo let out a snort, relaxing infinitesimally. "Well, I suppose that depends on how much you manage to impress me, oh King," he murmured back cheekily. Kíli peered suspiciously at their low conversation and poorly disguised snickers. But truly, Thorin felt giddy, with happiness and nerves bubbling in equal measure beneath his skin, and he was willing to wager, given the faint flush to his ears and heady warmth rising from his skin, that Bilbo was no better off than he; so was it any wonder they snickered like badgers released from lessons early?

"If you truly have to ask what this is, Bilbo, then perhaps Uncle Thorin didn't do a credible job?" Kíli piped up, with all the mock censorship and sternness of a disapproving old Aunty. "We most certainly won't be giving our approval, if he's going to make such a poor showing!"

Bilbo turned, letting his hand slide from Thorin's arm as he regarded Kíli and Nori, as if just remembering their presence. Nori just raised a brow and smirked. Thorin wasn't quite sure how the company had decided who would have the honour of representing Bilbo's family. Kíli wasn't a surprising choice; he had been devoted to Bilbo during Thorin's absence and Bilbo had become especially invested in Kili's welfare since learning of his supressed Heart Craft. There was also a kinship over shared possession of the gold ring; the evil feeling of which Kíli had shared during a private moment at their bedside. Bilbo, for his part, had been deeply shaken by his reactions to the ring during his escape, especially the way it had made certain parts of him and their bond numb and empty. He bade Kíli keep it secured in the rock for them, where no one could reach it. Something about both of their reactions and their tense expressions when they discussed it, disturbed Thorin deeply, and he vowed to speak to Gandalf when next he might about the dark thing now residing under his mansion. Kíli's training had become of upmost importance if he were to make a solid contract with the rock that held it locked away; Thorin didn't want to take any chances with something that might, on some level, think for itself. One thing Kíli shared with him, after Bilbo had fallen asleep, was that as Jústi burned, the ring had illuminated with its own light, glowing script of incantation visible upon its surface.

No, Thorin didn't trust this at all and resolved to send a raven after the wandering wizard and try summoning the old codger, and he put his misgivings aside for now.

Nori's inclusion in their rite? Well, that was a complete surprise. In a way thought, he supposed it was a message. Of all the company, Nori stood the most outside of Thorin's influence; as much as any dwarf of the Kingdom could be. Nori's presence was a statement that the company was taking the role of Bilbo's family very seriously indeed, and it made Thorin's heart glad.

"Well, you did ask me not to send Dwalin back for your relations…" Thorin couldn't help but tease, and the look of consternation on Bilbo's face was worth the scolding he knew he would get later.

"And I thought I said that Thranduil would be an acceptable substitute?" Bilbo replied pertly. Thankfully, before Thorin had to dignify that idea with a response, Kíli stepped forward and looped Bilbo's other hand through the crook of his arm, tugging the hobbit companionably close.

"Are you saying Uncle Bilbo, that you will not have us as your family?"

Bilbo turned and slipped his arm from Thorin's to snag Nori closer to him as they strolled to the set table. "Of course I will, my lad," Bilbo grinned, and if there was a sheen in his eyes, no one was going to point it out. For one brief unguarded moment, honest pleasure graced Nori's face, before a cheeky grin took its place.

THORIN SUPPOSED THAT he really should have known that, despite Dori's increasingly meticulous instructions, things wouldn't go entirely smoothly. Currently, he was stoically resisting the urge to suck on his burnt finger like a dwarfling. Honestly, he was so aware of Bilbo's presence, both in his mind and sitting there at the table that the feeling of his tongue rasping on his ultra-sensitive skin would likely produce embarrassing results. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if he somehow played his cards right, if maybe Bilbo would suck on it for him, instead.

He was very, very glad that unsolicited thought hadn't occurred to him until after their guests had left.

Watching off-boiling water intently to correctly gage the size of bubbles—was it sturgeon eyes? Lobster eyes? Why were all the blasted references aquatic in nature? He'd never been to sea, and certainly never looked a lobster in the eye; but watching the water had been nerve-wracking with the possibilities for potential failures, and the fact that more than half his awareness seemed to be centred on bronze curls and a pert, oft-ready smile. With hands that weren't entirely steady, he splashed a little of the steaming water over a small clay figure, waiting for the whimsical fish statuette to spout the water from its mouth. The distance was supposed to indicate the temperature of the water—the hotter, the farther, as expanding air forced it outwards. At least this part was something that made sense to him; simply thermodynamics and air expansion principles within fired clay…

…and the inevitable had happened—his attention wandered; his small pot had begun to tip and Thorin scrambled to grab it, burning himself with hot, nearly-boiling-but-not-quite-making-the-fish-statue-spit-for-some-inexplicable-reason water. He'd have a fine blister along the inside of his finger to show for it come evening.

Kíli, bless him, had done his best to distract Bilbo from Thorin's embarrassing fumble and Thorin made an executive decision that water that may or not be the correct temperature was a better bet than continuing to attempt to boil it in his current state of distraction, and filled the teapot to steep, or infuse or whatever it was tea did when married with water, and heaved a sigh of relief at a step successfully navigated.

Well, he'd call it a win, anyway.

His finger began to throb angrily, just to spite him.

His tea, or rather, Bilbo's Tea, proved to be palatable—for which Thorin would be forever thankful. When the moment finally came for him to pour that important first cup, he had to concentrate on supressing the squirming feeling in his belly that made him want to leave the pot to steep a bit longer and delay the moment when he would have to present the fruits of his labour to Bilbo. Sensing his hesitance, Bilbo had reached for him, curling his fingers with Thorin's to gently squeeze his hand in encouragement. He felt himself grinning again, completely unbidden, as the small gesture filled him with warmth. Bilbo took the dainty cup gravely. He tilted it, watching the play of liquid inside before swirling it gently in some kind of Hobbit ritual. Finally, he brought the cup to his lips, and sampled his tea slowly, closing his eyes and giving every indication of savouring it, while Thorin watched, breath caught in his throat and more than a little terrified. He was aware that across from him, his nephew stared him with growing delight, and Thorin knew his inability to hide his emotions was likely providing the lad with enough material to tease him well into the next age.

When Bilbo finally opened his eyes and turned to Thorin, his whole face glowed with happiness, and Thorin felt something uncoil in his gut as he finally, finally relaxed. Kíli and Nori made a show of swirling the tea in their cups, examining it for worthiness of their hobbit; commenting on depth of flavour (like flowers), and colour (sort of garnet red-brown, like good mud) and bouquet (more flowers, apparently) and weediness (they were really reaching by this point) and just generally making unhelpful arses of themselves, but Bilbo smiled at their antics, so Thorin settled for ignoring them. They took the examining of Thorin's first gift of the thrush with much more seriousness though; Nori holding it up to the light to examine it with a jeweller's monocle for inclusions and flaws, and Kíli assessing the worthiness of the carving itself, and Thorin's skill in working with the gem's voice to enhance its own natural beauty rather than obscuring it.

Apparently, his hand had not failed him in either endeavour. He took it as an especial sign of Nori's respect for Bilbo that he made no attempt to pocket the gem, but handed it back reverently. Grandam Ur's pastry recipe also served him well, though the feelings of enjoyment that were filtering back to him from Bilbo as he ate it bordered on sensual pleasure and had Thorin gazing at him with a sort of banked-fire in his eyes that made Kíli squirm in his chair.

His nephew had been flushed by the end of the Tea rite, as Thorin's gaze where it rested on Bilbo became heavier, and their flirting less light, but really who could fault him when all he could really focus on was how enticing Bilbo looked in his blue waistcoat—almost the exact shade of Durin blue, and his heart braid displayed so prominently over his exotically pointed ear? Thorin tried really hard to push down remembrances as to how sensitive those ears may be, especially after the intimacies they had already shared, least he embarrass himself.

Kíli was looking even more uncomfortable now…Blast, the lad could likely pick up on Thorin's imaginings, or at least the flavour of them, no matter how well he kept a calm outward face, which was not at all as calm as he would have liked, given how little control he seemed to have left this close to their Bonding. Even untrained, Kíli wouldn't have been able to help but pick up on the undercurrent between them, with the strength of some of Thorin's emotions this afternoon.

It was likely a fact that only love of his Uncle and whatever good manners Bilbo had managed to instil in him had kept him in his seat. It was also a fact that he had bolted as soon as it was polite to do so, with Nori sauntering along in his wake, smirking in such a way as to make Thorin certain he had figured out the source of Kili's discomfort before Thorin had.

And now their chaperones were gone. The knowledge that they would soon be attempting the Bonding rite was there, in the background, but the urgency was muted, a pleasant ache that they chose to savour. The heat that had risen up between then once before in the Healing Halls was simmering lowly under the surface of their thoughts; a presence they both were relaxed enough to be comfortable with as they idly enjoyed the last dregs of Bilbo's Tea. The candlelight did alluring things to the hue of Bilbo's skin, and Thorin was mesmerized watching the shifting colours brought out in his curly hair.

"So, it seems you managed to find a suitable teapot for our little party after all," Bilbo said, the first conversation to break their silent game of grinning warmly back and forth for the last quarter hour.

"Ah, it actually belongs to Dwalin," Thorin admitted sheepishly.

Bilbo nearly choked his tea. "Dwalin?!"

"Yes, well, apparently Master Nori heard my attempts to locate a suitable vessel for this rite, and took it upon himself to procure one for me," he said, making a face.

"Surely, you knew better than to accept anything from Nori by now!" Bilbo laughed.

Thorin sighed. "Yes, which is why, I suspect, he passed it to me through his brother. Dori was only too happy to share his brother's acquisition, and didn't stop to ask too many questions."

"Poor Dori," Bilbo hummed, sympathetically. "I'm sure he's mortified. Nori does love to tweak Dwalin's beard, but somehow, I just can't see Dwalin as the type to enjoy a quiet cuppa."

Thorin gave a quick shake, as if trying to dispel the image of his Guard Captain, boots kicked off and holey stocking'd feet up on the coffee table, enjoying a steaming cup of tea and discussing with Dori the bouquet or liqueur or other nonsense. Frankly, Bilbo was wondering if Dwalin might not like a couple of his hand-crocheted doilies, since he obviously had some deeply hidden refined taste locked away. "I suspect he keeps it for his mother," Thorin admitted absently, still struggling to evict his mental picture.

"His mother?" Bilbo encouraged, obviously hoping to learn more about the uncommunicative warrior.

"She was considered a great beauty, both for her physical form and for her disposition. She was tough, but generous heart. I spent many an afternoon around their family workshop when I was supposed to be in lessons," and it was obvious Thorin was thinking back on fond memories from the soft curl of his lips. "She was one of those of my people most able to truly make the best of our situation, and still see beauty and possibility in ruin; she had great dignity and fierceness of spirit. When she was alive, she was a great lover of such things as this. Dwalin must have sent for it with the last caravan from Ered Luin."

Bilbo stared down at the lovingly polished teapot, and reached out to trace the mother of pearl inlay with one gentle finger. This was a cherished heirloom, as much as his mother's Westfarthing china or his father's prize tomato strains. "You must thank him for me," he said.

"Which one, Nori or Dwalin." Thorin asked, facetiously.

"Both," Bilbo replied, now tracing the line of the spout and belly as if testing the texture of the finish. "You could not have honoured me more if you had a hundred teapots made for me." And when he looked up, a bright, if watery, smile lit his whole expression with warmth.

Thorin felt himself smiling back, involuntarily. It was simply impossible not to respond to someone so good, who would value the gift of history shared over all else.

"Honestly, I do not believe there is a single member of our company or my family that has not tried to contribute to this tradition of yours," Thorin said.

Bilbo stared up at him in confusion.

"None of them trusted me to be able to impress you in this endeavour on my own," Thorin admitted.

"Really? What have they done?"

"Besides Nori with his teapot, Dori and Bombur's instruction and the rest of the company's determined interference?" Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.

Hiding a snicker behind his hand, Bilbo nodded, eyes bright and cheeks flushed. In truth, Thorin probably looked no better; giddy and high on the emotion of the night. He couldn't remember the last time he had ever felt so weightless or free. Like there was happiness welling up inside of him in a warm tide, and it would soon pour out of his very skin when his body was no longer enough to contain it. It was humbling and electrifying all at once. And that his family had taken such pains to ensure this feeling could be his, would be his, for the rest of their days…he had no words for his feelings of gratitude for such loyalty and care.

He reached out to gently finger the decorative carving on the board that bore the remains of his pastry he'd painstakingly made. Angular designs done in an impossibly delicate hand that spoke of strength and beauty coexisting harmoniously. "I could recognise Dís's hand were I blind," he said finally.

"Your sister sent this?" Bilbo asked.

Thorin nodded, still gazing at the board with fondness. "It arrived last week."

Bilbo was smiling again, watching Thorin's fingers as they traced the designs along the edge of the board. It struck Thorin that what Bilbo looked most in this moment, was content; content to be here, with him, despite everything.

"Then I am twice honoured," he said, reaching out to also trail his fingertips over the grain of the wood, stopping once he reached Thorin's own, so that he could lace their fingers together. For a long, comfortable moment, Bilbo watched their clasped hands, and Thorin watched Bilbo, delighting in his contented smile as he wriggled is index finger back and forth slightly, just to feel the pleasurable rasp of Bilbo's skin against his own. Enjoying the game, Bilbo slowly reached over with his unoccupied hand, to drag his fingers over their clasped ones, feather light and barely touching, over Thorin's fingertips, dipping down to his sensitive inner wrist before ghosting up to trace his palms. Lighting sparked beneath Thorin's skin, like lead scraping across slate yet somehow pleasurable, and his spine shivered from base to scull as he felt an echoing heat flare within. Thorin's breath rasped; a sharp sound that made Bilbo look up, and his eyes were noticeably darker than before.

"Thorin?" he questioned, and the husky quality in his voice was lighting up things inside of Thorin that was making it much more difficult to think. "I feel… I mean…I can't…"

"Can't?" Thorin rasped, and the word was hard to get out amidst the sudden onslaught of emotion pulling at him, in the gaping places in his soul and promising to fill them, but that word was pushing through the pleasant warm, thick swirl of heady want.

"You majestic idiot," Bilbo groused, feeling Thorin's trepidation. "Can't wait much longer to get some kind of control over all this—or to simply get you properly naked. Frankly I'm not too picky about which comes first at this point."

Thorin laughed, and it was a rough with both relief and desperate tension. "It should be illegal for you to say such things at a time when I am trying to remind myself why it isn't a good idea to simply take you to my bed and not let you leave it."

The speculative gleam in Bilbo's eyes was largely teasing, at least, that's what Thorin firmly told himself.

"Last chance. Be sure, Beloved," Thorin offered, instead.

"Thorin, I will thump you if you say that again," Bilbo said, reaching up to pinch Thorin's ear, hard. "Listen to me carefully: Take. Me. To. Bed. Let's do this ritual of yours, whatever it takes, but for the love of the Green Lady, or Mahal or whomever it will take, stop doubting yourself, or I will definitely put nettles in your smallclothes."

Thorin's lips curled in amusement, and he reached to cradle Bilbo's cheek in his palm. "Not doubt," and Bilbo's raised eyebrow made him amend, "not entirely doubt. Consider it… good manners, if you will. I know how you feel about me; about us and this connection between us, but I don't ever want you to not take the time you need to be ready. These are not your ways, and you have been incredibly generous with me in your accommodation of them. If I must wait, then I will find the patience to wait; whatever you need, whether it's time or space or simply freedom, I will give it to you with a glad heart, to know that someone such as you has consented to receive and shelter my heart, till the end of days."

"Good manners, indeed," Bilbo grumbled, but his emotions were close to the surface again, and his eyes gleamed wetly. "Thorin, you say such things… I cannot tell you how much it means to know that you see me like that, and to know that you are willing to do all that, for me." He took a deep breath, and slid of his chair to stand between Thorin's knees, so that they were almost touching. "But I'm ready to see what happens next," and he slid his fingers into the strands of Thorin's hair, gently tangling them together to tug distractingly, "because I think what comes next is going to be brilliant."

"Me, too," Thorin said, and his voice was hoarse. He stood, and reached out to take Bilbo's hand in his much larger one. "Then, shall we?" he murmured. Bilbo nodded mutely, and Thorin turned on unsteady legs to lead him through the door connecting to his bed chamber. At the last moment, he thought to scoop up Óin's oil pot.

A large, high bed was opposite them was they entered, four posts rising a further dwarf-height above the carved head and food boards. The linens had been chosen carefully; deep rose for depth of feeling; the colour's placement on the bed to enhance a union of love. Sigils specific to this rite, of blessing, of healing and of concepts of blending and duality Thorin had no words for in Westron had been painstakingly anointed onto the floor in oils crafted with powdered amethyst and chalcedony. Rowan wood burned in the fireplace, its smoky fragrance toying with Thorin's senses; tugging at the open places in his soul and meant to smooth the way of their joining. He turned up the wicks of the lamps along the wall and at the bedside to give more than shadowed light, because whatever came next, he wanted to be able to see every detail.

Bilbo's eyes seemed unnaturally dilated in this light, the black almost obliterating the shining green that ringed his pupils as he watched Thorin move about the room, and Thorin's hands shook slightly under his scrutiny. Bilbo, of course saw it, and moved to squeeze Thorin's hand in reassurance.

"I think," he said, and his voice cracked slightly before he swallowed, "I think that maybe it's time to undress. But I think, before that, you should kiss me. Before my nerves cut and run." And Thorin could feel the fine tremors under Bilbo's skin, but the heat was still there, too, licking at things inside of him, inside of both of them, and it was enough. Thorin reached for him, and it was more than enough.

Those strange ears—delicate like finely extruded wire filigree and twice as tempting now that he knew how sensitive they were, would always draw his eye and he saw no reason not to give in now. Gently, ever so gently, he trailed one thick finger over the pointed tip. Bilbo's breath hitched, chin tilting up towards the ceiling as his throat worked visibly as he swallowed. Thorin waited until Bilbo mastered himself before slowly sliding his finger further along the outer ridge of cartilage, curling his fingertip slightly to dip behind the lobe, and Bilbo's hands shot out, grabbing Thorin's arms for balance as he brought his chin up even higher and tilted his head slightly to give better access. With his eyes closed, his delicate features reminded Thorin of the alabaster statues he'd seen long ago, when he'd visited the kingdom of Gondor on a trade mission with father, and he smiled a little at the memory.

With his pert mouth upturned so invitingly, Thorin hardly had to bend to brush his lips over Bilbo's own. In truth, the height difference wasn't as much as it seemed; the crown of Bilbo's head just cleared Thorin's chin when they stood together, but Bilbo was just so much slighter in build that Thorin sometimes thought of him as being smaller than he actually was.

That slightness was not frailty, though and Thorin would do well to remember it, especially as his nerves surrounding this night tried to rise up once again. Nerves that were pointless, except to make Bilbo look askance at him like that when his unruly thoughts threatened to unsettle the hobbit, too.

We will take our time, he told himself firmly. We will be sure of each step for Bilbo's comfort both physical and mental. The bond is a gift from Mahal, even as it passed through Kili's hand. There will be no problems that cannot be overcome.

The strength of Bilbo's spirit was enough to drive away any notions of frailty, though. As Thorin withdrew from that first gentle glide of lips, Bilbo moved to follow, extending the kiss as he rose up on his toes; his eyes still closed and fingers still firmly latched onto Thorin's thick biceps. The trembling had ceased, and only warmth and desire seemed to be present now; bravery and trust in the face of the unknown. A faint curl of his lips, and Bilbo sighed softly, sounding very content, and settled back on his heels again.

"I believe, that was a very nice start," he said.

Thorin was startled enough to chuckle. "I'm glad you think so."

Bilbo hummed, playfully thoughtful. "I'm fairly certain we can do better."

"That is a high goal, indeed. Do you think we will need much practice?"

Bilbo snorted, finally opening his eyes. "I'm rather counting on it, frankly."

"You are wise, indeed," Thorin managed to keep a straight face, while his fingers drifted over the buttons on Bilbo's favourite waistcoat and began gently easing them from their closures. Bilbo gave him a slow grin, and with his eyes half lidded like that, it was a sleepy-looking grin that spoke of bedchambers and the things that happened in them, and Thorin fumbled with the button between his fingers. Bilbo seemed to catch a hint of his thoughts, and only grinned more temptingly.

His hands drifted from Thorin's arms to slide under the edges of his jacket. It had been an intimate gathering for Bilbo's Tea ceremony, and Thorin had forgone his normal layers and finery, leaving the light outer jacket as the only thing over his soft tunic. The heat from Bilbo's skin bled deliciously into Thorin's chest beneath his hands, and Thorin fought to keep his eyes from closing in shear contentment, instead watching Bilbo as he strove to push the jacket off his shoulders. His lovely hazel eyes were more brown than green tonight, bright and direct as he held Thorin's gaze. Slowly, Thorin shrugged, allowing the garment to fall to the floor to pool behind them.

The soft rustle it made was loud in the quiet of the chamber, and neither of them took any notice of it. A moment later, it was joined by Bilbo's second best waistcoat.

"I have dreamed of this," Thorin admitted, running the fingers of both hands along Bilbo's cheeks and wanting to hold on to this moment in his memory forever. He allowed his thumbs to drift along the angle of his jaw, until, with soft pressure he had Bilbo angling his mouth to him again and leaned in to take another kiss. Soft lips beneath his own quickly parted and he slid his tongue along the sensitive skin of them before reaching to taste deep inside that tempting mouth, see if he could capture some of the hobbit's words; his ability to say things that Thorin wished he had the skill to say. Beneath his hands, Bilbo groaned, and the rough feel of his tongue against Thorin's own was like slick velvet as Bilbo pushed up on his toes, attempting to get even closer. Thorin had his hands inside Bilbo's crisp shirt, wanting to feel Bilbo's heart beneath his hands, to run his palms along his strangely hairless flesh and see if he could make his love sing. Obviously, Bilbo felt the shirt was merely in the way and struggled to get out of it; Thorin was making it more difficult as he kept following Bilbo's movements, simply moving his mouth to new patches of skin. Tomorrow there would be dark love-marks there, for which Thorin suspected he should feel repentant at some later point.

He didn't think he would, though. The sensitive place in the hollow of Bilbo's throat, just above his clavicle, had proven especially patience-testing; Bilbo had arched up and practically whined when Thorin had given more than gentle suction. His eyes kept being drawn to the bruise forming there, even as he fought to order his mind and calm his blood despite the tide of desire, of warmth and love and devotion that flooded through him. It was consuming him in the most pleasurable pyre imaginable, and felt like he were trying to stand on a rolling ships' deck as the vessel plunged and bucked with the maelstrom. It was a long moment before he regained himself, and pulled back, just a fraction.

Bilbo slowly slid down, so that he was standing flat footed on the floor once more, though he still held onto Thorin tightly. His eyes, when he opened them, were so dilated as to have almost no whites left at all, and Thorin shuddered to see the open longing in Bilbo's gaze as he started back at him, mouth open as he panted softly.

"Thorin?" he asked, though whether Bilbo was asking after Thorin's withdrawal, or the overwhelming feeling that was rippling between them, he couldn't say.

"I…I am not entirely sure how you will respond to this, and I want us to be very aware of what is happening." Please, Mahal, don't let us rush, be thoughtless in our haste, and end up hurting one another with our joining.

He could feel the flame inside of him, Bilbo's ardour, still as he pondered what Thorin had said, before Bilbo looked up at him with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Believe me, Thorin, I think we will be completely aware of events tonight."

As he was sure he was intended too, he chuckled and his tension relaxed somewhat. He appreciated Bilbo lightening the moment, though Thorin could feel the faint pulse that was Bilbo's understanding of his anxieties. Leaning forward, he ran his nose along the soft skin behind Bilbo's ear, nuzzling the curls as they tickled him. His fingers curled into the creases of Bilbo's shirt, which he hadn't managed to get off, and was hanging rather precariously with only two buttons remaining in place.

"Would it be too much for your sensibilities to at least finish with the shirts?" Bilbo's teasing question seemed to be mirroring his thoughts, and his fingers were equally teasing as they eased his tunic up, and Thorin obliged him in quickly pulling it over his head. The remaining buttons of Bilbo's shirt were hastily dealt with, and it joined the rest on the floor.

Bilbo's skin was fair enough to almost glow in the lamp light, and it gave him an almost ethereal. His braces hung by his sides, no longer effective in holding his short-cropped trousers up, but thankfully Bilbo's ample softness seemed to be adequate to the task of staying up unaided. Thorin wasn't entirely sure their combined desire wouldn't pull him under without the flimsy barrier they provided for the moment. Bilbo, he was disgusted to note, didn't seem to be struggling nearly as much. He ignored the small voice in his head that pointed out that the hobbit didn't appear to be trying all that hard for restraint, either.

Bilbo seemed just as entranced, taking a step back to take a better look. "Somehow, in all the turmoil and the moonlight the last time I had you without your shirt, I never noticed these," he said, and reached out to trace one of Thorin's tattoos.

"I suppose I shall take it as a compliment that I had you so suitably distracted," Thorin murmured, letting his arms drop so that Bilbo could continue his examination. "I noticed that hobbits do not seem to adorn themselves in this way. Do they bother you?"

A rather impolite snort greeted his question, and when Thorin quirked his eyebrow at him, Bilbo flushed. "No, we certainly don't mark ourselves like this…but…I rather like it. On you." He took a brief moment to close his eye, as if thinking, or perhaps seeking something. The impressions Thorin was getting were too numerous to sort out. There may or may not have been a fleeting impression of Bilbo wanting to trace them with…his tongue, perhaps? Thorin fought hard not to shudder at the phantom sensation. The rowan certainly seemed to be doing its job.

"Do they mean something?"

"Most of them mark events in my life." He took Bilbo's hand, and gently guided it to the marks on his shoulder. "This I received at Fíli's birth, and later added to it with Kíli's, for they were hope for the future in a dark time." Bilbo took a moment to explore the thick lines of the twinned motif, before his fingers reached out for another one, a tracing the heavy muscle of Thorin's chest. It was a large design, partially obscured by the hair. He'd had to shave it to have the last part of the tattoo done, and it had itched horribly when it grew back in. Dwalin, the bastard, had laughed uproariously.

"And this one?"

"My Heartcraft; my joy at finding it, of attaining Journeyman and then Mastery of it."

Bilbo's eyes flicked to the braids in Thorin's hair. "I thought you marked such things with breads and intricate braids. Like our courtship?"

"Public things, yes; meaningful facts. The fact that we enter a life union—that you Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, will be a part of my family, and I a part of your kin, will be proclaimed in braids tomorrow," and Thorin guided the hand beneath his to the empty stretch over his ribs and abdomen, starting just beneath his heart. "The joy that you, Bilbo Baggins, amazing creature and keeper and inspirer of all the best that is in me, have consented to be my Bondmate—that will a personal mark on my skin."

Bilbo swallowed, seeming unable to speak. His fingers curled gently against Thorin's blank skin, caressing it, and Thorin hummed at the pleasurable sensation. "I would…like that. Quite a lot, actually." He swallowed again, and his eyes drifted to where one of the tattoos scrolled down Thorin's hip, to trail beneath his pants. Bilbo leaned forward slowly, eyes flicking up to Thorin's before placing a soft open mouth kiss against the mark, and something inside Thorin shifted. He groaned. Bilbo pulled back to look at him again, taking in Thorin's strained expression before going back to do it again, this time following his kiss with a hot slide of his tongue and teeth against Thorin's hipbone, while his fingers worked the fastenings that quickly had Thorin kicking out of his trousers and remaining clothes. Bilbo watched his cock with interest as it came free of his smallclothes, already more than half erect. His lack of shyness pleased and reassured Thorin, given their physical differences. He definitely didn't want Bilbo to be afraid.

Thorin threaded his fingers through Bilbo's curls, gently pulling him up to press a hard, deep kiss to that enticing mouth. He could feel Bilbo removing his own trousers, but was far too busy exploring Bilbo's mouth to help him. Thorin did manage to steady him as Bilbo wriggled maddeningly—while still somehow managing to suck Thorin's tongue it a way that was threatening to make his knees buckle. Everything was filled with the bond's presence, amplifying and pulsing their desire to the beat of their twinned heartbeat; it almost felt like something they could drown in. Bilbo closed his eyes and shook, a tight little noise escaping his lips. Thorin swallowed it, pressing to gentle their kiss even as he moved his hands to explore the perfect curve of Bilbo's arse, and the enticing grip offered by his rounded hips. He tried to rein in the open feeling in the back of his head, and project feelings of reassurance instead.

It seemed to work; a good sign. Bilbo's distress lessened as he stood in Thorin's arms, trying to rein in his breathing and regain a feeling of self.

"Stages. Right," Bilbo said wryly, once his breathing had become less laboured. "Don't think I want to be standing for the rest of it, if it's like that," he admitted, and put both his palms on Thorin's sternum, giving him a gentle push towards the bed, and Thorin went willingly.

They scrambled onto it; Bilbo had to give a bit of a hop to make the height, and Thorin lost no time following. The sheets were cool against his skin, and it was a welcome feeling. The rose colour paid nothing but compliment to Bilbo's fair complexion, and Thorin couldn't help but admire the beautiful sight before him. Lean muscles worked beneath the softness of Bilbo's frame, where Thorin suspected none had been before. Bilbo was not the same soft hobbit he had been, in the Shire. Months of trekking, of growing and learning and following a prideful and foolish king across Arda had likely not changed his view on pocket handkerchiefs, but the eyes that looked up at him were alive with a spirit that had learned that politeness and propriety didn't compare to true and generous heart. Hopefully, somewhere along the way, Thorin had learned a few things about patience, and humility and the gift of love shared. Right now, Thorin wanted to see how many different sounds of pleasure he might be able to elicit from his love while he helped him acclimatize to the feeling of their blending.

Instead, Bilbo seemed to have his own ideas about acclimatization, and gave Thorin a push so that he was lying back in the cushions while Bilbo knelt by him. He began running his fingers over Thorin's body, starting with Thorin's fingers, blunt-tipped and thick, before running up the inside of his wrists to curl along his biceps, and Thorin sighed under the lovely feeling of it. His shoulders received extra attention as Bilbo seemed to enjoy the rounded muscle and broadness there. Bilbo dipped down for a quick kiss as his fingers wandered downwards to toy with Thorin's nipples until they were erect and no longer obscured in his chest hair. Groaning, Thorin felt like a white hot line was being drawn from those twin points, straight down to his groin, and his hips shifted restlessly. The feeling of Bilbo's tongue, curling and sucking against one tight bud instead produced an embarrassing sound from somewhere in Thorin's gut that he couldn't have stopped if he tried, and he knew, if he looked, there would be pearly beads of fluid weeping from his cock.

Bilbo pulled back when the swell of emotion began to rise again, letting his hands wander and explore the creases of Thorin's abdomen, thick muscles that had been earned by years of swinging a hammer. He didn't pull back completely though, striving to adjust to the new intensity. When Thorin could sense it get easier he reached to caress Bilbo's inner thigh, running his fingers along the smooth skin and seeking to get his hands on him and see if he could encourage Bilbo to make some embarrassing noises of his own. Before he could, Bilbo was shifting away, canting his hips to put his groin firmly out of Thorin's reach.

Thorin frowned at the fond look Bilbo gave him. "I want to be taking care of you," he complained.

"And you will, my king. Later. But I rather think that it's going to…take some time before I'm ready for you. At least, this first time, I imagine that I will be the receiver…I think…I think I'm going to have enough to concentrate on, without that as well. So it's probably best—"

"You do not need to justify your choices to me," Thorin interrupted him. "And yes, I would…prefer that as well. This first time, as you say. After that, it will be up to our discretion and whim; though I certainly welcome the thought of giving such control to you then, should you want it."

Bilbo shuddered, his hips pressing down into the mattress hard as he closed his eyes. "Yes, that. Definitely that. But for now," and he reached out once again to take hold of Thorin, running a dexterous finger along the underside, from base to tip, swirling enticingly in the fluid gathered there, ""For now, I want to take this control; actually, I think it's very possible I need to. To see you," he leaned down to whisper in Thorin's ear, even as his hand tightened and began to stroke more earnestly. "Want to see what it looks like when I'm inside your head, riding that wave with you," he whispered, and Thorin groaned helplessly, knowing he was only a few strokes of Bilbo's hand away from giving him exactly what he wanted.

"What happened to stages?" he managed to choke out, as Bilbo's hand gave a firm stroke upwards that ended with a twist of his wrist and felt like he might be stripping Thorin's mind out through the leaking head of his shaft while he was at it.

"This is stages," Bilbo stuttered, seeming just as focused on the image of Thorin, flushed and swollen and moving within his grasp. "I want to have this, Thorin. Even if it's so…so much; so amplified and out of control it sometimes hurts, but it's still…incredible and honest, because it's you, it's us." And it was them, Bilbo's presence was in his head—his fearless and brave hobbit, burrowing in between the spaces until he almost fit, and Thorin felt himself mentally reaching for that place.

He was barely aware of the shuffling that had Bilbo nestled between his parted thighs, but he was very aware of the wet heat of Bilbo's mouth as his cock slid along the silky valley of the hobbit's tongue. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he watched as Bilbo sunk down again, his lips red and slick as they worked to admit Thorin's girth. Bilbo had closed his eyes, whether in concentration or enjoyment, Thorin couldn't tell, but his dark lashes stood out starkly against the paleness of his cheeks; and though Thorin didn't think himself heavily endowed, at least by dwarven standards, it was obvious it was a bit more than Bilbo was accustomed to. Still, those cheeks hollowed noticeably as Bilbo tried valiantly to apply more suction; an incredible feeling tightening the already close cavern of Bilbo's mouth. He struggled for a few moments, obviously concentrating hard on maintaining the perfect seal of his lips. For several tight, tense moments, his mouth stroked along Thorin's length in the most intimate way imaginable, before giving it up and settling for nestling the hard shaft inside his cheek, hot and wet and incredibly enticing as he moved around it, sucking gently and plying his tongue along the sensitive skin. Thorin felt unnaturally drawn to watching the sight of Bilbo's cheeks distending, so that he could almost trace the shape of himself as he stretched the flesh there with each heated stroke, but it was Bilbo's enjoyment of having him there, enjoyment that was right there in his heart to feel, that had him crying out and arching within moments.

This time he was sure he shouted out loud, even as his soul was filled with the sound of Bilbo's name.

Grinning, and obviously pleased with himself, Bilbo straightened enough to kneel again, whipping stray drops from his chin with a finger, which he promptly popped in his mouth. Thorin groanedat the sight. "You, my Burglar, are sent straight from Morgoth to test me."

"Here's hoping you fail, then," Bilbo said, his grin growing wider.

"Mahal's forge," Thorin groaned again throwing his head back into the cushions, but smiled too. "Am I allowed to touch you now, when I recover my wits?"

Bilbo giggled, moving out from between Thorin's legs to curl into his side instead. "I look forward to it, my king. What day do you think that might be, so I can be sure to mark it on my calendar?"

Grousing back would take too much effort; energy Thorin didn't feel like expending on it when he felt so boneless and relaxed. It wouldn't last long, anyway. Already the feeling of need and unfulfilled want was teasing at his senses, and desire still simmered in his veins, despite his recently-spent state.

He enjoyed the feeling of Bilbo cuddled into his side, soft skin touching his from where his chin curled into the hollow of Thorin's neck, all the way down to where his large toes tangled with the short hair of Thorin's shin. His erection nestled just above the jut of Thorin's hipbone, pressing pleasantly into the muscle there, and every now and then Bilbo would give a lazy little thrust and a soft groan as he enjoyed the friction. For long moments they lay there, grinning at each other whenever the whim struck and simply enjoying the moment.

When those thrusts started to become less lazy, and the quiet panting more laboured, Thorin swallowed hard, and made a quick decision, for as much as the idea of feeling Bilbo take such pleasure from Thorin's body—of Bilbo finding his release this way, his seed splashing over Thorin's skin as he cried out with Thorin's encouraging words of praise and desire in his ears…and Thorin had to bite his cheek against the sudden hot surge of want that accompanied that thought—he wanted to touch Bilbo more.

Using his leverage from the arm he had wrapped around Bilbo, he pulled him up, until Bilbo was straddling his midsection, instead. Bilbo laughed, giving a little wriggle against Thorin's skin, and grinning wider still at Thorin's breathless moan. Finally getting his hands where he wanted them, Thorin cupped the ample curve of Bilbo's arse in both palms, kneading the pliant flesh with deep strokes of his fingers until Bilbo arched for him, breathing deeply. The movement had Bilbo's cock jutting forward, even as it pressed more firmly into Thorin's belly, and his skin burned painlessly under the contact and made him pull Bilbo more tightly into his groin.

"So, tell me again why this super-sacred rite of yours happens over sex? Frankly, I'm beginning to suspect it's all a bit of a line," Bilbo gave him a speculative look, though Thorin could feel the teasing mirth in him.

"Cheeky," Thorin muttered, rolling his eyes. "As I explained earlier, though you hadn't been doing your best to distract me—"

"Yes, yes, minds more open, something, something less inhibited, something, something, finally naked," Bilbo waved it away, though there was an impish gleam in his eyes.

Thorin huffed, but couldn't completely supress his amusement. "Yes, well, it truly does help, Beloved. When else do such positive emotions run as high as during such an intimate act? Especially the first such act between two who come together out of love and desire?" Bilbo smiled at this, a dopey sort of smile that Thorin could honestly admit to sporting himself a time or ten since Bilbo's acceptance of his courtship. "Emotions running that high are hard to contain, and being so focused on such strong feelings naturally breaks down barriers that might inhibit—"

"So, I was right," Bilbo cut him off with a grin and a slow roll of his hips. "Something, something, finally have me naked."

He was not going to blush. He was not going to blush.

Damn. Thorin could feel his cheeks flushing as some of his less-than-innocent thoughts of his hobbit love crossed his mind. Bilbo gave a delighted hoot as he caught the flavour of Thorin's embarrassment, but it quickly turned to a gasp when Thorin decided to make use of some of those thoughts, and changed his grip on Bilbo's arse to slowly slide one questing finger past the tight ring of muscle guarding his anus. Just a brush, but Bilbo's reaction was enough to arrest Thorin mid-stroke, and go back and do it again, much, much slower, and with firmer pressure. Steel blue eyes watched Bilbo closely as he wriggled, breath suddenly short and eyes half closed. A third pass had that careful finger pressing firmly enough to barely breach that tight ring; just enough to ease the muscle aside and admit the pad of Thorin's finger, and Bilbo whined hoarsely. Truly, Thorin couldn't remember ever seeming such a beautiful sight as Bilbo, pale skin flushed and eyes bright, looking so ready for any pleasure that Thorin could give him. Truly, he would give him anything in his ability to give.

"More?" Thorin rasped.

"Yes," Bilbo breathed, and reached out one hand blindly for the pot of oil Thorin had deposited.

Bilbo knew that Thorin had some concerns over this rite of his. He'd been nothing but confidence and ease and reassurances, but deep down, he couldn't hide his worries from Bilbo completely, and Bilbo was glad. It made him feel able to be bold, knowing not only that Thorin needed him to be, in the face of his own concerns, but also that Thorin would never allow him to come to any harm; he would be more than careful enough for the both of them. And so, Bilbo focused lustfully on the beautiful ripple of muscle under Thorin's chest as he carefully pried open the oil pot, or the way Thorin's careful attention in making sure his fingers were well coated in oil made him feel—cherished and coddled both, like something precious, as opposed to the trepidation he might otherwise feel if he were to think too closely on the largeness of those fingers, or of everything about Thorin really, in comparison to hobbit-shaped bodies.

In the end, he knew he had nothing to worry about, after all.

But the feeling of those fingers, carefully spreading oil around his arsehole, going back for more until Thorin was satisfied with the slickness of his skin had Bilbo moaning softly and wishing for him to hurry it up, before he took himself in hand instead out of sheer impatience. He wriggled a few times, thrusting his shaft against the taut barrel that was Thorin's belly, the friction enjoyable but largely frustrating—but seemed to interfere with Thorin's concentration most satisfyingly. So naturally, Bilbo did it again, and grinned at the obvious effect he was having.

"Ready?" Thorin asked, catching and holding Bilbo's gaze with his own, and Bilbo nodded.

Patiently, that thick finger stroked the sensitive skin, circling the rim of his anus, dipping in to push gently against the resisting entrance, only to retreat and circle soothingly again, but each time, pushing a little more firmly. Bilbo fell forward, giving Thorin more room to work and relieving himself of the need for balance as the breaching sensation grew. He braced with his palms flat to Thorin's broad chest as he concentrated on staying relaxed and trying to ignore his desire to fall just a little bit further forward and start licking Thorin's skin.

Distractions like that are probably a good way of getting a finger in your bum much faster than you'd like, me lad, he reminded himself firmly.

Still, the play of muscle beneath his palms was lovely, and the intense desire it was causing was doing wonderful things for what Bilbo was projecting, he was sure. The puckered skin around his hole was incredibly sensitive under Thorin's exploring fingers, and Bilbo was startled when he became aware that the guarding ring of muscle was slightly less focused on keeping out, contracting slightly in the wake of each of Thorin's passes, as if trying to grasp the retreating digit and draw it in. Thorin seemed to be aware of it as well, if his satisfied smile were any indication. Bilbo huffed at him, a thin sound without any air as he was panting embarrassingly for someone who'd had only tantalizing tastes of what he wanted. Thorin released Bilbo's hip with the hand that had been holding him steady, to slide it up his spine, pushing Bilbo down flat against his chest as the dwarf took his lips in a messy kiss, tongue stroking deep into his mouth as he seemed intent on finding Bilbo's tonsils as Bilbo got his hands free from between them to tangle in Thorin's thick mane, burrowing in deep until his fingers could caress his scalp as he tugged that glorious wealth of dark hair to his satisfaction. For the shortest eternal moment, everything was wet heat, shared breath and the rasp of whiskers and skin as they both fought to get closer. Bilbo moaned, wriggling against Thorin's pressing, hovering finger, and the dwarf finally increased the pressure, pushing his way through the resistance until he was sunk knuckle-deep inside.

Bilbo pulled away, to drop his forehead into the crook of Thorin's neck, drawing deep breaths as he fought to stay relaxed. The feeling burned, a stretching sensation not unlike the one he'd felt in his…soul, he guessed, twice before when they'd achieved new levels of intimacy together. This was mostly physical, though Thorin's presence inside of him could definitely be felt, too, and Bilbo grasped at that, focusing on that expectant and pleasurable stretching inside of him, despite the strange and slightly uncomfortable feeling of being full in a way he'd never been before.

He had been right, though. Thorin's finger felt huge. A small tremor shook him, and Bilbo instinctively shook his head, trying to assuage Thorin's worries.

"'s fine," he muttered, eyes still closed. "Just, move gently, if you please."

Thorin hummed reassuring noises softly in his ear as he began gently rocking with is wrist, fractionally at first, building a slow rhythm inside of Bilbo that seemed to entice his body to finally relinquish his tension. The hand still splayed over his back began stroking down his spine, from neck down to his bum as Thorin continued to murmur praise in the guttural tongue of his people. By the time he had worked his finger in all the way to his hand, Bilbo was laying boneless along the length of his body, moaning softly as he twisted against the invasion.

Then Thorin stroked something spectacular, and he felt like he was on fire.

Carefully, deliberately, he did it again, and Bilbo yelled. Full throated and entirely uninhibited, the sound seemed to be pulled out of him without Bilbo giving it even a second's thought. He wondered distractedly if it was something in the stuff used to anoint the floors or the incense maybe that just brushed aside any barriers to restraint and decorous behaviour.

He'd blame them, anyway, if he thought to be embarrassed about it later.

Struggling, he pushed himself up on shaking arms, bracing himself on Thorin's chest once again. Thorin's eyes were dark, more midnight than steel now, and his expression was hungry as he watched, and took in Bilbo's every reaction as he withdrew, and slid his finger back over that place a third time. Wracked with shudders, Bilbo ground down against Thorin's hard abdomen, desperate for friction. A fourth pass, and he thought he might see stars. He was gasping now, the air felt thin in his lungs, like he couldn't draw in enough. He pressed down hard, harder when his cock slotted perfectly against the ridges of muscle, and he whined, feeling reckless, knowing it wouldn't take much, one more stroke, maybe—

With a desperate sounding groan, Thorin had his hand wrapped tight against the base of Bilbo's cock, squeezing firmly, but with gentle mindfulness of his strength as he took control of Bilbo's attempts at masturbation, enduring Bilbo's cross glare.

"As you said, Beloved, it will take much work to make you ready for me, and I would like to keep your…anticipation to ease our way," he finally managed, though the flush high on his cheeks, and his red swollen lips nearly distracted Bilbo from making sense of the words. When they did finally penetrate the haze surrounding his thoughts, he bit his lip and groaned.

"You're right," he agreed. But oh, it was so much harder to think clearly in the haze that still surrounded them—Heat, Thorin had called it once, or something like that, and Bilbo was conscious as never before of how much he wanted this, wanted Thorin in every way imaginable. The finger was still inside him, moving languorously, but making no more ventures towards that spot and Bilbo felt his pulse slowing just enough to be able to think again. He spent a long moment, head hanging down between his arms as he simply enjoyed the feel of Thorin sliding within him. The sensitive ring of Bilbo's arsehole was being stimulated by the larger swell of Thorin's knuckle every time he made another pass, while the rest of his passage made way, stretching pleasantly to accommodate the steady push forward, followed by Thorin's glacial retreat, though Bilbo found he liked it best when Thorin simply keep his finger deep, rocking firmly but staying almost totally within the grasp of Bilbo's body. And Thorin was there with him for all of it. Deep inside places he never had before all this; like panting breath, desperate groans and hot, coaxing fingers inside his very being as they experienced it all together.

And it felt amazing.

"Say that I may give you more, Beloved. Tell me when you are ready," Thorin rumbled beneath him, and oh, to be responsible for that absolutely destroyed look on the dwarf's face; eyes half closed in concentration as he rocked into the air in time with the finger he moved within Bilbo, totally caught up in the phantom feelings Bilbo was likely sharing. Clenching around that finger, enjoying the even greater feeling of fullness this produced, Bilbo nodded.

"Another," he agreed, hoarsely. And shuddered as Thorin slowly withdrew his hand, and reached for the oil pot once more. This time, of course, he didn't have to coax Bilbo to open for him; he used his free hand to stroke the soft skin inside Bilbo's thighs as he pushed slowly, but inexorably, with two slicked fingers against Bilbo's entrance. It didn't take long before it was no longer against, but in as his body contracted around those thick digits, pulling them further inside, and Bilbo gasped at the sensation; the uncomfortable burning as he stretched even more, the thickness of those two fingers a little bit disconcerting to think about in relation to parts of his body that normally didn't have fingers in it of any thickness whatsoever, the deep feeling of fullness—too full, when they finally came to rest as deep as they would go, and Thorin's heart inside his head, crowding him with his hopes and fears. Bilbo was aware that he was gasping, almost hyperventilating at the overwhelming strangeness of it all as Thorin triedto sooth him.

"I can't… I…Thorin…" he struggled to articulate half formed fears as Thorin's presence in him felt…looming inside of him. Hesitantly, those fingers rocked, fractions of an inch, maybe, stoking the walls of Bilbo's passage as he continued to quake and gasp, his head still hanging between his arms, and his hands still firmly planted on Thorin's furred chest. Dimly he took in Thorin's concerned expression as his panic continued to escalate, and clenched tight around his fingers to prevent his large Mother Hen from simply removing them and retreating in the face of Bilbo's distress. After a brief moment of this silent standoff, Thorin relaxed fractionally, and gave a terse nod. Instead of his planned withdrawal, he searched gently as Bilbo quivered around him, until his fingers alighted on that gloriously sensitive spot from earlier and gave one firm circular caress, and Bilbo broke.

He yelled, possibly even screamed as everything inside of him turned to so much white light—burning everything in its wake; doubts and fears alike, and leaving behind the kind clarity that comes when nothing else is left in your heart…and Bilbo could breathe again.

The orgasm had been unsatisfying, in sexual terms; a sharp thin stab of pleasure, barely registered even as he'd spent himself over Thorin's skin, but the moment had managed to halt his panic attack, and he felt Thorin's presence within, no longer so threatening now, seemingly slotted into the gaps created once his fear left him. Strangely, it only made him aware of all the gaps that still needed to be stretched and filled, of how their shape still wasn't quite Thorin-shaped, and he suddenly wanted it even more than he feared it a moment before. Blearily, he raised his head and looked around for something to wipe up the sticky mess of his release, but Thorin halted his movements. "Leave it," he murmured. "I rather enjoy the evidence of my pleasing you upon my skin, and we can bathe each other when we are finished."

Bilbo groaned at that image. "It's really not fair how good you make that sound. It's rather indecent to be so stimulated by something so…messy."

"How do you feel now, though?"

"Aroused," Bilbo grumped, reaching forward to swipe at one of Thorin's nipples with the sharp point of his tongue. The groan he earned was wickedly gratifying.

"Are you sure, Âzyungel?" And the question sounded more like a plea than it probably had any right to.

"Thorin," Bilbo said, leaning forward to run his tongue more thoroughly over that nipple, until the hand still resting against his thigh tightened and Thorin whimpered. "Thorin, give me a third."

This time, it took very little struggle to get passed the muscular ring of Bilbo's entrance, though Thorin still worked him with a slowness and patience matched only by stone being weathered and worn. Bilbo groaned and panted as he struggled to stay relaxed against this larger invasion, and Thorin pushed the fingers of his free hand into Bilbo's curls, angling the hobbit's his head to his satisfaction, until he could watch each expression as it passed over Bilbo's face. The burn was incredible, but underneath was the promise of pleasure and the want that came whenever he thought of the fact that soon it would be Thorin's cock inside of him, instead of Thorin's fingers.

His cock did not have three bony knuckles pushing for entrance, for one thing.

Moist breath fanned over his skin as Thorin leaned up, arching inwards slightly as he stretched to press open mouthed kisses along Bilbo's collarbone, swirling his tongue over Bilbo's flushed skin and pausing every so often to suck until more faint bruises started to rise. Bilbo groaned, long and low and utterly without care for how he sounded, and rocked back on Thorin's hand, pushing his fingers a bit deeper inside.

"That's it. You're nearly there," Thorin praised, sounding breathless and needy in the close air between them.

"So why don't you see if you can help me," Bilbo challenged, shaking his curls loose from Thorin's lax grip to dart down and swipe his tongue along Thorin's lips, and was immediately pulled into a messy, bruising sort of kiss, one that had tongues and teeth and no small amount of heat as they both seemed determined to lick inside of one another's skin. When Bilbo felt the rough pad of one of Thorin's fingers trailing along the underside of his shaft, a soft, almost feather-light sensation, he bit Thorin's tongue, hard, and quickly rocked into his hand. The unexpected response had Thorin pulling away and chuckling in surprise, even as he used his hand to cup Bilbo, and the reach of his fingers was so great as to have the weight of Bilbo's sack and part of his shaft within his easy grasp. Fingers and palm worked in tandem, carefully rolling and kneading his stones tenderly and with full consideration for his almost-painful state. The feeling was marvellous, and tantalizing and far too bloody teasing after a delightfully shuddering moment for Bilbo's remaining patience.

Bilbo dropped his forehead to Thorin's and whined, twisting and thrusting his hips as he did. "I think we're about as prepared as we're going to get," he panted softly, sharing breath with the dwarf below him, who didn't seem to have any more air than he did. For a time, they both simply stayed there and breathed together, small tremors passing from one to the other and back again to be soothed by gentle kisses and even gentler words. Even in the very, very back of his mind, Bilbo was firmly not allowing himself to think about all the reasons to fear right now, because the Green Lady knew Thorin had enough doubts for the both of them. He'd allowed himself a nice long panic two days ago, when they had discussed the how of Bonding, and decided on the when. It had been lengthy, and involved a lot more things than merely size differences (which of course could be overcome, as they were doing now), but the fact that he was leaving behind the land of his youth for good, a confirmed bachelor chasing halfway across Arda, to marry a dwarf king in some kind of foreign ceremony that would open up the back of his head in ways he probably had only begun to understand.

So yes, much panicking had been had, followed by a strong cup of tea and a biscuit or two.

Alright, three biscuits.

What he had discovered, after having that long conversation with himself alone in his room, was that he would do it all again if it led him here, in the arms and heart and, if Dwarven mysticism was to believed, soul of Thorin Oakenshield, Reformed King Under The Mountain.

So right now, there was no fear in him. No panic for Thorin to find as he searched Bilbo's face for doubt or hesitation. What there was, was a good dose of impatience and a whole lot of arrested desire. And confidence, in them, together.

The smile that lifted Thorin's lips lit up his whole face. "Ready?" he asked.

"Finally," Bilbo's answering grin was wicked, and he made sure to squirm a bit against Thorin as he sat up to give the dwarf more room.

"Pert," Thorin muttered, smiling fondly. He released Bilbo, and reached for a cloth at the bedside to wipe oil and fluids from his hands. Reaching for the braid that hung in Bilbo's hair, Thorin wound it around his finger, running his thumb over its length as he did so. He looked so tender in this moment, and Bilbo could feel the warmth swelling up inside of him, loved and cherished and in awe, and he honestly didn't know if it was him or Thorin, only that it rose so fast and so strong it felt like he might burst from it, and yet it was such a lovely feeling; overstuffed like eating too much lunch but so, so happy to be so. Thorin only smiled wider, and Bilbo would be damned, but his eyes were misty.

He reached once more for the oil pot, before they both dissolved into mushy puddles, and Bilbo was still left wanting come morning. "Enough of that for now, I think," he said briskly, but smiled as he said it.

"As you wish," Thorin rumbled, and lay back with his hands behind his head as he watched Bilbo astride him work the oil pot open once more. Bilbo hummed, appreciating the view. "That's all nice and everything, but have you decided how you want to do this, oh Illustrious King?"

"Brat," Thorin gave him a lazy swat in the arm. "I think the question should be, what would be comfortable for you?"

Bilbo bit his lip, considering, but an image had already surfaced; an image of fingers tangled, silken hair spilling over his cheek…

"On your side, please," Bilbo instructed softly, but he blushed, feeling unaccountably shy as he said it.

Thorin of course, saw his reaction. He reached up to caress Bilbo's cheek, trailing his fingers down the length of his jaw, before silently shifting to lay on his side, arms open and inviting. Bilbo took another second to simply look, then filled his palm with oil. Clenching his fingers, he twisted his closed fist over Thorin's cock and allowed the oil to trickle down in a thin drizzle, watching mesmerized as it slid over the flushed head and mixed with his own fluids leaking there, to slowly gather and spill down the shaft. When there stream had slowed to drops, and then not even that, Bilbo finally opened his hand, and used his oil soaked fingers to spread the moisture, trailing along creases and tucking to tickle sensitive indents until he enclosed the whole head in his palm and stroked, slowly and firmly, eyes never leaving Thorin's face.

Thorin for his part, threw back his head and groaned, long and low, mouth hanging open as he took in great draughts of air. After a second, he reached out and caught Bilbo's wrist. "As much as I would love you to continue, I think it's in both of our best interests if you do not," he said wryly.

Bilbo huffed a little, laughing at the truth of the statement and discarded the oil pot once more, before crawling into the circle of Thorin's arms, and feeling the dwarf curl around him. That great smith's chest lay at his back, completely surrounding him in heat and a solid wall of furred muscle and Bilbo gave a happy little sigh as he wriggled just a little bit closer. The top of Bilbo's head only came to somewhere around Thorin's lips, while his toes would be hard pressed to stretch further than the dwarf's shins, and yet Bilbo didn't feel overwhelmed or intimidated in any way by such encompassing presence, but rather comforted by it, as if they had a cocoon, in which nothing of the outside world could penetrate.

Thorin was murmuring words over him all harsh consonants smoothed by his low rumble and incomprehensible chanting that made Bilbo's skin tingle. Then Thorin reached around him to trace patterns over his heart, murmuring something so long and sweet sounding, Bilbo was determined to ask after its meaning. Later. Much later.

"Is there anything else?" Bilbo asked when his incantation or prayer or whatever finished, reaching with some difficulty to grasp Thorin's other hand where in lay stretched out on the bed above them. Thorin drew it back within reach for him, once he realized what Bilbo was up to, and squeezed his hand.

He could feel Thorin rest his forehead against the crown of his head; could feel him breathe deeply, stirring the curls beneath his nose. "Only, allow the rowan, and runes to do their work. Accept me into yourself, and try to reach out for me as well, and whatever happens, do not fear the wave, for I shall be there with you. Even if we are unsuccessful, know that I love you."

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered, and there was that warm swell again, the one that threatened to make him all teary-eyed. "I am the luckiest…I love you, too, you know. More than handkerchiefs, even."

As intended, Thorin laughed, and trailed his fingers down Bilbo's side, exploring all the dips and ripples in the flesh there. He rolled his hips against Bilbo's backside suggestively, making Bilbo shudder. Again, that deliberate roll, like a mountain moving, unstoppable and brain-meltingly slow, and Bilbo wriggled looking for more, and he threw one leg up, until his ankle was hooked behind Thorin's leg to give himself some leverage. Then the hand that had been exploring his skin was guiding Thorin's cock until he was pressing firm and snug, right where they both wanted it to be.

"Don't forget to breath," Thorin warned tightly, and his fingers squeezed Bilbo's again as he began whispering more Khuzdûl, rough and warm in his ear as he pressed forward, slowly pushing until the head of Thorin's shaft rested inside of him, and his passage was slowed until Bilbo could relax against the intrusion.

And Thorin had been right; his presence inside Bilbo was unmistakable now, and the stretching feeling was back, too, though mostly a background ache as opposed to the bright flare of their sliding into one another. Another slow push, and Thorin was buried deeper, rocking gently as Bilbo breathed deeply. The hand on his hip was giving Thorin enough control to prevent any accidental penetration, and Bilbo reached up blindly above him with his free hand to caress Thorin's jaw and the back of his scalp, tugging lightly on his locks as he went. Thorin sighed into the contact, angling his jaw and head further into Bilbo's palm. This time when Thorin gathered himself to push, Bilbo carefully pushed back, groaning in contentment as Thorin was finally seated fully inside his body, and his arse pressed against Thorin's powerful thighs.

The feeling was…considerably more than he had words for, even in his own head. The discomfort was there, but so minor and fading all the time in the wake of the sensations wracking his body as Thorin began to move within him—slowly, gently, with one hand pressed to Bilbo's breast and the other still tangled with Bilbo's fingers. Once he'd caught on to the rhythm, Bilbo began pushing back, adding a short twist of his hips, a bit of a grinding motion as their bodies met that had Thorin breathing harshly and nipping the tips of his ear. His fingers began playing with Bilbo's nipples, circling around the outside edge before tugging on the tight tips and rolling them between fingers and thumb, learning which seemed to inflame Bilbo, to drive his passion-soaked noises until they became full-out cries of pleasure.

Sounds filled the room: of rustling bedclothes, gasps and moans, slaps and rasps of skin on skin and even breathless endearments as Bilbo spilled out his heart—though the Hobbitish words would mean nothing to Thorin, somehow it felt more…real, more intimate and closer to the heart spoken in the language of his homeland, what little of those old words remained. The bright flare of Thorin's pleasure as he spoke them told him that he understood enough, and Bilbo reached again, sliding himself along that place inside of him that was struggling to accommodate more than he had ever been before.

This time, though, it reached back.

Before, he'd received hints of Thorin in his mind, a presence, a shape, a wellspring of emotions and sensations not his own, but muted and hazy, and until this very moment he hadn't realized how much it had been diluted, because now it was like looking at something in the light that you had only ever seen before as a shadow in the dark. Something opened; some door, some passageway, and Thorin had stepped through to brush against his soul, only it wasn't like physical, fleeting caresses; everywhere they touched, they seemed to melt, and Bilbo had to clamp his jaw hard, and take a few breath deeps, to keep from jerking away from the alien sensation. Thorin's earlier words came back to him and he held on, and Thorin gasped as he did so, his breath harsh in Bilbo's ear and tension obvious in every line of his body. Thorin positively trembled behind him, hips stilling and holding his cock pushed deep inside; as deep as he'd dared to go, and Bilbo concentrated on that feeling inside him—inside them both, until it seemed less alien and intrusive. Hesitantly, he tried to touch that place again; it came alight like one of Gandalf's whiz poppers, but Bilbo was determined to be bold, and kept himself there, even as Thorin's hips rolled behind him. He had to struggle to find their rhythm again. Thorin whispered words to him calling him beautiful and clever and brave, and Bilbo cried out as Thorin began to stroke the ridged line of his cock with soft, teasing touches.

Foreplay had gone on entirely too long, and Bilbo was so close, so close, and everything felt thrumming and alive around and within him, like a living heartbeat; blood pounding in his ears, breathing harsh and breathless as they struggled for more than the air seemed able to provide. Thorin was inside of him, rocking, moving steadily, brushing against that sensitive bundle of nerves more frequently now and it felt like he was on fire, burning along every pathway; in his mind, a sea of sensation and feelings and Thorin, threatening to wash him away, and everywhere pleasure rising up as if a tide until he wasn't sure if he would be able to survive it when the dam finally broke.

And if he did, would he even still be him?

Muscles behind him bunched and stretched as Thorin moved, powerful long strokes that left both of them gasping and Bilbo thrust back into each one, both of them striving for that height that had become so interconnected as to make no difference as to whose pleasure was whose; there was only them, and theirs, and Bilbo was almost afraid when he realized he wasn't sure what was him anymore.

"I'm drowning!" Bilbo stuttered, trembling. His panic was real now, and he fought desperately to keep his thoughts with Thorin's when everything seemed to be rising around them, and he felt like a small craft on vast waves being tossed in a storm; any minute, he would let go and be pulled beneath the surface.

Thorin could feel Bilbo's mounting distress as the moment of joining neared, and he stoically banished his own worries because he had to be grounded enough for both of them now; his doubts would only fuel Bilbo's own. And in this moment, he found that it was as easy as breathing; all of his concerns from earlier fell away, because this was Bilbo, and he loved him, and even if they were somehow not able to keep hold of each other through what was to come, he would still love him, and that would always be more than enough. He tried to focus on feelings of acceptance—calmness being beyond either of them in this moment—and feelings of strength. "Stay with it—surrender to it, so that we may be subsumed together," he told him. But the oncoming heat, the sticky-thick warmth of it inside him felt like madness and salvation both, and as his climax grew, so too did that well inside of him, of them, threatening to swallow them whole, consumed and consuming as he spent himself inside his love's physical body, and he could feel Bilbo's panic growing even as their pleasure mounted. "Make room for me, Âzyungel," he urged, almost beyond speech. "Let your soul stretch to fit this new shape. Feel the ways you have changed me, and know that you are tumûnel malel—home."

He gentled his hand on Bilbo's cock even more, but stayed focused on the very tip where pleasure was greatest, coaxing, coaxing. He could feel his sack clamped tight to his body, knew all it would take would be the slighted movement and he would be lost to that storm inside them, and he needed to know he would find Bilbo there with him.

Another thrust, and he stilled, holding himself deeply inside the perfect heat of Bilbo's body, letting Bilbo direct their union as he would. Instead, he concentrated on his hand, and what pleasure he could bring with it, gently squeezing the very tip of his shaft as he stroked, then swirling his finger through the fluid weeping there. He let his finger map along that sensitive slit, gliding effortlessly in the thick fluid before filling his palm with Bilbo's shaft once again, and giving one firm stroke, from base to shining, crowned tip.

Light exploded, and for a moment he, they, felt like they might never see again, like they may never hear, or touch any earthly thing ever again; senses and sense burned out in this explosion. Bilbo howled, or maybe Thorin did—or they both did, and everything was pleasure intensified by the feelings of shared solidarity and oneness, an endless echo, like fractured crystal, bouncing pleasure between them until there was only…them.

Sense was slow in returning, so altered did they feel, and it was several short eternities as they disentangled from this new state, leaving behind a glowing core of shining mithril, a connection that would last through all the ages of this world, and perhaps beyond if there was mercy to be found beyond this life, and Thorin marvelled at this blessing. He was determined to believe his great panting and heaving afterwards was due to the extreme experience, not his not-quite-seventy-anymore reality.

Content, and totally loath to move, still Thorin found the energy to heave himself from their tangled limbs. Bilbo made a sound of displeasure as cooler air replaced Thorin's body at his back, and Thorin pressed a kiss to his brow. "I would clean us up, before we lay here until it is our pleasure to move again."

"Brilliant," Bilbo murmured. "I swear, you must have a magic fire, to be so perfect right now without either of us lifting a bloody finger for the last I don't even know how many hours." Thorin laughed softly, and when to heat some water for the wash basin.

Afterwards, Thorin crawled back into the bed, pulling a coverlet to wrap around them both. Bilbo had twisted round, so that he was now facing him, and was idly running his fingers along Thorin's braids.

"So, were we supposed to be married, before we went ahead and had our wicked way with each other?" he asked.

Thorin squinted at him, but no, Bilbo appeared to be in earnest. "We are married, are we not?" he answered, perplexed.

It was Bilbo's turn to look confused. He frowned when he stared up at Thorin. "Are we?"

"Married—that is to be joined to one another in a life-union, yes?" Thorin tried to clarify, because heaven help him when it came to fathoming the uselessness of Westron, but he had thought that this was a concept that he understood.

"Well, yes, I suppose at its core that is what married means," Bilbo laughed, bemused.

"Then yes, we are married," Thorin stated with some satisfaction. "We are Yâsithâlh—Bondmates."

Shaking his head, Bilbo relaxed against Thorin's chest, and arms curled around Bilbo automatically. "I have to say, in the Shire there is usually a ceremony involved," he mused. "You know, when you get up in front of your friends and relations and swear to love each other and build a home and maybe a garden together, and let your relations tell embarrassing stories about you that you hope to never hear again while everyone eats too much and drinks too much and dances? I thought that other races did things rather similarly. I know the Men in Bree do, for they send to the Shire for foodstuffs and find fabrics. Do dwarves not do anything like that?"

"There will be a feast, were you are presented to our people as their King Consort, and you will make official promises to lead to the best of your ability and to serve Erebor—though after your defence at the Gates, it will be even more of a formality than usual—and all will celebrate our successful union. I imagine Balin is arranging it as we speak," he admitted ruefully. "And I'm sure you can get your fill of embarrassing stories about me from Dís, at some point."

"She's staying in Ered Luin for now, then?"

Thorin nodded. "It is beneficial to keep our Blue Mountain kingdom running. There is much advantage in having another safe haven, should we ever need it again, and there is much mineral there to be mined. Dis is an excellent administrator—I think she rules in times of peace better than I do."

He could feel Bilbo nod against his skin, and he continued to trace nonsensical patterns with one finger as he thought. "It's not exactly the same thing, to what you are used to, is it?" Thorin murmured.

A sigh, warm and moist across his collar. "Well, I don't think that we have time to grow our own Party Tree, nor do I think we need one. What we have is fine—more than fine, really."

Thorin hummed, running his nose along Bilbo's crown, wondering.

"We will have different braids in the morning, won't we?" Bilbo asked, changing the subject.

Thorin nodded, enjoying the feel of Bilbo's hair under his chin. Maybe Bilbo was right, and he was part cat. "Braids of our union, yes."

Bilbo wriggled around to hop off the bed, and Thorin watched him, bemused, as he found his discarded waistcoat and rummaged through the tiny pocket, before re-joining him, with his prize clutched in his fist.

"I…well, I have something. For you, I mean." He paused to swallow before continuing. "Fíli told me, well told me that I didn't have to make it with my own hand for it to be acceptable," he said, slowly opening his hand.

The bead was luminous shining rose-gold, and the trust and forgiveness implied in that choice was humbling. Tiny flowers tooled in sapphire and blue diamond were inlaid in a woven wreath around the circumference, banded by simple scrollwork in clean lines that only highlighted the beauty of the delicate work. There was a lump in Thorin's throat as he answered. "More than acceptable—it the intent behind it that matters. Did you design it?"

Bilbo nodded, looking suddenly shy. "I well, I wanted something of the Shire in it, for if we had been there, I would have woven you a crown of blue salvia and myrtle, and crowned you with it on our wedding day. Nori was kind enough to make it, when I asked."

"He has a fine hand," Thorin managed, still caught up in the sight of the precious piece he held.

THERE WAS INDEED a coronation a few days later, where Bilbo faced all the assembled peoples of Erebor for the first time and was presented as their King Consort. Balin had outdone himself, arranging a stirring grand ceremony, with the promise of an even grander feast to follow. At Bilbo's insistence, the ceremony itself was held in Erebor's only garden. A recent addition, the memorial garden was a protected basin that had been beautifully cultivated to honour the fallen Master Merchant Glólin. Bilbo's new subjects, those who could not be included in the garden itself, had been able to witness everything from balconies ringing the shining spot of growing beauty. Thank goodness Erebor's population was still small enough that they could all be accommodated, but it was a fact that it was crowded.

Between them, Bifur and Balin seemed to be in charge of the ceremony; Bifur chanting softly, a melody that seemed to wind through the space, audible by all without distracting from Balin's oration as he spoke to the assembled, detailing an embarrassing list of accomplishments that somehow proved that he would be a worthy match of their King, and ruler of Erebor. Bilbo just knew his ears were red by this point, and he glared at Balin, since his back was turned to the crowd anyway. The crowd was cheering and stamping by the time Balin wound things up, and made Bilbo duck for Thorin to place his crown, a delicate circlet of filigree and leaves incorporating acorns carved of brown diamonds, upon his head. Despite its fragile appearance, it was heavy.

More stamping, and the noise had grown to levels that were beyond his ability to hear anymore, just a wall of sound assaulting his ears, and Bifur stepped forward, gripping both Bilbo's shoulders as he stared hard into the hobbit's eyes. The noise lessened as the assembled waited for whatever blessing the Cantor would bestow, and Bilbo smiled gently, willing Bifur to know that he appreciated it, even if he would never understand the words.

For a long moment, Bifur continued to stare, as if looking for the right thing to say, and when he finally spoke, Bilbo could not have been more flabbergasted.

The words were halting, and the accent would have made them entirely unrecognizable to the Hobbits of the Shire at large, but they were intended for the ears of only one Hobbit, and to that hobbit the voice was dear and utterly familiar. Hesitantly, and with much pausing Bifur struggled around one of the few phrases of old Hobbitish that still graced their ceremonies: a leftover mathom of their wandering days, a benediction for warm hearts and green hills and love found in the pleasures of finding a place you belonged. Bifur's wide dark eyes stared even more fiercely than usual, searching Bilbo's reaction, anxious for some sign that he'd done it right—that his King Consort understood him for the first time since they had met. Bilbo could honestly think of no gesture more lovely, or more heartfelt. When Bilbo's lips turned up into a wide, suspiciously damp grin, Bifur's answering one was kind and gentle.

Bilbo wondered who had helped him learn it—Hobbits weren't quite as secretive as dwarrow, but certainly didn't go around sharing their blessings with other folks lightly, and as far as he knew, this was the first phrase of anything other than Khuzdul the toymaker had uttered since his injury a half century before. The idea that the Cantor had felt the need to learn it as far back as their initial meeting had implications that were just too overwhelming to consider. Bilbo was glad when his eyes lit on Ori, for of course the scholarly dwarf was the one who would have helped him…and the fact that this still would mean that Bifur would have foreseen this outcome as far back as their night in Hobbiton before they'd even met Bilbo was carefully ignored.

After all, who could have predicted that a staid, comfortable hobbit would have been reckless enough to chase after a company of mad dwarves, let alone marry one?

For his part, Bifur just tried to look innocent.

IT WAS HALF a year later when they had their first truly serious fight.

"Surely, you do not have to go! We have guards for this, Bilbo—" Thorin was past the bellowing stage, at least, and merely sounded weary. Bilbo was no less weary; they'd been 'round and 'round this argument for three quarters of an hour now, and he was hoping that maybe this time, his husband would see reason.

"Yes, I do have to go—I made it here in one piece, I can stick to the main roads and make it back in a few months. Regi is coming with me, as are Bombur and Dori."

"I could send Dwalin, in your stead—" Thorin offered, but it was a useless offer, and he knew it.

Bilbo stared at him, foot tapping and head cocked as he tried once again to reach into that place they both shared, and try to puzzle out what the devil was going on. Ever since Bilbo had received word from Hobbiton with the last caravan from the Blue Mountains—word that had admittedly left him in a foul mood and stomping around like a thundercloud—he began making plans to return to the Shire and Thorin had been withdrawing from that place, trying to shield his thoughts. Unfortunately, the bugger had proven to be quite good at it, much to Bilbo's surprise. A suspicion began to dawn on him.

"I will be coming back, you know. I have no plans on staying there."

Thorin only looked miserable, and suddenly all the fight seemed to leave him. "No, no plans now. But what of when you are again in your comfortable home, surrounded by peace and growing things? Will you find reasons to delay your return?"

Bilbo threw up his hands. "You're right, I have all of those things there. So why don't you come along, and make sure I remember my reason to return? Let Fíli play at being King for a while. Besides, Bag End is my home, Thorin, and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins in my dragon. I will be twice damned before I allow her to continue to roost there with my Stirling spoons and my mother's Westfarthing china."

Thorin looked startled for a moment, then spun on his heel, heading for the hall, summoning Regi even before he'd opened the door fully, barking "Regi! Send for a company of guards!"

Bilbo watched, amused as Thorin marched off, apparently seeing to the siege of Bag-End, should Lobelia have already taken it. He thought briefly of putting a halt to Thorin's ridiculously excessive plans, but stopped. Let Thorin make his grand gestures—the fact that he would defend Bilbo's home with the same fervour he tried take back his mountain with left a warm and pleasant ache in his heart that the king really didn't need to know about. Thorin definitely didn't need any more encouragement when it came to these soppy, romantic gestures.

But it would be nice, after all, should they ever decide they were done playing Kings, to have a place to retire that valued all the right things.

With a contented smile, Bilbo shoved his hands in his pockets, and slowly strolled in Thorin's wake, letting his husband's determined commands buzz comfortingly in his ears. This was home now, after all, and that left a warm glow in his heart, too.

And twenty years later, when a young faunt became tragically orphaned, of course Regi was the one who went to fetch him to his new home, under the mountain.

Though, Bilbo did allow Thorin to send Dwalin along that time. He really was surprisingly good with children, after all.

Author's Note:

Many, many thanks to everyone who had stuck with me throughout this long journey - you have been amazing companions; I would remind you that tea is at 4, and please, don't bother knocking.

I wish I had been able to post this right away, but NaNo got in the way again, both for me and for one of my betas. Thank you for being so patient as I worked through this.

Speaking of NaNo, I think it was fairly obvious that I have set up a side story here, one which I fully planned to write when I sat down to it this November - only, much to my surprise, when I sat down to write my Fili/Sigrid side story...

It turned out to be a Kili/Tilda story instead.

I have no idea what happened, only that the characters had other ideas, and when I tried to impose my own ideas, I quickly found that this was the story that was begging to be told.

I can't promise when it will be posted, as it's still missing the last two chapters, and I do a lot of holiday baking during December that limits the amount of time I can focus on writing, so I imagine it will be January or February before it sees the light of day.

Would anyone be interested in reading such a story?

I sincerely hope to meet you all again, in the next adventure, but for now, thank you all for reading, reviewing and just generally being awesome 3