~ Erebor, 2769 ~

Thror slammed the door opened, striding toward the field, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on a raven haired youth.

With a mighty roar, the young dwarf forced his opponent on the defensive and brought the other lad to his knees, sword poking into the chest. Thror clapped slowly. The boys turned to him. The victor lowered his weapon and helped the other youth to his feet.

"Good spar, my friend," he said. The other youth crossed his arms and sniffed, hiding his fury at losing—again—behind indifference.

"Good spar, your highness."

"Thorin, come," Thror said, beckoning the prince. Thorin obeyed, handing his weapons to the servant, who lurched under the weight.

"Where are we going, Grandfather?" Thorin asked when out of earshot of the soldiers. Thror chuckled, patting the boy's back.

"You will see," the old man promised. Thorin tilted his head to the side, confused and curious. Thror lead him up and up and up until they had reached the peak of the Mountain. He turned and stopped. "Thorin, when your father was about your age now, I brought him here so that he may find a wife one day."

Thorin made a face. "Grandfather…"

"Enough of that," Thror laughed, patting Thorin's shoulder.

Thorin didn't dare correct him. There was something about women in general that, simply put, grossed him out. Most lads he knew were curious about the mysterious women that they sometimes met, but Thorin never thought on them. It bothered him once, but he accepted it many years ago.

"Come and set sight to the first land you see. In that direction, you will find your future queen. You are the eldest, Thorin. You will need to marry."

Thorin kept his head bowed. Perhaps if he did so, he'd not have to choose a land to travel to for the purpose of finding a wife. He kept his gaze on the stones beneath his feet.

"Look up and find a place," Thror said. "Stay up here as long as you like, but not too long. You'll be brought down before dinner and I expect you to have chosen a land by then."

Thror left, closing the doors behind him.

Thorin scowled at it. How can one chose a wife when one has no interest in women? Thorin sighed and stayed on top of the mountain for what felt like hours.

A trill caught his ears and he turned to the bird flitting by, flying to the east. The bird was a thrush, black save for its bright yellow chest. And Thorin watched it go until he realized he had, without meaning to, chosen the land where his bride would be.

Thorin's eyes widen in horror. How could he let the bird distract him?

But the deed is done and he had looked. He prayed that he wouldn't be able to complete this quest.

"Aulë, please take this cup from me," he prayed, descending the steps.

"Ah! Thorin," his father said. "Have you found a land?"

Thorin nodded.

"Where?" Thror pressed.

"The Blue Mountains," Thorin rasped. He cleared his throat, blushing at the unmanly sound that came from his throat. Child or not, he was still a prince and should aim to sound befitting to his station. "The Blue Mountains," he repeated in a tone he felt better befit him.

His father and grandfather smiled. "The Blue Mountains, eh?" Thror said.

"I'll write them immediately," Thrain said. Thorin tried to quell the shaking he felt. "Though it's a bit far, he's not yet thirty."

"You went far yourself, if I recall, and just as young."

"I did, true. Fine. I'll write the letter. Thorin."

Thorin blinked, biting back his wish to scream his true preferences to his father. They wouldn't stand for it. It wasn't unheard of and far from uncivilized, but for a future king…

Children—heirs—were essential.

"Pack light. You leave in three days."

Thorin could only nod, too afraid to say anything more. He walked away from his father and grandfather, wondering what he was going to do. He would be expected to return with a woman of the Blue Mountains, but he knew he wouldn't be able to find a woman he liked, only men.

Thorin closed his door and slid to the ground—thankful that the pretense of might he displayed in public, so not to dishonor his relatives, could be put aside like a cloak—and wept.

~The Shire, 2924 (1324 by Shire Reckoning)~

"Bilbo?"

Bilbo groaned, pulling his pillow over his head in a futile attempt to block his mother's shouts.

"Bilbo Baggins!"

Nope. Not going to work.

Reluctantly, he left the confines of his bed and trudged down the stairs.

"About time," Belladonna said, a spoon in her hand. Bilbo's father was eying the bacon with a watering mouth. Bilbo sat at the table, still very groggy.

"Whatimeisit?" he grumbled, noticing it was still dark outside.

"Did you forget all ready?" Belladonna asked. "We've been talking about it since you were young. We're going to the Blue Mountains."

"Huh?" Bilbo asked, scrunching his brow. "What?"

"You do remember, don't you? It was about twenty years ago?"

"Mum, I'm'mazed you ev'n r'mumb'r," Bilbo said, rubbing his eyes. "It's tu'urly."

"You made a promise," Belladonna snapped, waving the spoon threateningly in his face. "You're going. We're all going."

Bilbo lay his head on the table, grumbling.

His eyes were closing again…then they snapped open and he sat up. "Wait, is that the promise I made to Thorin?"

"Well, I'm glad you remember the promise and who you made it to at last. And that you're coherent now."

"But that was ages ago. How was I supposed to remember?"

"I thought you'd have remembered regardless, considering how you adored Mr. Thorin so."

Bungo decided to help himself to the food, as his wife and son were still deep in conversation.

Bilbo swallowed, reaching for a raisin filled muffin. Now that he did remember the promise, he also remembered a part of it that he didn't tell his parents.

At all.

"I'm too little now and I know I'm a boy, but I'm in love with you."

The dwarf cocked an eyebrow, frowning. "You are too little, Bilbo."

"But you're not against that I'm a boy, are you? Just that I'm still underage? When I'm an adult, I'll come to the Blue Mountains. Promise."

"Bilbo—"

"Promise," Bilbo stressed, kissing Thorin's cheek under his scraggly, ebony beard.

Yep. Bilbo didn't think his parents would approve of him having had a crush on a dwarf—a male dwarf.

He spent a lot of time with Thorin, being awed by the blacksmith who came to the Shire to ply his trade there for a while.

Bilbo remembered being curious. He remembered how his curiosity grew to entirely smitten. He remembered his shyness and how he was coaxed out of it by the gruff dwarf over time.

Thorin had stayed only a year, but Bilbo thought that year one of the best of his life, even when Thorin left. His parents assumed he was upset because a friend he cherished had left. They never thought it was from a broken heart.

Thorin had rejected him after he made his parents promise to let him go to the Blue Mountains. He was too upset to tell them that the plan had been canceled.

"I doubt he remembers me," Bilbo said.

"Nonsense," Bungo piped, swallowing. "He sent word several times, asking us how you were."

"We've been in regular contact with Mr. Thorin," Belladonna said, sitting down, finally, to have a fill of her own.

Bilbo almost choked on the muffin. He reached for the milk, coughing, and drank, trying to soothe his throat. "This whole time?" he demanded, his voice a little hoarse.

"Yes."

"Why didn't he just write me instead?"

Belladonna and Bungo looked at each other. "Bilbo…"

"We know you fancied him," Bungo said. Bilbo felt his body stiffen to lead. "And we decided to keep correspondence with him ourselves."

The heavy lead feeling in Bilbo started to boil.

"We were going to wait until you told us," Belladonna said, glaring at her husband. "But it never came up, so—" Bilbo stood and marched to the stairs, trying to keep some decorum though he really wanted to run. "Bilbo, where are you going?"

"Back to bed," Bilbo spat, turning around. "If you want to go to the Blue Mountains, go ahead, but I'm not going."

"Bilbo," Belladonna stood and approached him, reaching for his arm. Bilbo ran up the stairs to his room, locking the door from the inside with a chair. Belladonna rapped her knuckles on the door. "Bilbo? Bilbo! Bilbo Baggins, come out this instant! Let's at least talk about it. Bilbo!"

Bilbo pressed his hands hard against his ears, hiding under the covers.

He didn't want his parents to ever know. That they did know—how could they have kept their knowledge hidden for this long?

How did they know in the first place? Was he that obvious about his feelings for Thorin? Did they know that he had gotten his first broken heart from Thorin? If they did, why did they think this was a promise worth honoring?

"BILBO, WE'RE GOING AS A FAMILY WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!" Bungo roared, startling Bilbo. His father rarely yelled, but when he did…

Bilbo opened the door. "No choice?"

"No choice," Bungo said through clenched teeth.