Chapter Text
What the dwarves did not understand was that “perfectly respectable” is actually a title of some note in the Shire, and not one given idly. In truth, it is far more fearsome than “Bullroarer”, for it requires quite a bit more work than simply being tall and slaying a few goblins on the battlefield.
To be “perfectly respectable”? To never have a single social faux pas, to not have had one dinner party gone awry, to serve tea at exactly the same time every day, remember the family trees to the tenth degree of all your acquaintances after having just met them? To never need to ask a name twice, or stepped on a single toe while dancing? That requires a level of political acumen that is truly terrifying to behold, and Bilbo was held in fearful awe by the other Shire folk as a result of it. None dared cross him except the equally formidable Lobelia, and their duels were the stuff of legend.
It was said that Bilbo could ruin a hobbit’s reputation for life simply by pausing before he said “thank you.” That he once ended a twenty year blood feud and had the heirs to both families married before the end of the month simply by inviting one of their aunts over for tea. That the only reason he did so was because the feud meant he once had to take the long way ‘round the market, for to do otherwise would be to accidentally ally oneself with one side or the other in the complicated and byzantine world of Shire favoritism.
This began to dawn on Thorin slowly over time, as with a few well-planned dinner parties, Bilbo had resolved centuries of tension between Mirkwood and Erebor. Most baffling of all, at some point Thorin agreed that Kili and Tauriel could be wed to seal the alliance and he didn't remember saying yes.
One day, he finally worked up the interest (certainly it wasn't the courage) to confront Bilbo on this matter. Respectfully, of course, because Thorin had begun to realize that there’s politics, played by lesser mortals for such trivial things as kingdoms and gold, and then there was this.
"Well someone had to do it," Bilbo said, without looking up from the thank-you cards he was writing in perfect flowing Sindarin to the Elvenking for coming around to tea at his request the month before. "These are trifles, my dear, don’t worry your head about it. I will let you know if anything truly difficult comes up."