Chapter Text
“This can’t be borne!” Dwalin’s loud voice rang out, followed by a cheer of incensed agreement from the other dwarves around the table.
“I agree, brother.” Balin said somberly, stroking a hand through his long white beard. “To undertake a noble quest, to go to war, and not be met with recognition by one’s kin.” The ordinarily verbose dwarf seemed to struggle for words. “It is an outrage… It is unjust!”
A round of ‘Hear, hear!’s echoed about the table, and Bilbo sighed, dropping his head to his hands.
“It will be fine,” Bilbo insisted. “I hardly had a line of hobbits at the door to begin with. This quest will not have changed much there I should think.” He wriggled his nose thinking of the few requests for courtship he had in the past.
One Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, then Bracegirdle had not taken the rejection well though she had at last been successful in marrying into the Baggin’s name, if a few branches more removed than she had sought. He had attempted to let her down as easily as possible, but she had all but ignored him, pressing forward regardless and attempting to kiss him. It had taken him explaining, in no uncertain terms, that lasses just didn’t move him as lads did. She had gone really quite green with disgust and spread the tale far and wide, and so queer Mr Baggins was born. Unfortunately it did also mean that having been outed so widely and viciously, even those of the same persuasion had been thoroughly discouraged from courting him, lest they be so publicly outed in doing so.
“But you were rather well to do?” Ori asked meekly, seemingly unconvinced his popularity had been so low originally. “I remember dining there that first night. You have a lovely large house, ample space and provisions to support a spouse and family.”
Bilbo sighed again. “Hobbits don’t… meet with strangeness of any sort very well. We're simple folk but can be really rather… insular… Same sex pairings were not common and those few that did occur were kept rather… quiet. I had a rather unfortunate ‘bringing into the light’ some might say.” He toyed with the rough hewn wooden spoon in his porridge bowl. “Being as I’m not inclined to pursue lasses and there was little to be had ‘quietly’ after that it just didn't come up.”
This only seemed to further incense the already rowdy bunch, who clambered for the opportunity to let him know under no uncertain terms that dwarves were not so closed minded.
Dori spoke up. “To keep a love quiet is shameful! And love between men is most revered in dwarves, for we have so few womenfolk at all. It would be tragedy if we could all only love that which we are not, and have so many lead loveless lives.” More agreement rattled through the tables.
Throughout this Thorin Oakenshield had stayed rather quiet, though he listened in and gave careful nods at each point raised. As though he could feel the burglar’s eyes upon him, those deep blue eyes rose to meet Bilbo’s. He didn’t smile, simply choosing to stare at the hobbit until he ducked his head and looked back to the others. Thankfully, Bofur chose that moment to chime in, and Bilbo could look away without admitting anything to himself.
“Aye, but why do you want to leave now anyway?” Bofur asked. “If you’ll return and be all alone. You do want romance, don’t you?”
Oh of course Bilbo would like a romance. He had even felt on the precipice of one with his dear king under the mountain once upon a time. When his friend had handed him a lovely coat of mithril and spoken of protecting him, Bilbo’s heart had positively swelled, mind whirring with the possibility that his regard might be returned. Then he had seen the sheen of gold-sickness overtake his friends eyes and the hope he had crumpled like the receipts at the bottom of his market bag back in Bag End.
He had realised keenly that his friend was not himself, and his actions were not his own, which had eased him in his own betrayal of the Arkenstone. As he looked into those same gleaming gold hungry eyes as they dangled him atop the ramparts, frothing saliva flecking from the king’s mouth as he delivered his cruel sentencing, the remaining flame had been all but snuffed out. Even after apologies atop Ravenhill and Bilbo’s subsequent plea for forgiveness of his own in the Elven healing tents, their friendship remained stilted and rocky, a poorly mimed pantomime of the true connection they had once shared. It was this facsimile of friendship, this isolation of feeling between them that had caused Bilbo to think of leaving in the first place. Now Erebor was restored, there was no need for him to stay. He would spare himself the recurrent pain of their distance and Thorin the stilted few-word conversations each day.
Bilbo smiled ruefully. “I would love a romance, but it is unlikely, is all. I wouldn’t be completely alone regardless. My cousin Drogo and his lovely wife Primula live next to the Brandywine river, and Fortinbras is Thain of the Shire and also a close cousin. Plus there is Hamfast next door, who helps tend both our gardens. I am blessed with friends and family if not in love.”
“No!” Bofur exclaimed, slamming a hand on the table. “You’re the hero of Erebor!” The dwarf stood next up from the table beside him, taking his hat from his head and holding it over his heart. “Bofur of the Ur’s, at your service, Bilbo.” He bowed deeply.
Unsure of what the dwarf was doing, Bilbo hesitantly stood too, pushing the bench they had shared back with his calves as he did so. “Bilbo Baggins at yours, my friend.”
Bofur smiled at him then, all mischievous teeth. “I vow an oath to my dear friend, shield brother, who has saved my life in those barrels and my sanity more times since, reclaimed my homeland and been a man of honor in helping her restoration.”
Bilbo’s eyes widened at this open praise. While he knew the dwarves at the company thought well of him, he was hardly all that.
Bofur continued with his pledge in the face of his friend’s shock. “I swear to find my dear friend Bilbo, a lover beneath the mountain, who would be proud to call our burglar his own and who Bilbo in turn could be proud to love. So it will be.” He gave Bilbo another bow, and plopped his beloved hat upon the hobbit’s head, before sitting back to the table.
Great whoops and cheers erupted from the dwarves around them, spoons were banged on the table and Bilbo slid back into his seat, slightly dazed. What had he got himself into?