Chapter Text
Bilbo panted heavily as he continued to walk, the cold mountain air being the only thing keeping him going. The hike up to their destination had been a long one, much longer than Balin had told Bilbo it would be when he had planned their first honeymoon. By Thorin’s calculation, they were barely past the half way point.
“Balin,” Bilbo angrily muttered under his breath, “Tada binsalbûn rukhs-unam.”
He had finally been given permission to begin to learn and speak in the tongue of his husband. Words of endearment had been the first to join his vocabulary, quickly followed by an abundance of insults.
“What was that, halwûn?” Thorin asked from behind him, humor in his tone.
“Nothing, my yusthûn,” Bilbo replied with a sigh.
He had been using the Khuzdul word for ‘husband’ as often as he could, fitting it into every sentence possible since he was taught the word. He simply couldn’t help himself. Thorin was his husband, his yusthûn. It was surreal that the King Under the Mountain was now bound to him forever. Thorin chose him, loved him, married him, and Bilbo chose him back. He would choose Thorin a million times over, in every life and in every place in time. He could only hope that others accepted their union once the two of them returned and got married properly for dwarves.
Geld had not been the only hostile force inside the mountain. Many others, while not violent, it was obvious they did not take kindly to Bilbo being a titled hobbit walking about Erebor and having an equal say in their laws. Of course, he had Thorin to back him up now, but that did not mean he wanted his husband, the King, fighting his fights for him. But, Bilbo didn’t want to get ahead of himself. They still didn’t know what they would be coming back to after a few weeks of post-nuptial bliss.
And there was definitely going to be post-nuptial bliss, Bilbo could guarantee it. Not being able to touch his love, speak to him in any way that was not sharp and hostile had been absolute agony. It had been a lonely wait. Like Thorin had promised, no one bothered either of them about what had occurred, though many of the company seemed to be a bit gentler with Bilbo, speaking kinder and purposefully going out of their way to spend time with him, but it was dreadfully uncomfortable having everyone constantly walking on eggshells and avoiding any topics that pointed back to romance or Thorin when they conversed.
Bilbo sighed with relief, thankful all over that he was out of that suffocating atmosphere, out of the mountain completely and with no more reason to hide. It was nearing the time the mountain would be starting to wake up. They would soon find the King missing, along with one of his lords—the only hobbit one, at that—and the Crown Princess in their place with the excuse that the King and Lord Baggins were away from the mountain on business. They thought it would be better to say that then try to explain to a whole mountain that ‘no, the King was not eloping.’
“How do you think Dís is doing?” Bilbo casually asked as Thorin walked behind him.
It had been a no-brainer to choose the princess as their confidant. She had also appointed herself as their wedding officiant, much to Thorin’s dismay if his sarcastic wedding-related missives were anything to go by. Though, according to the dwarf, if they hadn’t chosen Dís, they would have woken up to a bald chin and naked feet upon their return. Apparently, Dís’ exact words to Thorin after the dwarf had told her of the ruse were, ‘If you lie to me again, you’d be better off cutting your beard yourself than waiting till I get to you.’ That would’ve been enough of a threat to scare any dwarf, king or not, according to Thorin’s recount.
Bilbo heard the dwarf grumble slightly. “I suppose she must be doing better than the rest of the company,” he replied, “though I’d rather not discuss my sister during our honeymoon.”
The hobbit laughed. “We are not on our honeymoon yet, my yusthûn.”
“Who says?” Thorin shot back, humor in his voice, “I will take you right now, Bilbo Baggins, propriety be damned.”
The hobbit scoffed and looked over his shoulder, shooting an incredulous look at his husband.
“As much as I would love to be intimate with you on the side of a mountain, I wish to have breakfast with my new husband before the sun is up,” Bilbo lovingly replied, “Besides, there is not much room on this trail for such activities.”
Their hiking trail was nice but quite narrow. It reminded Bilbo of the mountains beyond Rivendell—before the rock giants and goblins and orcs, of course. The air was quite chilly, as it was most of the year so high up on the mountainside, but it helped him feel refreshed rather than unbearably cold.
“Is this punishment for being too mean to you during our months apart?” Thorin asked after a moment, making the hobbit snort. “It was all a ruse, my love.”
“No,” Bilbo answered, “On the contrary, you were too nice in your hatred.”
Truly, Thorin had given Bilbo too much grace. The dwarf had seemed to use up all of his faux anger that first night. Since then, he had been too gentle, too understanding. At their first council meeting after getting engaged, yes, the dwarf had been cold, but he still showed Bilbo too much respect. Rather than thinly veiled vehement hatred, Thorin acted as though they were merely amicable coworkers. It wasn’t until Bilbo sent a strongly worded missive to Thorin that the dwarf started acting better, and even then, it wasn’t by much.
“What would you have expected of me, ‘Ibinê?” Thorin asked. “Amlanthi sulla dê astâ. I cannot simply act as though I despise you when I don’t. But, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it, dearest?”
Bilbo sighed and shook his head. “Yes, I suppose it did all work out. I only hope our friends will understand the need for our deception.”
“They have three weeks to get over themselves if they do not,” Thorin replied, immediately reassuring Bilbo. “You have had to learn so many new dwarven customs. It is time that they learn at least one of yours.”
“The most important one, I’d say,” Bilbo muttered under his breath, but the dwarf either didn’t hear or chose to ignore it.
“You are my consort now, as well,” Thorin added, “They must respect you and your decisions.”
“Consort Bilbo Baggins.” Bilbo laughed. “It is quite a title to live up to. I only wish not to use you or my new title as a shield. My battles have always been my own, and I plan to keep it that way.”
“You may fight your own battles, love,” the dwarf agreed, “But I will be there beside you—not as a shield but as a sword, should you ever need it.”
Bilbo giggled, blushing slightly, though Thorin obviously couldn’t see it.
“The sentiment is appreciated,” he replied.
Thorin’s heart was in the right place, even if the dwarf offering to attack someone with a sword in Bilbo’s honor was not what the hobbit had in mind for their marriage dynamic. They would talk about boundaries and expectations during the honeymoon, though there was no doubt in Bilbo that they would figure it out. Their love was true, good, and it could not be easily shaken by any misunderstandings—large or small.
Bilbo breathed in deeply, letting the crisp, cold mountain air fill his lungs as he stopped on the cliffside, needing to catch his breath. He looked out to the horizon only for his breath to catch and heart to begin beating loudly in his chest. Faint, golden light crept over the horizon, slowly painting the cliffside they stood on in an amber hue. He blinked back tears, swallowing the relief and joy that threatened to bubble out of him.
“What is it, amrâlimê?” Thorin asked from beside him where they stopped, and Bilbo felt a gentle hand rest on his back.
“It is the first light of a new day,” he answered, as if that was explanation enough.
“A new day for us both—together,” Thorin added before a kiss was pressed against the hobbit’s temple. “I love you, Bilbo.”
“Amralizu, Thorin,” the hobbit replied.
As the sun rose on their union, Bilbo’s heart swelled with joy. He knew, back in the halls of the waking mountain, his family was slowly coming to realize the truth, learning of the ruse he and Thorin had concocted.
He could truly call them family now—with no hesitation or pretenses. Bilbo had been alone for so long and had let himself become complacent in that loneliness; he hadn’t allowed himself to accept the company as family, too scared that they would leave him as the rest of his family had—whether by their own volition or not.
Now though, Bilbo had found his place with the company, with Thorin, and within himself. He had once been a lonely hobbit, resigned to a lonely life, but that life was over, reborn into something new, something precious. When a band of rowdy, messy, exceptionally rude dwarves had barged into his smial, it had been one of the worst nights of Bilbo’s life. Looking back, it was surreal that he could now call such dwarves his family, his home.
Life would be complicated when he and Thorin returned to the mountain. They could not be just Thorin and Bilbo any longer. With their union came the expectation of more. The life of a hobbit consort to a dwarven king would surely be a complicated one—their past was telling enough of what to expect for their future—but the sun was rising, the golden light a blessing from Mahal himself upon their union and a divine sign of what was to come. Whatever that was, Bilbo knew it would be good.
The End