Archive of Our Own ^beta

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On Erebor’s ramparts overlooking Dale, Bilbo sat near Bofur on a large block of rubble. The wind was gentle and cold, the sky dark without the light of the moon. Stars shone brightly, but neither of the pair cared for the starlight. Two slowly dying braziers gave them just enough light to see what they were doing; dawn would come soon, so there was no need to replenish them.

The pair had sat in silence for most of the night. Bofur diligently worked on a wooden raven, whittling the night away. It kept his mind as busy as it could be, given the current circumstances. Being near Bilbo was as much comfort as he could find in these long days; he was the only one who understood.

Dragon sickness had Thorin by the throat, and it did not seem like it would be lessening anytime soon.

Bofur paused in his whittling and looked over at Bilbo. The hobbit’s eyes were glazed over as he stared at the acorn in his palm, and he knew he was far away from where he sat. 

As if to not disturb the night, he softly asked, “What are you thinking about?” 

Bilbo’s eyes didn’t stray from the acorn. He didn’t answer for a handful of seconds, but when he did, he spoke slowly. “You know… I knew that this could happen, but I never really believed that it would.” He made a small wounded noise, his head tilting to the side as he drew in a shuddering breath. 

A stab of pain hit Bofur in the chest, both from seeing Bilbo’s pain and the gravity of his words. “I never did either, truth be told. But he isn’t under stone. He can come back. We have to remember that.”

Bilbo tore his watery eyes away from the acorn to meet his gaze. Without a word needing to be said, Bofur sat down his woodworking project and went to his side. He sank to his knees in front of him and opened his arms. Bilbo immediately slid from his rubble and fell into him, a weak sob coming from his throat. 

Bofur felt his own eyes well up and overflow as he held Bilbo. He kissed the side of his head and received a chaste kiss on the neck in return. 

“He can’t stay this way. Right?” Bilbo whispered, tightening his grip on Bofur.

Bofur rubbed circles on his back as he did his best to keep his voice level. “He’s in there somewhere. All we have to do is wait, like we had to on the road.” His voice lightened. “Never thought he’d be bold enough to court both of us, truth be told.”

Bilbo gave a watery laugh. “‘Me either.” 

“We just have to give him more time. He’ll come around.” His voice fell to a whisper. “He has to.”

A shuddering inhale was the only response he received. He pulled back a little bit and met red rimmed hazel eyes. He kissed his nose, which was met with a small laugh; then his forehead, then his wet cheeks. He finished by a dropping a quick peck on his lips and pushing their foreheads together. 

After soaking up strength from one another for a minute or so, a voice startled them. 

“Have you forgotten me so soon?”

They both scrambled to get up, nearly falling over each other in the process. 

“Thorin!” Bofur exclaimed, adjusting his hat. “Didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“I was wondering where you two were. I have not seen you beyond searching for the Arkenstone.”

Bilbo went to put his acorn in his pocket, but stopped at Thorin’s growling, “What is that?” There was a rush of movement as Thorin was immediately before him and snarling, “In your hand?” 

Bilbo, face to face with Thorin, put his hand out and uncurled his fingers. Thorin stared at the acorn uncomprehendingly for a handful of seconds. “I picked it up in Beorn’s garden.”

Thorin’s expression and bearing softened. The haze of madness that had taken over him in recent days seemed to dissolve. “You’ve carried it all this way.”

Bilbo gave him a small smile. “I’m going to plant it in my garden. In Bag-End. One day it’ll grow. And every time I look at it I’ll remember everything that happened: the good, the bad, and how lucky I am that I made it home.”

Thorin frowned deeply, hurt in his eyes. “You would return to the Shire?”

Bilbo hesitated. This was something they hadn’t discussed. “I… assumed that is what would happen.” He met eyes with Bofur over Thorin’s shoulder. His eyes were uncharacteristically sad.

Thorin turned partially and reached a hand out to Bofur. Bofur took it and came to stand beside him. 

“You would leave us both behind?”

Bilbo’s expression became stricken. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you, because I certainly do want to. But a hobbit living in a mountain, surrounded by dwarves? And Thorin, you’re the king. Would your people accept me?” Bilbo’s heart very nearly stopped when he asked, “Would we be your mistresses while you marry a queen?”

Thorin jerked as though he’d been slapped. “What? Never! On my life, I would never allow you to have such a lowly station. My line is secure in Fili and Kili. I am free to marry as I wish.” He took Bilbo’s hand and raised both his and Bofur’s to his mouth. “And I have already chosen.” He kissed the backs of their hands before lowering them once more. 

Bofur let out a deep breath. “I’m a miner and a toymaker, Thorin. Are you su-“ he cut off as Thorin kissed him solidly on the lips. 

“Marriage,” Bilbo said, his voice higher than usual. “That’s — well, that’s something, isn’t it?”

Thorin broke the kiss with Bofur (leaving the toymaker looking dazed) and took Bilbo’s cheek in his hand. “I would make you both mine before Mahal.”

“Even though there’s two of us?”

Bofur came back to himself. “It’s not unheard of. Uncommon, sure, but it has been done.”

Thorin and Bilbo kissed gently. When they parted, Thorin had a thought and his gaze turned to the sky. After a handful of moments, he looked at Bofur. “Have you shown him the constellations?”

“Not yet.”

Thorin walked to the edge of the ramparts and looked up at the sky. Bofur and Bilbo made eye contact and gave each other intensely relieved smiles, both of their eyes a little damp. 

Thorin was back, if only for a night.

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