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A/N: I cannot explain how overwhelmed I am by the amount of positive responses from chapter 2! Thank you so, so much for your wonderful support! Now, I added 'AU' in my warnings because I really am going to continue to spectacularly fudge up the history of Middle Earth. I took some time actually THINKING about the plot and I believe I am finally satisfied knowing where this will go. I am going to keep my mouth shut about it because I want to try to gradually develop the story rather than tell you in this note.
King under the Mountain is a simulation-based settlement-building strategy game set in a fantasy world, for Windows, Mac and Linux. Players take charge of a group of settlers founding a new colony, planning out work to be done and designing the rooms and structures that make up a burgeoning society. Expertly sculpted by Gary Hunt, a member of the original Lord of the Rings crew, Smaug - King Under the Mountain will make an iconic addition to your Weta Workshop miniatures collection. The statue is an Open Edition piece. Please note: images are of a pre-production prototype.
Pairing: Thorin/Bilbo…more perhaps…
Warning: Slash, AU, issues with consent (non-consensual sexual situations), politics, violence and cultural misunderstandings/insensitivities.
Chapter Warning: Naughty thoughts.
Far From Home
'There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.'
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
Chapter 3
King Under the Mountain
King Under the Mountain
Fear was not an emotion Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror was well acquainted with. Succumbing to fear lead to acts of cowardice, and Thorin would take a dagger to his gut than to ever allow such a weakness. Fear was irrational, something that sprang from the unknown, the lack of understanding, the incomprehension of one's true nature. It was the inability to control both the outside and what was within. Only a coward lived by fear.
Thorin was no coward.
Yet, incomprehensible as it may seem, when word came to him that Balin and company were spotted at the gates of Erebor, Thorin knew fear.
For arriving with Balin was something unknown to Thorin. Alien and unnatural to the halls of his kingdom, he found himself hesitant to rise from his seat, to respond or even acknowledge the announcement. There was much to prepare for; papers had to be finalized, the lords of the court summoned, the rooms made ready…
Thorin did not move. The quill in his hand dripped ink onto the document he was scribing, frozen as his heart was. His eyes trained on the candles illuminating his desk, the small flames flickering, the melted wax sliding down the candle's diminishing body. The wicks needed to be trimmed tonight; he thought numbly, the servants were getting lax in their duties.
'Your Majesty,' whispered a voice excitedly behind him. 'Shall I document your first meeting for our histories?' A nervous breath. 'It is the first of this kind, after all, and I do believe it important to be written down for generations to come.'
Slowly, as if rust were in his very joints, Thorin re-dipped the quill and resumed his writing. 'It is not necessary to meet at this time. Balin will come to me once settled and we will confer then.'
'But…but…' the dwarf stammered, and Thorin heard him shuffle to the side and lean close to him. Thorin kept his gaze down at his words, drying black on parchment.
'I am busy, Ori,' he said. No lie. There was much to be done.
'But,' Ori protested, his voice as young as his years, 'Do you not wish to meet your…your…the…' he floundered, and Thorin could almost see the redness of his flush.
Thorin felt his jaw clench, feeling a swift rise in temper. 'I am no dwarfling swept away in some flight of fancy. Balin will settle things and then come. That is all I need at this time, Ori. Leave me.'
Chastised and dismissed, the young historian shrank away from his lord and left as ordered. Alone, Thorin huffed in frustration and glared at the candle flames, knowing that he would not complete his writings now he was so disturbed.
Of all things! What were young dwarves thinking of in these days, Thorin wondered? As if this were the story of a tragic love ballad, to be sung in halls, taverns and to the wide eyes of the young.
Thorin stood with a grimace and stalked out, paying no heed when he was immediately flanked at both sides by his guards. During the rule of his grandfather Thror, there was never a need for guards and escorts or even arrangements with foreign folk outside the borders of Rhovanion. The dwarves ruled their mountains, the elves kept to their trees, and the humans stayed in their cities. It had been a golden time, one that Thorin still dreamed about most nights, of gold and glory…
…This should never have happened…
He retired to his rooms, shooing the servants away with a look. He lit his own fire, and stroked it grimly till it burned hot and bright. Thorin sat in his favorite chair facing it, clearing his mind of thought and worry, of the licks of unnamed fear that tried to burn a place in his heart. He quelled it, iced it with his will, set his mind to the flames and burning cinder.
And waited.
It took some hours, but Balin came to him, silent and wise and missed these last few months. The old dwarf took a seat, and Thorin poured him warm ale and served him, and Balin accepted it graciously from his lord's hand. Balin looked slightly worn from his travel, but he had washed and fixed himself for this audience, beard groomed and hair braided back with iron clasps. There was a smile of contentment on his thin lips, but then Thorin knew how to read his old friend's masks.
'So,' he spoke when Balin was done with his drink, 'it was a success?'
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'Aye,' Balin said, turning the mug in his weathered hands. 'Just as we were told. Eerily simple really. I am not used to things going so smoothly with not a single hitch.'
Thorin nodded, understanding the concern. 'The roads you traveled?'
'North, as ordered. Traveled the passes most recently used, through the halls we knew still ruled by our kin. We took no risks.'
He could not help a sigh of relief, sitting back and not even realizing he had been leaning forward in tension. 'What news from the Blue Mountains and from the north?'
'The colonies to the west understand the gravity of the situation. However, I believe they will hesitate to rally at your command. We should send one of our own there to maintain our presence. It is peaceful there, my lord, and they grow round with contentment.' Balin placed his mug to the side and interlaced his fingers, his thick browns drooping in weight. 'Our brothers to the north are anxious. Dwalin and I could feel the tensions in the air, and acrid stench in the winds even when underground. I no longer doubt the wizard's words.'
Thorin could not help the snarl pull back his lips.
Wise old eyes observed him, missing nothing. 'I did not see the wizard on my way here.'
'He left some weeks ago,' Thorin growled with a wave of his hand. 'Some wizardly errand of some sort. Of course it would take him away when we are in need of his presence!'
Now it was Balin leaning forward. 'And do we need him, my lord?'
Thorin met his friend's eyes.
'You have not asked about the hobbit.'
'What would I accomplish by asking?'
Balin reclined with a shrug. 'Perhaps curiosity to actually seek him. You are to be wed tomorrow after all.'
Thorin flinched and exclaimed, 'So soon?'
'You are not one to dally away. Even more, it might make our guest a bit more anxious to wait on the inevitable.'
Ah. The hobbit. 'And is he…anxious?' Thorin could not help ask.
'He is, though he tries to hide it.' Balin smiled, 'Quite stubborn, your consort. He surprised me many a times on our journey here. Even Dwalin warmed up to him in the end.'
There was affection in his old friend's voice that Thorin was unprepared to hear.
'Thorin,' the smile was gone. 'He did not take this very well. He was physically forced to sign our contract and is quite angry with being brought here. He is unlike what we know of the other halflings, who really are quite simple creatures.'
'But not him,' asked Thorin.
'Not Bilbo Baggins,' Balin rubbed his nose, a nervous gesture. 'I do wish Gandalf were here. He did say he met him and knew his mother. A familiar face might just give the hobbit some little comfort.'
Thorin frowned. 'Is he resisting?'
'Not really, no.' Balin paused before saying, 'He is just very unhappy.'
There was a sudden itch of irritation, and Thorin snarled, 'And who is? It must be done!'
'It does,' Balin agreed calmly.
Thorin stood, agitated. 'What do I care for a hobbit's happiness? His happiness nor despair will not change anything!'
'No, it won't.'
'He is a mere piece on our board, nothing else.'
'Indeed.'
Thorin glared at the old dwarf, and then felt his shoulders fall. 'I am not cruel. He will be safe at least. Safer than if he stayed with is kin in their holes. If they are as simple as you say, they have no clue of what is coming…of what their lands sit between.' He turned to the fire, hands clasped behind him. 'Bilbo Baggins is safe here. And if he plays his part well he might save his halfling brethren when the time comes.'
They needed the hobbit here, bound in marriage to Thorin. This was not some easy whim, but necessity. Thorin was a king, the son of kings and ruling was is his blood. The burden of the crown was his life as was the sacrifice. He would do what was needed of him, no fear, and no hesitancy.
![King Under The Mountain Hobbit King Under The Mountain Hobbit](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/thehobbitfilm/images/5/59/ThorinOakenshield2BOFA.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20171006141554)
Tomorrow…
'You have not asked what he looks like. Whether he is fair to gaze upon or as round with lard as rumors say.'
Thorin blinked, turning back to his friend.
'Do you not intend to take the hobbit to bed?'
The question caught him off guard with its abruptness, and had Balin been anyone else Thorin would have roared at the crudity of it. Instead, he forced the blood from his cheeks and replied coolly, 'The contract is not complete without our consummation. I will not shirk my duties.'
Balin nodded at his answer and stood with a clap to his thighs. 'Then let us go take a peek at your intended. Perhaps you might find it in you to at least introduce yourself before tomorrow's ceremony.'
'There is no need!' Snapped Thorin.
'Of course not,' agreed the white-haired dwarf, walking away. 'But it might help prepare for whatever disposition he might have during the ceremony. It might help your thoughts for your night with him.'
Again with the crudity! But the cunning fox was right…there was some benefit of at least looking. What if the halfling were so hideously round that Thorin had to pull at folds of flesh? What if he were of a delicate nature, for Balin said he was unhappy, and would try to run? What if he was beautiful and Thorin would wish to touch him right there…
Balin waited for him to catch up, and this time when his two guards approached he told them to be at ease. He wanted as little audience as possible.
The royal guest rooms were not far from the royal wing. As planned there were no guests visiting Erebor, so the halls should have been empty. Except, to Thorin's alarm, one of the rooms had attracted a small group of hovering dwarves, raised voices coming from within.
'Confound it! Leave me alone!'
'Master Hobbit, this is quite improper!'
As if sensing the presence of their king, one of the dwarves, a servant, looked over and paled. With a hurried motion he alerted the other servants and within moments they had dispersed with frightened gasps. This left Ori, standing nervously and clutching a large book and quill in hand, wide-eyed and unwilling to enter the room even with its door slightly ajar.
'Keep your nasty hands to yourself!'
'Nasty? I beg your pardon!
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Now that was enough! Shoving past his quivering historian, Thorin threw the door open with such force that it slammed into the wall with a loud cracking noise.
Dori, elder brother of Ori stood in the center of the room, and it took a moment for Thorin to remind himself that the other was a relative of his and had every right to have been in these halls. He looked quite red in the face, and though not a strand of hair had come undone from his intricate array of braids, he looked quite out of sorts. In his hands was a small open box of hair clasps of a similar design to Thorin's own, and a length of rich blue cloth. Ah, of course Dori would make sure the hobbit were dressed appropriately.
Opposite of him, standing on the other side of a small table was Bilbo Baggins, the hobbit, halfling from the Shire, and Thorin's consort.
The dwarf king felt his heart seize at the sight of him. No fat ball of inactivity was Bilbo Baggins. Small, very small boned with pale skin that was quite red in the cheeks in anger. His hair was light colored, neither blond nor brown, but with curls that shone like beaten metal in the lamplight that lit his room. His eyes were dark, but of what color Thorin was too far to discern. His lips thin but with an attractive curve to them. The hobbit looked young and soft and very vulnerable for he wore no layers of clothes or mail, nor had any weapon at his belt.
The hobbit was staring right at him.
Thorin had to remind himself to breathe.
'My.my lord!' Dori was stammering. 'Please forgive the ruckus we have made! I only meant to prepare Master Baggins for…'
Balin, blessedly wise Balin stepping past Thorin and assessing the situation. 'Your intentions were noble, Dori,' he said. 'However, our good hobbit seems quite exhausted from our travels. Perhaps tomorrow you may prepare his garb once he's been granted a night's rest?'
'O-of course!' With great care, Dori placed both box and cloth on the table, taking a moment to brush out an imagined wrinkle before he bowed to Thorin and walked out with a hurried, 'Come Ori.'
The door was shut, the lock clicked.
There was a silence. The hobbit kept his position behind the table and Thorin willed his lungs to keep him standing.
Balin cleared his throat, gesturing with a grand hand. 'Mister Bilbo, it is with great honor that I introduce you to Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain.' He then looked at his lord with a grin, 'Thorin, this is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.'
Thorin could not arrest his eyes from the hobbit, noting how thin fingers spread over the surface of the table, how those dark eyes darted between him and Balin, the redness in his cheeks leaving as his temper was calmed. He only wore a white shirt with a bit of design weaved into it, with braces over his shoulders and soft looking pants. There was a red jacket and embroidered scarf draped over a chair. Dori's entrance was unexpected, catching the halfling by surprise it seemed.
'Master Balin,' something hot and molten settled in his gut at the sound of the hobbit's voice – and he suddenly wished to be addressed with that voice – to be alone so that only he could hear the sounds that came from those lips. 'Am I to be dressed up like some type of dwarf doll? I am a hobbit and will wear my own clothes for the ceremony!'
Before Balin could respond, Thorin found his feet stepping forward, his voice low when he said, 'You will wear my colors.'
There, he could see them now! Dark blues so deep they could only belong in Erebor. Bilbo's eyes were stones incased in ice, so cold they could burn anyone unworthy who touched. And no one would come near him, here in Thorin's mountain, for the hobbit was his now, to be held and touched and beholden by the king alone.
Thorin was suddenly very pleased.
'You will wear my colors,' repeated Thorin, his fingers brushing against the edges of the Dori's blue cloth. 'You will wear my clasps so all who see you will know whom you belong to.'
The hobbit's mouth dropped open, face frozen in perplexity.
Thorin wanted to reach forward and press his thumb against that mouth, to see how those features would change as he touched the hobbit.
His hobbit. No one else would dare lay such a claim.
The sound of a small fist hitting wood startled him from his thoughts, and with a blink Bilbo Baggins had placed himself before Thorin. Such quiet feet, bare and large for his body, but stealthy weapons!
'What right,' spat the halfling, 'do you believe you have over me?' He was pale now, his anger no longer burned hot on his cheeks, much cooler was his rage.
Foolish little creature, Thorin had right to everything. 'The right of your husband. The right of your king.'
Fascinating eyes narrowed, drowning Thorin 'And is it written anywhere that a husband and king has right to force his colors on his spouse?' Cunning. His hobbit was cunning and standing so close he could feel hot blood furiously pumping to his little heart.
Thorin felt no reason why he should hold himself back for propriety's sake. This bewitchingly angry creature was already his to claim on paper. No one could fault him at all if he reached out for what was his.
He lifted his hand and brought his fingers to the curls touching the upward tilt of the hobbit's curious ear. His consort froze at his touch, a small sound coming from his lips when Thorin loomed over him, forcing him to look straight up.
'It says that you must obey me, Master Hobbit,' he said huskily, enjoying the feel of his halfing's hair between his fingers. 'And if I wish you to dress in my colors, you shall obey. Are we in agreement?'
Instead of the affirmation he expected, his touching hand was struck sharply to the side, a slight stinging blow that startled more than hurt. Though the halfing had neither muscle nor skill to cause any type of harm, Thorin found himself stunned that Bilbo found the audacity to raise his hand against him.
But Bilbo was shrinking back, two steps to create distance rather than preparing to strike at him again. One small hand was clutching the side of his face where Thorin had touched him, the other arm wrapped protectively around his soft torso. 'So this is how it will be?' he asked in a haunting voice that Thorin almost felt shamed by his actions. Bilbo then dropped his arms to his sides in resignation. 'I am no more than a slave to you, am I?'
Thorin took a step forward, wanting to take his hobbit in his arms, to run hands beneath clothes so that he would understand that it was not true! Bilbo was no slave! All he had to do was obey and all would be well!
But Balin was suddenly between them, and Thorin looked at his friend and wondered how had he lost himself so that he had forgotten that he had not been alone with his halfling…Balin had seen everything…
'Perhaps,' his friend was saying in the same tone he used when coming between two disputing lords, 'We shall have Dori arrange that a jacket very much like the ones you own is made for the ceremony? It will be in the same style of the Shire but in your king's colors as is our way. How does that sound, Master Bilbo?'
Bilbo swallowed then nodded once. 'If his Majesty agrees?' he acquiesced so formally.
Balin gave Thorin a look that he had not been on the receiving end since he was a dwarfling.
Fine then. 'I shall allow it.' He watched as his hobbit's shoulders dropped in silent relief, fingers that had been clenched in fists relaxed.
He did this. To rile Bilbo Baggins into fury, to frighten him into submission and to grant him such kindnesses. Only he had the power to do this.
'Then it's settled!' Balin was saying, a firm hand landing on Thorin's shoulder and guiding him away from the hobbit and out the door. 'That is enough excitement for one evening! Do try to get some rest, Master Bilbo, for tomorrow shall be a long day. Good evening.'
He shut Bilbo's door before the hobbit had a chance to respond in kind, and continued to manhandle Thorin down the hall, ignoring the stares of the few straggling servants. Escorting him like a mischievous child caught in some indiscretion. Almost, Thorin wanted to protest at being handled so, but his mind was dancing to tomorrow…
Tomorrow…tomorrow…
Finally, Balin stopped and came about so he stood in front of his king. He made sure he had Thorin's full attention when he admonished, 'That was a bit cruel.'
'It is my right.'
'It is,' agreed Balin, his voice reproaching.
Thorin looked away, uncomfortable. 'I could have said it differently,' he paused. 'Gentler.'
Balin crossed his arms.
'And though he is pleasing to look at,' he continued, staring into the shadows of his hall, 'and is mine to touch as much as I desire, I did not need to force myself on him in that way.'
'True.'
Balin never made it easy on him. 'We could have sat down and talked. I might have made him understand…if a little…what it will mean for him to be my consort. I could have told him why he was chosen and not some other hobbit. I should have told him about that blasted wizard.'
'Tomorrow then,' Balin said. 'After the ceremony you can take the time to actually have a conversation with him.'
Tomorrow…Tomorrow…
He could still feel the silky curl of Bilbo's hair on his fingertips.
Thorin smiled.
'Tomorrow, Balin, I take Bilbo Baggins to bed.'
A/N: So yeah, Thorin isn't cruel…he just sometimes fails at not being cruel.
Next time…marriage!
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