Chapter Text
A lot of things happened in the month of Frerin’s birthday.
It gets colder (although that was expected).
Ori and Dwalin officially announced their courtship, which made Dori look like he was going to have an aneurism. It also ended with Nori being given a black eye and Dwalin sitting at the tables during supper cradling a sore jaw and being doted upon by Ori. Bilbo thinks it ridiculously cute.
Dain arrives for the celebrations, because regardless of his mother’s death it was still Frerin’s birthday and there was no way they were just letting the date pass by without any form of merriment. Not a day after his arrival, however, Thorin was steadfastly agreeing with what Fili and Kili had told him when he’d visited the Iron Hills. “Stay with me when he’s around,” Thorin requests, and it’s not an order in the slightest, because Thorin knows he couldn’t order Bilbo to do anything, because Bilbo didn’t do that sort of thing- bowing haplessly and doing whatever he was told to do. He was not that kind of a Hobbit. “Dain can be a bit… overfriendly.”
Bilbo just sighs. “You Dwarves are ridiculous,” he mutters, but stays away from Dain if they’re alone like Thorin requests. It seems to make him happy anyway.
The day of Frerin’s birth is one filled with drinking and eating and shouting and singing and raucous laughter. Frerin knocks a row of tankards over in his drunken stupor (at least, that’s what he says but everyone knows it’s because of the eye-patch) and then proceeds to run into the doorway (although that one is because of his drunken stupor).
Kili stacks his own tankards up high, one on top of the other, until there’s a small leaning tower on their table, and when Fili throws a bone stripped of its meat at it, high in the air, and manages to get it in the tankard at the very top, cheers erupt around the room.
Bilbo has to admit, he’s pretty impressed by the act. He’s never seen anyone do that before.
Although Bombur landing in that barrel after fighting those Orcs while they were rushing down the rapids in Mirkwood was pretty impressive in itself… and kind of a similar situation, if only on a bigger scale.
Bilbo doesn’t know what time it is when the party starts winding down. Or, at least, when he decides the party is winding down enough to make it polite for him to turn in. He’s had far too much to drink and doesn’t think he can stay on his feet for much longer.
He’s helped to his room by Thorin, who bats away Dain’s hands when he offers to lead Bilbo himself, and Bilbo laughs about that the entire way there. Thorin helps him get into his bedclothes, rather gentlemanly, which is a surprise, and he sets Bilbo into the bed and lets him ramble on about nothing in particular as he pulls the blankets up about him.
Bilbo is toasty warm and still muttering to himself as he drifts off into sleep when Thorin tells him goodnight and shuts the door quietly behind him.
His head is hammering like a forge when he wakes up, and he groans and rolls onto his stomach, burying his face into the pillow. It doesn’t help much, but the added pressure against his eyes eases some of his pain.
He doesn’t leave his bed for some time that morning, but eventually he braves his aches and pains to get out of his bed and clothe himself appropriately enough so he can leave for the food halls to get some breakfast.
He braves himself for the onslaught of noise, the slamming of cups and the shouting across the halls, but that doesn’t really prepare him for the way it makes his head throb incessantly. He presses a hand to his face as he piles his plate high with food, finding somewhere relatively quiet to sit. And by relatively quiet, of course, that means somewhere where the yelling doesn’t echo so much.
Bofur comes and finds him soon enough. “You look rough,” he comments, far more cheerful than he ought to be this time in the morning. He doesn’t look like he’s had any sleep, and his clothes are ruffled.
“And you look like you had a good night,” Bilbo returns as Bofur sits down beside him.
Bofur grins. “Any party is a good party.”
“Yes, I forgot you Dwarves were like that,” he comments dryly. “You make far too much of a mess for my liking.” He recalls the state of his Hobbit Hole when he left all that time ago, like Smaug had come through and ransacked the place.
Bofur just shrugs, digging into his bacon with fervour.
Bilbo can’t help but smile, despite the pain in his head. In the Goblin Cave, when he was so lost and alone, wandering in the dark, he’d felt that a pleasant, comfortable, happy life was so far away and would never be in his reach again. Those thoughts had been doubled when he’d been whisked out of his world and shoved into another.
But he’s happy now- even with all the nonsense that’s happened. He’s happy, because even the darkest of times don’t last forever and there is good hidden in each thing: in everything. Even if it they are hard to find.
He feels like he’s part of something here, something important, and he feels so full. Even if sometimes he feels a slight tug, like he’s missing something, something that lurks in the back of his mind, and he run his fingers over the pocket of his waistcoat, thinking of the magic ring he’d found in Gollum’s cave and then lost again when he used the crystal and came to this world. He wonders what has become of it, who might have picked it up. He misses it, in a way, and its usefulness. He could have done over Fimpin much easier had he been invisible. And he could avoid people he didn’t particularly like. If he’d gone back to The Shire with his ring, he would have used it to hide from the Sackville-Bagginses. He gives an amused chuckle, just thinking about all the tricks he could have played.
But he didn’t have the ring anymore, so he couldn’t play such tricks. It seemed a pity, in a way, but he looks at Bofur practically inhaling food, and sees Fili and Kili running in to the food hall, laughing at something, and he thinks about Thorin, repressing sighs in a morning meeting, and all thoughts of the ring flits from his mind and he smiles. It doesn’t matter. He has other things on his mind, other things to do.
One in particular being stopping Fili and Kili doing whatever they’re planning on doing right now. Because they’re acting far too innocent for Bilbo’s liking. And when they do that, that’s when people need to be worried.
“What are they up to, do you think?” he asks Bofur, who’s still shovelling food into his mouth like he may never eat again.
“No idea,” Bofur replies through a mouthful, “Probably something horrible.”
Bilbo hums in agreement. They’d better watch those two carefully for a while.
“I was thinking,” Thorin tells him that night.
“Were you?” Bilbo asks, clicking his tongue. “How dangerous.”
Thorin chuckles and pushes him half-heartedly. “I mean,” he begins again, “I had an idea.”
“And what was that?” Bilbo asks, watching him expectantly.
“After the winter, a representative is due to visit Ered Luin for diplomatic meetings, so I volunteered myself to father. I thought that perhaps you could come with me.”
“To the Blue Mountains?” Bilbo asks.
“I thought you might like to see The Shire once more.” Thorin goes on quickly when Bilbo doesn’t answer. “You don’t have to, of course- I would understand if you didn’t want to: if it is too painful for you to be there again. Only, I thought you might want to-”
“I do,” Bilbo assures him, only because Thorin looks so desperately confused now he has to say something. “Of course I do. I just…” he sighs. “I don’t know if I can stand seeing Bag End again. If the Sackville-Bagginses own it, I’m not sure how I’ll cope.”
“I could always order them out,” Thorin suggests, making Bilbo laugh. “They can’t deny a Prince, after all.”
“I am not sure we should be abusing your power in such a way,” Bilbo returns lightly, but he is pleased by the idea nonetheless. “I will go with you,” he announces after a moment’s thought. “I do believe I need to start facing the reality of this world: that some things are different, even if I do not want them to be. But I do warn you,” he goes on, “I am not a very good diplomat.”
“Then you will need to be taught,” Thorin decides. “After all, when we are married it will be a skill you need.”
“‘When’?” Bilbo asks. “How sure of yourself you are.”
“Oh, yes,” Thorin says, nodding. “Very, very sure of myself.”
Bilbo can’t help but smile at him. “I suppose in this circumstance you are allowed to be.”
“And you, as well,” Thorin informs him.
“And me as well,” Bilbo agrees.
He doesn’t know what he’s going to find in The Shire or in Ered Luin, but he feels warmed and excited by the prospect. Because even though one adventure has ended, even though his journey to find Smaug is gone now, even though Azog is spent and Fimpin dealt with- there will always be another adventure, another task that needs accomplishing.
Things go on, and on, it is after all the circle of life. And though he may miss his old life, he has a new one ahead of him, right here in front of him. He can’t be stuck in the past forever, he has to move on with things.
“I can’t wait to get started,” he tells Thorin, a grin spreading over his face.