Bilbo stood perched at the top of a ladder in Erebor's Hall of Records, arranging books on the top shelf of one of the many bookcases in the room. His mind was quiet of thoughts for the most part, focusing solely on setting each book in its place, after taking time to ascertain its weight, size and overall condition. This work gave him a kind of peace of mind that he only remembered finding when he had sat on his bench outside Bag End on warm nights, surveying the calm horizon of the Shire.

With such soft contemplation to lean into, he almost fell off the ladder when he heard, "Bilbo?"

It was Thorin's voice, coming from below, and it carried no reason for anyone hearing it to be startled. It came like a wave of dark silk.

"Up here," said Bilbo, trying to keep his sudden unease out of his voice.

Thorin soon appeared at the foot of the ladder. "What are you doing up there?"

"Working... I suppose," said Bilbo.

"Of course." Thorin smiled a bit sheepishly, which would have made him even less intimidating to anyone else's eyes.

Bilbo, however, felt as if a skin of thorns was growing within him from the inside out. "Can I help you with something?" he asked drily.

"I wanted to talk to you, if you can spare some time," said Thorin, unbothered by Bilbo's tone.

"Sure. Can you help me with something first?"

"I can."

Bilbo lowered a rope with an empty net at its end down to Thorin, saying "I left some books on the table right next to you. Could you put them in here, please?"

Thorin looked around until he spotted a pile of books where Bilbo had indicated, quite impressive in size. "All of these?" he asked.

"That's right. It's the last batch. Once I get them all up here, I can come down."

The net had reached a level where Thorin could easily handle it, and Bilbo expected him to fill it with the books he had prepared. Instead, Thorin planted his hands on his hips and looked up at Bilbo with doubt on his face.

"They are quite heavy," he said. "Are you sure you can pull them up?"

"Well, I have put some muscle on me since I left home, if you must know," replied Bilbo.

"Have you?" asked Thorin in a tone that sounded discernibly curious.

Bilbo cleared his throat. "Yes. Yes, I have."

"I see," said Thorin, then muttered something under his breath that Bilbo couldn't really hear and made tremendous efforts not to guess.

Thorin said nothing more and proceeded to load the books into the net as he had been asked.

Bilbo held on a little bit tighter to the ladder as he waited, having been overcome by a sudden spell of dizziness. He also preferred to return his gaze to the level of the shelf he had been working on, trying to win back at least a trace of the composure he had enjoyed only moments before.

"All done," announced Thorin soon enough.

Bilbo looked down startled again and met Thorin's clear eyes. He had expected to see something in them that would have affirmed his anxiety, some reason for him to feel like he had to keep his distance, but there was nothing there but gentleness. There was really nothing more to do than to get to the job at hand and think nothing more of it. So, with a deep sigh that he hoped Thorin couldn't hear, he pulled on the rope. Even if the bundle of books was indeed a little heavy, he managed to bring it up to his level without making a fool of himself. Trying not to take too much time, he arranged all the books on the shelf, and climbed down.

"Right," he said, smoothing out the front of his vest, and looking up to Thorin. "What did you want to talk about?"

Thorin had almost a glow about him, now that Bilbo was seeing him up close. It wasn't terribly intense, nor was it terribly fiery. It was more of a warmth radiating from him, like the embrace of late spring sunshine. "I have something for you," he said, and his hand went to his pocket.

"Thorin, you don't have to give me presents."

"It is not a present." His voice carried echoes of something hidden and wonderful.

"Alright, well, what is it?"

Thorin dug in his pocket and pulled something out in his closed fist. When his fingers unfolded as he reached out to Bilbo, they revealed a thick golden circlet adorned with rubies sitting neatly in the rough palm of his hand. It looked brand new, the gold shining almost as if it had been fine silk.

"Do you know what this is?" asked Thorin.

"It... looks like a braid bead?" ventured Bilbo.

"Indeed."

"For me? I... don't wear braids."

"No, but... it is not a simple braid bead, Bilbo. Dwarves give these to the ones they intend to bind themselves to, to demonstrate that they are steadfast in their intent."

Bilbo stared at the small, shining thing in Thorin's hand. It was quite beautiful and exquisitely crafted. For a moment, he wondered how a dwarf's massive hands could make something so delicate. Then he remembered that making beautiful things was as much part of the craft of dwarves as was forging mighty weapons. As pleasant as it was to gaze upon, the more he looked at it, the heavier his heart grew.

"I... haven't made up my mind yet," said Bilbo, his voice diminished by sadness.

"No matter," said Thorin, "I want you to have it regardless of your answer."

Bilbo gaped at him, unable to find something to say other than, "Thorin, I... I can't take this."

"You are under no obligation to accept my request if you do. I wanted to make this for you. It is yours to keep not matter what you decide."

Thorin's open hand remained steady before Bilbo, and it didn't look like he was about to take it back no matter how long Bilbo would have spent staring at it and hesitating.

"Thorin..." he began.

Whatever he was going to say, he did not manage to say it as Thorin stepped up to him and took his left hand, with a touch that was as light as it was unexpected. He placed the bead in the palm of Bilbo's hand.

"Please take it," he said, folding Bilbo's fingers over it into a loose fist.

Not really having a choice anymore, Bilbo let out a deep breath and looked down at Thorin's hand, which was still curled over his, keeping his fist closed. He had not made up his mind yet, but it looked like Thorin had, and he meant to make it very clear.

"Alright," said Bilbo, finally accepting to at least hold the bead in his hand. "Thank you," he added, meeting Thorin's eyes as he took away his hand.

Then, he pried his own fingers open with his mind and dared to really look at the bead, which was now his. He had already seen many jewels in Erebor that had surpassed his imagination of what jewels may look like. This was not excessively adorned, nor was it very intricate in its style. It had a simple yet elegant beauty that made it look new and ageless at the same time.

"Is this what you've been working on all this time?" he asked, looking back up to Thorin.

Thorin broke into a smile that shone as brightly. "Indeed."

"It's lovely, Thorin, thank you."

"You're most welcome," said Thorin, inclining his head a little. "So," he continued, looking around, "how are things going here then?"

"Good, good, making progress, I think."

"It certainly is starting to look like the place has not been abandoned for nearly 200 years," said Thorin as he ran his fingers over the spines of the books arranged neatly on the shelf at the level of his chest.

He stopped with a slight jolt as he reached one particular book. He looked for a second as if he was going to ignore it, but then he pulled it out slowly and opened it. His face did not betray any strong emotion as he browsed through the book, but Bilbo could guess a little of what Thorin was thinking, and it brought back his discomfort. He cleared his throat instinctively.

Thorin looked at him. "I had forgotten this was in here," he said, "not that I would have had a need for it until... well, it is - "

"I know," said Bilbo, "it's about Dwarven courtship and marriage customs."

"You can read our language?"

"No, Ori explained it to me. It was hard to forget what it looked like, with it being so heavily embellished on the outside."

"Yes, I suppose that is the nature of these things."

"I suppose."

Bilbo appreciated irony in general, but less so when it was directed at him by an invisible force. To think that Thorin had had a roomful of books at his disposal, and he still had managed to lay hands on that particular book at that particular moment. At least he seemed somewhat embarrassed by it himself. He closed the book, set it back on the shelf where it belonged, and then picked out another.

"If you were ever to consider learning our language," he said, "this may interest you." He held out the book to Bilbo. "It's the same one I started with," he continued, sounding a little nostalgic.

Bilbo took it, almost forgetting his embarrassment. "You learned your own language from books?"

"Our mother spoke Khuzdul to us occasionally, but we had to learn like any other dwarves, by close study."

"Why is that?" asked Bilbo, looking at the covers of the book, without opening it.

"Our language is secret and sacred. It was taught to our forefathers by Mahal himself, and we must ensure that it remains as he made it."

"Right... and... you want me to learn it?"

"Only if it is also your wish."

"But, I mean, if it's supposed to be secret, would I be allowed? I mean, I'm not a Dwarf."

"You have earned that right, after everything you have done for us."

Bilbo felt a great warmth start to gather in his chest. Embarrassment and fear seemed like they belonged to another hobbit in another land. There could be no understatement of the trust that Thorin was placing in him.

"I would love to learn your language, Thorin," he said. "In fact, I would be quite honoured to do so."

"I am glad," said Thorin. "You can take the book with you, if you want."

"Oh, really? Thank you, I will," said Bilbo, clutching the book to his chest.

"Well, then," said Thorin, "I'm afraid I must leave you for now. Perhaps I shall see you later."

"Sure, uh... good luck with everything."

Thorin inclined his head again in a very graceful greeting and left the room. It felt to Bilbo as if the room was suddenly empty although it was full of bookcases carrying the knowledge that the Dwarves of Erebor had gathered over the ages. For the first time in his over 50 years of life, Bilbo was feeling alone in the presence of books, which had always filled his mind and heart with all the dreams he needed. But he realised now, as he stood at the other end of a real-life adventure that he had undertaken and even come out alive of, that they had only been dreams, and that dreams were no longer enough for him. He needed more, even if he was also apprehensive at the thought of allowing in more real-life adventure. He knew now, however, that it was impossible to go back to who he had been before this had all started. It was not as easy as taking off his borrowed Dwarven clothes and putting his old Hobbit clothes back on. They would not have fit him anymore, and as strange as those past few days had been, he knew that trying to fit into his old clothes would have been downright uncomfortable.

He sat down at his work table, set down the book that Thorin had given him and opened it with a slight catch in his breath. He had expected to see at least some of the text written in the Common Speech, since apparently this was a book for those who knew nothing of the Dwarven language, but that was not the case. It seemed that Dwarves were fully committed to keeping it secret. The first few pages were a list of Dwarf runes, but he did notice that each rune was accompanied by a drawing of something he could easily recognise - an apple here, a mountain there, a river and a sword further down the first page. It probably meant that the rune stood for the first letter in the word for those things in the Common Speech. He could ask Thorin about it, but it made enough sense for him to be confident that he was right. A shiver of excitement went through him as he turned another page. Perhaps there could be more adventures waiting for him between the pages of a book, as long as it was not any book he had ever expected to open. He browsed through it for a few more minutes, taking short, curious glimpses at what lay ahead. Then he closed it, lay it neatly to the side of the table for later, and went back to his work.

***

It was much later in the evening that Bilbo found himself back in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, with his hand in his pocket. It was the pocket that he had kept the magical ring in and that now held the braid bead that Thorin had given him, as a token of his affection, and more than that, as testimony of his very serious offer of marriage.

He took the bead out of his pocket and rolled it around in his palm. As beautiful as it was to look at, what it meant was much more important, and it was hard not to let it weigh heavy on his heart. It was also hard not to think of Thorin at this time and to wonder what he was doing and what was going through his mind. It was even harder not to feel a little guilty about his behaviour for most of the time he had been with Thorin in the library that day, his cold withdrawal, his hesitant manner, and most of all his failure to simply and openly accept Thorin's offer. It seemed easy for Thorin to make the offer, so why was it not easy for him to accept it? It certainly was easy to ask the question, but it was not so easy to answer it.

There was one thing he could do, however, to make things better at least for the time being. He got up from the bed, put the bead back in his pocket, and straightened out his clothes. He left his room and made for the Royal Quarters.

He found Thorin sitting on the side of his own bed, drying his hair with a towel. There was unmistakable surprise on his face as he turned to the sound of his door opening and saw Bilbo's head sticking in.

"Hi," said Bilbo, "may I come in?"

"Of course," said Thorin, laying the towel aside.

"I thought I'd see how you were," said Bilbo, closing the door and taking a few more steps inside.

"You're always welcome."

Bilbo knew as much, of course, and that was part of what made it so hard. He had not been in Thorin's room in a while, and especially after everything that had happened between them in the past few days, it felt particularly significant to be there, alone with Thorin, at the end of another day, when dreams seemed closer than reality.

"Do you need some help with that?" asked Bilbo as he walked closer to where Thorin was sitting, indicating the great heap of tangled, wet hair on his head.

"I would not refuse help if it were offered," said Thorin with a warm, tired smile, too tired in fact to tackle the problem on his own. He looked like he had a right mind to simply drop off to sleep as he was and pick it back up in the morning.

"Do you have a brush somewhere... ah, there it is. One might wonder how you Dwarves manage to live for centuries with hair this stubborn," said Bilbo as he started untangling Thorin's hair with the brush he had found on the table next to his bed.

"It is something we take pride in," said Thorin.

"Well, it does suit you. However, we might be here a while."

Thorin gave a soft, little laugh. "I have nothing important to do in the morning."

"Of course not. You're not the king of this place, after all."

"No, really, I have nothing planned until around noon."

"I'm sure something will come up."

"It always does."

"Mhm."

Their conversation dwindled quickly to that last remnant of not even a word and then to nothing else. Nothing else seemed to be needed in that moment. Bilbo continued to brush Thorin's stubborn but beautiful dark hair with gentle movements that made sure not to cause him discomfort and that cared nothing of the late hour and of the things either of them had or had not planned for the following morning. They only cared about that moment, which seemed to be laden with a magic very different from what a wizard or a wise Elf would have conjured. It was a humble magic that grew in the sands of stillness between them, cast only by the slow cadence of Bilbo's hand driving a light, freeing brush through the waves of Thorin's hair and the slight sway of Thorin's head following it. Bilbo lost track of time completely and couldn't say how long it had been when he finally took away the brush and looked down at Thorin, satisfied that he had completed his job.

Thorin had his eyes closed. It took him a few seconds to realise that the brushing had stopped. When he did open his eyes, he looked as if he had been far away all along, dreaming of things that were all wonder and peace. There were small pools of shadow underneath his eyes and it made their blue as deep as a mountain lake. He looked almost vulnerable as he was then, and Bilbo remembered the many days he had spent at the side of his broken body, looking into his eyes filled with pain. Those were bitter memories that would never fade beyond tinging his heart with sorrow, but now there was no room for that. Now Thorin was well again, even though not yet as strong as he had been, but he was free from pain, mostly, and he did not seem to be dwelling on those memories himself. He was very, very beautiful in that moment, and all that Bilbo wanted to do was to kiss him.

He did, and Thorin kissed him back, eventually. He seemed taken by surprise at first, or at least reluctant to believe that it was really happening. Bilbo was no longer thinking about anything other than that his head was filling with magic and so was his body, and there weren't even thoughts to think anymore. The world had fallen away into a sweet mist and all that was left were Thorin's sturdy shoulders, which he had wrapped his arms around, and the delight of his warm mouth. But then, there were Thorin's hands as well, sneaking under his shirt and travelling up his suddenly tender sides, large and hot, appearing to cover his entire upper body in one stroke. Then the world came back, and so did the thoughts, thoughts of this being not as he wanted it to be, not as he saw it happening, whenever he had allowed himself to see these things in his mind.

Bilbo was beginning to feel his heart pounding at the base of his throat, but Thorin didn't seem to take notice. He pulled Bilbo closer, kissing him more fiercely, and one of his hands moved to Bilbo's hip. The tension in Bilbo's throat was nearly choking him now, but when Thorin's hand moved lower on his back, it simply burst out, causing him to spring back suddenly and forcefully from the smothering embrace, leaving Thorin dumb-stricken yet again. His arms remained outstretched and his head tilted slightly upwards. He opened his eyes with rapid blinks as if awoken from sleep and looked at Bilbo, who was now a few steps away from him, well out of reach, arranging his crumpled vest around his middle.

Flustered and angry with himself, yet able to breathe again, Bilbo looked briefly back at Thorin. From a distance, the whole of him appeared even more handsome than before.

"I'm sorry, I, I, I thought I could do this, but I can't. I'm sorry," he babbled, continuing to steal furtive glances at Thorin, preferring instead to concentrate on straightening the creases in his vest.

As little as he had managed to see, Bilbo couldn't have taken more of Thorin's deeply wounded look. It was akin to the expression of stunned disbelief that he had donned when Bilbo had confessed himself thief of the Arkenstone, but this was even harder to bear as there was no rage in his eyes, and therefore no intention to return the blow. There was only ravaged trust and confusion, even shame.

"Bilbo," he said, his voice coming from a place deep inside his chest where a new ache seemed to be growing. "I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. Once more, I ask for your forgiveness."

Breathing began to ache for Bilbo and he wanted to leave as soon as possible. To hurt someone like Thorin, to make Thorin apologize for nothing more than giving in to his passion was unforgivable. He was unforgivable.

"It's my fault," he croaked like a bird dying of thirst under the sun of the desert, "I... I need to go."