By All The Powers That Be

Credit to Fantasyinallforms

pt. 5 of AMUDP

     Bilbo didn't know where he was going, and he had no idea where he would end up. All he knew was that he needed to get as far from the ballroom as possible, purposefully ignoring the sudden raw urge to drop everything and find that dwarf again. He rounded the corner and tripped over his own feet. Damn! It was the boots again. They had caused him to have two left feet all night. Quickly and desperately, he discarded them just in time to hear the sound of raised voices and footsteps in the corridor. He ducked behind a statue placed into a recess of stone and hugged the shadows. A group of guards walked past him at a brisk pace and split up as they each took various corridors. When they had passed, he rushed back the way he came to get here. The corridors and rooms he passed were largely empty except for a few members of staff who didn't seem to notice or pay him any mind. Before he knew it, he was back at the loading gate he had entered from. The gate was closed, but he could see the chain used to open it.

One...two....three steps closer to leaving.

His hesitation was a conundrum even to himself. He was a sensible hobbit who knew when he was in over his head. He had his fun. He saw the dwarven kingdom. He danced and spoke with many dwarves. Was he searching for a reason to leave, or was it a reason to stay? The Acorn! He couldn't leave! He had to plant the...oh no. Bilbo checked his pockets and came up empty. He patted down his whole person and realized that he was missing not only Gandalf's acorn but his handkerchief as well. Oh no! But this meant he couldn't leave! He had to stay and find it! That was why! That was why he was staying, right?

Wrong.

He was staying because whatever had transpired over the course of that dance had changed him. Like something long dormant had taken root. He had felt it when he was dancing, an immediate calm. A sense of peace and safety that he hadn't known since his parents died. He had nearly completely forgotten why he pulled someone onto the dancefloor to begin with. Despite Bilbo being the one to start the dance, he felt swept off his feet and enchanted by the one he had conscripted into his spur-of-the-moment plan. He hadn't even been cross; if anything, he was just as curious as him, even going so far as to take over the dance when his clumsy feet and surprise got the better of him. Before he was forced to flee again, the dwarf had invoked the name of the king. Was he close to the royal line? An adviser or maybe even a family member? He wanted to know more! All he had to go off of was a brief glance at a handsome face and a gilded ram mask.

One...two...three steps away from the gate and back into the depths of the dwarven city.

Thorin had abandoned any attempt to stay at the masquerade. Guards had been ordered to look for the man who fled, but harming him in any way was strictly forbidden. He paced the floor of his room for what felt like hours, trying to sift through what happened to him. He had never felt so right as he did holding that man in his arms, but there were so many other questions, too. Who was he? Why was he running? What did he do? And was he actually a dwarf? Thorin had danced with other dwarves, and he didn't feel like any of them. He wasn't nearly as stocky, and there were no rippling muscles under the tunic. If anything, the man felt exceedingly soft. That train of thought only produced more questions, like why on earth a non-dwarf would sneak into Erebor just to attend a ball? Even with all his questions, there was no denying the feeling that rocketed through him when their fingers met. Lost in thought, he was startled as the door opened, and he was greeted with the familiar face of his sister. There was no humor in her face, only deep concern.

"Balin and half the council have been asking to speak with you. I think today might be a topic for some time to come. I've warded them off for now, and Balin is keeping them at bay. The masquerade is still ongoing. What happened out there, Thorin? All I saw was you dancing with someone, and then there was a commotion before you invoked the name of the king. I have never seen you invoke your kingship in such a way before." Dis sat at the table in his room, looking at him expectedly.

"I can't tell you what happened because I don't even know myself! I- I don't know why I reacted that way." Thorin gripped the small handkerchief he had been holding with both hands like it might provide him with answers.

"Why did you choose to dance with whoever that was? It looked like you were having a good time?" Dis continued,

"I didn't choose to dance with him. He grabbed me and pulled me onto the dancefloor," Thorin admitted. Dis cocked her eyebrow.

"You were easily twice that man's size, so some part of you must have wanted to dance if you allowed yourself to be pulled." Dis's continued questions were not as annoying as he expected them to be. She was his meddlesome little sister, but she cared, and she was never one to mince her words when it mattered. He didn't answer because he couldn't. What had transpired wasn't logical.

"Dis, what did it feel like when you met Vili?" He finally looked up from the handkerchief, though he still ran his thumb over the BB in the corner. Dis's eyes were blown wide in shock, and there was no mistaking the corners of her mouth twitching with the desire to split her face into a wide grin. She held it in.

"Well, meeting him was a bit of an accident. Father had made me so mad that I took off in the opposite direction while in Dale. I got lost, and before I knew it, the sun was starting to set. I started heading in the direction of the mountain, intent on walking home, when his cart pulled up beside me. He was adamant that I not walk home in the dark. He had no idea who I was, and I was skeptical of him at first. I had no reason to trust him or his intentions, but I was tired and pretty sure I could handle myself if he tried anything funny. He offered me his hand to get in, and when we touched, it was like the world fell away. They call it a spark for a reason. It was as if I had been struck by lightning. Nothing ever felt right without him again." Dis walked closer and knelt down in front of his chair. Her eyes were swimming with a mix of emotions. "Thorin...did...did you meet your One?" Thorin looked into her eyes, suddenly feeling less like a king and more like a scared sibling.

"I think I did, but given everything that's happened, that thought scares me. Why did he run? Did he not feel the same way? He heard me proclaim myself as king. Does my soul belong to the one person who does not abide that?" Once he voiced one concern, the rest followed like a floodgate opening until Dis silenced him.

"You are assuming a lot of things, Thorin, befo-" She didn't finish her thought before there was a knock at the door. Dis cracked it open, then let the person through. It was a weary-looking Balin.

"Your majesty, I can't put off the counsel any longer. They are demanding you meet with them over what they believe to be an imminent security concern." All of what made Thorin a king returned to him with those words. He rose from his chair and straightened himself up.

"I'll meet with them in half an hour." Balin bowed and left the room, and Dis gave him an affectionate pat before leaving as well. Thorin changed and prepared for the meeting ahead.

He walked through his halls with his head held high, burning with renewed purpose. His One was somewhere in his kingdom. Likely confused or scared. He needed to see him again. He wanted him in his arms. He wanted to finally look upon the face of his soul-made flesh. For now, all he had to go off of was a rabbit mask and a handkerchief, but that was easily rectified. The guards must have been chasing him for a reason, and he had been too caught up in being consumed by the spark of their meeting to ask questions. He was the last to arrive at the council room, throwing both doors open wide in the wake of his determination. Half of his council was already in a fierce debate.

"Princess Dis, this is ridiculous. A possible enemy is freely marching through the halls of Erebor with nearly free reign. He's likely here with a mission of deceit and subterfuge. Why else would he choose the day of a masquerade ball to make his move! The guards, from what I've been told, have been instructed not to use lethal force under any circumstances. I demand to know why more isn't being done to protect the citizens of Erebor!" Dis' face was pulled back in a snarl as she listened to the sniveling lord Devik prattle. Several other dwarves nodded in agreement. The door slammed closed behind Thorin as he walked in, and all eyes turned to him.

"Your majesty, thank you for joining us. It's best we get this handled quickly." The more even-tempered Lady Uradira advised.

"I agree. We do need this handled as swiftly as possible." Thorin walked to the head of the table. "Dwalin." His head of security and friend stepped clearly into the room. "Bring in the guards that nearly captured the unknown man and anyone they know to be associated with him." Dwalin gave a grunt and a nod and left. Thorin addressed the rest of the room. "I don't believe this man to be a threat." Before he could continue, Lord Devik cut in,

"You can't know that!"

"I can!" Thorin replied sternly. Annoyed at being spoken over. "I can because whoever he is, he is my One." Silence was the only thing the chamber heard for several moments. Many council members traded confused and concerned looks. Devik looked entirely taken aback. In that time, Dwalin returned with the guards and another man. "That was swift," Thorin remarked.

"They were looking for me as I looked for them. We met in the middle." Dwalin stepped back and let the dwarves move forward.

"What was your purpose for attempting to capture the man I was dancing with? Tell me all you know of him and spare no detail," Thorin commanded. All three started talking at once. "Silence! Guards step forward and speak first." They both reported that the other dwarf was a merchant who alerted them that the man was both not a dwarf and a thief to boot. When the merchant confronted him, he ran. The guards took the merchant at his word and decided that in the interest of security, they would apprehend him first and ask questions after the fact. The council shifted and muttered at the testimony, likely theorizing as he did what race that populated Middle Earth could so easily pass as a dwarf. Thorin nodded and beckoned the merchant to step forward. He was still dressed for the masquerade and had his wolf mask pulled above his head. "What is your part in this story? What do you know of this man?"

"I know he's a no good burglar, Your Majesty! I ran into him in Dale a few days back. Found him sitting on my merchandise, eating a pasty without a care in the world. Thought he might have been a human child from afar, but as I got closer, I realized he was one of those small folk from across the Misty Mountains, halflings." At this, the room stirred into an uproar silenced only by Thorin's demand. The Merchant continued. "He asked to buy some of my wares. I refused him. My clientele is more refined than random halflings I find on the streets. I told him to piss off, and when I thought he had gone, I turned to take my inventory. When I was distracted talking to another merchant, the little shit grabbed the basket of clothes in the back of my cart and took off. Then he had the gall to wear those very clothes to the masquerade! I alerted the guards as soon as I saw him." It took all the learned patience he had accrued over his life to keep a straight face. Every insult that poured from the merchant's mouth felt bitter, and even having no real reason to distrust the man's words, he took them with a grain of salt. That said, the story did explain his One's distinctly odd state of dress.

Regardless, the merchant's testimony was useful. He now knew what his One was. Not a dwarf at all as he had expected but a halfling. He had heard of them before, a small, elusive race of people said to be crafted by Yavanna, who kept to themselves and traded with the Blue Mountains. So he hadn't lied when he said he was from the East; he had just let Thorin fill in the blanks how he chose. Clever. Still, why was he so far from home? And why did he choose to steal? Was he exiled from his own people or destitute and hoping to find a better life? He had many of his questions answered, but they were each replaced by many more.

"One last thing, then you can go. Did you catch the halfling's name?" Thorin asked,

"No, Your Majesty, I did not, but if you catch him, I care more about getting paid for what he stole than I do his name." This man reminded him why he hated working with the merchants guild. They were always more concerned about what was lining their pockets. Thorin placed a single gold coin on the table in front of the merchant.

"Take this, and do not worry about this halfling again. His debt to you is beyond paid." The merchant snatched the coin off the table and was babbling his praise and thanks all the way out of the room. Dwalin dismissed the guards, and the door once again closed on the council room.

"Well. I suppose that settles it, then. There is no way that this halfling is your One. It's not possible." Devik smoothed out his tunic as his words settled with a calm finality that had others shaking their heads in agreement.

"I know what I felt. Our hands touched, and I felt the spark. This halfling, whoever it is, is my one, and I will find him." Thorin was growing tired of these games.

"There were many people on that dance floor, Your Majesty. Is it not possible that you touched one of them and merely thought it was the halfling?" The council member from the Iron Hills asked. Dis intercepted the question.

"There are many people around this table who have met their Ones. How many of you could have mistaken your One for anyone else once you felt that connection?" Her question was met with silence. In the silence, Balin stepped up beside him.

"I think it's best if we continue this council with a more selected group. I fear that we will get nowhere if we continue like this." It was sound advice, and he was sure it didn't escape Dis or Balin's attention that his temper was starting to rise.

"Everyone except Balin and Dis leave." A simple command given through gritted teeth. He was tired of arguing.

"We have yet to decide what to do about this threat!" Devik protested.

"It's one small halfling councilor. Are you concerned that the whole of the mountain will topple from his mere presence? I think you're safe in your bed tonight. I will not say it again, leave." Thorin retorted. Lady Uradira quickly took over and ushered Devik out the door.

"Well, that went about as well as I expected it would," Dis commented.

"We're still not any closer to finding him or understanding why he was here," Thorin argued,

"We know more than we did a few hours ago. How many halflings do you think are roaming the city? I doubt he's a local resident, so he must have been staying somewhere or with someone." Dis reasoned. It made Thorin think back to the night he had woken up with the compulsion to visit Dale. Was this bond trying to lead him to his One even then? After several more rounds of conversation trying to devise a plan, their meeting was interrupted by two knocks at the door, followed by muffled bickering. Thorin looked at Dwalin in question, who just shrugged before heeding Thorin's silent command to open the door. In stumbled a most unlikely pair. Bombur, his royal chef, and Ori, his relatively new head scribe and record keeper. Thorin looked back at Balin in confusion, but his advisor seemed just as perplexed as he did. They did not wait for an invitation to speak.

Bombur was quicker and shouted, "I know something about the intruder!" It got Thorin's attention immediately, and would have kept it if what Ori shouted hadn't been even more bizarre

"There is a tree growing in the middle of the ballroom!" Every mouth closed and turned to him.

"There's a what?" Thorin replied, thrown off kilter by both sentences.

"Real vines and branches have taken over the quartz tree that the Lady Dis had commissioned, and they continue to grow!" Thorin couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Has anyone been hurt?" Thorin asked,

"No, Your Majesty, I think most people think it's some trick meant for the masquerade. It started right after you left." Ori explained. The news that no one was hurt doused some of his fear. He turned to Bombur next.

"What do you know of the intruder?"

"He spoke to me a little. Had an impeccable palate and went straight for the potato pancakes, but when I asked questions about where he was from, he became antsy and said he needed to leave because Bofur was calling for him. My brother is Bofur, and he's the only one of that name I've ever met. He is the guild master of the mining guild."

Thorin nodded. "Yes, I've worked with him before. He's a good dwarf and a miner with the strongest stone sense this mountain has had in an age. I thought he was still traveling back from Ered Luin?"

"He returned several days ago," Bombur supplied.

"Go get him and bring him here. Ori, the masquerade should have wrapped up by now. Show me what you're talking about." They walked in silence, Thorin's head throbbing with a mix of all the emotions he had been forced to feel over the course of this night. Throughout all of this, there was still an empty void burning in him, and he let his mind wonder what his One looked like. A halfling explained why he felt so much smaller. He had never gotten to touch his actual skin with more than his fingertips, but he imagined that his One was soft and plush. He could feel the curves of him while they danced. "Ori, you tend the royal libraries, do you not?" Thorin asked.

"I do, Your Majesty."

"Are there any books on halflings?"

"There are no books on shire folk written by them. Only accounts of run-ins with them from the dwarves of Ered Luin." Ori explained.

"What do they say of them?" Thorin wondered,

"They keep to themselves and don't prefer to travel. They love green and growing things and are said to be made by Yavanna and share her gifts for growing and nurturing the earth." Ori recited what he knew of their mannerisms and temperament. It was an incredibly short explanation.

"Does it say what they look like?" He thought he should feel guilty for asking, but it wasn't out of some vanity or concern that his One's face or figure wouldn't please him. His figure, which was the only thing he had seen of him, certainly pleased him greatly. He only wished to have a more complete picture for his mind to think on. A touch of something to salve the sadness of not being near him so soon after discovering him.

"They're not usually more than four feet tall (122cm). They have healthy figures but are not as dense or muscular as dwarves. They have pointed ears, kind of like elves, but a little less sharp and curly hair. They grow no facial hair, neither the men nor the women. Oh, and they have big, fuzzy feet. Bigger feet than most men, and they don't wear any boots to cover them! They've been depicted as cute many times in the text." Even with the vague description, he felt a little lighter. Subconsciously, he brought his hand to his ear as if trying to imagine what a pointed ear would feel like under his hands. He had never paid the ears of elves much mind. Were they sensitive he wondered. Then he gave a look to his own booted feet. His One had been wearing boots when they danced. The extreme lack of coordination and the fact that he ditched his boots so quickly made sense now. Had he been uncomfortable or in pain the entire time? Why had he gone through so much trouble? Thorin hoped, truly hoped, that it was for the same reason he had felt the urgent need to go to Dale. That he was drawn to him or trying to find him, but if that was the case, why did he run?

They reached the ballroom, now mostly empty save those who drank too much and ended up under a table. Ori had been true to his word. Thorin's eyes grew wide as he saw the quartz tree now completely engulfed in thick, twisting branches. The root system sprawled out over the floor, binding to but not breaking the rock. There was no vegetation on the branches themselves, but it did not look dead. It also didn't look like new growth. It looked as if someone was trying to grow a 500-year-old tree in the center of his mountain.

"How is this possible?" Thorin breathed as he walked forward.

"I don't know. It could be a sign that Yavanna is grateful for the party in her honor?" It was pure speculation cut with admirable optimism. He wondered to himself if it could also be a warning. It was, after all, her child that the mountain sought and her child that almost came to harm. Did she think that her child was rejected by his One? He placed his palm to the tree in some silent plea to convey that it could not be further from the truth. He was surprised to find the tree warm to the touch.

"Do you think it poses a threat, your majesty?" Ori squeaked.

"No. Leave it be. When the last dwarf has staggered out of here, close the doors and let no one through. Do not harm this tree in any way." If this was a sign of peace or wrath from Yavanna, he would not see it done any harm and risk further insult. He and Ori went separate ways as he walked back to the council room. His sister and Balin were still waiting on him, as well as the additional occupant of the jolly-faced miner Bofur. He swept his hat off the top of his head and gave a bow.

"Your Majesty."

"It's good to see you again, Bofur." Thorin replied politely. "I don't mean to cut directly to the chase with no preamble, and I know you have not been back in Erebor for long, but I've been told you might be able to identify someone. What do you know about a halfling that might be living in or around Dale? According to your brother, our surprise visitor at the masquerade named you." Thorin was happy to see Bofur's face light up with recognition.

"We stopped at an inn and pub in Dale on the way home, as we often do after traveling so far together. The lady that owns the place, Mrs. Harper, had a new employee. Thought he was a son at first, but he didn't like that implication one bit. Said he was a Hobbit from the West. He was a cute fella and incredibly curious about dwarves. Real genuine about it, too. It was refreshing. He didn't do anything reckless, did he? He was a nice fellow. I would hate for him to be in trouble." Bofur's testimony brought an unintended smile to his face. He had a lead! A direct connection to his halfling, no, hobbit! It doused any jealous feelings that Bofur knew what the face of his beloved looked like, and he did not.

"We should leave now. Take me to this inn." Thorin made for the door but was stopped by Dis loudly clearing her throat.

"Thorin, it's the middle of the night. It would not be a very productive trip to leave now. We should sleep and go tomorrow with renewed energy and level heads." Her advice was sound, but it didn't mean he enjoyed hearing it. He took the information on the inn and pub from Bofur and made plans to meet Dwalin and Dis the next morning by the gate. He walked back to his room slowly, his head on a swivel, checking every shadow. His crafty One had evaded all guards and any hint of detection. It made him a little proud but also deeply worried. Erebor was a big place for dwarves, let alone someone who had never been. He could get lost or accidentally injured, and he might not know until it was too late. Thorin laid the handkerchief on the pillow next to his head, idly brushing his thumb over the BB as he had found himself doing often.

"I promise I'll stop at nothing to find you. Even if I have to search my kingdom stone by stone."

Meanwhile, Bilbo was not scared or confused. He was, however, very annoyed. Everywhere he turned, there were groups of guards, and they seemed to double with every hour. Oh, what he wouldn't do to turn invisible right now, but alas, he had to use what was at his disposal, and for him, that was his short stature and the fact that he was incredibly silent compared to the dwarves around him. He was also pleased to see that the apology Dori had issued to him in the Inn when he was almost stepped on was, in fact, true for all the dwarves he had met thus far. They rarely looked in low places or for someone much shorter than them. It made it easy to hide in the cracks and shadows that grew more numerous after the sun had set. The search for his mystery dance partner would have to continue tomorrow, but there was no way he would be able to stay awake through the night. He already felt his body slowing down as a result of the tumultuous day he had had.

In a surprise twist of fate, aided by the fact that he had little idea of where he was going, he ended up back at the ballroom doors. They were being sealed, and a foolish thought came into his mind. The guards looking for him were less likely to check somewhere they had already thoroughly looked, right? Carefully, Bilbo waited in the shadow of the door, and when the dwarf turned to grab something, he slipped inside. As he did, he heard the door close behind him. There was the concern that they might lock the doors now that they believed the room to be empty, but that was a problem to be solved after a few hours of shuteye. Bilbo turned around and skidded to a halt, nearly losing his balance in surprise. The room was just as he remembered it from dancing, with the blaring exception of a giant old forest oak tree anchoring itself around what used to be the quartz tree. The glass ornaments still dangled untouched by the sprawling branches as if on purpose. A rush of relief swept over him as he stumbled forward, arms outstretched to place his hands on the trunk. It was warm and coursing with life. He felt stable for the first time in hours with the feel of the bark scratching his fingertips. Was this the acorn that Gandalf had given him? Was this part of the magic of wizards? Did that even matter to him anymore?

Bilbo circled the tree a few times in wonder and disbelief before crawling into the space where the tree met the stone wall and nestled within the roots. Now, finally, no longer in fight or flight, his mind wrapped itself around the image of the dwarf he sought. Raven hair with streaks of silver and that deep baritone voice that sent unexpected shivers of delight up his spine. He was very handsome and well-built. He still remembered the feel of his muscles under his hands as he tensed and led them through the steps of the dance. A sure and unwavering grasp, and not for one moment was he ever in fear of being dropped or led astray. But what Bilbo truly went to bed that night, remembering, was his eyes. They were more blue than any flower he had ever seen, and they conveyed a depth of feeling he knew he might never have time enough alive to explore.

I just need to find you again.