A Nearly Complete Puzzle

Credit to Fantasyinallforms

pt.6 of AMUDP

     Thorin almost felt guilty at how quickly sleep took him. Guiltier, still that his dreams were sweet and lovely. He was dancing again, listening to the lilt of his One's voice as he led them across a dancefloor occupied by no one. When he woke, it was to a lesser reality, where he had yet to be reunited with the only thing he wanted. It was an increasingly frustrating feeling. Why must it be so difficult? It was not this way for any other dwarf whose partner knew them instantly upon touch. Thorin wrestled with the likely reality that while he felt the spark, his One being of a different race did not. That this deep-seated need and longing was entirely one-sided. Would he have to woo him? He would. He would do everything in his power to make his affections clear and known. He was a king, after all. Surely, that alone could grant him a passing interest. He was not someone who flaunted his titles and never had been, even as a crown prince, but if that title was worth anything, he would leverage it just to see those pretty green eyes on him again. He would grant his hobbit anything within his power to give, and the absurdity that he knew this without a shadow of a doubt despite barely having a single conversation with him was not lost on him.

Thorin didn't waste time once he was awake. He threw on discrete traveling clothes that would not draw attention and left his room without bothering to grab anything to eat. His stomach wouldn't settle anyway. He left his royal apartment and started walking towards the gate. If Dis and Dwalin were not already there, he would leave without them.

"I knew you'd be in a rush. Got up an hour early just so I didn't accidentally miss you." Dwalin stepped out from where he was leaning on the wall and matched his stride.

"Any news on our guest?" Thorin didn't have time for niceties. He needed to get straight to the point.

"Not even a hint. No one saw any movement or any evidence there was anyone out of place. Either he can turn himself invisible, or he's crafty. Couldn't have settled anywhere for long. Poor bugger probably didn't get any sleep." Dwalin didn't seem to mind the all-business attitude Thorin had adopted. The comment on his One's lack of sleep did worry him. His first night spent in my kingdom, and it's as a fugitive, he grumbled to himself. If he did have to woo his One, this was not the start he would have preferred. It did bring a complicated smile to his face to think of how clever his One would have to be to dodge a mountain full of soldiers all looking for him.

As they approached the gate, Dis came into view dressed in plain clothes usually associated with men, as most women did when they left the mountain. Not that most other races could tell the difference that well. Every dwarf shared similar traits of a broad form and facial hair.

"Don't tell me. You got up early, so I wouldn't run off without you." Thorin quipped as he walked past her.

"That shouldn't be surprising, big brother. I know you better than anyone in the mountain. It'll take a few hours to get down the mountain. We should arrive in Dale by mid-morning. We'll arrive faster if we take the rams." It had crossed his mind, but he wanted to be discreet, and the only ram they could take on such short notice would likely be the royal ones that all held his heraldry.

"Walking will not take too long. Let's go."

The sky was overcast and threatening to douse them all any minute as they walked. Thorin had little interest in idle chit-chat, so they walked in silence. They made it to the gates of Dale in just over two hours.

"Bofur said the inn's name was The Harper's Nest, east of the north gate." Dis was reading from a little square of parchment she had taken out of her coat. Thorin nodded and marched forward. He stopped when he heard Dwalin loudly and pointedly clear his throat.

"This is the north gate, Thorin. Inn would be east of here." The length that Dwalin was going not to burst out laughing was insulting enough. Thorin shot him a dirty look and headed east. Dale was busier than he remembered it. It was only due to his bulk that he didn't get swept up in the crowds. How had his One navigated this? He had neither the height nor the bulk. He snorted. It was likely the same way he was evading detection of Erebor's guards. Small and quiet meant places to hide. His One might even be able to rival the sneakiness of his royal spy. Nori would hate that, he thought with a smirk.

The inn itself was well-placed and easy to find. A sign with a bird's nest and the name Harper hung at the entrance, and the door was wedged open. He didn't waste time lingering at the entrance and hurried inside. It was a warm and comfortable place filled with travelers and fishermen. Most were just sitting down to or finishing up meals. A woman not much taller than him with a sturdy frame and kind face was wiping tables as quickly as people left them. She seemed to catch them in her peripherals.

"Welcome in! Are you here for a meal, a room, or both?" She threw the cloth behind the bar as she walked to greet them, and her eyes gave them a polite but curious once over.

"Are you Mrs. Harper?" Thorin asked. The woman narrowed her eyes.

"I don't have many people ask for me by name, so I'll have you state your business before we take this conversation any further." She squared her shoulders and regarded them suspiciously. Thorin felt a hand on his shoulder pull him back as Dis stepped forward.

"We were told to ask for you by Bofur. We're seeking some information on a mutual friend. A halfling that might be staying or working here." Dis explained politely.

Mrs. Harper's eyes went wide. "Is Mr. Baggins alright? He didn't get himself tangled up in something dangerous, did he? I told him he might be in over his head." At the mention of a name, Thorin's hand went automatically to his breast pocket where the handkerchief rested. He decided honesty was the best approach.

"Mr. Baggins," He said, the name slowly testing the way it sounded on his tongue, "disappeared after his identity was uncovered within the mountain. I fear for his safety if he's not found." Thorin tried to be both honest and subtle.

"How do I know you don't just want to find and jail him?" Mrs. Harper asked. Thorin had no right to be annoyed. It was a fair question, and the idea that his One had inspired such loyalty was endearing.

"I don't know what I can offer you that would make you believe my reassurances, but I give you my word that I would never harm your friend, and I only seek to protect him from others who might wish him ill." They held eye contact before Mrs. Harper broke it with a sigh.

"I'll do what I can, but I likely don't know much more than you. His motivations were a mystery to me. He still has a room here. His things are upstairs, the last room on the left. I'm afraid that's as much help as I can be." That was plenty. Thorin motioned for Dis and Dwalin to stay then all but sprinted across the inn, up the stairs, and to the aforementioned room. He hesitated at the door. This felt so much more personal. What would his One think of him rifling through his possessions, especially if they didn't have a mutual spark? Would he consider it a violation of his space? Would anything he found here even help him find him, or was he just doing this in some desperate attempt to feel a connection he ached for? He pushed the door open and stepped inside. It was a very small room. Smaller than all the others, if he had to guess. That made sense. His One was very small. The room was used but tidy, and as he expected, there were very few personal effects. The bed was unmade, and on top of it sat a travel pack, its contents half spilling out. He ran his hand along the flowery waistcoats and linen shirts. When he cast his eyes back over the room, he noticed a theme of flowers. Several cups and jars had flowers in them carefully arranged and bursting with color.

Ori had said Hobbits were fond of growing things. Would his One need a place to grow things in order to be happy in the mountain? He could order one of the terraces closer to the base of the mountain to be cleared. In the spring, he could trade with Thranduil to have fresh soil and seeds brought from the Greenwood. Or would he prefer a greenhouse? He knew that the men of Dale had them and used them to cultivate herbs in the winter. He was getting ahead of himself, but the more he learned, the more he wanted to build a place his One couldn't say no to.

He poked through the remainder of his things until he came upon a series of books on dwarves. Almost all were written from the perspective of men, but it showed curiosity and gave him hope. The last book he opened, he closed again quickly. It was a journal clearly written for its owner's eyes only. If poking through his things was seen as a violation, then reading his secret thoughts would definitely cross a line. Before he closed the book, he saw the notation at the bottom of the page signed Bilbo Baggins in an elegant looping script. BB. He ran a calloused hand over the words on the page with a smile. Finally, he had the full name of his One. He carefully put back the journal where he found it and turned to leave content in what he had found, even if it would do little to aid his search. When he stepped back downstairs, he was just in time to see a large black raven swoop through the open door and perch itself on Dis's arm. It was Roac who croaked in loud, clear Khuzdul.

"From Balin, the intruder has been found and apprehended."

That same morning, a short time after Thorin left the mountain, Bilbo woke from his place within the roots of the tree. He had wonderful dreams. Even now, as his eyes fluttered open to take in the dimness of the room, he could feel strong arms wrapped around him with the promise of so much more. It filled him with fire and determination. He would find his dwarf. He tried not to think too hard about what he would do when he did find him. Hi, sorry for sneaking into your mountain uninvited. I can't stop thinking about you ever since we danced, didn't seem like the most sane approach. Then again, he was waking up in the roots of a giant tree that sprouted from nothing, so perhaps he shouldn't count the idea out entirely. He would find the dwarf first and worry about possible unrequited feelings later, and hopefully not from a prison cell.

Bilbo untangled himself from the roots that seemed only to grow thicker overnight. Not seemed to, had. He stood again before the large oak tree that had grown several new branches. The fatigue he had experienced the previous night faded, and now he could properly take in the enormity and bizarre nature of the flora before him.

"By Yavanna's grace, Gandalf, what did you get me into," Bilbo whispered to no one. Although this did mean he fulfilled his promise...sort of. Not that it would matter unless he could get out of this room without being caught. Just how big the chamber was had been lost on him the night before. It had looked smaller with so many dwarves to fill it. He counted three great doors. At least one he knew was an exit. The other two were a mystery. His stomach interrupted his thoughts by growling loudly, nearly echoing in the empty chamber. Bilbo clamped a hand over it as if that might quiet it. What were the chances of one of those rooms being a kitchen? But he knew where the kitchen was. He had followed the chefs into the ballroom. Could there be multiple kitchens as big as the one he saw? His stomach grumbled again. He hoped so. He was ravishingly hungry. He remembered the door the king exited after his speech was in the far back. He also remembered the jolly chef he had met at the beginning of the masquerade. He had said he was the royal chef and was almost certain that his Dwarf was connected to the royals in some way. Perhaps a dedicated staff would mean fewer guards? It could also mean far more guards, but he decided to press his luck.

Silently, he walked across to the door and rather quickly met his first obstacle. The door, while clearly outlined, had no doorknob. Bilbo haphazardly patted down the defined space, looking for a bump or depression, and found nothing. In a final fit, he gave it a kick and settled his hands on his hips in annoyance. He turned to walk back towards a different door and tripped on a root, landing hard on the smooth floor. He lay there for a moment, eyes closed, caught between whether to laugh or cry at the circumstances that he had put himself in. Bilbo got back up and dusted himself off, and when he turned, he was completely taken aback. The tree, whose roots had grown to take up much of this side of the chamber, were now sprawled across the door that was popped open just enough to pry it open the rest of the way. Bilbo looked back at the tree, unsure of what to think. Was the tree...helping him? How was one expected to act when you were pretty sure a tree that sprouted from a magical acorn given to you by a very odd wizard did you the favor of opening a door? Bilbo had no idea, so he fell back on the ingrained Baggins politeness that flowed in his veins and thanked the tree kindly for its help before taking the opportunity and slipping through the door.

The corridor beyond was well-lit and narrow. He followed it until it delivered him to a wide hall; from there, he knew exactly where to go. Not because it was in any way familiar but because he could smell fresh bread and braised meat. His nose guided him to a familiar-looking kitchen, nearly identical to the one he had seen when he was trying to get to the masquerade. This time, he didn't shy away from it and snuck in after checking the coast was clear. There were few people in the massive kitchen. Bilbo walked past half a dozen fires, burning low with piping-hot coals. Metal grates and iron cooktops were built over them, large enough to cook half a pig. There were heating mechanisms turning chickens slowly and a large oven that seemed to be the source of the amazing smells he caught down the hall.

Sitting unprotected on a marble counter was a jar of lemon curd and a gorgeous loaf of sourdough bread. His admiration was short-lived as he heard voices coming from the doorway opposite the one he came through. As quick as he could, he snatched the entire jar and chunk of bread and dived under the table. He heard a plate get roughly tossed onto the table he was under, and one of the dwarves that stepped in let out an annoyed sigh.

"It would have been nice for someone to tell me the king wasn't taking breakfast today before I marched my sorry ass all the way to the royal apartment." The dwarf grumbled.

"Oh, leave it alone. I'm sure he's got his hands full with finding the intruder." The other voice laughed.

"I heard about that. I don't know how I feel about a potentially dangerous intruder sneaking around Erebor unabated." Bilbo listened carefully as another set of heavy footsteps came from the hall.

"I don't know if I would call a mountain of guards all looking for him unabated Koric." The voice was familiar, and Bilbo racked his brain to explain why. "I also don't know if I would call him dangerous."

"How would you know?" The dwarf Koric scoffed.

"I spoke to him at the masquerade." Bilbo's head nearly bumped the table as he looked up sharply. He hadn't spoken to that many dwarves. Then the voice clicked. Bombur! "He actually seemed pleasant and with a good palate." Both the other dwarves snorted.

"Pleasant or not, he has an entire mountain on his tail, and news of the intruder isn't the only thing floating around the mountain. Word is the king met someone special at the masquerade and danced with them all night but couldn't find them again in the chaos after." The other dwarf gossiped.

"If that's the case, then why haven't they gone and presented themselves to the king? Anyone would be lucky to become consort even if the king was not much of a looker." Bilbo considered himself to be of above-average intelligence. He excelled in arithmetic and reading. He enjoyed puzzles and riddles. As he heard the chefs speak, he felt the color drain from his face. Was it possible that the person he had danced with was not related to the king but was, in fact, the actual king? That would mean that he had dragged the king of Erebor onto the dancefloor without a single how do you do. That had to be some sort of high crime. Though surely, the dwarf could have stopped dancing at any moment? He was twice Bilbo's size; he could hardly force him into something he was opposed to. That said, the description of the dwarf he danced with compared to how the chefs described the king was off. They said the king was homely, which was not at all how he would describe his dwarf. Sure, he had only gotten a fleeting glance, but it was long enough to know that he was unbelievably handsome.

"Maybe the intruder IS the king's One," Bombur replied overly casually. The other two dwarves snorted unattractively.

"No way!" Koric shouted, "I heard the intruder wasn't even a dwarf. It's not possible to have a non-dwarven One." The chatter of the dwarves died away as they left the room and went about their business. Bilbo did not move from under the table. His mind was too occupied with what he had heard. He slowly munched on his stolen bread and lemon curd, feeling more life flow into him with the much-needed nourishment. He had a lot to think about. What if the king was the dwarf he had been searching for? Would that make all of this in vain? A great king would hardly have time to entertain the wild whims of a silly hobbit. His hopes seemed silly now, yet the words the dwarf had used, 'met someone special' rang in his head. Was he the special person, or was this just some cosmic coincidence? It couldn't be. He knew how he felt deep down. The way he had been held as they were dancing was not something conjured by his mind. It was real he knew that! Rejection was worth the risk of finding out because just as he knew that if he didn't go on this journey, to begin with, he would grow to regret it, he would also regret not following this feeling to its possible bitter end. First, he needed some idea of what he was dealing with and actual confirmation that his dwarf was the king. The last thing he needed to do was make a fool of himself if it turned out he was wrong.

Bilbo used the last of the bread to scrape the jar clean and left his hiding place. The hardest part of this next task was finding the royal wing. All the signs were in cirth runes, so they were of no help. One of the dwarves that came into the kitchen said they were coming from the royal wing, so he chose that direction as a good starting point. By now, he was starting to understand how the guard rotations worked. They were always in groups of three, and he could hear their boots well before he saw them. It was still slow going. Bilbo crept along, then hid, then crept along, then hid. It was a dull process, but he eventually reached his intended destination. He neared a hall that, by looks alone, must lead to the royal hall or, at the very least, somewhere important. The door to the hall was impossibly big and carved with a great gilded crest. A hammer and anvil with a crown above it and seven shining stars. He was unsure how anyone was supposed to enter a door so big until he approached and saw that a smaller door was fitted into the bigger one. He heard the sound of heavy boots and ducked inside quickly, knowing another patrol would be by soon. The inside took him by surprise. It was little more than an opulent hallway with a door on the far side and two along the right-hand wall. Along the left wall were rows and rows of shelves with books and heirlooms. He was halfway to pulling a book off the shelf when he heard the door to the hall rattle. In a panic, he dived for the nearest door only to find it locked. He dived towards the one next to it and scrambled inside just as he heard the door to the hall swing open and guard boots march down the hall. Bilbo turned to see where he had ended up and found himself in a musty-smelling portrait room. Only one torch was lit inside the door, and Bilbo took it and used it to light the others. Each sconce was situated next to a large painting with a gold plaque underneath it. Curiosity gripped him as he went around and lit each one.

Thrain I- TA 1934- 2190

Founder of Erebor TA 1999.

Thorin I- TA 2035 -2289

The Abandoner TA 2210.

"Thorin," Bilbo whispered the name to himself. That was the king's name, but this must be an ancestor. Bilbo continued on. He passed by portraits of many other dwarves until he got to one that stood out. It wasn't a single portrait like all the others. Two strong and strapping dwarves in their prime stood side by side. One with long raven black hair and bright blue eyes and the other with a shock of red hair messily pulled back into a ponytail. They held proud and mischievous looks on their faces.

Thrór- TA 2542 - 2790

Reclaimer of Erebor: TA 2590

Grór- TA 2563 - 2805

First lord of the Iron Hills: TA 2590

Not depicted

Frór- TA 2552 - 2589

May we greet him again in the halls of our maker

The next portrait showed a much older and more worn version of the dark-haired dwarf, Thrór, in the previous art. He looked beaten by time, and the blue eyes depicted with such life before looked icy and distant. The space next to the one of the older Thrór confused him. It did not hold a portrait, although there was space for one. A plack hung in the center of the allotted space that read.

Thrain II- Dragonslayer- The king that never was

TA 2644 - 2850

Gave his life in the defense of Erebor and Dale. Slayer of the great red dragon Smaug on the fields before the gates of Erebor. May we greet him again in the halls of our maker.

Finally, Bilbo made his way to the last portrait, and when he lit the sconce, he nearly dropped his torch. There before him was the dwarf he had danced with. Younger but no less regal. His dwarf was... it was the king. He danced with the king of dwarves.

Thorin II, called Oakenshield

TA: 2746-

King under the mountain, long may he reign.

Bilbo continued to stare, starstruck at the picture before him, wishing he could get closer. He felt a mix of excitement and hopelessness. There had been part of him that dearly hoped that his dwarf was not the king. It would have been so much simpler. He still wasn't sure how to come to terms with it. He was trapped between the overwhelming absurdity of the situation and a feeling of deep, unbridled longing that seemed to drag him along. He mentally strangled the Baggins' predisposition for propriety that told him this was all going to come to a bitter end and let the Took in him run wild with his thoughts.

It was clear he wasn't going to get into the royal quarters. It was too well guarded. He needed another place a king would frequent. A place like the throne room! All kings had thrones, and one in a dwarven city like this would likely be in the middle. Or at least he hoped so because that was his best guess. He had one other issue. This area seemed particularly well guarded, and he had unknowingly trapped himself in this room. The guards outside could have moved on, but they also could still be there, and if he tried to look, he would give himself away immediately. In frustration, Bilbo sat on the ground in front of Thorin's portrait and leaned his head back. As soon as he did, he heard the soft grinding of stone. His eyes flew open in alarm. The wall on the far side of the room had opened to reveal a passageway. Bilbo looked behind him to where his head touched the wall, trying to feel for a button he might have unknowingly pressed and found nothing. He looked at the new door wearily. It could be a coincidence or a trap. Either way, he had little choice as the other exit was just as likely to end in disaster. Holding his breath, he picked up a lit torch from a wall and plunged forward.

The tunnel was cold and clammy. It looked seldom used other than by the spiders who left behind dense patches of cobwebs. He reached the end of the tunnel and looked around for a way to leave. The torch reflected light off of something to his right, and just above his head was a gold button. Bilbo had to jump to press it. The path before him opened up. Whatever this path was, it had taken him to the heart of the mountain. A sweeping expanse of stairs and paths was laid out before him, and in the middle was a surprisingly narrow path right up to a magnificent chair carved from the earth. The mountain seemed to come down and touch it like a finger of Aulë himself.

Closer he crept until he was right on the edge of the path that led to the throne. The guards were surprisingly few here, and he could move easily. Eventually, a flicker of movement stopped his momentum as he heard footsteps on the stone. It wasn't guards, and the steps weren't uniform. Members of the royal staff, maybe? He didn't expect a dwarf that he recognized to round the corner. Bofur, the floppy-hat dwarf, and another shorter dwarf with straw-colored hair and a stack of books in his arms walked cheerfully along.

"Are you sure you don't need help with those, Ori? They seem awful heavy." Bofur maintained a sunny disposition.

"They're books the king requested. I wanted them ready for when he got back. What are you doing milling around anyway?" Ori asked between heavy breaths.

"With all the excitement happening? I'm waiting to see how this all plays out, of course. Staying close to the action." Bofur twisted his mustache into a finer curl with a big grin.

"Yes, well, this, whoever he is, can't stay hidden forever. How is he getting food or sleeping, for that matter! And how did he get that tree to grow in the great hall?! I didn't find anything about shire folk having magical properties." Ori seemed exasperated. Bilbo was shocked. They had found out he was a hobbit, and if Bofur was here, he was likely the one to say as much. He supposed that was fair. It wasn't like there were many other hobbits running around, and Bofur had spoken to him.

"I think we'll hear from him soon. The smartest thing for our intruder to do is turn himself in." Bofur replied.

Ori snorted. "How do you figure?"

"Well, the king is looking everywhere for him. Damn, near willing to turn the place upside down. If our visitor is looking for the king, the fastest way to do so would be to turn themselves in." Bofur explained. Ori looked thoughtful.

"That's assuming that the Hobbit is looking for the King."

"I think he is. I met the chap, and he seemed the over-curious sort."

Bilbo's heart pounded in his chest. Was it truly just as simple as that? Turn himself in? It wasn't something he had remotely considered. He had new information now. With confirmation that his dwarf was the king, he would be submitting himself to the king's justice. He couldn't hide forever, and he was becoming increasingly impatient for the end of this unexpected adventure, whatever it may be. Bilbo walked back the way he came, heading towards the ballroom. He made no great strides to hide and soon came upon a group of soldiers. He stood proudly and unwaveringly even after the guards spotted him and approached with swords drawn.

"My name is Bilbo Baggins, and I am submitting myself to the king's justice."