The Dwarven Way

Credit to Aerandir

Summary:

After the Eagles drop the company off at the Carrock, the dwarves, Bilbo and Gandalf continue on their way. Dwarven traditions demand that the king honour the one who saved his life, but Thorin doesn't know how to go about it. Luckily, his dwarves are there to help.

A tale of respect, friendship and camaraderie, can be read as the beginnings of Bagginshield if you squint. :)

It took Thorin's Company two days to make their way down from the top of the Carrock, where the Eagles had left them. Some, including Bombur, Ori, and Bofur, had argued that they should take some time to rest, for their king to regain his strength, if nothing else, but Gandalf had made a quiet suggestion to Thorin that they should move on as soon as possible, and so they had.

The night after the last leg of the descent, they camped by the rocky outcrops, making certain to hide well behind the boulders and rocks. There was no protest when Thorin forbade a campfire – their encounter with Azog the Defiler was still much too fresh in the minds of all. The following morning, they left the Carrock behind entirely, and resumed their journey through scraggly bush and tall grass, adorned with wildflowers of many colours and dotted with lone boulders, as well as gnarly, twisted pine trees.

Thorin was recovering well. Though he still looked exhausted, and the wounds on his face would take some more time to heal, he was his regal, composed, proud self, and continued walking at the front of the Company alongside Gandalf. However, after their exchange atop the Carrock, he had barely spoken to Bilbo at all, and it didn't take the hobbit long to catch up on the fact that his other dwarven companions were furiously discussing why that should be so; it was a long journey, after all, Balin had told him once when Bilbo had directed an inquisitive gaze at him, his expression entirely apologetic, and several of the dwarves present had far too much of an appetite for good gossip. It irked Bilbo that they spoke in Khuzdul most of the time. Surely, Thorin just had to have other things on his mind. And who could blame him?

However, what had transpired between him and Thorin also had a positive effect. Whereas before, Bilbo had been quite openly regarded as a burden, just someone who took up space, food, and drink, while also lacking the stamina to keep up on more challenging parts of their journey, now, the dwarves seemed to be actively seeking out his company – most of them, at least. Not Dwalin, for instance, though even the brooding warrior seemed to be eyeing him with much less of a mistrust, and Bilbo supposed that was a very fine start as far as that particular dwarf was concerned.

Some of the time, it was Fili and Kili he walked with, and Thorin's younger nephews entertained him with all sorts of tales that the older dwarves, chiefly Dwalin, dismissed as pure rubbish, then at other times it was Balin, who had, admittedly, been the most kind to him even before, and now taught him much and more about the history and the ways of Durin's Folk while they walked together, and sometimes he would share a pipe with Bofur. Bombur came up to him as well one day and asked him for help in seasoning that night's dinner; earlier, such a thing would most certainly have been unheard of.

So, Thorin's recognition of him in full view and hearing of all the others had certainly done wonders, and there was one thing in particular that touched the hobbit the most. Every day, one of the dwarves, usually it was either Dori, Nori, or Ori, though the task had fallen to Bofur and Bombur as well, scourged the grassy plains around them and gathered herbs that were suitable for tea. They also managed, with the help of Fili and Kili, to persuade Thorin to start allowing campfires, which the king reluctantly did, not without a glance in Bilbo's direction, one that harboured a well concealed fondness that only his nephews saw; however, they knew better than to act on it just yet.

Every evening, Bombur would produce a small kettle and boil some water, and when it was done, one of the others, a different dwarf each night, would add the herbs, and they would serve the hobbit his favourite beverage in all Middle-Earth out of a small cup that was just perfect for him to wrap his hands about. Always, he accepted this offering with overflowing words of gratitude. After a few days, he started suspecting it was some sort of ritual, but he could not comprehend the meaning of it on his own, and when asked, none of the other dwarves would provide a satisfactory answer.

Nights in the grasslands can get very chilly when the summer fades, and when the dwarves noticed that their smaller companion was far more ill at ease than they themselves, they started, one by one, to offer him their cloaks. Of course, all but Thorin Oakenshield, who watched these exchanges of both tea and cloaks carefully with those striking blue eyes, yet never commented and never partook. Still, he didn't speak to Bilbo more than absolutely necessary. And still, though Bilbo was now distracted most of the time, the whispers in Khuzdul continued amongst his companions.

One night, sleep refused to find Bilbo. He was comfortable, having been offered a cup of wild thyme tea at dinner and being now wrapped in Gloin's cloak, but for some reason it wouldn't do. So he lay on his bedroll, listening to the snoring of his sleeping companions and the sounds of the night. It was peaceful, as far as you could say so for the wildlands. No warg howling to be heard in the distance, no goblin voices. Just the rustling of grass, bush, and tree, as well as the occasional cricket who had not yet said goodbye to the waning summer. When he heard a voice, he thought it to be just the usual changing of the watch, and paid it no heed at first; but then Balin's quiet, patient voice caught his attention.

"Thorin, it appears none of the others will hold you to it, so it falls to me. There has been too much of this discussion. Everyone is making their guesses in Khuzdul around Bilbo, and he does not like it, which he is certainly right not to. So, tell me true. Why do you refuse to honour the one who saved your life? You're not even speaking to him properly!"

Bilbo's ears perked up, and he pushed Bombur's foot away from the end of Gloin's cloak, silently rolling over until he was closer to the exchange, yet still hidden behind a hazel tree. Attentively, he looked at the two silhouettes of Balin, who had apparently finished with his watch, and Thorin, who had come to take over from him. Even at night, or perhaps even more so at night, in the cold light of the moon and the stars, Thorin Oakenshield looked as royal as could be. The silver streaks in his dark hair glimmered in the moonlight, as did his blue eyes. The fur-lined coat that hung from his shoulders moved gently with a slight breeze, and the rings on his fingers caught the light in a very special way. His movements exuded confidence, and while on watch, his stance was always wary and protective. In all members of the Company, he stirred a deep sense of loyalty and belonging; since the Carrock, Bilbo felt like he belonged, too, and it was, in his mind, far more than any Baggins deserved, whether Thorin spoke to him or not.

Now, he watched with his mouth slightly agape as Thorin sat down on a flat stone with a sigh. "I know. It is just that I do not know ... how to thank him. I do not know of any rituals of this sort that the hobbits might have. And I fear the dwarven way may offend him."

The king looked up at his oldest advisor. "I know what the traditions of our fathers demand of me. But I do not know how to do it. So, I have taken the cowardly way, and am avoiding it."

In the light of the moon, Bilbo watched as Balin gave his king a reassuring smile. "But surely, it hasn't escaped you what the rest of us have been doing? Thorin, we do not know how hobbits honour the saviour of a king's life, as much as I can tell from what Bilbo's told me, they don't have a king at all! So, we, and I must say your nephews have yet again played a crucial part in this, have thought of a ritual all our own."

Balin chuckled as he went on. "Very early on, we have all come to agree that, by Durin's beard, if our Master Baggins likes anything at all, he likes tea. So, we make him tea, and we present it to him every evening as our offering and gift of gratitude for saving our king. He freezes easily at night, so we give him our cloaks, and each of us does so with great pride."

The older dwarf stared at Thorin from underneath his bushy eyebrows, as if to chastise, but the tone of his voice was jovial. "We had to think of something, after our king has completely neglected what tradition demands of him."

"But this is not the dwarven way," Thorin replied in that brooding, dark voice of his. "This is not what the tradition commands me to do."

Bilbo's eyes darted rapidly between the two dwarves he was eavesdropping on. So, that was what it was all about! That was what all the whispering in Khuzdul was for! The dwarves were very set in their ways and traditions, Balin had told him as much, and apparently, he had to be honoured in some way for saving Thorin's life! Apparently, he also had to be honoured by Thorin himself! And what was all the fuss about the dwarven way about?

Balin replied with a chuckle. "But he's not a dwarf, Thorin, he's a hobbit! And it appears he's very happy with his tea and one more cloak for the night. So, I speak on behalf of the company when I say that we would very much like you to do your part."

Again, the dwarven king sighed. "I will think about it."

Balin patted Thorin on the shoulder with a small smile, seemingly satisfied with the answer, and left to get some sleep before dawn.

Quite unable to process the entire exchange he'd just witnessed and certainly unable to go to sleep now, Bilbo remained behind the hazel tree, wrapped in Gloin's cloak, watching as Thorin lit up his pipe and gazed thoughtfully into the distance while he smoked, his hair and cloak moving with the breeze.

The next day went on entirely as usual, though Bilbo caught Thorin looking at him several times. The landscape around them didn't seem to change at all; it was still tall grasses, fragrant herbs, gnarled trees and mossy rocks. A knot formed in Bilbo's stomach halfway through the afternoon; what would Thorin do that evening? All day long, he'd been hearing the jingle of coins around him – it seemed that Balin had told the others about his conversation with Thorin, most likely, and now the dwarves, always eager for a game, were placing bets on whether Thorin would do anything or not. Bilbo wished he could join the fun; but the entire situation was making him anxious and fidgety, which was not fun at all, no one had officially let him in on the secret anyway, and he didn't want to reveal what he'd heard the previous night. So, he did his best to ignore his companions, but was at large unsuccessful.

Throughout all of this commotion, Gandalf remained unfazed and seemingly uninvolved – he had also not made tea or given Bilbo his cloak, but he was not a dwarf, and had not hidden his faith in Bilbo from the very beginning, so the dwarves had all agreed that it was not necessary for him to partake. When he wasn't busy keeping an eye out for disturbances, as several of the dwarves were neglecting their duties, he was wearing a most peculiar, amused expression on his face, which annoyed Bilbo, but he'd learned on the journey that Wizards had their own ways, which were certainly very strange at times, and would take no questioning. So, he refrained from talking to Gandalf.

Thorin had to have heard at least some of the bets that were being placed, but if that troubled him at all, he didn't say. For most of the day, he remained quiet and thoughtful, as had been the standard since that moment atop the Carrock. In a way, Bilbo was glad that he had witnessed the nightly conversation between Balin and the king; otherwise, he would still have had no idea about what was going on!

When they finally called it a day and unloaded their baggage on a large rocky outcrop, which was raised out of the grassy plains enough to provide a safe resting place for the night, Thorin strode off into the grassland, briefly muttering something about scouting what was ahead. He left all of his heavier layers and his fur-lined cloak behind. When he was, as usual, questioned by his nephews, he gave them a heavy stare that easily silenced the both of them. The others busied themselves by making camp, and whispers started sprouting up again; no one goes scouting without proper protection, not in wildlands such as these! Gandalf sat nearby, with his back against a pine tree, smoking and saying nothing. Bilbo helped Bombur with the food, but chopping dandelion roots failed to calm him down this time.

Then, shortly before dinnertime, Thorin returned, in just his tunic and trousers and boots, his muscular forearms bare, with Orcrist in its scabbard and tied to his belt. His dark hair spilled around his face and down onto his shoulders, and the beads in his braids caught the light of the sunset. In his right hand, he carried a bushel of dark green leaves with a few delicate blooms of a light lavender colour.

Balin had been well and truly right, thought Bilbo, when he'd told him that this was one they could follow; that this was one they could call king. Thorin walked proudly past several dwarves of the company, halting in front of an open-mouthed Bombur, with Bilbo, surprised and wide-eyed, right at the bigger dwarf's side. The king bent down and very gently laid the herbs down in front of Bombur and Bilbo. The distinct smell of wild mint filled the air around the crackling campfire.

"For tea, Master Bombur," he said, then glanced at Bilbo with a look much alike to the one from the Carrock. No harshness, no disdain, just endless and genuine fondness. The moment passed quickly, and Thorin strode away to where he'd left the rest of his belongings. However, the small campsite instantly came alive; Bilbo decided he'd had enough of it. He pointed at Fili and Kili, who were the loudest.

"Now, you dwarves do seem to be neglecting the fact that I have not the slightest idea about what's going on! Would one of you care to finally enlighten me?" He threw his arms into the air, then gave his companions a challenging look, which was met with sheepish smiles, for the most part.

"Oh, come on, you lot," said Dwalin, a crude wooden tankard in hand. "Tell him already. I have had more than enough of this."

"But not now," Kili protested. "It's not over yet," added Fili.

Balin sighed. "Now is as good a time as ever."

The white-bearded dwarf turned towards Bilbo. "You see, dear Bilbo, we Durin's Folk are very fond of our traditions. That night on the cliffs, you saved Thorin from Azog the Defiler. You saved the life of a king, and he is greatly indebted to you, as are we all. Our traditions demand that you be honoured properly for your great service."

Bilbo tried very hard to pretend that this information was new to him; fortunately, no one seemed to notice that it wasn't. "But I just did what any self-respectable friend would do!"

Balin dismissed his argument with a wave of his hand. "No, no. All of us noticed that Thorin wasn't treating you like he should have. Yet you were willing to lay down your life for him."

"Well," said Bilbo earnestly, "I really wasn't thinking that far ahead ... I mean ... as far as my life is concerned. It happened the way it did. I promised to help you regain your homeland. And that was just ... one more way to do it. I don't need to be honoured for it." He smiled, but was met with serious faces. Balin spoke on patiently.

"Bilbo, this means a lot to us. We are proud of our ways and our traditions. Yet, we didn't know how you hobbits might fare in such situations, and seeing as our king was completely neglecting his duty, we thought of a ritual just for you. That's the reason for the tea and the cloaks. You saved our king, and we are, both by tradition and our hearts, asked to offer you our sincere gratitude." The rest of the company hummed in agreement.

"It was bothering us that Thorin was refusing to partake, so I spoke to him last night. Suffice it to say, the lads have made a few bets on whether he would finally come to his senses or not. Please forgive them. And please forgive me for not telling you of all this earlier. We didn't want to bother you with the details, especially after we saw how much you enjoyed a cup of tea and an additional cloak at night."

"Well," said Bilbo reluctantly, looking at twelve curious dwarven faces. "I must say I truly am enjoying that. What I am enjoying more, though, is being a true part of your company and not a burden."

Balin nodded. "This is exactly where our tradition comes into play. We have tried our best, and each of us feels you are every bit a part of our company, our equal and our true friend. But by our tradition, for you to truly be our equal and our friend, our king must honour you."

"Never again a burden," grumbled Dwalin, of all dwarves present. "But our king must do his part."

Bilbo raised the forefinger of his right hand.

"Just one more question, then. I'm not a dwarf, so I got my own ritual, which I'm certainly most flattered about, but what would the ritual be like if I were a dwarf?"

Several of the dwarves exchanged glances. It fell to Balin to speak, as it usually seemed to come about in situations that required a certain amount of tact, which several of the other company members lacked entirely, as dwarves were wont to.

"Why," the old dwarf said. "The king would have to ask you to put a braid in his hair."

The others nodded in unison, their expressions entirely solemn. It truly seemed like a tradition they valued above many others they'd told him about, and Bilbo knew better than to offend them by saying anything that could be perceived as inappropriate. So, Thorin Oakenshield thought he might offend Bilbo by asking him to braid his hair? And that was why he'd been all but ignoring him ever since the Carrock?

"You see, Bilbo," said Kili. "As you may have noticed, our hair and beards carry braids of all shapes and sizes. For us dwarves, braiding another's hair is a ... highly personal matter, so to say. It may only be done by close friends, brothers in arms, kin, lovers ... or in the case of a life debt, as our dear uncle is very much aware."

Balin took over. "Thorin thought you might feel offended by this ... and because of that, he ignored his duty, and we had to come up with a ritual to honour you in his stead!"

"Though, it seems, he's finally going to step up to it," said Fili, pointing at the mint leaves. "Most of us didn't pick the herbs ourselves. Some of us just know how to do it better than others. We just served you the tea then. But uncle can never let himself be outdone, or so it seems."

"Right," said Balin, clearing his throat a bit too loudly, which the others seemed to take as a signal to return to their duties. "Now, Bombur, for the water!"

Bilbo tried to emulate the others, so he started chopping some carrots, which Dori and Nori had found two days ago in an abandoned garden. He was very much occupied by the thought that he wouldn't have minded braiding Thorin's hair – even though he had not an inkling of braids and how to do them; which is why it would perhaps be best to stick with tea and cloaks, after all. He had to give it to his friends – they were certainly a very creative bunch when they felt like it.

Had Bilbo not been so busy with his thoughts, he would have noticed Fili holding out the palm of his hand to Dwalin, whispering, "Bet you ten silvers uncle has a new braid tomorrow morning?" Dwalin grumbled something about everyone losing their minds before stalking off to refill his tankard; when he returned, he shook Fili's hand silently.

When dinnertime came around, the mint tea was already done, and the smell of it was very pleasant to everyone, not just the tea-loving hobbit. Thorin had sat himself down just beside Bilbo this evening, which was making the hobbit fidgety, even though he now knew what to expect. So, when Bombur was about to start serving the stew, Thorin stretched out his hand, his presence formal and commanding. "The tea, Master Bombur."

"Why, yes, yes, of course," said the dwarf in question, and he reached for the small kettle, as well as Bilbo's cup, pouring it full almost to the brim before handing it to Thorin, who took it in both of his large, calloused hands. Then, he turned to Bilbo; and again, there was that soft look in his eyes. With a dip of his head, he offered the cup to the hobbit.

"Master Baggins," he began, then cleared his throat. "Bilbo. I am late in thanking you for saving my life, and for that I apologize. I am proud to have you in our company, and proud to call you my friend."

Then, he handed Bilbo the steaming cup of tea with a dip of his head, and Bilbo couldn't help but close his eyes for a brief moment and inhale the fresh scent of mint; of mint, he had to remind himself, that Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of the Dwarven Folk of Durin, had picked himself! He was sure that had a meaning deeper than what Fili had suggested earlier; but he was well content with leaving that question for another day. No one had told him whether he had to react any differently than on the previous evenings, given that he was now being honoured by the king, so he did what he always did. He smiled gratefully at Thorin, bowing, and said, "Thank you, Thorin Oakenshield. I am honoured to share your company, and to be your friend." He took a sip of the tea.

But Thorin was not yet done. The dwarven king put his right hand to his heart solemnly, and said, looking at Bilbo all the while, "Should you ever call for my aid, I will come. You have my oath, Bilbo Baggins."

The others began whispering amongst themselves almost immediately; and after a long while of heavy silence, during which Bilbo was so lost for words that he could only find it in himself to nod and fidget, Fili and Kili started cheering. Sure enough, the other dwarves joined in, Thorin smiled very faintly, but very genuinely, and the moment was over.

During dinner, Bilbo wasn't much of a conversation partner – he was far too occupied with what had just happened. Fili explained to him, quickly and in hushed tones, that not only had Thorin managed to fully absolve one part of their makeshift ritual so far, he had also honoured the life debt with the Life Oath, which Bilbo gathered was a very solemn and serious thing for Durin's Folk. In fact, as Kili had chimed in excitedly, the life debt had to be repaid in two ways; one was the braid, the other was the Oath. And everyone seemed to be happy that Thorin was finally doing his part.

Two songs and three cups of mint tea later, it was time to put the dinner utensils away and go to rest. It was Bofur's and Bifur's turn to clean up, so the others rose to leave; and again, every eye was on Thorin. Their king didn't fail them. He reached up with his right hand and undid the silver clasp of his heavy, fur-lined cloak. He folded it neatly and offered it to the hobbit. "Here, Bilbo. May it keep you warm tonight."

From the glint in the eyes of Fili and Kili, Bilbo gathered that this was not exactly part of the plan – the rest of the dwarves had handed over their cloaks with words more simple. But he figured that Fili and Kili would simply consider it another case of their uncle simply having to outdo everyone else. He accepted the cloak with gratitude, bowing and simply saying, "Thank you." For a moment, he shared a silent gaze with Thorin Oakenshield, and he could feel nothing but respect, kindness, fondness, and friendship between them. But that moment, too, passed, and Thorin, yet again only in his tunic and trousers and boots, returned to delegating watches.

Tonight, the king would take the second watch.

Thorin's cloak was heavy and warm, and Bilbo felt comforted by the distinct scent of the dwarven king that it bore. He burrowed deep into it, wrapping the ends all around his body, but sleep would not come. Blood was rushing in his ears and his mind was preoccupied by the dwarven braiding customs. Thorin felt Bilbo would be offended if he asked him to braid his hair. But Bilbo thought he wanted to do so, and he felt like Thorin would like that as well – during that conversation with Balin, when presented with the makeshift ritual, Thorin had commented that it was not the dwarven way. So, Bilbo gathered that he wanted to have it done the dwarven way; properly, so to say, but didn't want to make Bilbo uncomfortable – and that was the very root of the problem! While the king had partaken in the makeshift ritual, he probably still didn't think it was right. But, with his pride, and, seemingly, insecurities, he would never say so!

It would fall to Bilbo to initiate it. And he decided to do just that!

He lay awake until he heard Thorin dismiss Nori, who had been the first to keep watch that night. Then, he sat up and tried to make his way towards Thorin without waking anyone. However, while sneaking around – still wrapped in Thorin's cloak, which likely wasn't helping the secrecy – he caught the glinting, attentive eyes of Balin, who seemed to know exactly what was going on.

"Where are you off to, laddie?" The white-bearded dwarf asked.

"Hm ... oh ... well ..." Bilbo decided to throw caution to the wind. "Balin, would you mind a question?"

Balin chuckled. "Not at all. Come, sit down."

Bilbo sat down, wrapping Thorin's cloak a bit tighter around himself. "You know, the thing with the dwarven braids ... I was wondering ... if Thorin feels like the ritual remains incomplete without that? Like he hasn't honoured me fully?"

Balin looked at him with pride. "Certainly, he does. But he's willing to let it go in order not to make you uncomfortable. Thorin is aware of differences between our cultures, and he intends to honour them as best he can. In fact, he's said that tea should henceforth be available to you every night, regardless of the ritual."

A pleasant warmth swelled inside Bilbo's chest. That was how thoughtful Thorin had become? He simply had to be repaid, then. Bilbo was now certain that he'd allow the dwarven king to honour his life debt by the braid, as well as the life oath, and he told Balin as much.

The older dwarf patted Bilbo's shoulder affectionately. "You would honour him tremendously. And I'm sure this will open the door for us to try and join more of our respective traditions together. That would be a wise thing to do."

Bilbo nodded, tight-lipped and decisive. Balin smiled.

"Off you go, then. Tell him." The dwarf gave the hobbit a playful shove, then followed his movements with a fond smile.

Bilbo manoeuvred deftly amongst the sleeping dwarves, even after Oin sneezed after having been tickled by the end of Thorin's cloak, and made his way towards Thorin. He wasn't very quiet – it was just that the dwarves of the company usually slept very soundly. So, Thorin was easily made aware of his approach well in advance. He looked pleased to see him, if a bit surprised, which provided Bilbo with much needed encouragement.

"Bilbo," Thorin said. "Is something wrong? Is something the matter with my cloak?"

He appeared concerned; and at the thought that Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King of Dwarves, could possibly be concerned about whether his luxurious fur-lined cloak was or was not good enough for a hobbit, made the warmth in Bilbo's chest spread out even more. Granted, he'd respected Thorin since the get-go. But that respect had now become a bond deeper than formality. Perhaps the life debt had added the depth, or it was something else; Bilbo couldn't say. He enjoyed it very much, though.

"No, no," Bilbo replied immediately, with his usual fidgety, expressive demeanour. "Not at all. But," he cleared his throat. "Thorin. Might I have a word?"

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Thorin's lips and crinkled the corners of his blue eyes. It was truly a handsome sight when Thorin Oakenshield smiled, Bilbo thought. And regal, and awe-inspiring, all at once.

"Certainly," Thorin said.

"Well, you know, Balin and Fili and Kili told me about the braiding rituals you dwarves have," Bilbo began, and could see Thorin's brow darken, so he immediately waved his hands. "No, no! Not like that! You see, Balin told me you didn't want to offend me by suggesting it, but the thing is, I'm not offended at all, and like you tried to approach the hobbit ways with the tea, I want to approach the dwarven ways for you, and I want to do this braid for you."

Left slightly out of breath by his monologue, Bilbo raised his hands as if in triumph, then he held up the forefinger of his right hand. "And I will go as far as to suggest it!"

Thorin's face had now lightened up again, and a smile was playing about his lips as he watched the smaller hobbit stand in front of him, wrapped from shoulder to toe in his cloak, holding up his forefinger solemnly. "Thorin Oakenshield, I ask you to let me fulfil the dwarven tradition of honouring a life debt by braiding your hair!"

Thorin's smile grew fuller now, like that day on the Carrock, and it seemed as though years of worries were falling away from him in that very instant. "Well, Bilbo Baggins, I will gratefully accept your offer," the dwarven king said with a rumbling laugh, the most comforting sound Bilbo had heard in a while.

"Though," Bilbo fidgeted. "I don't know how. And I have no bead to secure it with."

"That can be helped," Thorin chuckled in a low voice, and he reached into one of the pouches on his belt, producing a small, glimmering object, and handing it to Bilbo.

It was a beautiful bead of shiny silver, plain, with no inscription, but perfectly round. Bilbo admired it as it lay in his palm. "It's beautiful," he said.

"Upon a dwarf's coming of age," said Thorin, "we are given two beads. One of gold, if we should find our One and marry, and one of silver, to honour a life debt. Every dwarf carries them on their person at all times. You may have noticed some gold ones in our company, or still will."

"Oh," said Bilbo, now attentively scrutinising Thorin's beads. "But not in your hair."

"No," said Thorin, who suddenly seemed unable to hold Bilbo's gaze. "Not me."

Even by hobbit manners, that would be considered overstepping every acceptable social boundary, and Bilbo felt his cheeks blushing. He decided to drop the subject immediately. "Oh ... so sorry ... I shouldn't have ... right ... where were we?"

"No matter, Bilbo," Thorin rumbled softly. "Here. Sit beside me. I will show you a braid, and I will undo it afterwards so you can do it yourself."

Bilbo found that he was perfectly happy and content sitting beside the dwarven king, wrapped in the heavy cloak, watching intently as Thorin separated a strand of his dark hair, dividing it into three even parts before he proceeded with the braiding process. It was a simple braid, by Thorin's own words, though he did not say it dismissively; in fact, he was more overjoyed at what was going on than he let the hobbit know.

As the braid was done, Thorin explained to Bilbo how to use the bead, then quickly undid his work. He looked at Bilbo with a glint in his blue eyes. "So, Bilbo. Your turn now."

Bilbo cleared his throat, fussing about for a little while, shrugging out of Thorin's cloak before he took hold of a strand of Thorin's hair, the one behind his left ear, lifting it out and trying his best to divide it into even parts. Then, he started working on the braid, trying his best to do exactly as Thorin had done earlier, whispering instructions to himself and berating himself from time to time. Occasionally, he tugged at Thorin's hair, but the dwarven king made no mention of it.

If he hadn't been so busy, he would have noticed Thorin's chest reverberating with a barely-concealed, merry laugh, and the smile upon his lips, especially when the hobbit would say, for the tenth time, "No, no, you daft hobbit you, not like that!"

Earnestly, Bilbo tried to do his best. But he knew he was far from the skill of the dwarves, and he was nervous when he finally secured the beautiful silver bead, backed off a bit, and said, "Well, Thorin, it's done."

He let go of the braid and offered it to the king for inspection. Thorin took it amidst two of his ringed fingers, gently exploring the texture with his touch. His fingers lingered on the bead for a moment before he turned to Bilbo with a joyful smile – just the one the hobbit hadn't seen cross Thorin Oakenshield's face since the Carrock.

"A braid of a life debt. Well done, Bilbo. It is very good, and I shall wear it with honour, and with pride."

"Well," said Bilbo, desperately trying to gather his wits. It seemed that he'd drifted off into a completely different world while braiding Thorin's hair, and was now finding it difficult to return to reality. However, reality was good, too. Thorin was there, and he was real.

Odd thoughts for a simple hobbit, Bilbo thought. But he dismissed the notion.

"I'm glad," he finally managed. "And I'm glad, Thorin Oakenshield, that I can be here with you. And honoured."

Thorin embraced him – again, just like the Carrock – and it was the safest Bilbo had ever felt since the comfort of his mother's arms when he'd been young. When Thorin drew back, he picked up his cloak and draped it back around the hobbit's shoulders. There was pride in his eyes, respect, kindness, and those feelings made the dwarven king more regal than any weapon.

"The honour, Bilbo, is mine." He paused for a while before going on.

"Stay a while, if you like, but only if you are rested enough. I would not withhold much needed sleep from you."

"Of course I will stay," Bilbo chirped, wrapping the cloak about him – only then, he realised that his warm sanctuary came at the price of Thorin having none. He peered up at the dwarven king. "But ... aren't you cold?"

Again came that comforting rumble of a laugh. "Do not worry, Bilbo. Not only physical possessions are capable of keeping a dwarf warm."

So they sat together, keeping watch over their sleeping companions, and Bilbo chatted to Thorin about the Shire, about his dreadful relatives, about the giant pumpkins and the Party Tree and all sorts of hobbit customs. Thorin laughed often, and the sight of the momentarily unburdened dwarven king warmed Bilbo's heart.

However, a little while before the changing of the guard, Bilbo fell asleep. When Bofur arrived to replace Thorin, he was in for quite a sight. The hobbit, wrapped tightly in their king's cloak, was there at Thorin's side, fast asleep, embraced protectively across the shoulders by the king himself. Thorin nodded to Bofur, got up, gathered Bilbo in his arms, cloak and all, and made to carry him to his bedroll. He turned around only once, but that was with a stare that provided Bofur with very clear instructions.

No gossip.

Bofur nodded, of course. It was the king's order, and he would treat it as such. But as he watched their king carry the hobbit to rest, he noticed the silver bead and the small, new braid in Thorin's dark hair. Granted, it was slightly clumsy, at least by dwarf standards, which, of course, were very high. But it was apparent to Bofur that the hobbit had done his best. He grinned; gossip wasn't necessary anymore. Everything was now in plain sight, their king had finally done his duty, and the hobbit had honoured a dwarven custom. This, especially, made Bofur think even higher of Bilbo than he had thought before.

Everyone noticed Thorin's new braid the following morning, but no one commented on it, not even Fili and Kili. However, Fili did, with a wide grin, catch a pouch of silver coins, which Dwalin had thrown at him with a good-natured grumble, and even a smile about his lips.