The Took Family's Tournament of Arms

Credit goes to SunnyRose

Summary:When Bilbo told Thorin they were going to be using ‘clubs’ at his family’s tournament, he had incorrectly assumed it was some sort of feat of combat. Maybe clubs as substitutes for swords to prevent accidental bloodshed. Thorin had found it odd for hobbits to have such a tournament at the time, but then again, Bilbo was always telling him that the Tooks were odd. Staring down at the wooden and iron sticks with different sized heads on the end, Thorin didn’t know what to think.

or Thorin plays golf for the first time and absolutely despises it.

When Bilbo told Thorin they were going to be using ‘clubs’ at his family’s tournament, he had incorrectly assumed it was some sort of feat of combat. Maybe clubs as substitutes for swords to prevent accidental bloodshed. Thorin had found it odd for hobbits to have such a tournament at the time, but then again, Bilbo was always telling him that the Tooks were odd. Staring down at the wooden and iron sticks with different sized heads on the end, Thorin didn’t know what to think.

“Well it’s a golf tournament, my sweet.” Bilbo huffed in exasperation while shaking his head after Thorin addressed his confusion. “What else would we use?”

That did very little to actually clear anything up for him. Bilbo had used that word before. ‘Golf’. Supposedly, according to Gandalf’s rendition, Bilbo was quick to point out, it was a game invented by Bilbo’s ancestor when he killed the goblin king in an ancient battle. It had been a very dwarvish tale. Everyone had been very impressed that Bilbo came from a line of hobbit warriors, and when Bilbo mentioned that his family continued to host a golf tournament every spring, Thorin thought for sure it was an exhibition of skill. Watching Bilbo’s uncles and cousins warm-up by sweeping the head of the club along the ground as they arced it from shoulder to shoulder, Thorin was getting the feeling it was definitely some exhibition of skill. Just none that he was familiar with.

“Would you rather wait for me in the smial?” Bilbo asked, placing a hand on his forearm.

Thorin saw some of the hobbits look over at them and smirk. Thorin bristled at the small show of superiority. No, he most certainly would not wait in the smial. He would compete in their show of arms, and he would emerge victorious. After all, he wanted to earn the respect of these Tooks and gain their blessing before he officially offered his engagement to Bilbo.

Bilbo still seemed hesitant about leaving him, but his cousin, Siggy, swung an arm around Thorin’s shoulders claiming he would take good care of him. Bilbo’s pointed look told Thorin all he needed to know about how much he would be able to trust Siggy in this venture. They had been divided into groups of four. Bilbo had been placed with his Uncle Gorbadoc, his Uncle Isembold, and his cousin, Adler, in the first group. Thorin was with Siggy, Bilbo’s uncle, Isembard (yes, apparently different uncles), and his cousin, Fortinbras, the Thain. Which was good for Thorin as he felt like Fortinbras as head of the household and head of the Shire would be the one he needed to impress.

Thorin watched as Bilbo walked up to part of the grass that had been sectioned off by two chopped logs. He placed a little white ball on the ground, and grabbed one of the wooden clubs. He did that strange swing Thorin had been observing the other hobbits do a couple of times before stepping up to the ball. When he swung again, the ball went sailing straight down the line of cut grass towards the flag at the end. All the other hobbits clapped so Thorin did as well, only to earn glares for how loud he was clapping.

Bilbo gave him a bright smile and a wave as he picked up his bag of clubs and wandered down towards his ball with the others in his group. Thorin still understood absolutely nothing about this showcase. Siggy was the one to explain it to him. He would take the clubs to hit the ball down the ‘fairway’ until it got into the hole marked by the flag. If he did it in the least number of swings, he won. It sounded easy enough, and he figured his dwarven strength would give him an advantage on getting the ball to sail further. Siggy gave him advice on how to swing the club that Thorin tried to file away, but quickly became overwhelmed. He would just swing it how he thought was best. How hard could it be to hit a stationary ball?

Finally, his group was ready to hit, and Thorin was invited to go first. Siggy pulled out the wooden club with the biggest head and handed it to him as well as set his ball up a little higher with a thimble full of sand. Thorin quirked an eyebrow before approaching the ball, and standing the way he had seen Bilbo do so just moments ago. Thorin lined up the club, pulled it back like he would an axe, and swung down as hard as he could.

Thorin’s hands jarred when he came in contact with the ground just behind the ball, snapping the head off the end of the club. He could hear the hisses and sympathetic noises from his audience causing his cheeks to burn. Siggy was quick to rush up there with a hand on his shoulder, and another club in his hand.

“Sweep it. Don’t ground it.” He offered as if those words meant anything to Thorin.

Thorin pulled the club back again, this time with the intent of not hitting down so much, only to swing right over the top of the ball. He nearly lost his balance as the club wrapped around him, and the loud guffaws made it quite clear his clumsy moment didn’t go unnoticed. Thorin already hated this game, and the advice being shouted at him didn’t make it any better.

“Don’t break your wrists!”

“Pull more with your left side!”

“Don’t lean back on your heels!”

“Keep your head down!”

Siggy was back at his side in a moment. “Well that was a mighty spectacular whiff, Master Dwarf.”

Thorin may have hated Bilbo’s cousin while he was at it.

“You want to make a ‘U’ with your arms. Go from shoulder to shoulder, and don’t try so hard to hit it. The club will do all the work.”

Despite his every instinct to give up this ridiculous game and cut his losses there, Thorin stepped up to the ball a third time. He focused more on making contact than getting power, and he finally hit the ball…only for it to roll barely twenty feet. Thorin’s shoulders sagged as he was given some half-hearted claps.

“At least you hit it that time.” Siggy remarked as Fortinbras took his place.

Thorin took it back. He absolutely loathed this game. But he was not a quitter. He was committed to seeing it through. So Thorin muddled through getting the ball up to the flag. Trading the wooden clubs for iron clubs that did not improve his odds. At one point, he finally managed to hit it far, only for it to go shooting off to the right. Thorin gave Siggy a murderous glare especially when the hobbit shrugged.

“You turned your club head out.”

So many rules! How could there be so many things he had to watch out for when you were using a stick to hit a ball?! He finally, finally got on the shorter grass with the flag, and Siggy handed him another iron club with a flat head that he called a ‘putter’.

“Just a little push, and you’re done with this hole.” He encouraged.

A little push. Thorin could do that. He lined up the ball with the hole, pulled back and hit through, thinking he was finally done. Then the ball turned to the left and rolled further away. Siggy winced.

“Should have mentioned you might want to watch out for the slope.”

Slope?! Thorin got down on all fours, not caring for how he looked as he eyed the ground. Sure enough, deceiving to the eye while standing, the ground sloped just slightly to the left. Thorin was shaking as he got back to his feet. What was the point of this?! Who would design such an evil feat of competition that made brute strength secondary to precise technique and cunning? Hobbits. That’s who. He finally got the accursed ball into the damned hole, only to be given the worst news ever. There were seventeen more holes before they were complete.

It was Bilbo who approached Thorin from where he lay on his back beneath the tree his stupid ball was trapped behind on hole number four.

“How are you holding up, Love?” Bilbo hummed sympathetically.

“This is the worst competition ever invented.” Thorin growled back.

“I did tell you to wait at the smial.” Bilbo pointed out.

He did. And Thorin was regretting not acting on that with all his being now.

“Your family must think I’m an imbecile.”

Bilbo snorted. “Do you think we didn’t all go through this ourselves when we were first starting out? If anything, they’ve been highly amused.”

“I wanted to impress them. I wanted to get their blessing.”

“Oh my dear. Come here.” Bilbo pulled Thorin up into a seated position as he cradled his face. “I am the head of my family, and you are the former king of Erebor. We don’t need anyone else’s blessings but our own.”

“Yes, but…”

Thorin was silenced with a kiss which he had to admit was quite effective.

“All you have to do is ask me, and my family will approve.”

“Bilbo, will you marry me?”

The hobbit smiled before kissing him again. Thorin took that as an affirmation. Especially when the hobbit leaned in further to where Thorin had to wrap him in his arms to keep them from falling over.

“Oi! Bilbo! Quit snogging your dwarf so he can hit the ball!” Siggy called over to them.

Thorin pouted when Bilbo pulled away, especially when he asked if he was going to continue or not. Thorin definitely didn’t want to continue this humiliation, but he was no quitter. Even if he rather wished he was at this moment.

“Okay, listen. If you’re going to keep doing this, we’re going to make it manageable.” Bilbo declared before kicking his ball out from behind the tree.

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “I could do that?”

“Absolutely not. But you’re well on your way to averaging triple par so I doubt it's going to matter.”

Thorin had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but if it kept him from banging his head into the tree, he was okay with it.

“Now, as for you being able to hit. Do you remember that sword move you were showing me the other day? The one where you sweep under your opponent’s guard one-handed? Yeah, you’re going to do that. Only with your left hand.”

That was it? Why wasn’t that explained to him that way before?! Instead he had been given inane rhymes like ‘grip it tight, crank it right’. Thorin was warring between disbelief and irritation as he stepped up to the ball and followed Bilbo’s advice. For the first time all day, the ball sailed through the air and landed next to the hole. The hobbits in Thorin’s group gave him cries of surprise and enthusiastic claps. Thorin turned back to Bilbo, beaming proudly and kissed him quite thoroughly.

“I love you.” He declared when he pulled away.

Bilbo grinned. “It’s not a perfect solution, but at least it’ll get you through today. We can practice later.”

“Bilbo, with as much respect towards you and your family competition but Mordor will freeze over before I play this game again.”

Bilbo merely laughed and wished him luck as he went back to his own group. Thorin approached the ball, pleased that he was to the point where all he had to do was push it into the hole. He lined it up, double checked the slope of the ground, and gave it a small hit. Only for it to bounce over the hole and keep rolling.

“You were hitting downhill. You don’t need to give it that much push.” Siggy snickered.

Thorin changed his mind. He was just going to wait back at the smial for Bilbo.