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The problem was, really, that Hobbits liked plenty.

They were a folk that thrived on the bounty of good, hard work, and a hobbit's wealth was really in the comforts of home and hearth; pantries stuffed full with good food, cellars lined with bottled and kegs, roaring fires in comfortable smials, and plenty of family to share it all with.

Plenty of family. Hobbits found love to be a comfortable and simple affair. They sought out partners easily, settling into comfortable domesticity with their spouse or spouses, ready to fill their smials with love and laughter, and the sounds of family.

Which was the heart of it, really. None of Bilbo's dwarrows had understood one whit when he'd mentioned how strange he was considered in the Shire, living alone as he did. Bilbo understood the Dwarf point of view better now; barely half of their race ever married, let alone lived with another, and while they highly valued family of all sorts, it was no odd thing to be a Dwarrow alone in the world. For Bilbo's new friends and family, a Hobbit living a solitary life was not such an oddity.

But, well... it was.

Bilbo had never meant to be a solitary hobbit. Life just seemed to turn out that way. There was no Hobbit that had ever really caught his attention long enough for him to consider marrying. Bilbo was far more likely to have his head buried in a map or the latest books from the Bree dealer to really think to look at any particular Hobbit -or Hobbits- that might catch his gaze, no matter how much it perplexed and frustrated his various Uncles and Aunties.

His aunts and uncles that took any opportunity to do right by their deceased siblings and help young Bilbo find love.

And so it came to this. He'd not really meant anything by it. It was the wording that had done it. He hadn't meant for it to sound like it had, but there he'd been, surrounded by all those aunts trilling over his return to the Shire, and out it had tumbled, jumbled and giving entirely the wrong impression.

"Oh, oh yes, the Dwarves, uhhh. Yes. Well, I've brought them back for the holidays, yes, to meet the family- come to mean a great deal to me, and yes, of course, well, our living arrangements are yet to be made but I very much wish to return to live with them, yes..."

Which is how, of course, his aunts had come to the understanding that at least two of the Dwarrow he had brought to the Shire were his husbands.

Bilbo, somehow.... had failed to correct them.

And now, Bilbo needed Dwarf husbands.

*

"So you see..." he trailed off, barely risking a look at the bulk of furry Dwarrow crowding his poor kitchen while he fussed over the careful folding of flour into batter.

None of them had said anything yet, and Bilbo could barely blame them, what with the situation he had managed to land them all in this time. All this way to deliver him safely back to the Shire and he'd gone and pulled them into his own dismal familial affairs.

(Really, the entire Company delivering him all the way home had been entirely unnecessary, but the darling creatures had insisted, and Bilbo had just been so relieved to see them all mostly hale and hearty after that terrible battle that he'd let them. He hadn't let them know he hadn't been entirely sure that he wanted to return to the Shire, and had become even less sure after travelling with them once more. He was hoping they would not mind the company for the return journey...).

Cake in the oven, and still not a peep, and Bilbo nervously rushed to fetch another bowl. It wasn't as if a few biscuits would go astray, or a bun or two...

"I know that you weren't planning to stay for very long," he continued into the lengthening silence -though really, he didn't know that, as the buggers had not really given him much indication as to what exactly their plans were now that they had done as they'd said and seen him home. "But my aunts are now expecting my spouses to stay for the holiday celebrations this month. And myself, of course, though I suppose I have yet to make any particularly firm plans."

"You need one of us to pretend to be your spouse," Ori summarised slowly, though Bilbo missed the odd twist to his face as he said it, being that he was digging into his sugar sack at present.

Stressful times require baking.

"Well, I was rather dimwitted in my wording. I was speaking of the lot of you in general, you see, and using plural pronouns, and I've rather gone and implied more than one, rather than a dwarf of uncategorised gender," Bilbo muttered somewhat guiltily to his pantry shelves, again not seeing the looks shot amongst certain members of the Company. "I will require the acting skills of more than one of you. Two should suffice."

"And that is... acceptable amongst Hobbits?" Bofur asked tentatively, and Bilbo placed his basket of apples back on the shelf of his pantry in favour of a jar of jam. (the most traumatic of occasions required liberal use of blackberry jam, and this definitely qualified. Perhaps some apple pastries as well, though…) and stuck his head back out to frown at his friend.

"Is what acceptable? Lying to one’s relatives about a potential love match? Not generally, but I've gone and nodded along like a numpty, and if I back out now, I'd wager the lot of that gold we hauled back with us that I shall find myself married off to a Bolger or a Sackville in the next week for my troubles, see if I don't." He huffed and stuck his head back into the pantry. He'd definitely need those apples.

"I believe Bofur was more asking about the issue of more than one spouse?" Balin said, also tentatively, and Bilbo shot him a testy look before returning to the task of dragging the large sack of flour out of the bottom of the pantry. They'd barely been here three days; he'd had staples brought by, but not had the time to properly sort his canisters yet.

A hand reached over his shoulder to lift the flour sack clear off the ground, and relocate it to his baking station at the bench. While helpful, it was terribly distracting with the oddly bare wrist and arm of Dwalin in a loose shirt- no knuckle dusters or gauntlets to be seen, let alone furs and armour. And wasn't that a thing to see. He would have blustered that he did not need the help to cover his fascination, but Dwalin gripped him by both shoulders and shifted him much the same as he had done with the sack, to stand in front of Balin.

Bilbo shot an irritated look over his shoulder -mostly to cover the shiver that wanted to make its way up his spine at the lovely show of strength, but he wasn't thinking about that- and resigned himself to talking over therapeutic baking.

"Why would there be an issue with more than one spouse?" he asked with great exasperation, folding his arms over his chest. Honestly, he thought they had a basic understanding of Hobbits by now. Hobbits liked plenty and abundance. And family.

"Some cultures find the concept... offensive," Balin said carefully, and Bilbo stared for a long, long moment.

"And do Dwarves..." he trailed off, and Fíli made himself known with an offended noise more suited to the barnyard than Bilbo’s kitchen table.

"Should think not," Kíli said for him, before returning to working his way through one of the pies Bilbo had bought at the market that morning, Fíli's mouth being too full to contribute much more than sound effects. Thorin took the time to cuff them both upside the head for their manners, and made a motion to Balin that had him looking most amused and sitting back in his chair.

"Two or three spouses is not unusual," Bilbo said slowly, when there was no further comment from any of them, peering suspiciously between Thorin- now looking somewhat red faced- and Balin, who had taken to chuckling quietly. "A group of five is considered unlucky, and a bit greedy, really, but threes and fours are not uncommon. Makes more babes, on the whole, even if some of the matches are all genetically one gender."

"I see," Thorin said gravely, and stopped, the room falling silent again.

Bilbo frowned. This lot were never silent for any decent amount of time, even for pies and ale, and they'd been awfully quiet since he'd started his frazzled explanation.

Dori would not meet his eye, either, and Bombur had been red in the face and hiccuping for the last ten minutes.

"I apologise, all of you," Bilbo started; the Dwarrows must find this an offensive thing for him to have mentioned for them to be behaving such. "I should not have asked this of you. I will talk to my aunts this afternoon, and explain the mix up."

"That!" Thorin shouted, and then coughed and nodded decisively. "That, er, that will not be necessary," Thorin said, and smacked the lads across the back of the head again when they both made a noise around their pie that Bilbo really could not identify. "We would be honoured to assist you in this matter. The only question remaining is who amongst us would be the best choice as your spouse." Here, for some reason, he smacked the lads on the back of the head once more and cleared his throat noisily.

Bombur’s hiccuping had increased in severity, and was starting to sound less and less like hiccuping, Bilbo thought, but Fíli cleared his own throat just as noisily as his uncle, and took a long leisurely chug of his ale. Meanwhile, the rest of the Dwarrow seemed all too happy to stay studiously quiet and focus intently on their lunches.

Fíli sighed gustily after emptying his cup, and Thorin smacked him on the back of the head again. Bilbo was quite certain that an uncle was not meant to behave thusly with their nephews, but Kíli was already dissolving into giggles behind his own cup, and Fíli was sporting a far-too mischievous grin for Bilbo to be terribly worried on their behalf.

"You know, Bilbo," Fíli started seriously, after Thorin had smacked him again -and Bilbo did not trust that serious look on the Prince's face either just moments after a grin that mischievous Bilbo was in for trouble he just knew it- "about your lack of spouse problem. I was thinking that I-"

Thorin smacked him again. Kíli's chortles were all but choking him, and Fíli looked far too satisfied with himself. Bilbo felt a trickle of dread work its way down his spine.

"-That is to say, I was thinking, that Uncle Thorin would make a fine spouse."

"... I... Your... uncle?" Bilbo asked faintly, and then almost jumped from his skin when Dwalin shifted and cleared his own throat behind him. Bilbo had quite forgotten that he was there. How did a fellow so large move around so quietly?

"Oh yes," Kíli chimed in, looking far too innocently sincere for someone who had just about bust something with his sniggers just moments before. "Fancy introducing a King as your intended! And Dwalin would play your second spouse of course."

"Dwalin?"

"If you insist," Dwalin said gruffly, and Bilbo started to shake his head, but Thorin nodded grandly.

"It is settled," he proclaimed, and Bombur’s answering hiccup was almost a yelp. Poor fellow was turning the most alarming shade of purple.

"Excellent choice," Dori said, a little too calmly. He was staring a little too intently at a painting across the room, as well, face carefully blank.

"Perfect," Bofur agreed hoarsely, and buried his face into his elbow, while Nori poked him with a self satisfied look upon his face.

Dwalin picked Bilbo up again and settled him in front of his baking bowl, and handed him the butter.

Bugger.

****

Those nosy, interfering, terribly horrible gits!

Bilbo paced in irritation, aimlessly patting at furniture as he wandered his room. He was meant to be sorting his wardrobe and airing out a few winter formal suits for the coming spectacle he would be making of himself, parading his new Dwarrow husbands -and their 'retinue', oh dear, he was in trouble- at all the upcoming family holiday gatherings, the invitations seeming to appear almost the instant he had set foot back into the Shire.

Instead, he was, well, panicking.

Honestly, what had he gotten himself into now?

Those horrible, no good, idiotic Dwarrow would be the death of him!

Bilbo was not entirely sure how some of the Company could have cottoned on to his (ridiculous) infatuation with Thorin and Dwalin- Bilbo had been loath to even admit the matter to himself let alone any of his big mouthed travelling companions- but they had surely taken advantage of the fact! He'd been hoping for Dori and Bofur. The two of them were sensible enough, suitably charming, and in Dori's case, with manners enough to impress the Baggins stodgy aunts, and Bilbo was not so much a fool that he had not noticed that their attentions were firmly fixed elsewhere. There would have been no broken hearts at the end of this little charade.

Instead, now Bilbo was stuck with two Dwarrow that were more likely to scare his relatives witless, and more likely to stare intimidatingly at any Hobbit fool enough to attempt conversation with them, then to convince Bilbo's pushy aunties that he was firmly off the market.

That, and Bilbo would be expected to be somewhat affectionate towards his potential partners. Knowing Bilbo and his fool heart, he'd more than likely to be a little too authentic and clue Thorin and Dwalin in to his ridiculous crush, and then he'd be in for it. They were still awkwardly working their way back to what had been the beginnings of firm friendship before that terrible business with Erebor and that wretched stone, and here he was, set to bugger it all up again.

Bilbo was just lucky that Thorin and Dwalin had not noticed how he felt for them; they could not of, or they never would have agreed to this ridiculous farce.

It really wasn't fair. Why could Bilbo not have fallen helplessly in love with persons somewhat more attainable?

But it was a done deed, now, and his Dwarrow were determined not to allow him out of it. In fact, they had rushed themselves out to the markets right quick, money bags swaying, to have his new spouses fitted for suitable garments for the occasion (and most probably for more pies and ale). Bilbo was fairly certain that regardless of if Thorin and Dwalin had cottoned onto Bilbo's affection for them, they may still never speak to him again after having to endure several weeks of fussy garments, idle small talk, and spiced punch, not to mention his bedamned, interfering, nosy relatives.

There was a bright side, though. If Thorin and Dwalin did scare or offend his relatives too badly and his Dwarrow did decide to return to Erebor without him, then it could only be a good thing if his relatives deemed the two burly dwarrow unsuitable for marriage. In the meantime, he would just have to put on enough of a convincing act so that he could claim heartbreak for a good year or two before his aunties would start herding him towards more suitable matches.

He just had to make it through the next month, Bilbo decided.

Bilbo sighed and drooped, finally slinging the doors to his wardrobe wide. If he was to make a complete fool of himself this Joyous Yuletide, he may as well do so in his best fine crushed velvet.

***

Barely a day later, and he was already firmly embedded in this mess, his Aunt Belba having invited Bilbo and his new beaus to tea, and none of the Dwarrow had seen any sense in delaying the inevitable. As far as the Company were concerned, there was no point in sitting around the house trying to get a farce of a relationship right once they had established the bare bones of back story. Best to throw themselves right in it, apparently, and Óin had given the rather unhelpful advice to merely be themselves, and shoved Bilbo out the door to join his patiently waiting new husbands.

“My father's younger sister,” he’d blurted in a rush before they had even reached the end of the lane. “Who we’re visiting,” he clarified with a nervous titter when they both looked confused. “My Aunt Belba, eldest of my Baggins aunts and uncles, you see, married a Bolger, but she'll be reporting directly to Madam Baggins, mark my words. Ostensibly her reasons for inviting us will be that her lad Herugar is about to have his second child, and she'll want to talk of the family and make sure we know what to bring as gifts to their Yule gathering for the new bairn-"

Thorin and Dwalin had listened to his nervous chatter of who they were visiting, and why all the way here, and said nothing themselves, merely nodding and herding him along in what they thought was the right direction (Bilbo having to shove them down the appropriate path a time or seven) and seem utterly unphased by the coming debacle. It was entirely unfair.

And now here he was, sweating in the warm glow of the cozy fire in his aunt's parlour, leg jittering nervously, while his aunt poured the tea and nattered on about his cousins and every distant relation worth talking about. He made the appropriate noises at various points of her prattling and tried desperately to look less cornered than he was certain he did.

The two gits he had brought with him had the gall to look completely at ease. They never looked this relaxed. Here Bilbo had been worrying about their acting abilities.

Gits.

"But here I am going on so, and I don't know a thing about your lovely gentledwarrow! You simply must tell me how you all met," Belba said brightly, turning her smile on Dwalin and Thorin, though her eyes were shrewd. Bilbo felt himself gulp involuntarily, but the other two barely blinked.

"Bilbo kindly agreed to work under contract for the Dwarrow of Erebor in a matter of most vital importance, some months ago," Thorin said calmly, pausing to take a delicate sip from the tea cup that looked so tiny in his great hand. "He travelled with us for many months, far to the east, to our homeland, and back again."

"These are wonderful biscuits, ma'am," Dwalin said, when Thorin paused. "They're very much like the shortbread Bilbo baked for us, but the flavour is different, layered and subtle. They're marvelous."

"They're thyme shortbread," Belba said, sliding the plate closer to Dwalin, her smile warming. Belba was very proud of her thyme shortbread, and rightly so; it had won prizes at the local fairs for some years now. "I've savoury scones with marjoram and Farmer Lobbo's best vintage hard cheese there, also."

Thorin hummed appreciatively and reached for a scone, and Bilbo tried very hard not to gape. There were best manners on display, here, the likes of which Bilbo had never seen of a Dwarrow! And not a sign of the usual way of Dwarrow consumption, but delicate bites, and humble compliments.

If Bilbo had thought that they would listen, this is exactly how he would have told them to behave. Belba was clearly already swaying towards quite smitten with the two lugs.

Typical.

"As I was saying," Thorin said, after washing down his latest scone with another delicate sip of tea, and gratefully holding his plate out for another, "Bilbo was employed by the Dwarrow of Erebor, and conducted himself very well on our journey, though I do confess, we did not get along well to begin with."

Dwalin snorted loudly, and then blushed, mumbling an apology to Belba, and gently dabbing at his mouth with a napkin.

"They truly were somewhat contentious," Dwalin agreed, still blushing. "I did attempt to stay well out of it, but I believe I initially gave Bilbo the impression that I too was not pleased at his addition to our group."

"That's an understatement," Bilbo mumbled to himself, at the same time as Belba tittered, fast becoming charmed by the display the Dwarrow were putting on.

"What changed, then, I must know, for the three of you to want so much to commit yourself to each other?"

"Bilbo saved my life," Thorin said gravely, and Dwalin nodded, reaching out to touch Thorin very gently on the shoulder, before turning to take Bilbo's hand briefly, and squeeze softly.

"Oh my," Belba said, and Thorin nodded an agreement, though to what, Bilbo wasn't really sure.

"I found then, that it was most difficult to ignore Bilbo's many endearing qualities, including his strength of character. More and more, I found it difficult to deny myself, or my Dwalin, Bilbo's company. He generously forgave me my bad behaviour, and accepted our -my- friendship readily, though we -Dwalin and I- had both spoken to each other of our longing for much more with our Hobbit."

Bilbo just barely kept himself from letting his jaw drop in a most telling way. They were laying it on a little thick, weren't they?

"We had decided between us," Dwalin took over, "that perhaps Bilbo was far too good for the likes of us, and would not welcome a courtship when we had treated him so poorly in the past.”

"What? " Bilbo could not help but exclaim, quite forgetting for a moment that this was an act, and Bilbo had most certainly not intended to give away any of his own feelings in all of this delightful little drama they were building.

"It is true, we did indeed think it," Thorin said gravely, leaning to take Bilbo's hand in his and press a gentle, cautious kiss to his knuckles. "We thought it a dream, without hope or possibility, and we contented ourselves with your friendship."

"Oh," Belba sighed, a hand pressed to her chest, eyes a little misty, and this, right here, was exactly not what Bilbo had wanted from this encounter.

There was a problem with Baggins. Yes, oh yes there was. While Tooks may be known to be adventurous and far too curious for their own good, Brandybucks known for their wild tempers and flighty nature, and Bracegirdles for their stubbornness and their prideful nature, Baggins were generally accepted as staid and steady, boring, even. They were proper, the Bagginses. Reliable.

And complete and utter romantics at heart. Baggins had a reputation for losing all respectability when they were madly in love, and they were terribly suckers for a good love story. Terrible.

"Thorin and I had thought that nothing could ever come from our longing," Dwalin picked up again, "and then came a time when we had reached the halls of Erebor, and tempers and terrible situations made our tenuous hopes a dying flame, as we carelessly almost threw even Bilbo's friendship away."

"I said many things that I regret," Thorin agreed, just as Bilbo opened his mouth to admonish Dwalin for bringing all that up again. "I did allow inconsequential material possessions to weigh more on my soul than the things that truly matter, and I cannot ever excuse the hurt I laid upon both Dwalin and Bilbo during that contentious time."

"Hey now, we forgave you, didn't we, love?" Dwalin asked Bilbo with a soft, lopsided grin, and Bilbo found himself nodding and petting Thorin's hand with his own.

"Forgiven and forgotten, love," he said, and promptly bit his own tongue. Oh, he was being stupid.

"And then," Thorin said, a touch dramatically, turning back to Bilbo's aunt, who was watching this ridiculous scene rapturously, "War came to Erebor, and battle laid heavily at our door."

Rolling his eyes would most likely ruin the whole show, but it wasn't as if his aunt was paying Bilbo a lick of attention at this point. He allowed himself the indulgence.

"It was after the war was won, and I lay believing I neared death, that I knew I could deny my heart no longer. And it was that my life was spared that day, and I came to Dwalin, and told him that I needed to confess the love in my heart to Bilbo."

"After near losing them both to Orc blades, I too, could no longer hold my peace," Dwalin said, sniffling slightly, and Bilbo gave in and buried his face in his hands. Belba obviously decided that he was overwhelmed, and rubbed his back in comfort for a moment. Bilbo held in the urge to laugh hysterically.

"Thankfully, Bilbo found it in himself to accept us, and allowed our courtship, though his acceptance does not mean we will slacken our attempts to prove our worthiness to him," Thorin finished extravagantly, and Belba near cheered, while Bilbo contemplated exactly how long he might have to spend hiding under his covers to fully get over this whole experience.

"How wonderful that love could be found through such adversity," Belba sniffed.

Bilbo shoved a biscuit into his mouth disgruntledly. They had not tried one little bit to have Bilbo himself like them back at the beginning of their journey. Just typical that they were actually quite capable of charming the weskit off any hobbit they pleased.

(Well, Bilbo supposed they had quite charmed him sufficiently, hadn't they? After all, he was trying so hard to be grumpy in the face of their feigned affection, and quite failing to ignore the warm glow in the pit of his stoma- no, not thinking about that. This was a ruse, nothing else!)

Belba was already clucking over the two Dwarrow as if they were her own, filling their cups, and slicing generous wedges of her special spiced sugar cake for them. And they continued to sip their tea in a most mannerly way, and compliment his aunt's baking, and make polite small talk, and really, was Thorin discussing colour options for Belba's new parlour drapes?

"Oh dear me, is that the time?" Bilbo could not help but almost yelp when the grandfather clock in the hall began to chime. "Dear ones, don't forget that we must visit the markets before they close! We've Thorin's young nephews staying with us, you see," he babbled as sincerely as he could to Belba when the others turned to look at him askance, "and they are growing lads, sure to eat all four of my pantries bare this winter, given the chance! Why, the number of Mrs. Brownlot's pies they've eaten! And I've yet to even stock the pantries properly since we returned…”

"Oh my, you must take a few seed cakes for your supper, then," Belba fussed, quite distracted by the talk of growing lads to feed. "Baked fresh this morning, I must insist-"

"You are too kind," Thorin said, and all at once they were moving. There were the obligatory kissed cheeks and enthused compliments of the afternoon's fare and they were out the door, a basket of wrapped seed cakes, extra biscuits, and scones hanging from the crook of Dwalin's arm.

As soon as they had rounded the bend, Bilbo dropped both his arms -one from where it had been waving, and the other from where it had been entwined with Thorin's elbow- and the smile both, and started to stomp in the direction of home.

"That went well," Thorin said, sounding pleased, and Dwalin hummed an agreement from around a biscuit he had already snaffled from the basket.

"Lovely lady," Dwalin finally managed, moustache full of crumbs.

Bilbo continued to stomp.

"Wonderful scones," Thorin mused.

"Excellent biscuits," Dwalin sighed.

Bilbo stomped.

"Magnificent cake," Thorin said, and Dwalin groaned.

"Magnificent cake," he agreed heartily.

Bilbo continued to stomp, and did not stop stomping the entire way home. In fact, he stomped right through his door, past the rest of the dwarrow, down the hall, and did not stop until his bedroom door was noisily banged shut (and violently locked) and his face buried in his down pillow.

*

Some time -or rather, probably a great deal of time, judging by the lack of light in his room- later there was an ominous click and slide that meant that Nori had been convinced to unlock the door by some idiot or other, and a moment later, Ori slid onto the bed with a plate of steaming dinner for him.

Bilbo huffed and ignored him and Nori's quiet snickers in the corner for a while before the smell of succulent meat and potatoes had him finally unburying himself and sliding sulkily up to take the plate.

"You didn't come out for dinner," Ori supplied most unhelpfully, watching Nori stir up a decent fire in Bilbo's fireplace and light the wall sconces. "I was worried."

Bilbo sighed heavily around a mouthful of meat, feeling somewhat sheepish at worrying one -and probably more than one- of his friends with his sulking, and wondered if he should jump straight to the baring of his poor soul.

"If there is a spit over my parlour fire, I shall be most displeased," he said instead, and Nori snorted loudly in amusement.

"Nah, we set the pit up in your wee garden, instead," he needled, plonking himself into Bilbo's rocking chair by the window once the room was sufficiently lit. "You didn't want none of them kitchen chairs, did ya?"

"Nori!" Ori admonished, though Bilbo was well aware of when he was being needled by Nori by now. "Don't be unkind. We used your ovens, truly, Bilbo."

"I'm onto your innocent looks by now, Ori my lad, and all I can say is, whatever it was that was broken- I don't want to know about it," Bilbo grumped around a mouthful of potato, and pretended not to see the sheepish look Ori was sporting.

"You really don't," Nori chuckled, and did not seem in the slightest bit surprised when Dori bustled through the door a moment later, yelling at someone behind him as he went.

The door was slammed not a second after Dori finished cursing at a near ferocious volume at whomever was at the end of his tongue lashing, and the door relocked. A second later, Bilbo had a laden tea tray settled beside him on the rumpled bedcovers.

"Now, then," Dori said pleasantly, as if he had not just been swearing fit to burn Bilbo's ears off not a minute earlier. "Have my brothers managed to wheedle what this is all about out of you yet? Thorin and Dwalin came home quite convinced that things had gone well."

Bilbo snorted and shoveled in the last of his -rather thoughtfully provided- green peas in brown gravy with his final scrap of bread so as not to have reason to speak just yet, and stared mournfully at his empty plate.

"Can't have been that bad," Nori said, but he was still laughing at Bilbo, so he ignored him.

Ori threw a pillow at him on Bilbo's behalf -blessed lamb- and Dori fixed him a cup of tea, drizzling in a generous scoop of honey.

"This is a disaster," Bilbo said after his first sip of tea. (Really, there was no getting out of talking when Dori added honey to the tea. That was a dwarf on a mission, and Eru help the idiot that put himself in the way of that.)

"Why's that?" Ori asked, accepting his own cup of tea only after Dori had been rather liberal with the honey again.

"They're being too perfect," Bilbo said dully, readying himself for exclamations of confusion, which then never came. Instead, the three brothers looked amongst themselves with knowing expressions, and Ori and Nori started snickering. Dori affected the same blank expression that Bilbo was fast coming to realise was his friend trying very hard not to laugh at him.

"Shut it," he moaned, though this seemed to make them worse. "How am I to get through this fiasco if they are being so...."

"Perfect?" Ori helpfully supplied, though he did so with a vapid breathiness that had Nori dissolved in hysterical laughter and Bilbo pummeling at his head with a pillow for the mocking.

"Horrible little gits," Bilbo huffed, and retrieved his tea from the bedsit. "Laugh all you want, but my relatives are likely to adopt Thorin and Dwalin before all this is said and done, and where will I be left when they swan back to Erebor triumphant at their little performance and leave me to deal with the fallout?"

"Oh Bilbo," Nori sighed, and even though he was still grinning, he actually seemed sincere in his sympathy, which just made Bilbo feel even more pathetic, right up until Nori kept talking. "You can be a dim witted little sod at times, can't you?"

"Nori, we do not call people dim witted sods, even when they are!" Dori cried, and Bilbo would have taken the pillow to Dori's head as well but for the fact that he might ruin Dori's hair, and then he'd have to make a run for it. And Thorin and Dwalin might be out there, and he was definitely not ready to face them yet.

"I really do hate you all," he said instead, and sank down to bury his head under the pillow until they stopped laughing at him.

*

As much as Bilbo would have liked to have hid forever, his dwarrow would absolutely not allow him a moment's peace, and so Bilbo decided to pretend he had not run and hid in his room for the better part of the night, and act as if nothing had happened. Surprisingly, the Company seemed only too happy to allow it, though Thorin and Dwalin were found to be moping and spent the next day or so quietly staying out of his way. As far as always being in the same room as Bilbo while watching him with expressions rather like kicked puppies could be classified as 'staying out of his way'.

Bilbo did not feel guilty. He did not.

He was fairly certain he'd managed to put up a good front, and was confident that he sounded steady enough when he informed the others that he had accepted an invitation to a family party to be held two days hence, for all the Company to attend. And he was absolutely not befuddled in the least to see that Thorin and Dwalin seemed quite disappointed that it was not simply themselves and Bilbo to be attending the party.

It was almost as if they wanted to act out this farce.

Certainly, they'd seemed far too happy to don the distinctly Hobbit-style clothing they'd had made (as much as you could call tunics over leggings and steel cap boots 'Hobbit-style', but the colours and fit were very Hobbitly indeed, and Bilbo paid no attention at all to the pleasing way both Dwalin and Thorin managed to fill a weskit) and trek along with the group's contribution to the family gathering of laden platters covered in fine kitchen linen.

Balin was in charge of the gifts Bilbo had assembled for the fauntlings that would be gathered with them this eve, and Bilbo found him most comical to see, having had his favoured dwarven robes made in a rich red wool that was fashionable amongst Hobbits in the dreariness of winter time, with a pure white fur hood, and a sack full of toys slung over one shoulder. Someone really ought to tell Balin that Bifur had attached a few sleigh bells to the back of his hood, as the poor fellow was quite convinced that the sack he was sporting contained bells, and had commented on the noise many times now, much to the amusement of Bofur and the lads.

Bilbo supposed he really should be worried about the coming festivities, what with the disaster in the makings it was to bring a horde of Dwarrow to mingle with nosy Hobbits that were likely to be tipsy on warm spiced wine. But really, the night was fine, the air was crisp and fresh, the moon was glowing on the snow-tipped hills, and there was the sound and scent of people making merry all the way along the road to the old Baggins burrows, now unofficially the home of his Uncle Longo and his wife Camellia, though his Grandmother still held court there like a queen fit even for Erebor.

It wasn't like there was too much to worry about, surely? So what if his Dwarrow were big mouths even without the drink they were likely to consume and he would be most likely outed as a great fibbing fibber who fibs as soon as the ale casks were tapped? So what if Bilbo was likely to drink a little too much wine and attempt to grope Dwalin in front of his grandmother? Worse had been done in the Shire at a Holiday party before.

And he might have already had a tipple or two of his own warmed wine before he set out. Perhaps.

Nonetheless, when Dwalin and Thorin silently appeared at his side as they approached the open smial door, he merely smiled and continued to hum his happy carol. He dutifully took their arms like a besotted husband would and let himself be welcomed most merrily by his trilling Aunt Camellia and a flock of young cousins desperate for stories.

He was almost immediately swept away by the younglings. Thorin and Dwalin were gathered up in a swathe of female relatives all ready to judge Bilbo's choices while the rest of his flock took one look at the laden tables through the door to the dining rooms and were gone themselves. Bilbo again, could not bring it in himself to panic overly much, merely shrugging and accepting a cup of mulled wine from a passing cousin and letting himself be seated and lured into story time, telling a much embellished tale of his first encounter with Beorn the skin changer.

Such was the way of some gatherings, and this one was no different, in that no matter how well you planned, parties -good parties- just sort of happened. One moment you were headed to a party, and the next moment it was happening. So Bilbo quite lost track of time, between one glass of wine and another, and next thing he knew, there was music, and he was jigging a rather fast paced dance with some distant cousins, and sweeping Dwalin into his wake as he passed.

He managed to nab Thorin on the next pass, and the two of them looked fairly shell shocked, but allowed themselves to be swept along, and he laughed and swung between them and under the joined arms of another couple and back again, spinning first with Thorin and then Dwalin, and then rushing them forward through an arch of arms.

They laughed with him, their great blocky boots a fair hindrance to the fast pace of the dance, but both of them trying regardless, and Bilbo let himself go breathless at the sight of them, so happy and free, with him, with Bilbo, here.

He took them through a few songs, before he let them drag him away for a drink that became more than one, and then became a plate of food and a quiet corner, and then all of a sudden Bilbo had the two of them to himself, in what felt like the first time in days.

And it had been. Because Bilbo was very much a coward.

"That was fun," Dwalin said, chomping on a succulent piece of roasted meat, dripping in gravy. Bilbo threw his napkin at him before he made a mess and made a sound around his own mouthful that would hopefully sound agreeable. He had worked up quite the appetite and had no intention of allowing his mouth to be free enough to talk for the next few minutes, and even then, only long enough to empty his plate and go back to the banquet table, in any case.

"It was," Thorin agreed, the only one willing to both talk with an empty mouth, and actually eat slowly enough to have a mouth empty enough to talk. "We've not done that in a good while, have we?"

"Not since Bura's wedding a few years back," Dwalin agreed, and then grinned wickedly. "If you can even remember that one after all the ale you downed in that contest with Glóin and Harfa."

"I remember it just fine," Thorin grumbled, though he was blushing, and Dwalin laughed and stuffed another piece of herbed bread in his gob.

Bilbo hummed his own sound of amusement, and shovelled in some more of the baked cauliflower, smothered in a rather smoky, rich cheese and sprinkled in fresh herbs. Bilbo would have to take a trip to the markets soon to try and locate the cheese used, as he was most certainly attempting this recipe himself later on.

"We met your grandmother," Thorin said idly a little while later, when Bilbo's plate was almost cleared, and Bilbo found himself freezing with his fork halfway to his mouth.

"Ohhh?" was all he could think of to say, the sound rather warbled and drawn out in apprehension.

"Terrifying lady," Dwalin grunted, standing with plate in hand and his eye on the food tables. "Loved her."

Dwalin wandered off, and Bilbo picked at the last of his egg pie and wondered if that meant it had gone well or not. And whether there might be any more cauliflower left.

"She was wonderful," Thorin said, sipping at his cup, plate all but licked clean and sitting in his lap. "Witty woman, and absolutely terrifying, as Dwalin said. I'd not like to cross her."

Bilbo hummed, and swiped a finger through the last of the smeared cheese on his plate, licking it clean and sighing in disappointment. Was there anything sadder than an empty plate?

"My grandmother has ruled the Bagginses with an iron fist since my grandfather passed," Bilbo said idly, watching Fíli and Kíli romp past the arched doorway with a horde of fauntlings in tow. "My father was meant to be head of the Baggins clan, but he did pass rather young. Uncle Longo does well, but I think grandmother is stuck in her ways, now. Easier to let her have her own way, if you know what is best for you."

"Which you quite don't," Dwalin snorted, appearing beside him with another round of filled plates for the lot of them, one carefully balanced on a thick forearm, which he let Thorin take.

"Whatever do you mean by that?" Bilbo demanded, though admittedly, not with much fire, being that he was quite distracted by the plate of all new delicacies handed to him. With a good scoop of cauliflower fit onto the side as well. Bless Dwalin's food-loving heart.

"She was quite insistent that it was just unacceptable for you to be unmarried at your age," Thorin said, sounding quite amused, loading his fork with chicken. "I would have thought that if you were that inclined to bend to her will, you would have been married off some time ago."

Bilbo mulled that over, half shrugging in what was meant to be agreement while he chewed.

"I can be quite stubborn," is what he settled on for an explanation. It was true. Grandmother Baggins may be a hard-headed woman, but Bilbo came by that trait honestly himself, and he did not like to be bullied. Really though, truly he had not meant to be single for so long, until he was confirmed a bachelor, it had just sort of happened. Stubbornly rejecting all talk of arranged bonds -he was a Baggins and Bagginses believed in true love, not arrangements- and spending a great amount of time enjoying the things he loved meant that time had just seemed to pass him by, until he was middle aged and living alone, and a bunch of Dwarrows had come knocking on his door.

"If I'd married, I'd not have been able to run off with the lot of you," he pointed out to them, somewhat distracted as he poked at a rather oddly coloured dish. "And we would not be married now."

Bilbo had shovelled in another mouthful and chewed, deciding that whatever it was that was causing the colour of the dish was really no issue, as it was truly delicious, before he realised what he had said, and almost choked on his mouthful, but a quick glancing look between the two revealed only pleased expressions fixed firmly on their plates. Lucky it was for Bilbo that they had been so wrapped up in the good food in front of them that they had not caught him so enthusiastic about being husbands- fake husbands. He really did need to watch what he was thinking.

"I am glad that we are married now," Thorin said all of a sudden, and Bilbo froze when he realised that they had not missed what he had said at all. "I am also glad that you were able to accompany us on our journey."

"Aye, had we gone without ya, I'd be down a git of a thing, now," Dwalin agreed, gesturing to Thorin with his fork, though his eyes were bright with amusement. "Stupid thing would have got himself eaten by trolls not ten minutes out in the wilds."

"Excuse you, but I do not remember being trussed up on a troll spit! I believe I was fairly safe in a sack."

Dwalin rolled his eyes, and Bilbo started to laugh around his breaded lamb and tried very hard to swallow before he choked, not helped by Thorin's indignant hurt, lip jutting out in a perfect pout. Dwalin shot him a grin, completely unrepentant, and Bilbo laughed all the more for it, setting his plate on his lap lest he drop the lot.

Thorin could not truly be that offended, because he joined in laughing soon enough, and that laughter between them tapered off into a warm sort of contentment, comfortably silent with each other as they worked their way through their second helpings.

"We're sorry, by the way," Dwalin said idly, all of a sudden, and Bilbo frowned, gaze moving from his plate (tragically almost empty again) to the dwarf next to him, and then across to Thorin, but the two both stubbornly kept their own eyes firmly fixed on the last morsels on their plate.

"For...?" he asked, when it seemed that would be all that was forthcoming for the moment.

Dwalin shrugged, and Thorin forked the last of his potatoes into his mouth and waved his fork in the air in a move that was no doubt meant to convey much, but did not lesson Bilbo's confusion one wit.

"Well, we obviously did something terrible while taking tea with your aunt this past visit, and while we are not quite certain what that might be-"

"Probably Thorin's fault," Dwalin muttered, and Thorin kicked him.

"We are very sorry for the distress we caused you, at any rate," Thorin finished, with one last half-hearted glare at Dwalin, before his eyes turned soulfully on Bilbo, and oh, Bilbo could see where Fíli and Kíli got that from now, oh yes he did.

"I'm... not distressed," Bilbo lied, nose wriggling, and turned his attention to running his finger through the last of the sauces on his plate and sucking it clean.

Thorin made a noise that could only be a choked sort of wheeze, and Bilbo frowned.

"I'm not," he said, and Dwalin coughed in a way that sounded distinctly like the word 'fibber'.

"I'm fast becoming distressed," he said, glaring in Dwalin's direction, and the fellow must have known he was caught, since he was quite red in the face, and watching Bilbo intently.

"Well," Thorin said, also red, and Bilbo wondered at them, he really did, "if we indeed did cause offense or embarrassment at tea, it would be kind of you to explain, so we might avoid causing such fuss again."

Bilbo hummed and thought for a moment, licking again at some of the odd coloured sauce, and Thorin made another sort of wheezing noise, though Bilbo ignored his peculiarities for a moment whilst he decided on what exactly he could say.

"There was nothing that you did that was wrong," he settled on. "Rather, you were quite wonderful."

Well. He hadn't really meant to say that.

"Wonderful..." Dwalin said very slowly, as if turning the concept over in his mind, and Bilbo shrugged a little, fidgeting in place.

"It's just, well, my relatives... they seem to love you already. They will be quite disappointed if, when this seems to not work out. When you leave."

Neither of them seemed to have anything to say to that, and Bilbo sighed after a long moment of silence, and stood to collect all their plates, and take them back to the table. Once there, well, a Hobbit with a feast ripe for the picking was a very poor Hobbit if he did not stop for a good portion of thirds, so he loaded up his plate again and after only a moment's hesitation, plates for Dwalin and Thorin as well.

If they had vacated their corner in the time he had been gone, well, it was just more for Bilbo, wasn't it?

He cornered a young cousin not doing much at all but make moony eyes at the lasses across the buffet table -one in that gangling stage of not-quite an adult, and really too old to be a faunt, and and pressed him into helping with the carrying of plates and glasses and a bottle or two of the fine honey mead on offer- any advantage was an advantage, after all- and made his way back to the corner.

Thorin and Dwalin were, surprisingly, still there. Talking lowly between them, and not seeming to be the least bit put out when he arrived back- though that may have been more pleasure at a further plate of food a piece.

They'd left his chair between them free, though, and he made himself comfortable and relieved his helper of glasses and his own plate, and eyed the lad when he hovered for a moment more, eyes gleeful as he suppressed giggles.

"Thank you, Dinodas," he said, eyes narrowing when the lad did not immediately disappear, and in fact, appeared all the more amused. "Was there something else?"

"Oh, no, cousin Bilbo," the lad said, in the most insincere sincerity BIlbo had witnessed since, well, earlier that evening when Kíli had played innocent after a prank on Glóin gone wrong.

"Then..?" Bilbo asked slowly, almost dreading the answer when the lads face turned gleeful.

"Just admiring the decorations, cousin Bilbo. That certainly is quite the impressive bunch of mistletoe hanging up there, isn't it?"

Bilbo really did not want to look up. He really really didn't.

Of course he would be that unlucky. As Dinodas had so helpfully pointed out, there was indeed a most impressive bunch of mistletoe hanging above them, laden with soft, white berries, nestled in amongst the usual evergreen boughs and woven ivy that adorned the entire smial. Innocently hidden in plain sight.

Of course there was mistletoe.

"Thank you, Dinodas, I had not noticed that," Bilbo said, in the calmest voice he could managed, and glared when the lad hovered, almost bursting with mirth. "Off with you, lad! Goodness me," he sighed, when the young one took of cackling, and reached for the mead and the glasses. He needed a rather large glass of spiced relaxation right about now.

"Odd lad," Thorin commented, and Bilbo harrumphed most irritably around his mouthful of mead.

"He's a Brandybuck," he grumbled, filling two more glasses and passing them across. "In my opinion, some of the oddest Hobbits you will ever meet," he elaborated, when the two looked confused. "Most of them live across the Brandywine river, in Buckland."

"I thought this was a Baggins party?" Dwalin said, sniffing at his cup, and humming around his first mouthful.

"It is, sort of. My grandmother Laura raised my father and his siblings in this Hobbit hole, and this is more her party than aunt Camellia's, so all of her brood are here- her three remaining children, that is, and with them, their spouses and children with their spouses and children. So there are Bolgers and Sackvilles and Proudfoots running about the place. A lot of the extended Bagginses are here, though, as well; quite a few of my father's cousins and their children.”

“And that fellow is related to them?” Dwalin guessed, looking confused, and Bilbo shook his head and smiled. Hobbit relations could be a bit of a mess to follow.

“Dinodas is a first cousin of mine, his mother Mirabella is my aunt on my mother's side, and I believe he and his family are attending, well, officially for my second cousin Drogo- father's cousin Fosco's eldest lad. He just this last year came of age, and celebrated the occasion with a rather bold declaration of love for one of my Aunt Mirabella's children, her youngest Primula, who is another ten years off her own coming of age. Even so, the families and the couple all seem happy with the arrangement, so that branch of the Brandybucks will be at most, if not all, the family events that will require young Drogo in attendance, being that they will be family soon enough."

"What about unofficially?" Thorin asked, after a moment. "You said that officially, that family is here for your cousin Drogo. So unofficially?"

"Yes, well, because of you, actually. My Aunt Mirabella will be here on behalf of the Tooks to check up on me. Report back to the rest of my mother's siblings."

"You'll have to introduce us, then," Dwalin said lowly, not looking at Bilbo. "So we might woo her to our favour also."

Bilbo smiled, taking a pull of his mead, letting the warmth of the liquor sooth his awkwardness. That tone of Dwalin's did awful, wonderful things to him, it really did. "I have no doubt she will fast fall for dwarven charms."

Dwalin hummed and focused on his cup for a while, occasionally sharing loaded looks with Thorin, looks that contained an awful lot of eyebrow talk, but neither of them said anything for long, long moments.

"We could.... stay. A while. Here? With you," Thorin said finally.

"Oh, well..." Bilbo was quite surprised. They were not obliged to this corner with him. "If you wish to mingle or find the rest of the Company, I shall be quite fine right here-"

"No," Dwalin interrupted with a humph of impatience. "In the Shire. We could stay."

Bilbo stared.

"What?" he asked faintly.

"We might stay here with you. Your family cannot be disappointed if we do not leave you, can they?"

There was not a lot to say to that, because frankly, that was the most absurd thing Bilbo had heard all year. It even topped ‘let’s fourteen of us go kill a dragon’.

"I... What? No, no you cannot do that. You are expected back in Erebor, surely?"

"Eventually," Thorin said vaguely, still not meeting his gaze, and what on all of middle earth was- "My sister is quite capable, and Dáin is happy to holiday in Erebor for a few months. He's having a lovely time with the counting. He's a banker at heart..." He trailed off under the weight of Bilbo's gobsmacked stare.

"Thorin, you are King. You cannot just decide not to go back to Erebor!"

"We would return eventually," Dwalin muttered. "Hobbits live such short lives, and Dwarrow are long lived. Eventually, we would return..."

"So, what, you'd just stay here for the next forty years pretending to be my husbands until I kicked the bucket?" Bilbo asked in what could be called a whispered shout, trying not to draw too much attention to them and his disbelieving flailing.

"No reason we couldn't," Thorin said, as if that were a reasonable thing to say, and Bilbo tried not to start shouting. They were actually trying to be helpful. Just in a terribly ridiculous way.

"There are so many, many reasons you couldn't," he said.

"Like what?" Dwalin asked, and really, was that a pout? Of all the ridiculous-

Really? Fine.

"Well, it will look slightly ridiculous if you remain in the Shire when I return to Erebor with the others," he hissed at them, and sat back with a huff, pouring himself another glass of mead.

Stupid dwarrow.

"You... would return to Erebor with us? To live? With us?" Dwalin sounded incredulous, but looked hopeful, and Bilbo took that as a good sign that hopefully he wouldn't be rebuffed in this. Thorin had always said he was welcome at any time, but that may not extend to 'forever' after all.

"Yes?" Bilbo offered carefully. "Or, at least Dale somewhere, if you would prefer I not be so... there all the time. Close enough that I could come and visit easily, though, if I were allowed-"

"You are not just deciding this now to keep us from living here, are you?" Thorin frowned. "Because this place is very nice, and we would not mind-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Bilbo said, "I have been thinking for a while now, what a shame it was to drag you all this way, when I have now realized that I could have been perfectly content to remain in Erebor, when all was said and done."

Neither of them said anything to that, and Bilbo poured himself more mead against all better judgement, seeing as though he was starting to feel most bold indeed. Really he should quit while he was ahead, but then, he wasn't really known for being very sensible these days, was he?

"I would like it if you came to live in Erebor," Dwalin said abruptly, stealing the bottle of mead, pouring himself a cupful, and downing it immediately, then refilling his cup and glaring at Thorin.

"It would- yes. I would like it very much if you came to live in Erebor with us," Thorin said quietly. "It would be our pleasure to help you find a home within the mountain that you won for us."

"The Company won Erebor together," Bilbo said, but he really did not expect to win that argument. As far as they were concerned, he'd all but run the dragon out of Erebor single handedly, setting the beast on Laketown, and practically putting the arrow into Bard's hand. It was quite ridiculous, and obviously something he would have to work on in the future.

"The others will be pleased," Thorin said quietly, but he was smiling into his cup. And oh, Bilbo wanted to kiss that smile, he really did.

He glanced up. They were under the mistletoe. Perhaps he could get away with it?

"What was that lad on about, with the stuff up there?" Dwalin asked, seeing where he was looking, and really, Bilbo must have had a little too much mead after all. He would surely regret this in the morning. Nothing to be done, though, and he drained the rest of his current cup for a bit more courage, and then grinned the grin of the crazed.

"Mistletoe is placed as a sign of luck and prosperity during Yule. If caught underneath it with the ones you love, however, you are expected to kiss," he told them both blithely, and then boldly picked himself up and plonked down into Dwalin's lap, seizing the dwarrows beard and burying his fingers in it. He had a moment to note the shocked look upon the big dwarf's face before he lowered his head and sealed their lips together.

He could not hold back a sigh of contentment, when all his drunken plans of a quick smack of lips flew out the window at the first brush of bristly beard and chapped, warm lips on his own.

Dwalin's hand came up to cup the back of his head, gently, so gently, and Bilbo tilted his head just so and slanted their lips closer together, and oh, the warm taste of everything he had ever dreamed of with this dwarf was on his tongue and filling his senses, and he pushed deeper, tasted more, let this foolish kiss become more, become harder, hotter, deeper, not even hearing his own moans of contentment.

He had to draw back in the end. He didn't want to, oh he didn't, but it was dizzying and almost too much, so he slowly let them part, just now noting Dwalin's fingers carding through his curls, still so gentle, but oh so hot and tender, this dwarf, Bilbo's heart could barely stand it.

Now that he was paying more attention, he could hear the slight noise Thorin made off to the side of them. Looking across, Thorin was flushed and watching intently, and Bilbo, oh, he was so, so very foolish, but really, why turn back now? So he reluctantly slid from his perch on Dwalin's very lovely lap, and slung himself into Thorin's, straddling his thighs and reaching for those infuriatingly beautiful braids and letting them tangle in his fingers, pushing them back into the rest of that glorious mane to tug Thorin forward.

He came willingly, chin tilting up easily to let Bilbo in, and how lucky was Bilbo that they were all so inebriated that they would allow him this, that they would give it so willingly. And how was Bilbo to ever recover from the experience that was having them, even if just for mere minutes?

For one who came so willingly to Bilbo's mouth, Thorin seemed hesitant to do much more than be there for Bilbo to do as he pleased, and while that did send a rush of possessiveness through him, he wanted so much more. He yanked on his fistfull of smooth, thick hair and nipped at soft, thin lips until Thorin gasped, and Bilbo could delve deep, pushing and biting until Thorin responded, hands settling on Bilbo's hips and kneading like a cat, soft sounds of pleasure escaping as Bilbo let himself sink into the heat of Thorin's mouth, let himself enjoy this just as much as he had enjoyed Dwalin. Aiming to feel everything in what would probably be his only chance with the two of them.

He really could have stayed forever. Perhaps stopping long enough to hop back into Dwalin's lap for a time. He could have done this all night, every night, every day for as long as he lived.

"Hmm, you're right, my lad, that is a fine bunch of mistletoe."

Bilbo broke his kiss with a soft sworn-off curse, and plastered on a smile.

"Hello aunt Mirabella."

"Look at you, Bilbo Baggins, behaving like a besotted tween! Come off your lad's lap there, and let me get a look at you."

"Yes, auntie," Bilbo sighed, slipping off of Thorin with one last card of his fingers through that silver-streaked mane, and tried to straighten himself out a bit for his aunt.

Honestly, from some of the stories that Bilbo had heard before, she really did not have any cause to be making fun of him for passionate kisses in public, but such were the perks of advanced age, he supposed.

Mirabella poked him in the stomach with her cane, and Bilbo tried not to give her that look that she hated, the one he swore he didn't make, but still, it was difficult, since she did so look terribly like his mother. It made her sad to see the look on his face when he looked at her and saw his mother instead, so he tried to keep to a smile that was fond, and not too broken hearted and tried not to imagine what his mother would have looked like as an older hobbit.

"Off with you, Dinodas my lad, you've had your fun. Let mother talk a bit," Mirabella said, lowering herself into Bilbo's abandoned chair, while Dinodas scarpered with a not-so-muffled laugh. Horrible little git. Bilbo would get him for that later.

"Right then, my lad. Tomorrow you'll be packing up all these hairy hooligans of yours, and coming to stay in the Took halls for a few days."

Well. Right into it, it was.

"Aunt Mirabella, there is so little time until Yule..." he tried, but she cut him off with a thump of her cane, and a sharp swipe of a hand.

"Precisely why you'll pack them up tomorrow, lad. Stay a few days, and let the family get to know these fine, fine looking gentledwarrow. Enjoy some good food and good cheer for a couple of days with family. And we'll send you home with a chunk of last year's log to light your own, when you go, being that you've not burnt a log in many a year, now."

Bilbo fidgeted in place at that, and Mirabella watched him shrewdly, though Bilbo could see the amusement in her eyes, quite in contrast with her severe expression.

"Auntie," Bilbo protested, though not terribly vehemently, since he had really already lost this argument before Dinodas had dobbed in his hiding spot to her. There absolutely was no reasoning with a single one of his aunts or uncles when they decided they knew what was best for him.

Drat it all.

"The family are all quite looking forward to meeting these lads of yours, and their kin. Lovely looking fellows, you have here, by the way. Very... muscular."

"Aunt Mirabella," Bilbo gasped, when she openly leered at first Dwalin, and then Thorin. The two looked suitably terrified.

"Very nice," she cackled, and eased out of the chair to limp back towards the buffet table. "Isembold is expecting you no later than elevenses Mersday, lad, so no soft-footing about, hear me? Fortinbras has promised to send his lad to collect you if you don't show up!!"

Bilbo moaned and slumped in place. Just wonderful.

"What... exactly just happened?" Thorin asked blankly, and Dwalin made an incredulous noise.

Bilbo sighed, long and loud.

"We have been summoned to the Took smials, in the South Farthing, no more than a few hours journey by pony. My eldest remaining Took uncle -and current head of the family- is awaiting us, and my cousin, who is also Thain of the Shire, is threatening to set the most horrible of lads on us if we don't do as we're told promptly enough."

"Thain..." Thorin said slowly. "I've heard that word before somewhere."

"It's a title for a leadership position," Bilbo said, absently scrunching his nose. There really was no getting out of this new development. The Tooks were going to eat his poor Dwarrow alive.

"As in, the leader of the Shire?" Dwalin asked, seeming to be quite startled by such a concept, and Bilbo shrugged and wrinkled his nose again.

"In a way. Legally, yes, he deals with all the intricacies of technically being a part of the kingdom of Arnor, not that it's much of a kingdom nowadays. And certainly, he gathers a fair amount of respect for the position and such. Admittedly, he deals with so many legalities and the law side of thing, that hobbits do tend to do as they’re told when the Thain asks it, so I suppose it might seem so..."

Thorin made a thoughtful sound and shared another of those meaningful eyebrow discussions with Dwalin -really, Bilbo had never contemplated that all that facial hair might be useful for communication purposes, but they seemed to manage it well- and Dwalin cleared his throat noisily.

"Well, we certainly have some expectations to live up to, then. Impressing a leader of the Shire."

Bilbo would have huffed at that -Fortinbras was a cheeky sod that was awfully professional with any hobbit not of his close family, but a terror with those he was close with, most especially his cousin Bilbo, of whom he had grown up quite close to, being that they were the same age, and the git really did not need impressing at all. Rather, a good spanking, if anything- but Thorin and Dwalin both stood up abruptly, bracketing Bilbo closely.

"We must make sure to study Hobbit holiday customs most closely so as not to offend," Thorin nodded, and then pointed above them. "Which of these green things did you say the mistletoe was?"

Bilbo looked up in bewilderment. He'd been hoping they had been sufficiently distracted by his aunt's dramatics to remember that.

"The one with the elongated teardrop leaves and the white berries," he said.

"All green things look alike," Dwalin complained, and then cupped Bilbo's head gently, and then swooped in and kissed him.

"Is there any particular length of time the kiss must continue for?" Thorin asked curiously, when Dwalin eased Bilbo back up, breathless and dazed.

"Uh, no, depends on the ardor of the participants, I suppose," he mumbled, when the two dwarrow did nothing but look at him expectantly for a long moment.

Thorin hummed a noise that sounded like consideration before Dwalin passed Bilbo across to him, and Thorin dipped Bilbo back and kissed him.

At least they were nice enough to help him sit down again afterwards, as Bilbo was quite dazed after that, and a little unsteady.

Bilbo took a breath, licking at his lips and contemplating how terrible it really should be to be sporting such a hardness in his pants whilst in his grandmother's home, but became quite distracted when Dwalin took a hold of Thorin's hips and drew him in, the two meeting like old lovers, all familiar tilting of chins and wandering hands speaking of many kisses between them before.

Bilbo would be wondering at that, if he wasn't busy staring and trying not to moan at the sight.

Stupid gits were very attractive.

And kissing.

Dwalin nipped at Thorin's bottom lip in a way that had Thorin moaning as Dwalin drew back, and Bilbo vaguely contemplating that he should remember that trick for next time, before mentally slapping himself firmly upside the head.

There was not likely to be a next time, and they certainly would not appreciate him stealing Dwalin's moves in a bad attempt at failed seduction.

"Right then," Dwalin said, and Bilbo shook his head sharply, trying not to look like he'd been drooling at the sight of them exchanging a kiss. "I still don't really understand which bit of that mess is mistletoe."

"He needs practice," Thorin agreed. "Is there another bunch that you could show us, elsewhere?"

"Probably," Bilbo said, though he did not stand immediately, being that he couldn't.

(He'd challenge anybody to witness these two kissing and not be rather painfully erect and in danger of humiliating themselves with said inappropriate erections.)

"Right," he said, trying very hard to take deep breaths and look fairly composed. "Over there, I thought I saw some," he gestured, and waited until they turned in that general direction to stand and tug his weskit lower and breeze past them -trying very hard not to limp and disgrace himself.

He smiled as calmly as he could at the few Hobbits they passed moving back towards the kitchen, and gestured down one of the halls to a bunch of greenery he had passed on his way to the bathroom earlier.

"Down there," he gestured, and Thorin and Dwalin squinted.

"I can't tell which one it is," Dwalin said, and pushed Bilbo along until they stood under the arch midway along the hall, bedecked with green. "Which one is it again?"

"The white berries," Bilbo said with exasperation, and a fair whack of distraction; he wondered if they would suspect anything if he excused himself to that bathroom for a few minutes.

"I see it," Thorin confirmed with a nod, and then Bilbo was tugged backwards till his head near rested on Thorin's shoulder, and Thorin's mouth covered his again.

Bilbo really could not help the whine that escaped, he was too busy shivering at how sensitive his skin was becoming to the warm, rasping brush of beard on his chin and cheeks, and trying not hump the air like a cheap inn fop, especially with Dwalin right there watching, the idea of which made him moan helplessly, gripping Thorin's wrists where he held Bilbo's hips like they were the only thing keeping upright.

(Fine, so they were the only things keeping him upright.)

When Thorin finally lifted his lips from Bilbo, he quite couldn't find it in himself to lift his head from where it lolled on Thorin's shoulder, but Dwalin did not seem to mind, just grunted at the ceiling again.

"I still don't see it, but if you say it's there..." he trailed off, pressing himself to Bilbo's front and taking his own turn at reducing Bilbo to a whimpering mess of sensation.

Bilbo could definitely appreciate the lip-nipping thing that Dwalin had done to make Thorin moan before, and should have been busy berating himself for the wanton noise he made at the feel of it, but instead he clung to Dwalin's shirt, sagged onto Thorin, and really forgot what his own name was.

Being pressed between them when Dwalin finally let him take a breath while he kissed the smirk right off Thorin's face was an experience itself, and he hoped they had not noticed anything when he caught himself rubbing his hips back and forth between them.

Really, how much Shire mead had they had tonight, to be allowing him this?

They were going to regret this in the morning.

Still, if there were to be regrets, than Bilbo was an 'all in or nothing' sort of fellow, a failing of both sides of his family, he was afraid, and he might as well get as much as he could from this before it was all over, and he was just winding unsteady fingers into Dwalin's beard to scratch at his chin in a way he was sure would make the big dwarrow purr for him, when he was startled rather badly from his daze of lust.

"Bilbo Baggins, you quit that display right now and come here!"

"Uh oh," he whispered, and Dwalin and Thorin drew back with suddenly terrified expressions and loud gulps.

"Coming, grandmother," he called unsteadily, and tottered away from the wonderful dwarrow warmth that he'd been surrounded with so nicely.

Grandmother Baggins humphed and gestured towards her parlour and stomped off, and Bilbo straightened his waistcoat from where it had been somehow rucked up in a most ridiculous fashion, and grimaced in the direction of his two shell-shocked looking fake husbands.

"I'm just going to..." Bilbo trailed off, gesturing vaguely in the direction his grandmother, and trotted off without finishing his sentence, before he did something stupid and invited them to continue this in his rooms later.

*

Tea was already served with delicate little cakes by the time Bilbo slipped into the parlour chair across from his grandmother, reminded eerily of warm summer Sterdays of his childhood, father hauling him along in stiff shirt collars to afternoon teas, being sternly berated for his manners when he complained of being denied the pleasure of exploring the woods in favour of making nice with his grandmother.

In other words, he was bound to be fidgeting and apologising shame-faced for his manners any moment.

Grandmother fixed him with a gimlet eye, and Bilbo gulped.

Oh look, there was the fidgeting part taken care of.

"I apologise for my manners, grandmother," he said almost by reflex. "It won't happen again."

Grandmother harrumphed, but pushed the tea cakes closer, so she couldn't be too upset with him. If there were any true punishment on this green earth, it was being denied his grandmother's tea cakes, a punishment she was rigidly cruel with.

"I remember my Bungo getting up to almost exactly the same thing with his Bella, some fifty years ago, now. Only, I was late enough to interrupt at a point where young Belladonna's skirt was already rucked up past her knees and my son was doing things that no mother should have to witness."

"Oh, great stars of Mirromere," Bilbo said with no small amount of horror. Wait, had he thought that being denied tea cakes was his grandmother's main method of revenge? Apparently he had never been so badly misbehaved to be exposed to the truly horrific punishments.

"At least you weren't squealing," Grandmother mused, and Bilbo moaned into his hands, trying to stifle any thoughts of his parents in compromising situations.

Grandmother hummed in a way that sounded quite satisfied, and poured the tea, and Bilbo felt himself unwind from tension he hadn't known he'd been carrying, the peace of his grandmother’s personal parlour a stark contrast to the noise of the party, the calm a respite to collect himself after the passionate encounter that he had not expected and did not know how to guard his heart against.

The quiet was certainly helping to clear his head a little, and he reached for his tea and took measured sips, moving to his tea cakes when Grandmother Laura eyed him sternly, and ate a good five under her approving eye before she put her tea cup down and folded her hands in her lap with the firm look of one on a mission.

"It is my understanding that your mother's family will be sending you home with a chunk of the Took Yule log from last winter for you to light your own," she said, and glared when he shifted and made a sound that might have dared to be disagreement.

"I... well. Aunt Mirabella did say something about that," he admitted under Grandmother's glare.

"Quite so," she said, before her face softened. "It weren't a sign, you know, the last log they lit burning itself out like that."

The hurt that came from the mention was an old one, and not so sharp anymore, softened to a dull thud of regret in his chest at the thought, and not the agony of a knife to the chest that it had been for many a year after.

"It felt like it, at the time," he murmured. Truly, hobbits could be a superstitious lot, but when the Bag End yule log had burned hot and bright and left none but ashes during a party the day after Yule, no doubt helped along by a rather mishandled drink, the party goers had merely roared with laughter, and Bungo had looked sheepish with empty glass in hand while Belladonna had stood with hands on hips, struggling to contain laughter at her husband’s accident. The loss of any remains of the log to light the next years had not been truly a tragedy or thought of as an ill omen at the time, and nobody had thought much on it, beyond a few dozen digs at Bungo's slip.

Two weeks later, just days after the log should have been stored for the next year, wolves had come to the Shire, and Bilbo's parents had been gone. At the time, Bilbo, being young and heartbroken, had latched onto that, and quite blamed the event as a harbinger of doom, and in his misery, had thrown the small cloth pouch containing the ashes of the yule log in the river as soon as the Rangers had cleared the dangerous cover of ice, the protective charm being such a failure to his family that year.

He'd not thought his relatives had noticed that he had conveniently been invited to another's home for Yule for every year since, but perhaps they had grown suspicious over the last twenty years or so.

"It's time my Bungo's hearth was blessed again," Grandmother nodded decisively. "Now that you are married, it is only right. We'll provide the kindling bundle. I'm thinking a nicket of ash, and pine and birch. You were planning an Oak log, yes?"

"I hadn't actually thought abou- Yes, probably," he sighed, when it was made clear by Grandmother's obstinate glare that he would be doing as he was told.

"Hmm, some apple twigs as well, I should think, and some dried Astors."

"Grandmother," Bilbo moaned, because really, honestly, she was born a Grubb, but she was all Baggins; a complete romantic.

"Camellia's lad shall be bringing you a bushel of apples from the family tree, and I expect the three of you to leave a blessing before Yule night comes, yes?"

"Yes grandmother."

"Do you remember the family carvings, and the blessings created by your parents?"

"I do, grandmother."

Grandmother was silent for a few minutes, absently pushing the tea cakes back in his direction until he had taken a few more and meticulously polished them off.

"Your lads are good fellows. Very taken with you, my Bilbo. It does my heart good to see you so in love," she said finally, quietly, and Bilbo looked up, quite startled.

A comment sat on the tip of his tongue, though he wasn't quite sure it would be, but it stuck there as he gazed at her, and let that sink in. Oh, how he loved those two dwarrow.

"I look forward to hearing what they come up with to carve into your log." She smiled then, and Bilbo could not help but share his own smile of joy at the idea of Thorin and Dwalin carving the Yule log with him, blessing their home and their marriage with all the best hopes for the coming year.

Even if it wasn't real.

*

Bilbo didn't really remember everything of the party after that. He definitely remembers with great clarity that he had spent quite a bit of time after tea with his grandmother first dancing himself stupid with Fíli and Kili in an attempt to stay well away from Dwalin and Thorin, and then a tiny bit of unexpected weeping on Óin -who was very kind and comforting- about his fake marriage to two wonderful dwarrow and, to his morning-after horror, a confession of how much he loved them so, in front of Nori and Bofur's wide-eyed amusement, no less. At least, to his recollection, no relatives had witnessed such a scene, or worse, Thorin or Dwalin themselves.

The three dwarrow who had been front and centre to his tipsy, emotional ridiculousness had been terribly kind about it, even if they did laugh at him a little too much. They had plied him with cup after cup of mead as good friends ought, and a horrible, no good, absolutely delicious apple cider that they must have pilfered from somewhere, as Bilbo knew that it was definitely not permitted to sell home brew that strong at the markets. They were also good enough to sing with him when the four of them had stumbled home, too, and Nori and Óin had helped him to bed- if stumbling with him to his bedroom and collapsing in a heap on the bedspread with him and snoring loud enough to wake the dead all night was considered helpful.

(Bofur they had somehow lost on the meandering journey home, and would be found sleeping in a pig sty in Hardbottle the very next day wrapped around a gangly half-grown goose that nobody ever claimed, that Bofur promptly adopted and called Sweetums.)

Thorin and Dwalin had stumbled home some time during Bilbo's very slowly eaten second breakfast- that was really first breakfast taken about the time of elevenses by the time he had managed to remember where he kept his eggs and what shape a frypan generally was- and were content to sit silently wrapped around mugs of a bitter smelling brown tea Óin had mixed for them, heads almost touching the table in their slouch of post-drinking misery.

Bilbo went back to bed after that, so he wasn't quite sure when, or where from, the others had turned up, and frankly, he was just glad to sleep a few more hours -before he remembered quite abruptly that Aunt Mirabella had ordered him to the Tuckborough Halls, and he had until elevenses the next day to get them there.

*

Bilbo would like to say that getting his horde of Dwarrow moving to the South Farthing went better after he had them all sober and recuperated, but he really, really couldn't.

He'd also like to claim that he was behaving a lot more sensibly than he had the night of the party, and not gone and crawled all over Thorin or Dwalin like a crazed tween again since.

Again, he really really couldn't.

Bilbo had no idea which of his bone-headed guests got it into their heads to hang mistletoe (no, wait, that was a lie, it was almost certainly Fíli and Kíli), but it seemed to be everywhere in his smial. Everywhere when he eventually rose a second time to do something about lunch and travel plans.

Similarly, Thorin and Dwalin both seemed to be everywhere he went in the smial also, and they would mumble something about respecting Hobbit customs, looking so humbly serious, and Bilbo would be kissing one of them. And then the other. And on one very memorable (very, very, very memorable) occasion, both of them at once.

Of course, around exchanging kisses with exceptionally handsome dwarrow, he had managed to sufficiently pack them up for a few days stay at the Tuckborough Halls, and had thought that once they had escaped Bag End, he might have a chance to regain his head a little, what with the lack of mistletoe on the road.

And that was true. The ride was almost peaceful, if you discounted the heated looks Bilbo knew he was (stupidly, oh so stupidly) sending the two rather fine figures always hovering about, and the sly teasing comments from several of his riding companions.

(The trouble was, his aunts and uncles at the Took Halls were just as stupidly mischievous as Fíli and Kíli were.

"It is my honour at stake," Thorin said decisively, when Bilbo tried to tell him that not every meeting under mistletoe need warrant a kiss (or eight). "We are guests in these lands, and we will obey the customs of the peoples here."

"Oh, well, if you insist," Bilbo said, far too breathily to be anything but vapidly besotted, but being that he was being quite thoroughly kissed despite this, it might have gone unnoticed.)

The other problem was that Tooks really were the most trouble making idiots this side of the Brandywine -except for the few Brandybucks this side, of course, but that lot were just crazy, Bilbo would maintain that until his dying breath- and liked to torture their poor Bagginsy relative wherever possible.

So of course their arrival at the smials was filled with sly innuendo and rather probing questions that were terribly inappropriate, though the bulk of his dwarrow just guffawed heartily and joined in, Thorin and Dwalin handling it marvelously, while Bilbo was left to be the one spluttering and red in the face.

Tooks and Dwarrow, it turned out, got along famously.

Bilbo made sure to disappear after elevenses and spend a good part of the day hiding.

(Well, sort of hiding. Thorin and Dwalin always seemed to find him, and there always seemed to be mistletoe about for them to honour his Hobbity traditions with. But nobody else appeared in all that time so perhaps Thorin and Dwalin were just truly excellent finders.)

Inevitably, though, he had been strong armed into some terribly awkward teas with each of his three uncles, and the other of his Took aunts, which Dwalin and Thorin both managed with the same level of charm that they had used on poor Aunt Belba, and really, any of his relatives that had attempted to dig into the meat of Bilbo's 'marriage'.

The Tooks loved them.

Possibly a lot better than they liked Bilbo and his Bagginsness, though they seemed much more impressed with him now that he had gone off adventuring like a proper Took and had himself a gooden of an adventure, by their reckoning. Bofur and Balin had taken their turns telling the whole tale (though heavily edited when it came to gold sickness and battles and Dwalin and Thorin not actually being his husbands) to the family by the hearth every eve, and Bilbo’s Tookish standing had become greatly improved since then.

Between the nosiest of relatives, the mischievous younger Took cousins finding great allies with Fíli and Kíli in terrible pranks -usually on Bilbo- and the amount of chaos and disorder that a hall full of Tooks and Dwarrow was at the best of times, Bilbo could not be happier.

Bilbo snorted to himself at that thought, and Dwalin and Thorin both turned away from another retelling of the escape from Mirkwood (and Bilbo did not remember Thranduil being a gnarled brown gnome creature in a loin cloth) this time done by Fíli and Kíli for the benefit for the youngest of faunts, to look at him inquiringly.

They had, as 'newly weds', been pressed again into sitting in one of the little love lounges, and Bilbo found that he could not help but adore these moments when they were to act as new husbands, sitting snugly between the two of them as they relaxed back and smoked their pipes, or hummed along to a tune someone might sing, or even dozed lightly after a good, filling supper. Bilbo had this, these wonderful moments where he could pretend that all of this was as it seemed, his beloved husbands and himself, content and happy just to sit closely together with their families.

Bilbo was so happy, he found himself so utterly content in these moments, and yet that left a sadness, regret a distant ache that interrupted his haze of happiness sometimes when he realised that it could not last, and things would change. It was the way of the world, but if there were anything, anywhere that he could hold on to once it all fell apart, this time would be it.

"Nothing, dear ones," he whispered when they both continued to look at him, wondering what his noise was about, and he patted their arms, and leaned into their comfortable embrace, and tried not to think what the future might take from him.

*

It occurred to Bilbo, a few days into their stay in Tuckborough, that he really did not have much in the way of gifts organised for his Dwarrow.

Alright, fine, he had bought many gifts already for all of them, the two clot heads that were his pretend husbands included, but nothing for those two particular clot heads that was exceptionally... special.

It was ridiculous, really. Bilbo had no intention of having any other Hobbit over for their Yule morn, so it wasn't as if he would have reason to impress his relatives with his ability to provide for his pretend husbands, but still.

Perhaps he was just a smitten idiot. He did so want to provide something extra special for them both, however.

The mistake, he later realised, was musing this aloud in front of a bunch of his cousins.

"OH, I know just the place to find them something lovely," young cousin Adelard immediately piped up. "We'll go tomorrow!"

It's not that Bilbo did not want to shop for them. It was just that doing so with trouble making, younger tween, Took cousins sounded like a recipe for trouble.

"Trust me," Adelard said. "I have excellent ideas."

So, he had allowed himself to be taken to market by his cousins. In fact, a rather large bunch of them had been all too eager to bundle Bilbo and his money pouch out the door to the Tuckborough markets, and he'd reluctantly left Thorin and Dwalin sitting by the fire in his aunt's parlour while his uncles made idle chit chat and drank mulled wine with the two ridiculously handsome creatures.

(Honestly, what had possessed his Aunt Donnamira to knit them warm winter vests in such lovely blues? Even wearing heavy, dark woolen Dwarf pants, with their Hobbity tailored shirts of fine linen, they were quite the sight, and Bilbo just could not resist the sight of them, all softened and relaxed and just perfectly comfortable to squeeze between and lazily doze on. It was terribly unfair.)

The markets at Tuckborough were admittedly, quite a bit different to the markets of Hobbiton, even as they were so very much the same. The difference, of course, came in the fact that the residents of Tuckborough were much more welcoming of travellers and their wares, and so many merchants coming down from the Blue Mountains chose to leave the Great East Road at Micheal Delving, and travel the Stock Road, stopping to sell their wares in Tuckborough, before continuing on past Woodhall and on to Stock, selling wares along the way to the more open minded folk of the South Farthing, and then crossing the Brandywine to Bree-land.

And that, of course, meant that the Tuckborough Markets were not just filled with Hobbit stalls, but those of Men, and most importantly, Dwarrows, and Bilbo could have kicked himself for not thinking sooner of searching through the wares of a Dwarven merchant for something to gift his gits sooner.

"This one!" Adelard insisted when they reached the markets, leading him away from the others almost immediately upon entering the markets, towards a rather large tent stall erected from heavy oiled leathers of a peculiar grey colour, with golden wire tassels dangling from the corners of the front awning, and a sign advertising the 'Finest Dwarrow Wares of the West Available Within' on the cracked, warped wooden sign in large, angular, golden painted lettering. "This is the best Dwarven stall in the market, we are sure to find gifts for your husbands within!"

Bilbo let himself be pulled inwards, and tugged at his collar in discomfort when his cousin immediately abandoned him in favour of exploring the treasures lining the packed tent, disappearing amongst the temporary shelving quicker than Bilbo could open his mouth to protest.

He sighed instead, and looked about himself, trying to sort out where he would find gifts for his boofs in the place, when he realised he was being appraised by a grim-looking dwarrow in a leather shop apron.

"Hello?" he offered carefully, and the dwarrow grunted and drifted closer, though he said nothing else.

There were a few other dwarrow in the tent in the same garb, talking with Hobbits about various pieces about the store, and Bilbo was tempted to wait until one of them was available, as the dwarrow merchant he had attracted the attention of did not seem overly impressed with him.

But no, he was here for gifts, and by jove he was getting this over and done with so he might drag his cousin off for a pint of something to drown his sorrows in. So he cleared his throat, and turned to the merchant properly.

"I'm, er, looking for some gifts," he told the Dwarven merchant, now peering at him curiously. "For, um, my husbands!" he blurted, when the ears of three nearby hobbits wiggled ominously, sighing internally. How deep could he dig himself into this mess, anyway? "They're Dwarves," he finished with a sigh.

The merchant stared at him warily for a long moment, and Bilbo knew the fellow was most likely thinking how doubtful it was that any dwarrow would marry one this odd little fellow, and he sighed again. He was likely to be rebuffed and thrown from the stall with not a gift to be had at this rate, so he moved in a little closer and lowered his voice.

"They're... not really my husbands," he all but whispered, "YET!" he added loudly, when his cousin Adelard popped out from behind the closest shelves with a frown sent in Bilbo's direction. "They're not my husbands by hobbit traditions, as such, but I was hoping they would agree to marry me again, you see..."

He trailed off when his cousin winked and grinned -far too lecherously for his age- at him behind the merchant's back, and the merchant himself suddenly looked less suspicious and more knowing.

"Right then, I know what you'll need," the merchant said, and promptly disappeared behind a back curtain with little more than a "Wait here," called back as he exited the tent.

Bilbo sighed again, and aimlessly poked at a few of the intricately carved and bejewelled 'things' lined up along the shelf. Some, he recognised (the heavily carved oak rolling pin with the intricate silver handles was gorgeous and he may be coming back to purchase that one, but the hoe with the rubies inlaid along the handle was terribly impractical) but others were all but incomprehensible, though no less intricately designed and decorated.

The other Hobbits within the stall seemed quite at ease, picking up and admiring many pieces, but Bilbo was fairly certain that they were purchasing most items as exotic mathoms to give to relatives; and certainly, a few to give to relatives that weren't well liked, judging by the gleeful look one Hobbit sported when he unearthed a rather flashy vase and brandished it triumphantly to his companion.

"Here we are," the merchant -and Bilbo really ought to ask the fellow's name- said behind him, and Bilbo turned to take in the wares brought for him to view on a large, velvet lined tray.

Goodness knew what they were. Bilbo stared. No, goodness knew what they were meant to be.

"They're very... nice?" he offered, when the merchant looked expectant. "Excellent craftsmanship."

They truly were very nice, whatever they were meant to be. All beautifully wrought pieces of metal, some bedecked with jewels, some featuring exquisite filigree work, others with fine blown glass in incomprehensible but amazingly improbably arcs and swirls, and even some with what appeared to be very thinly cut slices of iridescent shell. All magnificently beautiful works of what Bilbo could only assume was some sort of Dwarven abstract art.

If Bilbo could choose any one feature that both Dwalin and Thorin shared, (well, besides stoicness and an excess of bulging muscle) it was their very practical nature, something that Bilbo himself could very much relate to, being that practicalness was a Hobbity sort of feature indeed, and one the Bagginses as a whole prided themselves on. Although both Dwalin and Thorin were most definitely dwarrow to the core of them- they both had been more than enthused from the very first at all the gold and jewels of Erebor- Bilbo had actually never witnessed either of them adorning themselves overly much with the finery that had surrounded them, unlike almost all of the rest of the Company, who had all dug out necklaces and earrings and intricate hair pieces to strew themselves with in their gleeful romp through the newly reclaimed treasure. Rather, Thorin and Dwalin had been more inclined towards the more elaborate armour and a few of the bejewelled weapons amongst the hoard. And once Thorin had found his grandfather's armour, that had been the extent of trying to adorn himself. Bilbo could not recall either one of them showing an excessive love towards things sparkly and impractical.

And here he was being shown the most sparkly and impractical... doo-dads, that he could possibly be shown.

Really, he wasn't entirely sure he wasn't being conned, but the merchant had started pointing out features of each of the pieces -and Bilbo was fairly certain he was supposed to be understanding more of what the fellow was saying, judging by the elaborate leering wink when a piece with 'most pure of moonstones' was pointed out- and so he nodded and hummed as appreciatively as he could, and tried not to look too lost.

"I...like that one?" he offered, pointing to a particular piece when the merchant was done, and looking most expectant.

The merchant's impressive eyebrows lifted a fair way towards his equally impressive hair-do.

"That one. Really?" he asked.

Bilbo gestured to it a few times uselessly. Honestly, was he being judged here?

"The blue, they er, the blue stones match, um, his eyes, Thorin's eyes, so I thought-"

"Wait, did you say Thorin? As in, Thorin, son of Thráin?" the merchant's voice rose a little in disbelief, arms flailing a little as he spoke, and the other three dwarrow in the stall went still and silent, gaping over at Bilbo and the tray of shiny doo-dads.

"...Yes?" he said hesitantly, fingers twitching with the sudden desire to drop everything and run.

The merchant stared at him for a long moment, seeming a little dazed, before he pointed at Bilbo decisively. "You are Bilbo Braveheart, the Burglar."

Braveheart? What in all of Middle Earth was that all about?

One of these days, a Dwarrow would shock him and call him by the appropriate name on meeting.

"Bilbo Baggins, B- A- G-" he started, before the merchant all but leapt forward and shook his hand with such great enthusiasm that Bilbo was starting to doubt that he would have an arm left at the end of it. His hand had just been dropped before it was taken up again by another of the dwarrow in the stall, and one of the bearded fellows had disappeared for all of two minutes before he was back with another half dozen, and he was passed from dwarrow to dwarrow, hand shaken vigorously each time, and on a few occasions, hugged tightly.

"A Hero of Erebor, in my stall, and for this! Of course you liked the sapphires, palest I have, too right, just the thing! But this piece is nowhere near appropriate enough. We will create something more fitting for your gifting," the merchant enthused.

"Oh, but-" Bilbo started, because really, he wasn't quite sure what he had even accidentally commissioned here, but he really did need a gift as soon as possible, and surely one of these doo-dads would be just fine. "Yule is in just four days," he tried, but that just seemed to increase the fervent light in the merchant's eyes.

"We will have them both done on the morrow, good sir, see if we don't! Gifted on your Hobbit Holiday, how lovely!" This from one of the other stall holders, hands clutched to his chest while the others beamed and nodded enthusiastically. The merchant that had been serving him nodded along, eyes looking suspiciously moist.

Hang on. Both?

"Both?" he asked, frowning slightly, and the dwarrow all nodded and beamed some more, and his merchant sniffed and patted his shoulder and gestured back at all the pretty doo-dads he apparently was not permitted to choose from.

"Is there any other particular feature you wanted us to incorporate into the designs?" he asked, nudging Bilbo forward.

Bilbo gaped at the display a moment. The blue gems had already gotten him into a fair whack of trouble, but the whole horde of dwarrow were looking very invested in his next decision, so he gestured a little vaguely at the pieces still perched on the velvet-lined display tray, tracing lines and shapes of a few of the pieces that caught his eye, groping for the names of some of the gems the merchant had pointed out before.

"I like both this shiny silver and the other grey metal with the, er, sapphires?" he said, when the dwarrow seemed to waiting hopefully, and they all muttered and whispered amongst themselves excitedly at this choice before nodding and gesturing him to continue, and he helplessly pointed at another blue gemstone, this one a darker blue, and more like Dwalin's eyes, when he really looked at it. "Blue emerald, how lovely," one of the dwarrow gushed and he sighed internally, wondering if he had brought enough gold with him.

"Anything else?" his original merchant asked, and Bilbo felt his nose twitch in impatience. Fine. Let him buy all the shinies they had.

"The moonstones," he said as decisively as he could about the one gemstone he was sure he remembered the name of, trying to be final about it so they would charge him and let him leave! He almost instantly regretted it, from the scandalised giggles and lecherous grins that got him.

"Moonstones, of course, of course," the merchant said, tapping the side of his nose in a sly manner that may have made perfect sense to a dwarrow, but left Bilbo rather ready to do that running thing now. "As you wish! Tomorrow, come again tomorrow and they will be ready," he said, herding Bilbo towards the entrance of his tented stall.

"Oh, but shouldn't-" Bilbo started, reaching for his coin purse, but the merchant just beamed and shooed him out.

"Tomorrow. They will be our greatest work, you shall see, Master Braveheart!"

And with that, the tent flap was shut, the stall apparently closed in the middle of the busy afternoon rush, and Bilbo felt his mouth flap open and shut a few times before he turned to his cousin, standing nearby with the grin of the smug written all across his face.

"What just happened?" Bilbo wondered, and Adelard laughed and took his arm, steering him off towards a large cart piled high with sweets.

"Told you I have good ideas."

****

Later that eve, after dinner, Bofur cornered him in his uncle's back courtyard, having a smoke. Sweetums the adopted goose followed him in and promptly sat on Bilbo’s feet.

"So, ran into a few old mates at the markets today," Bofur started with, plonking himself down with his own pipe, and snitching Bilbo's pouch to stuff it with. "And I heard about your commissions."

Bilbo choked around the smoke ring he had been working towards, and glared at Bofur when he just grinned unrepentantly and patted him on the back.

"The lads are crushed."

"What?" Bilbo croaked, almost choking again. "Who?"

"Fíli and Kíli, of course! Granted, they only earned their masteries just weeks before we left for Erebor, on account of Thorin refusing them part of the Company with them working through their-" and here Bofur used a word that sounded approximately twenty-eight syllables long that sounded like it might dislocate his tongue if Bilbo attempted to pronounce it, and Bilbo suppressed a sigh. Sometimes it was ridiculous how much his dwarrow forgot that he was really not actually a dwarrow "But the lads, they’re stubborn things. They worked their prettly little arses off for months so they could come with us. Did well too, submitted some of the best Mastery pieces ever presented for their age group."

Bilbo didn't know what to say to that, and made a noise that might sound comprehending. Probably not, since Bofur gave him a look that was amused and twirled a finger.

"Fíli's a silversmith, of course, and Kíli specialises in fine gem jewellery. They're awfully good."

"What has that got to do with my commissions?" Bilbo asked, puzzled and exasperated in equal measure.

"Oh, they're quite hurt that you didn't just ask for their help, if that were what you wanted. They've gone on down to bug Bergna and his crew into letting them assist, since they have a vested interest and all that. Glóin went to supervise and make sure nothing was bodgy in the materials, supply a few bits he and Óin keep on them. Bankers," Bofur said with a laugh and a roll of his eyes. "Always gotta be stashing treasures about their person."

Bilbo sighed and buried his face in his hands. Honestly. He'd gone out for a gift for the two sods playing at being his better halves and ended up with a whole other drama. It was exasperating.

"Will they at least like them?" he asked plaintively, hoping all this ridiculousness would at least be worth it.

"Are you kiddin'?” Bofur said, kicking back and blowing a few quite impressive smoke rings. "I can't wait to see their faces."

Bilbo thought about that a moment. He really couldn't tell if that had been a yes or a no, and he sighed and sat back, puffing irritably on his pipe. Sweetums pecked at his foot.

"Dwarves," he muttered, and resolutely ignored Bofur when he began to sing a rather naughty limerick involving cheese.

***

His doo-dad thingamies were... well. They were stunning, of course they were. One could call them magnificent.

Still, Bilbo had no idea what they were. But the lads did look oh so proud.

They really were amazing beyond belief.

(Now, if Bilbo could just work out what they were for, exactly...)

"That is, well..." Bilbo tried to find something to say.

It wasn't just that he was still stymied by what exactly these doo-daddy whatsamacallits were. No, it wasn't just that little problem that was leaving him quite speechless.

The work that had gone into these pieces was stunning.

Was that Mithril?

"Is that Mithril?" he asked helplessly, quite mesmerised by the shimmering starlight of the delicate setting of the blue gems cascading like raindrops from a sweeping arm of woven silver in many shades.

"Glóin had a pendant he brought from Erebor that he dismantled and refined," Kíli said with great excitement. "He helped cut a few of the sapphires he had as well for me and Tordor to set here. And Fíli had a chain he'd claimed for himself-"

"Oh dear," Bilbo muttered.

"-but this was a much better use than hidden beneath my tunic all the time!" Fíli said proudly, bouncing in place. "And I have another in my chambers in Erebor."

"I'm not sure you should have melted down Ereborian treasures for this," Bilbo said, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, and Glóin snorted and glared in that way he did when he was about to be a motherhen.

"All known modern Mithril was mined in Khazad-dûm, and is considered to be of Durin's folk by right, so there's no better cause than this, is there? Best for you, lad, best for you."

"Uh huh," Bilbo said, at a lack of anything better to say, gaze drawn back to his shiny thingamies.

They really were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he had slept literally on top of a mountain of treasure for weeks, digging crowns and pendants worth more than the Shire from under his arse at every eve stuck in Erebor before that terrible battle where he'd almost lost them all.

"Thank you," he said suddenly, feeling abruptly quite a bit overwhelmed. They had put so much effort into making these for him, that really, it didn't matter what they were. They had spent a night and a day toiling to create such beautiful gifts for him to give, and that was so generous of them, even the dwarrow that he didn't know.

"Thank you," he said again, trying to convey how he felt in that moment, with none of his usual verbosity to assist, but it didn't seem to matter, as the soft, bashful looks of the lot of them seemed as if they understood his gratitude.

"Bofur and Bombur made boxes," Kíli mumbled, red faced and ducking down to collect polished boxes of dark, stained wood, intricately carved along the top and along the side corners. "Bifur and Ori carved the decorations and inscriptions and Óin did the inlay."

Bilbo stepped closer, noticing now that the gleam of the carving along the top was from the most fine of trickles of silver and gold poured into the carved pattern. It would take a fine and steady hand to do such intricate work, but then, when had Bilbo ever known any Dwarrow to not create something impossibly beautiful if given half a chance?

"Nori carved the stone mounts, and Dori lined the lot with one of his velvet creations. It's got one of Fíli's best silver wires woven into protection runes along the weave."

Kíli was rambling, and Bilbo would like to have the strength to reassure him so he would not be so nervous, but it was becoming harder and harder to hold his composure in the face of the generosity of dwarrow, these dwarves that were just so willing to give their all without reservation.

Every text he had ever read that referenced Dwarves was wrong.

"Balin's doing up the scrolls, and Ori's helping, now that he's done with the inscription. Kíli and Bofur are making up the scroll batons to fit the compartments Bofur and his brother designed in the boxes, and I would like, if I may, to design a crest for you to seal them," Fíli said, far more subdued, but just as nervous as his brother.

And they were back to confusing him -what on earth did he need scrolls for?- but since he was still quite overwhelmed by all that they were putting into this, he let that go, and simply stepped forward and hugged as many of the Dwarrow as he could fit in his arms at the time.

(Which was really just Glóin and a part of Fíli's arm, with a vague gesturing wave to the others, but they all seemed to get the point and squished in tight to sniffle all over him. Really, every piece of literature that claimed knowledge of dwarrow was wrong.)

"Thank you," he said just one more time, and swiped a bit at his eyes with the back of his hand, as discreetly as he could manage in the circumstances.

Dwarrows. Honestly.

Fíli backed away with the merchant that Bilbo now knew as Bergna, and the two slipped on sueded gloves and very gently picked up the.... Bilbo really would need to learn the names of these whatchimacallits eventually.... and placed them into their velveted cases.

(Bilbo was having words with Dori later if he had indeed been responsible for the creation of the beautiful, rich blue and silver velvet that lined the boxes. While Bilbo was more of a greens sort of lad, the blue was stunning, and if Bilbo had any say, he'd be having a jacket in that shade at any cost.)

Bilbo took the time to shake the hand of each of the dwarrow that had contributed to the project; dwarrow he had finally been introduced to as, of course, Bergna, and also his brother Bohlmolor, and their fellow merchant craftsman, Lor, Cáhis, Nídmöl, Ecmid, Hulbunâc, Péewindel, Tordor, and Tacem.

Fíli and Kíli bounced around and made a nuisance of themselves, and Bilbo might have managed to ignore them, but for the fact that they would not let him carry the new shiny doohickies in their pretty new boxes.

"Far too heavy for you, Bilbo. We'll at least get them back to the Halls for you!"

And they were off with his purchases, and he was left groping about his person for the full wallet he had brought with him to pay the merchants, but Glóin shook his head with the greatest of frowns when he did.

"We've taken care of it, lad."

"But..." Bilbo trailed off, since the fine dwarrow of Bergna's caravan were all shaking their heads at his gesture with the wallet.

"The account is settled, Master Burglar," Bergna said. "It's been an honour to be assigned such a task! Never in all my day did I think that I might assist with the craft of such pieces! It's such an honour."

Bilbo would have been intimidated by the sudden flow of effusive thanks for the opportunity from all ten of the dwarrow that had worked on his silver new nothings, but the loud cacophony turned to a discussion on how they had put the pieces together, and did not seem to notice or care that Glóin was tugging him away with a look of pleased pride behind the impressive beard.

Glóin seemed happy enough to turn him in the direction of the Took smials, and Bilbo let himself be led along at a stroll, absently wondering again at what cultural significance his wondrous dooziwhatsits might play that the lot of them seem so enthused about the whole affair.

"Did you know that Dwalin is my cousin?" Glóin said abruptly, and nodded as if he had not seen Bilbo's own nod. "Aye, we grew up together. He and Balin and Óin and I. Our fathers were brothers."

Bilbo hummed, wondering where this was going. Normally Glóin's reminiscing was more along the lines of his wife and son, but there was always room for a change Bilbo supposed.

"Thorin is technically a cousin, also, though much more distantly related. We more claim the relation for the sake of the lineage than anything. Grew up groomed to be his companions all four of us, though, we were."

"You've done well looking after him all this time," Bilbo said absently. Glóin seemed pleased by the comment.

He patted Bilbo on the arm gently -for Glóin, at any rate- and hummed to himself for a while, until the door of the Took Halls came into view, and then he stopped.

"I care very deeply for my cousins, Bilbo. I've come to care deeply for you as well."

Bilbo stared at him for a long moment, trying to gauge what his reaction should be to this very serious announcement.

"I... care for you as well, Glóin," was all he could think to say, but Glóin nodded as though this were a very important response, and grasped both his shoulders, thumping their foreheads together carefully.

"My wife wields an axe like no other, Bilbo Baggins. Never forget that."

"I will not," Bilbo said, just as seriously as Glóin, and his bulky friend peered at him for long moments, before nodding again, looking pleased.

"Excellent. I wonder if there is any of that wonderful pie left from breakfast?"

Bilbo watched Glóin toddle off into the smial with the vague feeling that he had missed something rather significant. Being that all the dwarrow of his heart seemed to leave him that way more often than not, he shrugged and followed his friend in, wondering himself at the prospect of pie.

*

They managed to escape the Tooks on a Hevensday, just two days short of Yule, and once on the road, Bilbo pushed them to be home as quickly as possible, being that it occurred to him how much there was left to do.

He was having this Yule celebration with his Dwarrow, and it would be special, or his name was not Bilbo Baggins.

As promised, Uncle Isembard had solemnly brought him a small wrapped parcel of charred oak in an embroidered storage wrap, and he'd stored it with care into his saddle bags and hugged his uncle tightly, not entirely sure what to say to such a thing.

Now that he had it, he was almost restlessly anxious to arrange a log for this Yule, a solid piece of oak that he could carve with the lines of blessings of his family, to teach Dwalin and Thorin, and all of his dwarves to add their own lines, to burn it the night of his yule, and tend it for the twelve days it would smolder, and break the remains apart for all his family, his dwarrow family, so they might be inclined to bless their own homes, their newly reclaimed homes in the mountain of Erebor, with a token of Bilbo's, a part of himself and his people to help bring them peace and prosperity.

He was going to need quite the log.

So, it was that riding back into Hobbiton, he sent the rest of them on with the ponies to the Chubb stables, and set off in his travelling clothes to the market immediately, determined to track down the woodsman's carts and hope they had what he was after.

And of course the fake husband loves of his heart insisted on accompanying him.

"What could possibly happen in Hobbiton," he snarked half heartedly at them as they followed him into the market proper muttering about keeping him safe. "I did live here for quite the significant portion of my lifespan, and have traversed the market and the roads home again on my own some few hundred times at least."

"Ekespu menu men o targu men," Dwalin said very seriously, and really, that was cheating, arguing a case in a language Bilbo could not understand!

"Ammâ lananubukhs menu," Thorin added, just as seriously.

"Jalaimrili sullu ujâl," Dwalin said, looking at the ground, and Thorin nodded solemnly, and Bilbo stared at them for long moments before turning away with a huff and keeping his eye out for wood-wagons.

That really wasn't playing fair.

"Ah, over there!" Bilbo crowed, seeing the line up for a cart, and a couple with three young children wandering off with a good solid log of small size, perfect for the smaller family.

The carts were full, and so were the lines, and so Bilbo joined the queue and ignored the few titters the sight of he with his great hulking dwarrow earned.

"If you needed firewood, we could have sent the lads for some on the way back," Dwalin muttered, leaning in close to Bilbo's ear to impart that very unhelpful comment, but at least he had done it quietly enough not to arouse any odd looks from nearby Hobbits.

"I need a specific piece of wood," he murmured back, Thorin leaning in close to hear, enough for his long beak of a nose to rub lightly against Bilbo's temple, and he tried not to shiver at the feel.

He must not have been terribly convincing, since they both crowded in close like they thought he was cold, and draped themselves around him.

"Besides, it's terribly bad luck to cut a Yule log from a living tree," he added, trying to behave as if this were a normal thing for his Dwarrow to be doing. Oh, they were warm.

Being that it was quite the cold morning and they were terribly warm, he did not object to this course of action. It was certainly one of the most enjoyable waits in a line he had ever experienced, as Dwalin and Thorin both seemed happy enough to stay pressed against him with arms slung amicably about each other, humming contentedly, and patiently wait their turn, and Bilbo let himself relax into the little fantasy that he seemed to be playing in his mind more and more; that this was everything that it seemed, and that they truly were here as a new family to buy their first Yule log together.

The woodcutter had the gall to smirk most knowingly when it was their turn, however, and Bilbo huffed loudly before pointing to a rather large blocky chunk of oak wood that caught his eye.

Settling the price was the work of a mere moment, as Bilbo really was not interested in haggling for a lower price, but come time to organise delivery, Dwalin snorted rather abruptly, and reached to sort his chosen piece from the pile and lift it casually over his shoulder with one hand.

Bilbo stared, mouth gaping, until Thorin took the purse from his lax grip and paid the very amused hobbit, and steered them away, Dwalin looking far too smug at his slack-jawed astonishment.

"I really must keep you around," Bilbo said absently, and Dwalin flashed him a bright grin, flexing underneath his Hobbity shirt and weskit in a most becoming way, and Bilbo really could not help but wonder what that would look like without the shirt at all...

"Hmmph," he blustered to himself, at himself. Honestly. He really ought to stop being so openly moony. He didn't stop staring though.

Who could look away from that?

"Oh, not there!" Bilbo finally snapped out of his daze of admiration when he realised that they had arrived back at Bag End already, and Dwalin had gone to circle around to place the log on the woodpile near the back door. "It has to come in. I'll show you where."

He scurried inside, absently noticing the low grumble of the others unpacking their supplies and raiding his pantry already, but mostly ignored it and headed for his parlour.

The Dwarrow seemed to be happy to spread out and make themselves comfortable with him in his parlour every night in front of the rounded hearth. Indeed, it was this fireplace that they had sung before that very first night he had met them, so long ago, where he had first set his heart to them. And so that was the hearth he would burn his log in, with his dwarrow family he had claimed for himself 'round it.

"Right here," he said, patting the outer hearth, flapping his hand when Dwalin looked skeptical.

"Not in the fire?" Thorin asked, eyes darting dubiously between the firebox and the large hunk of stripped oak, no doubt wondering how Bilbo intended to get a piece that large in there anyway. Bilbo shook his head.

"We'll need it come tomorrow, as we'll burn it on the eve of Yule. We'll need to carve it first, of course."

"Of course," Dwalin said, in a way that implied he did not understand at all, but Bilbo simply grinned at him.

"Lunch!" Dori yelled from the kitchen, just as Bilbo was setting himself to explain the carving of their log, and he sighed when Dwalin's ears perked and his attention quite taken by the idea of food, so he shared one bemused smile with Thorin before wandering off himself to change out of his travelling cloak and clean up for lunch.

*

Really, he'd been gone ten minutes at best, popped into the wash room for a splash on his face and to give his feet a nice clean, and he'd come back to his bedroom to this.

"What.... are you doing?" he asked the two frozen figures, Dwalin half tucked under the bed rifling through the stored items underneath, and Thorin hovering nearby, not so subtly poking at the contents of the top shelf of his wardrobe, left open before his bathroom trip.

Neither of them answered, both frozen like rabbits shocked into place, not knowing exactly the right course of action in a situation where they were already well and truly caught.

"Well?" he prodded, feeling amusement welling up at the sight of their wide-eyed guilt, and trying very hard to still appear quite stern.

".... It was Dwalin's fault," Thorin blurted.

"You wanted to look, too!" Dwalin whined, whined, and Bilbo had an awful feeling he knew what was happening here.

"Are you trying to sneak peeks at your Yule gifts?" he asked, not quite able to keep an incredulous chuff of laughter from escaping.

Neither answered, but the guilt in their expressions was confirmation enough.

"I...." Bilbo trailed off, not quite sure what to say, but the next moment he was howling with laughter, and stumbling across the room to grip at Thorin's shoulder when he looked quite murderous.

"Oh, don't be like that," he giggled, shaking at Thorin's shoulder until he uncurled a bit. "All Hobbits have at one time tried to sneak a peak or three at their gifts before, let me tell you. Not usually when they are full grown, of course, and made the more hilarious, because I will of course be handing them out Highday morn day after tomorrow anyway. You can't even wait that long!"

His two dwarrow did not seem to find this the least bit funny, and instead, Dwalin looked terribly despondent, and Thorin looked even more murderous than before. Bilbo felt his laughter die, wondering what on earth was so upsetting at being caught at something so simple, when it was clear that Bilbo was not upset with them, but Thorin looked over his head to the door and growled.

"If you think that was funny, nephew..."

"I don't, uncle, I swear, I wasn't playing you the fool," Kíli yelped from the doorway, and Bilbo spun to see a bunch of bristly, serious faces poked around the door. “I’d never lie about something like this, uncle, I swear!”

"What?" Bilbo asked.

"I... it was an accident, Bilbo!" Kíli said earnestly. "I did not mean to spoil your surprise! It just sort of slipped out. I hadn't realised the three of you were back yet..."

"These two are now aware of the commission work you had done in Tuckborough," Óin said with a glare in the direction of Fíli and Kíli.

"It was my fault," Fíli said miserably. "I was teasing Kíli about dropping something when we were assisting Bergna, and the conversation went from there. I was careless."

"I'm sure you didn't mean to," Bilbo said automatically, as the lads did look so terribly miserable, and really, it wasn't the end of the world, was it? So the two galumphs rooting through his bedroom knew what their Yule gifts were.

At least Bilbo knew that they would like them, now, if they were that eager to find them two days ahead of schedule.

"Do you want them now?" he asked, since Thorin and Dwalin really did look terribly down, also. The rest of the Company was taking turns at glaring and Kíli and Fíli, and then Dwalin and Thorin, and really, all this fuss for some shiny whatsits that didn't seem to do a lot of anything. (Besides being terribly pretty.)

"You mean... you are- that is- you actually have-" Dwalin said, wide eyed again.

"Glóin, you said yourself and Óin were bringing them back from the Halls for me, didn't you? Where did they get put?"

"They're in our room, but Balin..." Óin said for his brother, and Balin made a pained sound, exchanging one frantic look with Ori, before the two of them dashed off.

"They thought they had more time," Nori sighed.

"They're almost done," Dori said, very reassuringly, though Bilbo honestly still had no idea what it was they were doing. "Just... doing the last bit on the... things," he said conspiratorially, winking at Bilbo.

"So, the two of you can come back and have your lunch," Bombur said pointedly at Thorin and Dwalin.

Bifur whispered something to Bofur that has a few of the assembled tittering, and Glóin came to yank Dwalin off the floor and haul he and Thorin off to the kitchen.

"Really, all this fuss," Bilbo wondered with a sigh, trailing after them to fetch his own lunch.

If he had thought that giving in and letting Dwalin and Thorin have their thingamewhatsits early would set them more at ease, well.

No. No, he was wrong.

If anything, they were even more tense, and they waited until he had served himself a plate full of hot ham rolls, cold baked potatoes and boiled eggs that Uncle Isembold had packed up for them before they left the halls, and then herded him into the dining hall off the kitchen to eat.

The rest of the Company stayed in the kitchen to eat, and Bilbo could see them through the open door to the dining room, looking far too amused, while he was gently but firmly seated at one end of the table.

Again, if he thought he was being herded off to eat alone with them, he was mistaken, as they then promptly plonked themselves at the opposite end of the table to him and took up a harshly whispered conversation, ignoring their lunch plates that a rather amused looking Bofur brought them before leaving again, ignoring Bilbo's perplexed and pleading eyes.

He huffed. Bofur would not be finding assistance from Bilbo next time he was in an awkward spot.

It was another of those terribly confuserating and bebothering, perfectly Dwarven, ridiculous of situations that Bilbo just did not understand, but he would not be bothering to try and work this one out, not with his lunch in front of him, and a belly that had not seen good fare since Aunt Donnamira's excellent farewell breakfast that morning. So he tucked in and ignored the two numpties and their dramas at the other end of the table, getting quite worked up and sending him long, searching looks when they thought he wasn't looking.

Dwarves.

Bilbo was almost finished his lunch when Thorin stood abruptly, and stalked from the room, lunch still untouched. Bilbo turned stunned eyes on Dwalin, who blushed and glared at his plate.

"He's not peeking," was all the explanation Dwalin seemed willing to offer, before he set about picking at his plate, and really, Bilbo was starting to become quite alarmed, as he'd never seen Dwalin turn down good food before (unless it was elvish, and even then, he'd eventually give in and eat anything that wasn't too green).

Perhaps they did not like the idea of his gifts after all.

With a sigh, Bilbo gathered his empty plate, pushed from the table and headed back to the kitchen to help Bifur with the dishes.

Afterwards, he enlisted the help of the two very apologetic lads (may as well get some cooperative assistance from the two whilst they still felt guilty) to collect the rather large spare cast iron stew pot from the storage room at the back of the smial and heave it on the stove, and then set them to pouring and measuring enough mulled mead to last even this lot through to the end of Yule's day, threatening the room full of wretched creatures with dire death and withheld sweets if they dared let the pot become empty.

The door to Glóin and Óin's room stayed tightly shut, and sometime after Bilbo had made for the kitchen, Thorin stomped back into the dining room and left again with Dwalin out the front door of Bag End, and they did not return for quite a time.

Bilbo ignored it all, and once his mead was warm and steaming and wonderfully fragrant, he ladled a cup for himself, and went to find his Da's old carving tools.

Bofur was happy enough to plonk himself on the parlour floor on a large ragged sheet Bilbo set out and help him sharpen and oil his carving tools, and offering a few of his own, since there was one or two of Bungo's that had rusted quite badly in the many years since he'd passed, as Bilbo never bothering to pull them out at any point after his da had been gone. They'd need some work to be brought back to new, though Bofur assured him it was doable, just not that afternoon.

Still, it was not much longer to set to the task of carving his family cirth and sigils, and when it came time to think about preparing for dinner, Bombur took himself off to make a stew while Bilbo continued under the curious eye of the assembled Dwarrow.

Dinner time came, and the door down the hall from Bilbo's own had not opened, and Thorin and Dwalin were still not home, so Bilbo stayed by the fire and continued to carve while the rest of his troop took off for the kitchen for stew and warm breads and taters and quite a bit of his mulled mead, by the sound of the merriment echoing down the hall.

Bilbo sighed.

Truly, he was starting to wonder at exactly the significance of the shiny thingames he had purchased for his two ninnies.

After more than a week of just, well, the most wonderfully magical time, being (pretend) husband to Thorin and Dwalin, being free to smile at them the way he always wanted to, touch them, sit close to them, kiss them....

Now, the disparity was stark what with them scowling and leaving.... it was exactly as he had tried not to think of as the ending of this faux marriage, and he had to wonder what he had done that had upset them so much as to destroy the contented peace that he had let himself believe to be a little bit real.

The front door to Bag End opened quietly, and Thorin slipped through, glancing around cautiously.

He froze when he spotted Bilbo, but then affected a more casual stance, though he waved not-so-discreetly behind him, and Dwalin edged in, hands held behind his back.

Bilbo eyed Dwalin's careful sideways shuffle and wide-eyed innocence for a moment with raised brow, before he very deliberately turned his back on them, hearing Dwalin's great thudding footsteps as he scurried off down the hall.

All at once, Bilbo felt himself relax.

The front door to Bag End shut, and Bilbo listened as Thorin shucked his boots and hung his furred coat and padded across the floor to crouch next to where Bilbo knelt working at the log.

"The carvings are lovely," Thorin finally said, after a long moment of watching silently. "I would be pleased to learn what they all mean, if you are permitted to teach it."

"Of course," Bilbo said. Truly, he had meant to explain all earlier in the day, before they had all become spectacularly distracted. And now, of course, he sat back and lowered his tools, blowing an errant curl from his face and opening his mouth to explain, when he was promptly distracted by Thorin's big, rough hand coming up in front of his face to cup his chin and tilt Bilbo's face up.

"Mistletoe," Thorin murmured, even as he leaned in to press chapped lips to Bilbo's own.

Thorin's nose was cold from being outside, but his lips were warm, and the inside of his mouth even warmer, and Bilbo sighed and let his weight settle against Thorin's with a hum of contentment.

"Hello little Hobbit," Thorin said breathily when they parted, and Bilbo shivered at the hot puffs of breath across his moistened parted lips.

"You left," he blurted, and then winced, as it had come out all but accusatory, and he had not meant to mention it at all.

Thorin did not draw back, though, instead just looked regretful, and delicately kissed his nose before he nuzzled it with his own.

"My apologies. We very urgently needed to attend to... a thing."

"A thing?" Bilbo asked, brow raising as he pulled back just far enough to raise an enquiring eyebrow. Thorin looked sheepish, and more than a little shifty, and then promptly distracted him from his enquiry with another heated kiss, long and deep enough to leave Bilbo gasping for breath when Thorin finally parted their lips.

"All done?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo blinked at him, blinking again when Dwalin plonked himself down beside them with a grunt that sounded vaguely affirmative, and Bilbo had just a second to realise that Thorin had been speaking to Dwalin before the larger of his gits yanked him gently out of Thorin's arms and into his own.

Being that he was sprawled all over Dwalin's legs, he really did have a wonderful excuse to clutch at those lovely big shoulders, for balance, while he was most thoroughly kissed.

Mistletoe was a wonderful thing.

All too soon, Dwalin was easing him upright again, and he moaned at the loss, and then blushed brightly at the sound, because honestly, was he even trying to behave himself?

Dwalin simply favoured him with a wicked grin, though, and plonked him to sit between Thorin and himself, and then handed Bilbo a steaming bowl of dinner from beside him.

"Did you bring bread?" Thorin asked, pressing into Bilbo's side and taking his own bowl, and Dwalin grunted and passed the bowl full of buttery rolls, and flopped against Bilbo and Thorin, already shovelling his dinner down with eager bites.

They ate in silence, Bilbo taking his time and humming to himself in contentment. The stew was thick and rich with herbs and chunks of lamb, and served over a particularly tasty vegetable mash mixed with cheese and chives. Bombur had a good touch with vegetables, for a dwarrow, of course.

He finished his bowl with a great deal of regret, not just for a fine meal polished off, but for the fact that really, he did not have very much of an excuse to continue sitting curled with these two lovely warm hunks of muscle when there was work to be done, but he allowed himself a few minutes more, and relaxed back with a hum of contentment.

Dwalin set aside his bowl and stuffed one more roll in his mouth before he twisted to rest his head in Bilbo's lap, one arm curled back to loosely hold Thorin's hand, and Bilbo could not resist, he couldn't, and he buried his hands into the ruff of hair that encircled Dwalin's lovely bald head.

Dwalin made a low rumbling noise that could almost be called a purr, if one was to think of a cat the size of a warg, and pushed into Bilbo's hands, and Thorin chuffed a soft laugh.

"Tell us about the log," is all Thorin said, though, and Bilbo leaned back when Thorin shifted to allow Bilbo to rest against his chest.

"It's a Yule log," Bilbo said, a little drowsily. It was lovely here, curled up with them by the fire. "We will light it tomorrow, on the eve of Yule, as the longest night of the year begins. The carving in the middle there?" He pointed, and they both shifted only as much as needed to see the part he was pointing before returning to their previous positions. "That's the sneachtafaol, the sigil of the snow hound. He is the first part we carve on the log, so that when it is set alight, we urge the snow to melt away, as it's job is done, and it is time for the warmth and light to come again.

"The next set down are Hobbit family runes that run back to the time of the Harfoots, and underneath are the Baggins signs. On the opposite side here, I place the Fallohide and Took sigils for my mother. Not really needed, but my parents were rather modern, and honoured both their heritage, and so I will do the same as well.

"This bit here," he traced a long series of entwined symbol that carried the length of the wood, "are protective entreaties, to keep the ones that stay by the hearth this Yule safe from harm for the coming year. This grouping here is an honouring of the years that have gone before, and opposite, my hopes for the years to come."

"And what are your hopes?" Thorin asked, in a most distracting way, nuzzling at his neck.

"What most hope for, I suppose. Peace, prosperity, happiness. Love."

Bilbo let his eyes slit, resting his head against Thorin's shoulder and letting his fingers tangle with Thorin's in Dwalin's thick ruff of a beard, listening to the sound of dwarrow softly singing in the next room, and the occasional snap and pop of the fire.

"Will you carve more?" Dwalin asked, low and rumbling, chin arched into their hands, and Bilbo hummed.

"Perhaps. It depends on who else would like to add to it."

"May we?" Thorin asked, and Bilbo nodded sleepily.

"What would we carve?"

"Anything you like," Bilbo yawned, and then made a very put out sound when Dwalin shifted and rose from his lap, sliding over to take up his abandoned tools.

Bilbo's hopes sat to the right of the Baggins crests, with the protective runes running flush along the bottom all the way along the trunk, and Dwalin carefully started to carve along the top of the Baggins crests with runes Bilbo could not read, ending with a seven pointed star above his carvings, and inside the star, he meticulously carved a seven pointed crown, split through with a sword.

"What did you carve?" Bilbo asked, as Dwalin blew away wood dust and tiny slivers, and Thorin moved away from Bilbo to take up the tools himself.

"Like you said; peace, prosperity, happiness. Love," Dwalin said, shifting back over to Bilbo's side and pressing his lips to Bilbo's temple for a moment before he turned back to watch Thorin work.

Thorin's, he placed vertically, along side Bilbo's, up to Dwalins, and he finished with the same seven pointed crown as Dwalin's, though instead of encased in a star, he carved stars above each of the points of the crown, and finished with a single rune within the crown.

"Peace, prosperity, happiness," Thorin sighed as he eased himself down beside them again. "And love."

Bilbo really had nothing to say to that, too filled with warmth and, fine, love, so much love for the two idiots who had stolen his heart what felt like so very long ago, and so he leaned into them a little more and took in the sight of all his hopes for the year encased in their own, and wondered if he'd ever really believed any of this was an act at all.

And then Ori was there, glowing and bouncing and giggling behind his ever-present mittens at the sight of the three of them.

"Balin's moved them to your bed," he said, and scarpered off to the kitchen, which went suspiciously quiet of all sound that might come from a dwarrow when he'd disappeared through the door.

And of course, that's when the rest of their Dwarrow decide to come spilling into the parlour, eyes bright, and of course they would be that nosy. Ori followed them, face already buried in a bowl of stew, though he came up for air long enough to shrug sheepishly at Bilbo before turning his attention back to the bowl.

Well. He had missed lunch for whatever it was that he and Balin had been doing all this time.

"Right," Bilbo said. "Whomever would like to add their wishes for the coming year in the form of words or symbols to the Yule log, may do so, or protections they wish for themselves and their loved ones, of course, blessings, or even regrets to shed, you are all welcome to add as you like. Thorin and Dwalin and I will be in the bedroom for the time being, and we do not wish to be disturbed."

Nori whistled appreciatively, and Fíli and Kíli both made strangled sounds and turned red, whilst the rest of the mob of idiots laughed and catcalled, and Bilbo rolled his eyes and grabbed for his dwarrow, and tugged them all in the direction of his room.

Balin intercepted them at the door, and hugged all three of them, hanging onto Dwalin for a long time before he sniffed and shuffled off to the kitchen, and Bilbo wondered, he really did.

The beautiful boxes, with their gleaming polish and intricate carvings and fine, fine inlay say upon his bed as promised, and Thorin and Dwalin both stopped dead at the sight of them, barely breathing.

"Well, come one then," Bilbo said gently, and tugged them forward, shutting his door and moving to the boxes.

He'd already decided who was to have which after they had been taken back to the Tuck Halls, and he pushed first Thorin to the right and down to sit on the bed, and then Dwalin to the left, the boxes resting between them, while the two blinked at them like they were snakes set to eat them, and honestly.

"You were crawling under my bed and pawing through my unders before to find them, and now you don't want them? Perhaps I should set them aside for Yule morn after all," he laughed nervously, but did not get the expected start and denial he expected. Instead, Dwalin buried his face in his hands and gave a great sniff, and Thorin looked up at him with great, mournful eyes.

Perhaps they were actually terrible gifts.

Dwalin let loose one more heaving sniff and then not-so-discreetly swiped at his reddened eyes, and then reached for the box closest to him, reverently lifting the lid, only to give another noise very close to a sob.

"I'd always hoped," he started, and then stopped and took a breath, and looked at Thorin and then Bilbo. "I thought that maybe one day I could make one of these for Thorin, or maybe he'd decide to make one for me. I always hoped for that, right up until you came into our lives," he told Bilbo, and then sniffed and looked to his box again. "I never imagined this. It couldn't be more perfect."

"Are you sure," Thorin asked hesitantly, looking beseechingly at Bilbo. "I have... not treated you well; quite terribly at times. Are you sure that you, that I..."

"Open your box, Thorin," Bilbo managed around a thick throat, having come to a most wondrous conclusion finally as to what on earth these shiny pretty doo-dads might be for.

Thorin tugged the box carefully closer, and ran a reverent hand just barely touching over the box, and Bilbo stepped forward to place his hand on Thorin's, pressing it to the lid.

"Open your box," he whispered, and Thorin did.

He stared at it for a long time, one thick finger reaching tentatively to trace a cascade of gems, breath unsteady.

"Are you sure?" he asked again, and Bilbo did not know really how to answer that, so he leant into Thorin and kissed the crown of his bent head, and Thorin nodded, still staring at the gleaming shape within the box.

Finally he looked up, and smiled, so happy and relieved, and he looked at Dwalin, who nodded and bounced in place a second before bounding out of the room.

"Er?" Bilbo said, as Dwalin disappeared around the doorframe.

"We did not know of your plans," Thorin said, smiling hesitantly, blushed and peering at Bilbo shyly, and that was so adorable, Bilbo might scream. "We had, well, your grandmother, she-"

"Grandmother?" Bilbo blanched, but he had no time to question further, as that was when Dwalin scurried back in, two parcels held carefully in his arms.

"I..." Bilbo trailed off, and shivered under the blinding grins from both sides.

"We didn't know that your plans echoed our own," Thorin said, and Dwalin giggled breathlessly.

(Adorable.)

"Your family assisted us with our plan. We were to go to the Baggins hothouses tomorrow afternoon, so it was a bit of a rush in the end..."

Bilbo's heart thudded loudly at that, and he gasped and gaped at the large, flat parcel in Dwalin's hand.

"And we weren't too good at it, at first, at all, really, so it took a bit longer than we thought," Dwalin admitted.

Bilbo reached for the box with hands that shook, and opened the wreath box to the flowers within.

White blooms, so lovely, roses and jasmine and daisies dotted with frost flowers, shot through with salvias, with yarrow, with marjoram and fern leaves, and bound with honeysuckle and myrtle and ivy.

"I..."

Thorin laughed at his silence, bugger that git, and reached into the parcel to carefully lift the crown free.

"Be careful with it. We really weren't very good," Dwalin warned.

"Don't move about too much," Thorin nodded, placing it on Bilbo's head, both of them shuffling a little when he did nothing more than stand there and gape.

"Your grandmother did say this was the traditional Hobbit proposal?" Thorin asked tentatively, when Bilbo still did nothing but gape.

"OH, and this," Dwalin said, grabbing for the small box on the bed, and Bilbo knew what it would be before they opened it, but there it was, three, wait, three?

"Three?"

"Well," Thorin said, toeing the floor a little before he cleared his throat and joined Dwalin, both of them kneeling before him. "Your grandmother said we need only offer the traditional band to you. But, we thought we could all wear a Hobbit bonding ring?"

"Yes, that would work," Bilbo managed to say, and Dwalin reached in to carefully pull the Hobbit-sized band out of the box, and Thorin took his hand and slid it on, and oh-

Oh my.

"I'm... marrying you. For real," Bilbo said.

"Yes," Thorin said, a great huff of relief leaving him in a rush. Dwalin slipped another of the bands out, and slid it onto Thorin's finger.

"This isn't just to make my grandmother happy, is it? Or so my relatives won't be upset, or some such nonsense as that, because I love the two of you so much, and I don't think I could stand the idea of being married to you and still not having you," Bilbo said in one long rush, reaching for the box and taking out the last of the bands, and sliding it onto Dwalin's finger, who caught his hand when he was done and kissed Bilbo's fingers so gently.

"Of course not. We said it at your aunt's place, weeks ago. Never thought you'd have us, before, did we?"

"But..." Bilbo said, thinking to remind them that surely that had been an act, and stopped.

None of this had been an act at all. None of it.

"Well," Bilbo said, shaking his head and then laughing at the wince that got him, both dwarrow narrowing in on the flower crown perched precariously on his head. "I most certainly will have you, thank you very much."

"That... that is good," Dwalin said roughly, and then buried his face in his hands again, and Thorin and Bilbo exchanged fond looks before they moved to comfort their poor overwhelmed giant of a love.

*

A snow storm crept up in the night, and Bilbo's head lifted sleepily off it's very fine pillow of warm, hairy dwarven muscled chest to listen to the sound of the wind and the hushed noise of the snow for a bit before his head snuck back to its place on Dwalin.

Thorin made a sleepy enquiring noise behind him, but Bilbo simply patted his hand and he went back to softly snoring, breath puffing against Bilbo's neck.

Bilbo sighed and snuggled deeper under the blanket, dragging Thorin a little more firmly onto himself and Dwalin, snuffling into a chest full of hair.

The storm would settle by morning, and the Shire would be spread with a thick blanket of white. Bilbo would hang his engagement crown upon his front door, though the entire Baggins clan would likely already know of it. Lotho would be by in the morning with the nicket to light Bilbo's Yule fire, and the bushel of apples from the Baggins family orchard. Bilbo would light the fire with the nicket, and set it to burning for the day, while he finished preparing the Yule log.

A fine breakfast, and he'd bully his whole lot of Dwarrow through cutting an apple each in half, and eating one half and berating them most firmly when they would start to eat the second, despite his instructions. And he'd have them leave their uneaten halves out for the blessings on their home, and then take them off to the woods to collect fir branches, and oak and holly and ivy, to adorn the doors of his home for last night of the year, to lay extra protections for the longest night.

They'd take the last of the mead from the pot, and pour it around the grandfather apple in the Baggins orchard, and he'd coax these lumps into a song for the grandfather tree, and ask for a good harvest for this coming year, and then he'd take them home for wine and pie while they prepared their feast.

Bilbo would take that piece of the Took Yule log of last year, and light it in his parlour hearth, and nestle it into the spot he had picked on the new log until it took, and then ease the log into the fire. And then they would feast, and drink and feast and drink some more, spending the last, most longest night of the year by the fire, telling tales and singing songs until the night ended, and the new morn dawned.

And Bilbo would gift his presents to his family, celebrating the beginning of a new year, all their hopes and dreams of that yet to come.

There was so much to hope and dream for, this coming year, and Bilbo could believe in it all.

And when it was all done, when the oak log had smoldered it's way to the first plough day and the winter started to leave, then Bilbo would take the remains of the oak log, and wrap it carefully, and gather the ashes of the fire, and these things would be the first things he would pack to take to Erebor, so that he might bless that place with all the protections a Hobbit believed in, and start a new tradition there, a new home for his new family.

For now, though, now it snowed, and it was cold, and Bilbo wrapped himself in Dwarven warmth and slept.