Clarity of Purpose, Chapter 35
Title: Clarity of Purpose, Chap. 35/35
Chapter Summary: Bilbo and Thorin return to the Shire and are wed, and our story comes to a close.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo, Frodo.
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. Begins in 2968, twenty-six years after the events of "Clarity of Vision" and fifty years before the canonical events of "Lord of the Rings." Thus, characters' ages and the geopolitical situation will be different than LoTR canon!
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3200
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been parted for many years now, despite the love they bear each other. Now Thorin's research has uncovered a dire threat to Middle Earth--the Ring he carried a little while and then gave to Bilbo. Together with a group of companions composed of the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth, they must attempt to destroy the artifact before its Dark Lord can re-capture it.
”...If you are jesting with me, dwarf, I shall…” Bilbo’s uncannily-accurate impersonation of Thranduil, King of the Greenwood broke down into sputters as he mimicked the Elven-King’s reaction to the news about his son’s life-choices.
Thorin Oakenshield, once King Under the Mountain and Lord of Erebor, now merely the betrothed of Bilbo Baggins, threw back his head at the memory and roared with laughter until Bilbo’s pony danced nervously from side to side at all the bellowing.
Bilbo shot him a laughing glance from under silver-streaked curls. “Well, he took it better than you thought he would, didn’t he?”
“As we are not locked in a dungeon and Legolas has not been dragged back to the Greenwood by an armed band of elves, yes.”
“I’ll be honest,” said Bilbo, sitting back on his pony and admiring the view of the Old Forest, shrouded in morning mist to the south, “I was more worried about what Lord Elrond’s reaction would be to the news that his daughter had gotten married.”
“It would not be like Lord Elrond to wax wroth about such a thing,” said Thorin.
“True. He just sighed and looked sad. That was...kind of worse,” admitted Bilbo. “I wonder if--”
But Thorin never found out what Bilbo wondered, because just then they topped a rise in the road and Bilbo’s words gave way to a gasp of delight.
Ahead of them, they could see the road like a ribbon of gold in the morning light, winding down to the Brandywine River and beyond to the horizon, where a cluster of houses nestled in the hills, little wisps of smoke rising from their chimneys into the summer air.
“Hobbiton,” breathed Bilbo. “We’re almost home!”
Thorin had often worried on the road about what awaited Bilbo at the other end. After all, he had been gone for eight moons now, and had gone missing abruptly in the middle of the night, leaving no note or word behind. Visions of Bag End in disrepair--or worse--had filled Thorin’s mind. But as they rode into Hobbiton, with Bilbo waving happily at the astonished Hobbits, Thorin could see the familiar green door had been freshly-painted and the window-boxes were overflowing with pink and purple flowers--phlox, he managed to remember. It looked cozy and comfortable, and Thorin felt his heart thud in his breast. Home.
“My goodness,” said Bilbo as he dismounted. “Someone’s been taking care of my hobbit-hole!” He walked up to the door and knocked politely. “Hello?”
The door flew open. “Lobelia, if you come around here one more time, I’ll--” The plumpish young woman in a flowered apron broke off and stared in amazement at Bilbo. “Cousin Bilbo! You’ve come back!”
“Primula!” Bilbo beamed at her. “Thorin, this is my cousin, Primula Baggins--though she’s a Brandybuck by birth, of course.”
“Of course,” Thorin echoed politely.
“Primula, this is my betrothed, Thorin,” Bilbo went on.
Primula’s hands fluttered wildly in front of her, finally settling on smoothing her brown hair back distractedly. “Oh, Bilbo! Oh, I’m so very glad to see you, you have no idea, but--oh dear, you must be quite angry, but the Sackville-Bagginses were trying to sell off all of your things and move in, so Drogo and I decided that no, we wouldn’t let that happen, we’d stay here until you came home and keep them away--we never intended--”
Bilbo took her hands in his soothingly. “Dear Primula! The moment you said ‘Lobelia’ I knew immediately what must have happened, and I am sure I am quite indebted to you for keeping my home safe and sound.”
“Oh!” She gasped with relief and threw her arms around him. “Oh Bilbo, please do come in--” She laughed and sobbed at the same time, “Here I am inviting you into your own home, I’m so sorry--”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Bilbo said, brushing her apologies aside as he went in. “Ah, how tidy and cozy you’ve kept it for me.”
“And this is--” Primula was staring at Thorin now. “I’m sorry, did I hear Bilbo say that you two were--”
“I believe the word is ‘engaged,’ yes,” said Thorin. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I remember you!” she said, delighted. “I was just a little girl, but--weren’t you one of the dwarves that spent Yule here, the other time Cousin Bilbo went missing?” Thorin nodded, and she beamed at him. “That was such a happy Yule! And how delightful that Bilbo won’t be living in this huge old place alone anymore! May I…” She paused, suddenly shy. “May I hug you?”
“We are to be cousins, so that seems appropriate,” Thorin said solemnly, and she put her arms around him and squeezed.
“Why, who have we here?” exclaimed Bilbo, and Thorin looked to see a small hobbit-child crawling into the room. “Can this be little Frodo? Why, he was just a babe in arms when last I saw him, and now look at him!”
Primula scooped her son up into her arms, where he looked at Bilbo and Thorin with wide blue eyes. “Frodo, dumpling, this is your Cousin Bilbo! Remember him?”
Frodo put his thumb in his mouth and stared.
Primula turned Frodo to face Thorin. “And this is Thorin! He’s a dwarf!”
“Can you say ‘Thorin’?” said Bilbo.
Frodo took his thumb out of his mouth and smiled--a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. “T’orn!” he announced, and reached out to grab Thorin’s beard. “T’orn!”
“Oh, that’s--that’s his first word!” Primula gasped as she disentangled Frodo’s grasping chubby fingers from the patiently wincing Thorin. “How funny!”
And so Frodo Baggins’ first word was indeed “Thorin,” and his first memories were of playing in Bag End, and he had many other memories--happy and sad and bittersweet--of his uncles through his life. Those are not a part of this story proper, but some have been recorded in the Red Book of Westmarch and can be read there.
Primula insisted on moving out as soon as possible, although Bilbo told them there was no rush at all. Somewhere in the bustle of that first day back, Bilbo and Thorin slipped outside to avoid her harried packing and found Petunia happily eating the phlox out of the window-boxes. Bilbo frantically shooed him away, and Petunia snorted at him angrily, but backed up a few steps.
“Where are we going to put them?” Bilbo said helplessly, looking at the stallion with pink flowers hanging out of his mouth and the little dappled pony that was cropping the grass nearby.
“There should be space at the forge,” said Thorin.
Bilbo looked blank. “The forge?”
Thorin nodded. “I hope to help the smith there, if he will allow it.”
Bilbo touched the diamond-studded star brooch that he wore always at his throat, woven from pure mithril. “Help? Allow? But you--you’re so--”
“I do not wish to put the Shire’s smith out of business,” said Thorin. “I will be happy to make horseshoes and mend pots. It is a quiet life, and a new challenge.” He rested a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “My thanks for not introducing me by my former titles,” he said. “I have no desire to live like exiled royalty among your people. I wish only to be known as a good smith--and as the husband of the Master of Bag End.”
“Thorin,” whispered Bilbo, and looked at though he might kiss him right there in front of the road, but the door burst open and Primula bustled out, carrying Frodo in her arms.
“There’ll be movers by to pick up our boxes tomorrow,” she said, kissing Bilbo and Thorin on the cheek in turn. “I’ve sent a message off to Drogo to meet us back in our own home.”
“Truly, you could have stayed,” Bilbo said politely, though Thorin was not sure he was truly enthused at the idea. “The place is big enough for all five of us.”
She smiled at him. “Perhaps someday I’ll take you up on that offer,” she said. “But for now, I’m just so happy to let you have your own place back.” She took Frodo’s hand in hers and waved it. “Say bye-bye, Frodo!”
Frodo waved his hand around wildly. “T’orn!” he gurgled. “Bye-bye, T’orn!” He stuffed his fist in his mouth and stared back at them over his mother’s shoulder as they walked away.
Empty of Primula and Frodo, Bag End seemed very quiet as Bilbo and Thorin re-entered it. “Well,” said Bilbo, looking around at the gleaming wood, the burnished brass. His comfortable chair, just as he had left it.
“Well,” said Thorin.
Bilbo swallowed hard. “Welcome home,” he said.
“And this room is yours,” Bilbo said, dropping Thorin’s bag on the bed. “It’s one of the warmest in Bag End, and doesn’t have too much morning light, you should be very comfortable here.”
Thorin looked at the bed with its lacy worked cover, at the windows with their floating gauze curtains. Outside he could see the gardens, filled with riotous summer flowers. “But I thought…” He let the sentence trail off.
“Isn’t it all right?”
Bilbo looked worried, and Thorin hurried to reassure him: “It’s quite charming, quite comfortable. But…” He coughed. “In Erebor, we shared the same quarters.”
“Oh!” Bilbo smiled at him. “Oh, no, that wouldn’t be appropriate at all here in Shire,” he said cheerfully. “Sharing a room before we were formally wed?” He made a tsking noise with his tongue. “People would talk, people would talk. It wouldn’t do at all.”
“Oh,” said Thorin, feeling foolish.
Bilbo laughed, just a touch ruefully. “I may be a hobbit who was traveled the wide world, but I am still a Baggins of Bag End, after all.”
“You are indeed,” said Thorin, and there was enough affection in it that Bilbo turned quite pink.
They spent the afternoon bustling around Hobbiton, doing the necessary introductions and dealing with so many odd things that Thorin felt quite overwhelmed. Why was it necessary to stop by this particular house and give a note to this particular person? Why was it required to visit the Tooks before the Gamgees, but perfectly appropriate to have a drink at the Gamgees, while one must turn down the offer at the Tooks? Why did one shake hands with some hobbits, but merely nod politely at others? Thorin trailed along after Bilbo and followed his lead, smiled politely and deflected the nosier questions about his history and heritage, made arrangements to come by the forge in three days and show some of his work, stabled the horses, did grocery shopping, and came home as the sun set feeling more exhausted than he had since he stood at the Cracks of Doom.
Bilbo made a quick meal of mushrooms and fresh trout, moving about the kitchen with the ease of a person finally back on their home turf, making requests of Thorin: “Hand me the pepper, it’s that black tin. Could you grate this ginger? No, no, peel it first. Yes, that’s wonderful. Now put it in the saucepan--” Until eventually they were both seated at the table and having their first meal at home.
“My goodness, I’ve imagined this so many times, and now here we are,” Bilbo said, taking a sip of dandelion wine and gazing at Thorin by the light of the beeswax candles on the table. “Sometimes I wasn’t sure…”
“This is delicious,” said Thorin, and found himself wolfing down the meal. “I was hungrier than I thought.”
“It’ll build up an appetite, dealing with Shire customs,” laughed Bilbo. “You did very well. I’m sure they seem quite bizarre to you sometimes.”
“Not at all,” Thorin said, just to hear Bilbo laugh again, his curls turned golden once more in the candlelight, his eyes bright and peaceful.
Thorin felt the lacy coverlet catching on his callused fingers as he ran his hands over the delicate cloth. Moonlight poured through the gauze curtain like liquid mithril, spilling over the bed. Outside the window some nightbird called, a delicate trill of music, then fell silent again. Down on the main road, a voice called out: “Eleven o’clock, and all’s well!” Thorin heard the crier yawn and amble on.
His first night in Bag End. His first night home. Thorin closed his eyes and let the unfamiliar, peaceful sounds of the Shire wash over him.
Then he heard the sound of bare feet on polished wood, the quiet click of his door opening, and he opened his eyes to find Bilbo standing by his bed in a linen nightshirt, smiling.
“But I thought--” Thorin started to say as Bilbo lifted the coverlet and slipped in beside him.
“Separate rooms,” murmured Bilbo as he nestled against him, “does not mean separate beds. You have much to learn about how to keep up appearances in the Shire.”
“I suspect you will be a skilled and devious teacher,” Thorin said, drawing him closer.
“Oh, I hope so,” said Bilbo.
The wedding took a full eight months to organize and prepare for, a delay that Thorin found exasperating in the extreme. But there were apparently guest lists to be agonized over, menus to be planned, clothing to be tailored, music to be composed--in short, Bilbo said, eight months was practically rushing it.
“Besides,” he added with a wink, “This will give everyone time to get used to you.”
Thorin did take some getting used to, apparently. Many of the Shire-folk were slow to warm up to his bulk, his gruff voice, his alarming facial hair. But after he skilfully mended the favorite pot of Citrine Took, he found that the strongest of objections started to fade away. And his services were so much in demand making pretty tin star-decorations for that year’s Star Festival that he became practically popular.
And if Bilbo sometimes cried out in the night like a child for something lost, Thorin was there to draw him close and hold him until it passed. If he did the same, Bilbo never told him.
Primula and Drogo brought little Frodo often to Bag End and to the forge, where Thorin made him cunning toys: a bronze grasshopper that could really leap; a tin whistle shaped like a pig. And at their wedding, Frodo toddled down the aisle before them, throwing apple blossoms in every direction and laughing happily.
The wedding of Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield was the talk of the Shire, and even as far as Bree. For months before, mysterious packages arrived with strange writing scrawled on them, each one full of strange objects: hand-woven linen tablecloths from some lady named “Arwen” in Gondor; a crate of spices that made everyone’s eyes water from some place called Saynshar; a set of lovely laurel garlands studded with pretty crystals that could almost be mistaken for diamonds, apparently a collaboration between someone named “Wandlimb” and someone named “Dis”; silvery paper from Pelargir that became the invitations; wooden napkin rings carved with running horses from a Mr. Theoden. All in preparation for the biggest party the Shire had seen in years. Fortunately, the weather was beautiful that day, and Bilbo made sure there were enough spun-sugar animals brought in from Bree to keep all the children sticky-fingered and sated, many of them falling asleep at the base of the Party Tree.
And so the Red Book of Westmarch records that on May 16 of the year 3969, Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield clasped hands beneath sun and the sky and swore to cherish and protect each other, to share in hardships and in joys, and to be true of heart until the end of their days. The folk of the Shire threw flowers and sang, and everyone--even Thorin--danced until they were out of breath and merry.
The only break with tradition people noted was that the couple did not exchange rings, but it was generally concluded this was some odd dwarvish custom in which Mr. Baggins had indulged his betrothed.
But the new couple stood in front of the gathering and exchanged their wedding presents, and Bilbo gave Thorin an amethyst tie pin in the shape of a viola, and stood on tip-toes to pin his husband’s gray silk tie with it, saying “May your heart’s-ease be with you always.” Then Thorin looked embarrassed, and said, “I am not used to working with wood and paper, and it is no replacement for the one you lost so many years ago, but…”
He held out a long thin object in both hands, and Bilbo opened it to reveal an oiled-paper umbrella printed with cheerful daisies. And Bilbo Baggins laughed, and then he cried, and then he laughed again, and he held the umbrella to shield them from the cheering crowd and kissed his husband soundly from within its sheltering shadow.
The morning after the wedding, with the streamers and confetti still festooning the Party Tree and all the Shire silent and sleepy, Bilbo rose while the dawn was still a smudge of gray and woke his husband with a kiss, and taking his hand he led Thorin out of Bag End, to a corner of the garden where the soil was freshly turned. The smell of the dew-damp earth was rich and strong, and a thrush warbled in the lilac bush nearby as Bilbo took the beech-nut Wandlimb had given him from around his neck. With a smile at Thorin, he dug his fingers into the dirt to make a hole, and dropped the little nut into it. Together they covered it with soil, and gently tamped it down.
Then they walked together through the morning hand in hand, a long ramble that meandered and wandered seemingly at random, until they found themselves on the White Downs west of Hobbiton, where the long summer grass bent before the wind in great rippling waves. They stopped at the top of the tallest hill, and Bilbo looked eastward, out over the Shire, and beyond Bree, and toward all the wide lands they had been, back to where Mt. Doom still smoldered, with its molten golden heart. And he shivered, and for a moment there were tears in his eyes.
But Thorin took Bilbo’s shoulders and turned him to the west, so that they looked out together on the Tower Hills, and the gray elf-towers there on the horizon.
And a breeze came up from the West, rushing up the hill to meet them, and it seemed to Thorin that he could smell the salt of the sea on it, something clean and clear that brought tears to his eyes. Bilbo took Thorin’s hand in his, and they stood there together, looking to the west and the sea, and all was quiet and bright.
“I’m glad,” Bilbo said into that moment of sunlight and stillness, “I am so very glad indeed, that you are here with me.”
Here ends “Clarity of Purpose,” and I can never thank enough all the wonderful people who came on the journey with Thorin and Bilbo. You are my treasure true.
There will be a set of Appendices in the style of Return of the King in which certain histories are detailed, including “The Tale of Finduilas and Denethor,” “Of Frodo, Bilbo, and Thorin,” “Of Denethor and Theoden,” and “The Passing of the Ringbearers.”
Chapter Summary: Bilbo and Thorin return to the Shire and are wed, and our story comes to a close.
Relationship: Thorin/Bilbo
Characters: Thorin Oakenshield, Bilbo, Frodo.
Fandom: Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. Begins in 2968, twenty-six years after the events of "Clarity of Vision" and fifty years before the canonical events of "Lord of the Rings." Thus, characters' ages and the geopolitical situation will be different than LoTR canon!
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3200
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins have been parted for many years now, despite the love they bear each other. Now Thorin's research has uncovered a dire threat to Middle Earth--the Ring he carried a little while and then gave to Bilbo. Together with a group of companions composed of the different Free Peoples of Middle Earth, they must attempt to destroy the artifact before its Dark Lord can re-capture it.
”...If you are jesting with me, dwarf, I shall…” Bilbo’s uncannily-accurate impersonation of Thranduil, King of the Greenwood broke down into sputters as he mimicked the Elven-King’s reaction to the news about his son’s life-choices.
Thorin Oakenshield, once King Under the Mountain and Lord of Erebor, now merely the betrothed of Bilbo Baggins, threw back his head at the memory and roared with laughter until Bilbo’s pony danced nervously from side to side at all the bellowing.
Bilbo shot him a laughing glance from under silver-streaked curls. “Well, he took it better than you thought he would, didn’t he?”
“As we are not locked in a dungeon and Legolas has not been dragged back to the Greenwood by an armed band of elves, yes.”
“I’ll be honest,” said Bilbo, sitting back on his pony and admiring the view of the Old Forest, shrouded in morning mist to the south, “I was more worried about what Lord Elrond’s reaction would be to the news that his daughter had gotten married.”
“It would not be like Lord Elrond to wax wroth about such a thing,” said Thorin.
“True. He just sighed and looked sad. That was...kind of worse,” admitted Bilbo. “I wonder if--”
But Thorin never found out what Bilbo wondered, because just then they topped a rise in the road and Bilbo’s words gave way to a gasp of delight.
Ahead of them, they could see the road like a ribbon of gold in the morning light, winding down to the Brandywine River and beyond to the horizon, where a cluster of houses nestled in the hills, little wisps of smoke rising from their chimneys into the summer air.
“Hobbiton,” breathed Bilbo. “We’re almost home!”
Thorin had often worried on the road about what awaited Bilbo at the other end. After all, he had been gone for eight moons now, and had gone missing abruptly in the middle of the night, leaving no note or word behind. Visions of Bag End in disrepair--or worse--had filled Thorin’s mind. But as they rode into Hobbiton, with Bilbo waving happily at the astonished Hobbits, Thorin could see the familiar green door had been freshly-painted and the window-boxes were overflowing with pink and purple flowers--phlox, he managed to remember. It looked cozy and comfortable, and Thorin felt his heart thud in his breast. Home.
“My goodness,” said Bilbo as he dismounted. “Someone’s been taking care of my hobbit-hole!” He walked up to the door and knocked politely. “Hello?”
The door flew open. “Lobelia, if you come around here one more time, I’ll--” The plumpish young woman in a flowered apron broke off and stared in amazement at Bilbo. “Cousin Bilbo! You’ve come back!”
“Primula!” Bilbo beamed at her. “Thorin, this is my cousin, Primula Baggins--though she’s a Brandybuck by birth, of course.”
“Of course,” Thorin echoed politely.
“Primula, this is my betrothed, Thorin,” Bilbo went on.
Primula’s hands fluttered wildly in front of her, finally settling on smoothing her brown hair back distractedly. “Oh, Bilbo! Oh, I’m so very glad to see you, you have no idea, but--oh dear, you must be quite angry, but the Sackville-Bagginses were trying to sell off all of your things and move in, so Drogo and I decided that no, we wouldn’t let that happen, we’d stay here until you came home and keep them away--we never intended--”
Bilbo took her hands in his soothingly. “Dear Primula! The moment you said ‘Lobelia’ I knew immediately what must have happened, and I am sure I am quite indebted to you for keeping my home safe and sound.”
“Oh!” She gasped with relief and threw her arms around him. “Oh Bilbo, please do come in--” She laughed and sobbed at the same time, “Here I am inviting you into your own home, I’m so sorry--”
“Stuff and nonsense,” Bilbo said, brushing her apologies aside as he went in. “Ah, how tidy and cozy you’ve kept it for me.”
“And this is--” Primula was staring at Thorin now. “I’m sorry, did I hear Bilbo say that you two were--”
“I believe the word is ‘engaged,’ yes,” said Thorin. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I remember you!” she said, delighted. “I was just a little girl, but--weren’t you one of the dwarves that spent Yule here, the other time Cousin Bilbo went missing?” Thorin nodded, and she beamed at him. “That was such a happy Yule! And how delightful that Bilbo won’t be living in this huge old place alone anymore! May I…” She paused, suddenly shy. “May I hug you?”
“We are to be cousins, so that seems appropriate,” Thorin said solemnly, and she put her arms around him and squeezed.
“Why, who have we here?” exclaimed Bilbo, and Thorin looked to see a small hobbit-child crawling into the room. “Can this be little Frodo? Why, he was just a babe in arms when last I saw him, and now look at him!”
Primula scooped her son up into her arms, where he looked at Bilbo and Thorin with wide blue eyes. “Frodo, dumpling, this is your Cousin Bilbo! Remember him?”
Frodo put his thumb in his mouth and stared.
Primula turned Frodo to face Thorin. “And this is Thorin! He’s a dwarf!”
“Can you say ‘Thorin’?” said Bilbo.
Frodo took his thumb out of his mouth and smiled--a heartbreakingly beautiful smile. “T’orn!” he announced, and reached out to grab Thorin’s beard. “T’orn!”
“Oh, that’s--that’s his first word!” Primula gasped as she disentangled Frodo’s grasping chubby fingers from the patiently wincing Thorin. “How funny!”
And so Frodo Baggins’ first word was indeed “Thorin,” and his first memories were of playing in Bag End, and he had many other memories--happy and sad and bittersweet--of his uncles through his life. Those are not a part of this story proper, but some have been recorded in the Red Book of Westmarch and can be read there.
Primula insisted on moving out as soon as possible, although Bilbo told them there was no rush at all. Somewhere in the bustle of that first day back, Bilbo and Thorin slipped outside to avoid her harried packing and found Petunia happily eating the phlox out of the window-boxes. Bilbo frantically shooed him away, and Petunia snorted at him angrily, but backed up a few steps.
“Where are we going to put them?” Bilbo said helplessly, looking at the stallion with pink flowers hanging out of his mouth and the little dappled pony that was cropping the grass nearby.
“There should be space at the forge,” said Thorin.
Bilbo looked blank. “The forge?”
Thorin nodded. “I hope to help the smith there, if he will allow it.”
Bilbo touched the diamond-studded star brooch that he wore always at his throat, woven from pure mithril. “Help? Allow? But you--you’re so--”
“I do not wish to put the Shire’s smith out of business,” said Thorin. “I will be happy to make horseshoes and mend pots. It is a quiet life, and a new challenge.” He rested a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “My thanks for not introducing me by my former titles,” he said. “I have no desire to live like exiled royalty among your people. I wish only to be known as a good smith--and as the husband of the Master of Bag End.”
“Thorin,” whispered Bilbo, and looked at though he might kiss him right there in front of the road, but the door burst open and Primula bustled out, carrying Frodo in her arms.
“There’ll be movers by to pick up our boxes tomorrow,” she said, kissing Bilbo and Thorin on the cheek in turn. “I’ve sent a message off to Drogo to meet us back in our own home.”
“Truly, you could have stayed,” Bilbo said politely, though Thorin was not sure he was truly enthused at the idea. “The place is big enough for all five of us.”
She smiled at him. “Perhaps someday I’ll take you up on that offer,” she said. “But for now, I’m just so happy to let you have your own place back.” She took Frodo’s hand in hers and waved it. “Say bye-bye, Frodo!”
Frodo waved his hand around wildly. “T’orn!” he gurgled. “Bye-bye, T’orn!” He stuffed his fist in his mouth and stared back at them over his mother’s shoulder as they walked away.
Empty of Primula and Frodo, Bag End seemed very quiet as Bilbo and Thorin re-entered it. “Well,” said Bilbo, looking around at the gleaming wood, the burnished brass. His comfortable chair, just as he had left it.
“Well,” said Thorin.
Bilbo swallowed hard. “Welcome home,” he said.
“And this room is yours,” Bilbo said, dropping Thorin’s bag on the bed. “It’s one of the warmest in Bag End, and doesn’t have too much morning light, you should be very comfortable here.”
Thorin looked at the bed with its lacy worked cover, at the windows with their floating gauze curtains. Outside he could see the gardens, filled with riotous summer flowers. “But I thought…” He let the sentence trail off.
“Isn’t it all right?”
Bilbo looked worried, and Thorin hurried to reassure him: “It’s quite charming, quite comfortable. But…” He coughed. “In Erebor, we shared the same quarters.”
“Oh!” Bilbo smiled at him. “Oh, no, that wouldn’t be appropriate at all here in Shire,” he said cheerfully. “Sharing a room before we were formally wed?” He made a tsking noise with his tongue. “People would talk, people would talk. It wouldn’t do at all.”
“Oh,” said Thorin, feeling foolish.
Bilbo laughed, just a touch ruefully. “I may be a hobbit who was traveled the wide world, but I am still a Baggins of Bag End, after all.”
“You are indeed,” said Thorin, and there was enough affection in it that Bilbo turned quite pink.
They spent the afternoon bustling around Hobbiton, doing the necessary introductions and dealing with so many odd things that Thorin felt quite overwhelmed. Why was it necessary to stop by this particular house and give a note to this particular person? Why was it required to visit the Tooks before the Gamgees, but perfectly appropriate to have a drink at the Gamgees, while one must turn down the offer at the Tooks? Why did one shake hands with some hobbits, but merely nod politely at others? Thorin trailed along after Bilbo and followed his lead, smiled politely and deflected the nosier questions about his history and heritage, made arrangements to come by the forge in three days and show some of his work, stabled the horses, did grocery shopping, and came home as the sun set feeling more exhausted than he had since he stood at the Cracks of Doom.
Bilbo made a quick meal of mushrooms and fresh trout, moving about the kitchen with the ease of a person finally back on their home turf, making requests of Thorin: “Hand me the pepper, it’s that black tin. Could you grate this ginger? No, no, peel it first. Yes, that’s wonderful. Now put it in the saucepan--” Until eventually they were both seated at the table and having their first meal at home.
“My goodness, I’ve imagined this so many times, and now here we are,” Bilbo said, taking a sip of dandelion wine and gazing at Thorin by the light of the beeswax candles on the table. “Sometimes I wasn’t sure…”
“This is delicious,” said Thorin, and found himself wolfing down the meal. “I was hungrier than I thought.”
“It’ll build up an appetite, dealing with Shire customs,” laughed Bilbo. “You did very well. I’m sure they seem quite bizarre to you sometimes.”
“Not at all,” Thorin said, just to hear Bilbo laugh again, his curls turned golden once more in the candlelight, his eyes bright and peaceful.
Thorin felt the lacy coverlet catching on his callused fingers as he ran his hands over the delicate cloth. Moonlight poured through the gauze curtain like liquid mithril, spilling over the bed. Outside the window some nightbird called, a delicate trill of music, then fell silent again. Down on the main road, a voice called out: “Eleven o’clock, and all’s well!” Thorin heard the crier yawn and amble on.
His first night in Bag End. His first night home. Thorin closed his eyes and let the unfamiliar, peaceful sounds of the Shire wash over him.
Then he heard the sound of bare feet on polished wood, the quiet click of his door opening, and he opened his eyes to find Bilbo standing by his bed in a linen nightshirt, smiling.
“But I thought--” Thorin started to say as Bilbo lifted the coverlet and slipped in beside him.
“Separate rooms,” murmured Bilbo as he nestled against him, “does not mean separate beds. You have much to learn about how to keep up appearances in the Shire.”
“I suspect you will be a skilled and devious teacher,” Thorin said, drawing him closer.
“Oh, I hope so,” said Bilbo.
The wedding took a full eight months to organize and prepare for, a delay that Thorin found exasperating in the extreme. But there were apparently guest lists to be agonized over, menus to be planned, clothing to be tailored, music to be composed--in short, Bilbo said, eight months was practically rushing it.
“Besides,” he added with a wink, “This will give everyone time to get used to you.”
Thorin did take some getting used to, apparently. Many of the Shire-folk were slow to warm up to his bulk, his gruff voice, his alarming facial hair. But after he skilfully mended the favorite pot of Citrine Took, he found that the strongest of objections started to fade away. And his services were so much in demand making pretty tin star-decorations for that year’s Star Festival that he became practically popular.
And if Bilbo sometimes cried out in the night like a child for something lost, Thorin was there to draw him close and hold him until it passed. If he did the same, Bilbo never told him.
Primula and Drogo brought little Frodo often to Bag End and to the forge, where Thorin made him cunning toys: a bronze grasshopper that could really leap; a tin whistle shaped like a pig. And at their wedding, Frodo toddled down the aisle before them, throwing apple blossoms in every direction and laughing happily.
The wedding of Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield was the talk of the Shire, and even as far as Bree. For months before, mysterious packages arrived with strange writing scrawled on them, each one full of strange objects: hand-woven linen tablecloths from some lady named “Arwen” in Gondor; a crate of spices that made everyone’s eyes water from some place called Saynshar; a set of lovely laurel garlands studded with pretty crystals that could almost be mistaken for diamonds, apparently a collaboration between someone named “Wandlimb” and someone named “Dis”; silvery paper from Pelargir that became the invitations; wooden napkin rings carved with running horses from a Mr. Theoden. All in preparation for the biggest party the Shire had seen in years. Fortunately, the weather was beautiful that day, and Bilbo made sure there were enough spun-sugar animals brought in from Bree to keep all the children sticky-fingered and sated, many of them falling asleep at the base of the Party Tree.
And so the Red Book of Westmarch records that on May 16 of the year 3969, Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield clasped hands beneath sun and the sky and swore to cherish and protect each other, to share in hardships and in joys, and to be true of heart until the end of their days. The folk of the Shire threw flowers and sang, and everyone--even Thorin--danced until they were out of breath and merry.
The only break with tradition people noted was that the couple did not exchange rings, but it was generally concluded this was some odd dwarvish custom in which Mr. Baggins had indulged his betrothed.
But the new couple stood in front of the gathering and exchanged their wedding presents, and Bilbo gave Thorin an amethyst tie pin in the shape of a viola, and stood on tip-toes to pin his husband’s gray silk tie with it, saying “May your heart’s-ease be with you always.” Then Thorin looked embarrassed, and said, “I am not used to working with wood and paper, and it is no replacement for the one you lost so many years ago, but…”
He held out a long thin object in both hands, and Bilbo opened it to reveal an oiled-paper umbrella printed with cheerful daisies. And Bilbo Baggins laughed, and then he cried, and then he laughed again, and he held the umbrella to shield them from the cheering crowd and kissed his husband soundly from within its sheltering shadow.
The morning after the wedding, with the streamers and confetti still festooning the Party Tree and all the Shire silent and sleepy, Bilbo rose while the dawn was still a smudge of gray and woke his husband with a kiss, and taking his hand he led Thorin out of Bag End, to a corner of the garden where the soil was freshly turned. The smell of the dew-damp earth was rich and strong, and a thrush warbled in the lilac bush nearby as Bilbo took the beech-nut Wandlimb had given him from around his neck. With a smile at Thorin, he dug his fingers into the dirt to make a hole, and dropped the little nut into it. Together they covered it with soil, and gently tamped it down.
Then they walked together through the morning hand in hand, a long ramble that meandered and wandered seemingly at random, until they found themselves on the White Downs west of Hobbiton, where the long summer grass bent before the wind in great rippling waves. They stopped at the top of the tallest hill, and Bilbo looked eastward, out over the Shire, and beyond Bree, and toward all the wide lands they had been, back to where Mt. Doom still smoldered, with its molten golden heart. And he shivered, and for a moment there were tears in his eyes.
But Thorin took Bilbo’s shoulders and turned him to the west, so that they looked out together on the Tower Hills, and the gray elf-towers there on the horizon.
And a breeze came up from the West, rushing up the hill to meet them, and it seemed to Thorin that he could smell the salt of the sea on it, something clean and clear that brought tears to his eyes. Bilbo took Thorin’s hand in his, and they stood there together, looking to the west and the sea, and all was quiet and bright.
“I’m glad,” Bilbo said into that moment of sunlight and stillness, “I am so very glad indeed, that you are here with me.”
Here ends “Clarity of Purpose,” and I can never thank enough all the wonderful people who came on the journey with Thorin and Bilbo. You are my treasure true.
There will be a set of Appendices in the style of Return of the King in which certain histories are detailed, including “The Tale of Finduilas and Denethor,” “Of Frodo, Bilbo, and Thorin,” “Of Denethor and Theoden,” and “The Passing of the Ringbearers.”