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Two years.
Two years and three months.
It had been two years, three months, twelve days, and—unless his underground sense of time was completely buggered—four hours and twenty-seven minutes since Bilbo Baggins had last been inside Erebor.
Not that King Thorin II, also known as Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain, would admit that out loud to anyone, at any point, anywhere in the foreseeable future; 'Most likely never'', he continued to tell himself. He may not be sure of Bilbo’s feelings or how he would react to knowing Thorin’s feelings, but if there was one thing Thorin knew for sure, it was that having Bilbo in his life was not worth the risk of telling his Hobbit of his affection and desire, and then possibly loose him forever. No, he would remain quiet and speak only of friendship and camaraderie, and nothing more. Nothing.
Now he just needed his heart to understand and keep quiet and be still.
(He also needed his sister, his sister-sons, his best friend Dwalin, his adviser Balin, Dwalin’s not-so-secret lover, Ori, afore mentioned no-so-secret lover’s brothers Nori and Dori, and all the rest of his company, half the dwarf’s of Dain’s army and not to mention his meddlesome, jovial cousin Dain, to remain quiet and be still as well! Just leave his burglar alone and don't even think of talking to Bilbo on that subject!)
How everyone had found out his regard for Bilbo was beyond him. Yes, granted, he had been a little—broody and snappish after Bilbo had returned to The Shire, but that didn’t mean anything! And, of course, he was relieved when Bilbo’s letters began to arrive; that Gandalf and the damn Elves had better have gotten Bilbo home safe, or Thorin would have unleashed Erebor's might on those that had failed to ensure Bilbo's well-being! And just because Thorin started sending his letters via Raven didn’t mean anything; it wasn't because the Ravens were faster and therefore he got Bilbo's response faster, it was just what Thorin was use to, that's all!
And what else was Thorin to do, when Bilbo sent a letter to him just a year after arriving home stating, subtly, that he missed his friends and politely commented that Bag End wasn’t exactly the same without a gang of Dwarrow to cook for and, hinted, that he wouldn’t mind coming back to Erebor for a visit if only he had an escort, but to immediately gathered the company together and task Kili, Bofur, Nori and Gloin to pack and set out for Bag End within two days time. That didn’t mean anything either—just that he was making sure Bilbo got his wish and traveled safe; the roads were dangerous!
None of that meant anything!
It certainly didn’t mean he was in love or something!
Well, all right, he was in love, but those things still weren’t any proof, no matter what his sister teased him endlessly about, so how was it that what seemed like half of the Dwarrow in the mountain suspected his ardor, he had no idea!
Anyway, all that was beside the point. Bilbo was here now, in the mountain, safe and sound, tucked into the Royal Wing—just like any Royal Guest would be, he told his sister who continued to snicker at Thorin’s behavior—and Thorin, being done with his day, was now looking forward to having dinner and conversation with his Hobbit—HIS FRIEND, he reminded himself—and relaxing.
That’s it.
Nothing else.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
And he absolutely did wear his best when greeting friends and allies, so just shut up already Dis!
(Okay, he didn’t actually, but he made a mental note to do so while Bilbo was here because, Mahal save him, He'd be DAMNED if his Hobbit didn't get hot under the collar whenever Thorin didn’t follow appropriate protocol and be nice to visitors. Elves—Thorin could only shake his head—he would have to nice to the damn tree-shaggers!)
Thorin headed towards the room that he had set aside for Bilbo. Not that the painted deep-green door was painted especially for Bilbo, it was just that the door needed to be painted anyway and green seemed a nice color, and no, Thorin hadn't only liked green since meeting Bilbo, so shut up again, Dis! Also, the fact that Bilbo's rooms were right next to his didn’t mean they were especially for Bilbo, it was just that—well, Thorin didn’t have a consort and so that room was empty and why not put Bilbo in them!
Didn’t mean a thing!
Thorin stood before the green door and knocked gently. The sound still reverberated too much for his taste but there was nothing for it. It wasn’t like he was trying to be secretive or hide the fact that he was having dinner with Bilbo from his sister or sister-sons or anyone else, it was just that—well, the sound was too loud and he worried that he might have startled Bilbo and maybe he should apologize and—
The door whipped open and suddenly there was no more air to breath.
Bilbo looked glorious. Deep, rich brown pants, cut mid-calf to show off his adorably furry feet, with an crisp, ivory colored shirt under a wine colored waistcoat with brass buttons in the shape of acorns; Thorin always loved those buttons—they always seemed to be a connection between them, the Oak of Bag End and his Oaken shield. But it was Bilbo’s honey-blond curls, glowing gold with the fire burning brightly and those lovely blue-green eyes that smiled on their own. Of course, Bilbo’s own toothy grin and pink cheeks were not to be dismissed.
“Thorin! Idmi, uzbad-ê!” Bilbo greeted the king in Khuz-dul and then immediately gave the king a warm hug which was returned gladly.
“Sullu id-yothur dastni, bâhu-ê!” Thorin replied. He would have marveled at Bilbo’s command of Khuz-dul, but at that moment, with Bilbo in his embrace, Thorin did not care about anything, he didn’t even care if all of Erebor walked by and saw them. He had waited two years for that hug. “I hope I am not late,” Thorin added as the two pulled apart.
“Not at all,” Bilbo insisted and took Thorin’s arm, gently guiding the Dwarf king into the room. “I was just putting the finishing touches on the food,” Bilbo said as he made his way towards the small kitchen, leaving Thorin to get comfort in the main living area. “Would you care for an ale or wine?”
“Wine would be nice.” Thorin usually had an ale at meals but he knew that Bilbo liked wine, so why not share a bottle together.
“I brought some of my wine from The Shire,” Bilbo called out. “I remember that you liked my father’s, so I brought a few bottles with me.” Bilbo came out of the kitchen with two goblets in his hand and strangely sheepish look on his face. “I hope you aren’t offended that I brought my own.”
Thorin stilled as he took the offered drink. “Of course not; why in the world would you think I would be offended?”
A deep pink blush spread across the Hobbit’s face and right up to the tips of his ears. “Well … you know …” He gave Thorin a small smile and shrug.
No, I don’t know, Thorin thought but decided to let it all go. Maybe it is some sort of Hobbit propriety where you can offend someone with homemade wine or something? Whatever it was, Thorin was not going to let it ruin their evening.
“Think no more of it, Bilbo,” Thorin offered and was glad to see his Hobbit relax.
“Wonderful,” Bilbo took a healthy drink from his own goblet. “Dinner is almost ready; so, please do make yourself comfortable.”
Thorin was once again left alone while Bilbo retreated to the small kitchen. Thorin took the opportunity to remove his robe, belt and outer tunic, laying them on the back of one of the several chairs in the room; the fire had been stoked to almost a blaze and the room was almost insufferably hot. However, he told himself that these were Bilbo’s rooms and his Hobbit could have it as warm as he liked. Maybe Bilbo is too cold? Thorin made a mental note to see about running hot water pipes through Bilbo’s rooms to maybe keep the chill out completely. Bilbo's comfort was paramount.
It was then that he noticed that scattered about the apartment were rocks everywhere! The rocks and stones were of various sizes, some were alone, and many were piled inside different size bowls. But most were in jar after jar of clear, hand blown glass. In fact, Thorin recognized these jars; they were made right here in Erebor and sold in the market place. Thorin turned and found that there were jars on the mantel, the side tables, grouped on either side of the fireplace on the floor, why even the table had a large group of jars and around these were rocks that had been bored out and set within these rocks were candles.
What the devil is going on? Thorin wondered. And the rocks varied form simple pebbles to great stones of marble, polished and gleaming. Why there were even some uncut but lovely gems here and there among the lot, and these were catching the flickering light of the fire and the candles and causing the entire room to kind of glitter and sparkle. It was lovely, no doubt, but Thorin couldn’t imagine why Bilbo had so damned many?!
Thorin decided, again, that these were Bilbo's chambers and he had every right to decorate as he saw fit; as far as Thorin was concerned, Bilbo could drape the whole damn place in Elvish finery! He prayed to Mahal that his Hobbit wouldn’t, but he also wouldn’t stop him.
“Here we are!” Bilbo called out and Thorin turned to see Bilbo wheeling out a small cart, loaded with dish after dish of food! For a second Thorin wondered if others were coming, but he rejected that; there were only two place settings at the table.
“You’ve been busy, my friend,” Thorin said softly.
“Oh,” Bilbo said, with a strange surprised look on his face. “I don’t mind at all you know.”
“Don’t mind?” Thorin wasn’t sure what there was to mind other than the copious amount of food.
“You know,” Bilbo said again, shrugging.
“Know what?” Thorin asked. He really didn’t know.
“Cooking especially for …” Bilbo seemed to stumble over the words in his head for a moment. “for … friends.”
Thorin remembered the tale of how Bilbo’s pantry had been raided prior to his arrival the night they met. But he also learned that Bilbo’s ire wasn’t entirely due to the Dwarrow’s pilfering of food, but because Hobbit’s found it enjoyable, pleasurable, and highly proper to cook for visitors and guests; especially for those they considered friends and dear ones.
Thorin reminded himself that he was just a friend.
Just as Bilbo had said.
“Then I thank you for the trouble you have gone through,” Thorin said, placing a hand over his heart and giving Bilbo a little bow.
Bilbo turned pink again. “Oh, it was no trouble,” he insisted.
Thorin sat and, although part of him wanted to assist Bilbo—it felt wrong for Bilbo to wait on him—he also knew that his Hobbit was very proper and would not have a ‘guest’ do work in his home. Granted, the mountain was Thorin’s and if there was ever an honored guest, it was Bilbo himself, but Thorin respected his Hobbit enough to know that these chambers were Bilbo’s mountain and that he, the king, were the visitor.
Bilbo pushed a large bowl of stew, Venison stew if Thorin was correct, into the king’s space. A deep inhale confirmed the meat but there was something else there that Thorin wasn’t sure of but he had his suspicions. Sure enough, one taste was all Thorin needed; onions.
If there was one thing in all of Middle-Earth that Thorin loathed it was onions. When they were so poor, onions were the only vegetable that they were able to grow most of the time and Thorin had come to equate the bulbs with hard times, poor conditions and bitter memories. And the stew didn’t have just a few but was instead loaded with onions. Not to mention, entirely too much garlic! By Mahal, Thorin figured he would smell of garlic for the next week! And there wasn’t a mushroom or potato to be seen! Why the stew was basically just meat, onions, garlic and gravy.
“How is it?” Bilbo asked brightly.
“Lovely,” Thorin said, smiling as he forced another mouthful down his throat. He looked at Bilbo’s plate and saw that his Hobbit had made himself a lovely breast of chicken, covered in wilted spinach and sprinkled with small white cheese curds, accompanied by roasted carrots and green beans, and a fresh, crisp salad of dark lettuce and covered in a vinaigrette dressing.
Thorin didn’t want to be ungrateful, but why was he given such a poor stew—they had better on their quest!—while Bilbo had, clearly, the better meal?!
“How was your first day in Erebor?” Thorin decided to just talk. He began to eat the warm bread that Bilbo had put out, trying to remove the taste of the stew; he was with Bilbo; that was all he cared about.
“Lovely, to be honest,” Bilbo said, lazily eating the meal Thorin’s mouth watered for. “Everyone has been so nice and really helped me tremendously.”
Helped him? What was there to help with? Thorin couldn’t quite work it out but then it didn’t matter in the end; as long as Bilbo was treated kindly and respectfully, Thorin was happy.
“I would never have been able to get all these rocks up here without assistance,” Bilbo continued on, unknowing of Thorn’s thoughts.
“Yes, why do you have all these here?” Thorin asked.
Bilbo looked stunned at the question. “Well … you know.”
For the third time that evening Bilbo had stated ‘you know’, but Thorin was at a loss; he didn’t know a thing that his Hobbit was talking about.
“Oh!” Bilbo exclaimed, getting up at once. “I forgot the wine!” In an instant, Bilbo took off for the kitchen.
Thorin could take no more. Without hesitation, as his stomach let out a bitter growl, he speared a huge chunk of Bilbo’s chicken and spinach with his fork and propelled it into his mouth. Oh, the taste was glorious; the meat tender and juicy; the spinach’s slight bitterness offset by the creamy taste of the cheese curds. Before he knew it, he had seized another bite and he stabbed several huge leaves of Bilbo’s salad.
It was just as Thorin was shoveling the huge amount of leafy greens past his lips, that Bilbo returned and gasped in horror.
“THORIN!”
The king stilled in body but had no other choice but to chew the salad he had stuffed in his mouth.
But Bilbo was beside himself. “What do you think you are doing?!”
“M’orry, ‘ilbo,” Thorin said around the bolus of food.
“Oh my goodness,” Bilbo fretted and Thorin finally understood that his Hobbit was scared, not angry. “I’ll go get Oin, or … or we’ll send one of the guards … or … just … just lie down and relax!” The Hobbit was in a right state. “Don’t panic!” Bilbo sounded nothing but panicked. “You’ll be fine … I just know it!”
Enough was enough.
“Bilbo,” Thorin said, grabbing his Hobbits hands and pulling him closer. “What is the matter?!”
“You’ll be okay, and …” Bilbo still stammered.
“Of course I will,” Thorin was getting a little irritated. “Why in the name of Mahal wouldn’t I be?!”
“You ate my salad!” Bilbo explained.
That explained nothing. “So, what?! Are you so unwilling to share your food with me? Is that why you gave me this …” he pointed to the offending stew, “dribble while you ate decent food?”
Bilbo stilled with wide eyes. “But Dwarrows can’t eat greens!”
“Where’d you get that from?” Thorin almost chocked on the ridiculousness of the statement.
“Bofur told me,” Bilbo said.
“Come again?” Had Thorin heard right?
“On the trip here,” Bilbo said, still sounding concerned and worried. “Bofur told me that Dwarrow can’t digest greens … that’s why you all hate them so much! Kili also told me that you loved onions and loathed spices and mushrooms; only liking garlic in your stews.”
Thorin was going to kill him some Dwarrow.
“Did he tell you anything else?” Thorin had a sneaky idea now why Bilbo purchased all the stones.
“They all did,” Bilbo said in a small voice. “Are you really not going to be sick or die because you ate the salad?”
Thorin wanted to laugh, he really did, but the heartbreaking concern in Bilbo’s voice gave him pause. “I'll be fine, Bilbo; trust me.” Because, apparently, you can’t trust anyone else.
“Well …” Bilbo sat down slowly and took a breath before continuing. “Kili told me that since Dwarrow were made of stone, you have to have stones all around you to honor your maker.” Bilbo waved at the jars and bowls of peddles and rocks about the place. “Nori told me that fire was essential, because you are so sensitive to the cold, so I should always have the fire stoked high and the temperature should be warm in my room.” Bilbo pointed to the fireplace and Thorin could only imagine his poor Hobbit carrying armful after armful of wood, alone, up to his room, just so Thorin would be comfortable. “Gloin warned me that bringing my wine would be seen as an offense against Dwarrow made ale and food and that I might be offending you by bringing it.” Thorin was growing more upset with each statement. “And Bofur insisted that I had to greet the other Dwarrow in the mountain with a traditional greeting or else I would offend them, so they all made me practice some phrases.”
Thorin felt his stomach swoop at that one. “What all did they tell you?”
“Well," Bilbo looked worried and sheepish, "one thing they said was that I had to greet you with a special greeting,” Bilbo said quietly as if he'd done something wrong; Thorin was so displeased at this point.
“Was it what you said to me when I arrived?” Thorin asked, hoping for the best.
“Yes,” Bilbo said.
Thorin was relived. “That’s good to know.”
“What did I actually say?” Bilbo inquired. “They told me it was a greeting.”
“And it was,” Thorin answered. “‘Idmi, uzbad-ê’ means, ‘Welcome, my King.’”
Bilbo released a sigh. “Thank Yavanna.” A small smile graced his beautiful face. “What did you say to me then?”
“I stated a traditional reply,” Thorin said. “‘Sullu id-yothur dastni, bâhu-ê!’, it means ‘All the same to you, my friend.’”
Bilbo gave Thorin a soft smile, but then his expression dropped and he looked at Thorin in fear. “But then … what did Bofur teach me to say to everyone else in Erebor?”
Thorin suddenly felt uneasy. "To everyone in Erebor?"
Bilbo nodded slowly.
"What phrase did Bofur teach you?" Thorin took a drink of wine to stay calm.
Bilbo said softly, “E alnâs ikh-khuzd uzbad.”
Thorin spat out his wine, rather than choke on the liquid; he was truly going to murder four Dwarrow before the night was through. Once he was able to breathe again he closed his eyes, and fisted his hands at his side, to keep from punching the wall.
“I am going to only have one heir come morning,” Thorin growled out, “because Kili will not live to see the sunrise; Ori will only have one brother to worry about by the time the night is through, because I will throw Nori down the deepest mine! Gimli will be fatherless and Oin will be the only son of Groin left in this mountain; and as for Bofur … by the time I’m done, the only thing left of him, in one piece, will be that stupid hat of his!”
Those four, through their pranking, and he suspected meddling, had practically ruined his reunion with Bilbo and Mahal would not be able to save them if—
“Thorin,” Bilbo said, sounding broken and—Mahal help Thorin—hurt. “Please tell me how bad it is.”
There was no way around it now. There was no way out of the situation unless Thorin wanted to shed Dwarrow blood, loose Bilbo and make them both laughing stocks.
But as soon as he made his decision, Thorin didn’t feel bad, he didn’t feel anger, he didn’t even feel fear—he felt light; a weight was lifted off him as if this was the right path to take.
Because it was in the end; the time for games, for pretending, for denying the truth was over.
“Bilbo,” Thorin took Bilbo’s hands in his own and guided them both to the loveseat in front of the fire. “Tell me ... how do you feel about me?”
The Hobbit stiffened and his face flushed almost crimson. “I … I feel … I mean … you are … my … you are my … friend?”
Even Thorin could tell that ‘friend’ was not the right word. What a fool I have been. “Is that all I am to you, Bilbo?” Tell me. I will beg if I must, but please tell me what I long to hear.
Bilbo opened his mouth but there were no words and the flush intensified.
This is ridiculous, Thorin chided himself. You’re a king for Mahal’s sake! “I can tell you, you are far more than a friend to me, my … my dear Hobbit.”
Bilbo stilled and only gaped at Thorin.
“I care for you, more than I have ever cared for another, and in all the ways one can care for someone … personally … intimately … with all my heart.”
Thorin could feel Bilbo’s hands tremble but he would not stop now.
“And for a very long time now,” Thorin pushed on with his confession, “I have denied, even to myself, what I have truly felt for you. But I will no longer let my fear dictate—”
“I love you,” Bilbo blurred out, coming back to himself. “I do. I love you, Thorin.”
Thorin almost wept at those words. “And I love you.”
Suddenly, Thorin found himself with a lapful of Bilbo Baggins and he gladly kissed those lips that he had so long desired to taste.
“Why did you not tell me sooner?” Bilbo asked as he pulled away and settled against Thorin’s broad chest.
“I could ask you the same, my love.” My love, Thorin felt overjoyed to use that which he only ever dreamed of using.
“I guess I was scared,” Bilbo stated honestly. “I feared you would reject me and then I would have rather died than not have you in my life.”
Thorin knew just what Bilbo was saying and planted a kiss in that lovely mass of honey-blond curls he adored. "You faced a dragon and yet you feared to tell me of your love."
Bilbo looked at Thorin, sheepishly. "Love is far more frightening than a fire-breathing dragon."
Thorin laughed, deep and without reservation. "Yes. You are very much correct in that assertion."
Bilbo giggled as well but soon grew serious. “What are we going to tell the others?” Bilbo wondered. “How will you tell your subjects?”
Thorin did laugh at that. “I really don’t need to at this point, to be honest.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Bilbo asked.
“You’ve done it already,” Thorin answered with a smirk.
“I did?” Bilbo looked like a deer in the campfire.
“That phrase our friends taught you,” Thorin replied. “‘E alnâs ikh-khuzd uzbad’, it translates ... literally ... to ‘I love the Dwarf king.’”
“WHAT?!” Bilbo jumped up and grabbed his head like it was going to roll off into the corner on its own. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”
Thorin shook his head. “You have already told half of Erebor that you love me. There isn’t much of a reason for me to put out a proclamation.” That wasn’t entirely true but it was a little fun to watch Bilbo’s face go crimson again.
“I am going to murder some of our friends,” Bilbo stated after several deep breathes.
“The bigger question,” Thorin stated and it was quite true, “was what the people you told that to said to you in return.”
Bilbo swallowed and took a deep breath. “A few just smiled, but most said … what was it … it was long, but I heard it from almost everyone …” Bilbo paced back and forth a couple of times, muttering to himself, trying to remember. He stopped with a snap of his fingers. “I remember now, it was ‘ikh-khuzd uzbad ma amsâlul lanasa astu.’”
Thorin smiled and released the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “That’s wonderful to know.”
“Is it?” Bilbo asked, sitting back down next to Thorin. “It can’t be too bad, can it? I mean … they didn’t think me stupid or something did they?”
“I doubt it,” Thorin said sincerely, “but if they did, they remained very flattering to you despite their feelings ... which is doubtful, as Dwarrow will gladly call a friend an idiot in broad daylight over the smallest of things.” Thorin took Bilbo’s hands in his own. “No, I believe that the citizens respect you and hold you in high regard.”
“What did they say to me then?”
“Their reply was a traditional blessing for a couple,” Thorin said, a warm feeling filling him that his people clearly loved Bilbo already. “It translates as, ‘The Dwarf king is lucky to love you.’ It’s a great compliment to you.”
“To me?” Bilbo looked perplexed. “It sounds more like it was a compliment to you.”
Thorin shook his head. “No, my love. You know about Ones, correct?”
Bilbo nodded; the subject had come up on the quest when Bilbo had asked Gloin and Bombur about their wives. Thorin had grown uncomfortable with the subject, least the company saw the love he held for Bilbo written on his face.
“Just because a Dwarrow finds their One,” Thorin stated, “Doesn’t mean that that person will return their regard. In fact, it’s rare for a Dwarf to find their One and for their One to love them in return. So, when someone says that I am lucky to love you, what they really mean is that I am blessed because you love me in return. That is why the compliment really rests with you.”
Bilbo leaned in and gave Thorin a warm embrace. “That is truly lovely.”
“Indeed,” Thorin was over the moon.
Bilbo sighed and looked around, saying, “What am I going to do with all these damn rocks?” Thorin chuckled deeply at that. “The man I bought them all from must have thought me mad!”
Thorin couldn't help but smile; he'd been thinking about that. "I'll need your permission," Thorin said, giving Bilbo a wink. "But, I have an idea."
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The next day, Thorin was in a blissful mood. Not only had he spent a glorious night with his love, but he had dealt with the four pranksters effectively.
Kili had been assigned to mountain maintenance, outside that is, and had been specifically instructed to pick up every single small pebble and stone within a hundred yard radius of the main gate. The look on his youngest nephew’s face had been priceless.
Nori had been tasked to forge clean up for the next two days, which, considering that the forges where never extinguished, meant that it was dreadfully hot, even to a Dwarrow. Thorin had almost laughed when Nori nearly wept.
Gloin was ordered to take inventory of all non-Dwarrow wine, ale, beer and miscellaneous kegs, through out all of Erebor. He was given three days to complete the list, which meant he would need to work from sun up to sun down. However, he was forbidden to have a single drop, least he not finish on time.
As for Bofur, he had been assigned to the main gate; there he was to greet every single individual, regardless of race, with the exactly same phrase, ‘At your service’, from the time the gates opened until they closed at night; in Sindarin no less. Further, his punishment was to end only when Bilbo said it was enough and not a single minute before. And, just to make sure Bofur did his job properly, Bilbo would be holding on to Bofur’s hat until Bofur’s task was complete.
However, when Thorin arrived at the council chambers, he was greeted by the sight of the entire council, including Balin and Dis, standing about, staring at the long council table. Down the center of the table were all the glass jars and bowls—still filled with the pebbles and stones—and most of the individual stones, all arranged artfully. It really was beautiful, if puzzling for the council.
“Interesting display, your majesty,” one of the old lords commented, while the rest murmured to themselves over the arrangement.
“Thank you,” Thorin said, taking his seat.
“Where did they all come from?” Dis asked, taking the chair to Thorin’s right.
“The marketplace,” Thorin quipped evasively.
“You know perfectly well what I meant,” Dis said with a pointed glare.
“They are my first courting gift from Master Baggins,” Thorin stated.
The council was effectively silenced at that.
“You’re courting?” Dis seemed extremely pleased.
“Yes, we began last night,” Thorin stated with a smug smile; he couldn’t be happier.
“Congratulations, laddie,” Balin whispered form Thorin’s left.
“But what do the …” another old lord stated, gesturing toward the display. “What does all this represent?”
Thorin knew his next statement would spread from this chamber like wildfire and that was exactly what was needed for Bilbo to be seen in a respected light.
“It’s simple really,” Thorin said, standing up and speaking so all could hear clearly. “Master Baggins said that if all of his feelings were as tangible as a pebble, there would not be enough stones in all of Middle-Earth to express his love for me.”
That did it.
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So taken were the Dwarrow with the story of Bilbo’s gesture, it became traditional for Ereboreans to give jars of pebbles to the ones they love; just like Bilbo Baggins gave to his beloved Dwarf King.