The evening had fallen in a gentle hush as the last rays of sunlight sank behind the misty mountains. The company had settled around the small campfire, the familiar scent of roasting meat mingling with the earthy aroma of pine and damp wood. It had been a long day of travel, and the hobbits, Bilbo and you, had finally found a brief moment of peace after the hustle and bustle of the journey.

You, as a herbologist, had been tending to the small pouch of medicinal plants you carried, checking for any that might need sorting or drying. You were far from home, a place you’d never imagined leaving, but somehow the life of adventure had found you, and you had decided to follow Bilbo, though your heart still longed for the Shire.

Bilbo sat across from you, gently fiddling with a map of the journey, his brow furrowed in concentration. Thorin sat next to him, leaning against a tree, his broad form half-illuminated by the firelight. As always, his presence was commanding, but there was a gentleness to him tonight—something more than the usual stoic king. You hadn’t thought much of it at first. He was Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of the company. His actions were simply those of a leader. But now, as the days went by, you were starting to notice things—small gestures, unexpected kindnesses.

Earlier in the day, Thorin had given Bilbo his coat when the wind had turned cold. You’d noticed the way Bilbo hesitated before pulling it around his shoulders, as if surprised by the action, but then he had simply thanked him. You’d also noticed Thorin’s quiet way of ensuring you were safe when the path grew dangerous, his careful attention to your needs.

None of it made sense until tonight.

You sat in a quiet corner of the camp, looking down at your herb pouch, though your mind was elsewhere. Thorin’s actions were starting to make sense. Or rather, they were starting to make too much sense. And it wasn’t just the coat or the kind words or the glances that lingered a little too long. It was something more. Something you hadn’t expected.

Thorin stood up suddenly and moved over to where you sat by the fire. His eyes met yours with a calm intensity, and for a moment, you swore you saw something flicker in them. He motioned for you to sit, and without questioning it, you did. Bilbo raised an eyebrow, sensing the shift, but said nothing. The three of you sat in comfortable silence as Thorin reached for your hair.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Thorin didn’t answer at first. Instead, his large, capable hands gently parted your hair, fingers working through the strands with a kind of precision that was unexpected. You blinked in confusion, unsure of what was happening. Your eyes drifted to Bilbo, who was watching you both with a mixture of curiosity and something else—something softer. But before you could ask any more questions, Kili’s voice broke through the quiet.

“You’re courting two hobbits, Thorin,” he said with a playful grin, though his tone carried the weight of the observation.

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Thorin stopped, his hands hovering near your hair as he slowly looked up at Kili, then back at you and Bilbo. You blinked in shock. Courting? The word hung in the air like a forgotten melody, both sweet and bitter.

Thorin’s expression didn’t shift, though there was a flicker of something—something that might have been vulnerability—behind his eyes. He straightened up, his posture proud yet gentle. “Yes,” he said simply. “I’m courting both of you.”

“Wait,” Bilbo paused, clearly trying to make light of the situation, “what does that mean, exactly?”