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Fili said it was almost a tradition. Kili said that every dignified dwarf had played this game.
When Bofur joined this conversation and said the exactly same things, Bilbo Baggins could only let out a weary sigh. He was absolutely certain of two things. First, he was not a dignified dwarf (only a dignified hobbit, he hoped). Second, these dwarves had most likely just made the game up on the spot out of sheer boredom.
Yet, something deep in his soul whispered, No, no, Bilbo Baggins, this game definitely, absolutely exists. These are dwarves, after all. They are weird. And their games are as weird. So, he couldn't be entirely sure. And right now, two dwarven princes and one toy-maker with broad grins weren’t doing anything to boost his confidence.
"So, so, laddie," Bofur shook his head, leaning down slightly to bring himself to Bilbo's eye level, "Shag, Marry, Kill. Who would you choose for each?"
"Think carefully, Mr. Boggins!! This is a veeeeeery important game!"
"Aye, aye! Tradition, culture! Your choices will give us a deeper understanding of your psychological profile and your 'suitability' for the quest!"
While Bilbo blinked stupidly and turned his head, trying to look at whoever was speaking at any given second, Fili had already called Ori over. Winking at him, Fili snatched a quill and a piece of parchment from the youngest dwarf and began eagerly scribbling something down. Kili raised an eyebrow and, seeing what his brother was doing, joined in, actively whispering in his ear and pointing at the paper.
Finally, just as Bilbo—sighing ruefully—was about to explain to Bofur why he didn't think this game was a particularly grand idea, a piece of parchment with the rules written on it was shoved right under his nose.
Bilbo stared at the sheet in utter bewilderment.
1. Only ONE name per category.
2. It is highly appreciated to justify your choice. In this case, we will not consider any "shag" or "marry" as real sympathy or, let alone, romantic interest, and "kill" as antipathy or, let alone, intention.
3. You CANNOT refuse!!! This game is a CRUCIAL part of dwarven CULTURE, dear burglar hired into the company of HIS ROYAL MAJESTY! You wouldn't want to insult our culture, would you, Master Bilbo?!?!??!
Further down the page, there was a blank line for a signature. A signature...
Bilbo Baggins shifted his gaze from the parchment to Fili and Kili, who were beaming at him with the widest grins while holding out the quill. Then he looked at Bofur, who was reading the rules with an obvious smirk. Bilbo swallowed hard.
Driven more by sheer reflex than actual common sense, he signed the paper. He immediately cursed himself mentally, thinking he should have checked the legitimacy of these rules and their actual relevance to dwarven culture with Balin first. Bilbo also thought that he would probably prefer another orc and warg attack—and maybe a few other horrors thrown in—to standing here at this campsite, surrounded by several entirely too-pleased-with-themselves dwarves.
When Bilbo, rolling his eyes, said he would kill any of the orcs, shag one of the elven maidens, and marry Gandalf, the dwarves let out sighs of deep disappointment.
When Bilbo added that he could also marry Elrond, the dwarves grimaced, and Kili feigned a gag reflex.
Right after that, a fourth rule appeared on the list, courtesy of Nori, who had stealthily crept up behind Bilbo.
4. You must choose ONLY from the members of the company.
Bilbo frowned, resentfully thinking to himself that for a move like that, Nori could easily go straight into the «kill» category.
"We won't rush you, mate," Bofur patted Bilbo on the shoulder. "Think on it!"
Bilbo could feel the eyes of the rest of the company on his back. They might not have heard exactly what was happening, but they were clearly intrigued. Dwarves, after all, were naturally curious creatures, and when there was a whiff of an impending embarrassment involving their hobbit, every single one of them pricked up their ears. Even Balin, settled nearby with his scrolls, suddenly cast a few interested glances at the youth fussing around the burglar, and at Bofur and Nori.
"Well then, Master Boggins!" Kili nudged closer. "Upon which of us will you bestow your matrimonial choice? Whom are you ready to strike down with your sword, and with whom will you share... a bed?"
Fili snickered.
Bilbo felt a rush of heat flood his cheeks. Kill someone from the company..? Marry or... sleep. With dwarves. An absolute nightmare...
He took a deep breath. "And still... does Gandalf count as a member of the company?"
Fili, Kili, and Bofur rolled their eyes in perfect unison.
"No, Master Baggins, he does not!" the princes snapped in chorus, while Bofur shook his head sympathetically but firmly.
"Gandalf is a natural disaster, not a member of the company," Nori added, fiddling with something up his sleeve. "He comes and goes as he pleases. So, stick to those who share your campfire and your cooking pot, Mr. Burglar."
Bilbo snorted loudly and looked from Nori to Bofur, from Bofur to Kili, from Kili to Fili, and from Fili back to Bofur.
"Kill all of you. You can decide the order yourselves."
Disappointed groans erupted.
"That violates the number 1 rule! One name!"
"You are so cruel, Mr. Baggins!"
Bilbo merely scowled, narrowing his eyes, and ignoring their protests, he continued.
"Marry... uh.. Balin."
For a split second, a thought had crossed the little regular gentleman's mind that the best marriage option might be the one about to ascend the throne. However, Mr. "Future-King-Under-the-Mountain" clearly despised him—and quite openly, Bilbo thought—so uttering his name would put Bilbo in a rather humiliating position before the others.
Kili and Fili whistled. Bofur raised his eyebrows. As for Balin, hearing his name, he finally lifted his head and looked at Bilbo with a soft, almost embarrassed surprise.
"That is a great honor, Master Baggins," he said gravely. "Though I suspect my candidacy was born of desperation."
Bilbo let out a tiny squeak, realizing just how many dwarves in the company were actually listening to this conversation. Then he blinked and slowly tilted his head.
"Desperation?" Bilbo echoed. "Not at all. You are... you are sensible, Master Balin! You are pleasant to talk to. And unlike some.. dwarves," Bilbo shot a pointed look at Fili and Kili, "you don't try to drag me into questionable games in the middle of a dark forest. I consider that an excellent foundation for marriage!"
Balin laughed softly, clearly flattered by such a practical, hobbitish approach, and nodded respectfully.
"Right, right," Bofur rubbed his hands together impatiently, his eyes gleaming with excitement beneath his ear-flapped hat. "Marriage is sorted out; gray-haired wisdom wins. We'll skip the 'kill' category for now, since you've bloodthirstily set your sights on the four of us..."
"We will not skip it," Bilbo huffed, surprisingly relaxing a bit, and even smirked slightly. "The four of you are my definitive answer for that category."
Nori began to protest, prompting Bilbo to narrow it down and consign only him to the chopping block, remembering that just before leaving the Shire, he had noticed his family silver salt cellar missing from his home.
"And whom would you, well..." Kili wagged his eyebrows suggestively. "You know."
Bilbo mentally ran through the roster.
Shag Bofur? Heaven forbid, the dwarf never shut his mouth for a single minute; his tall tales would give you a migraine right in the middle of it. Bifur? With that axe in his head, it would be far too extreme. Bombur? The hobbit was terrified he would simply be crushed. Fili and Kili? Too young, too loud, and honestly, it felt borderline sacrilegious. Ori? Also a mere lad. Dori? With that smothering, almost maternal care and chamomile tea, he hardly fit the bill. Dwalin? Far too terrifying... Gloin and Oin? One had a wife and child, the other a ear-trumpet which, Yavanna forbid, might fall out at the most awkward moment. That left only...
Bilbo frowned as a familiar, heavy tread echoed from beside an old oak tree behind the dwarves.
Thorin had returned.
He walked in scowling, clearly displeased that scouting the area had yielded nothing comforting, and instinctively headed toward Dwalin, who sat on a boulder, silently sharpening his massive axe. Thorin sat down heavily beside him, casting a brief glance toward the huddled group.
Bilbo, catching a glimpse of the movement and automatically noting the leader's return, quietly stated, "Thorin."
Fili and Kili exchanged a glance, then stared blankly at Bilbo. Bofur did the same.
"What?.." Bilbo blinked in confusion, not yet understanding why they were suddenly looking at him like that, or that he had just made a catastrophic, irreversible tactical error. "I just said Thorin is back..."
Kili, who stood closest to the hobbit and had been catching his every word with eyes burning with anticipation, froze. A complex mental process unfolded across his face, taking about half a second. And then, his mouth stretched into a smile so sly, so delighted, and so incredibly loud that Bilbo finally realized something terrible had happened.
"That wasn't an answer! I didn't... I didn't mean that at all!" Bilbo’s cheeks flared with a blush so deep and furious it could rival hot coals. "Listen here, you insufferable..."
"Oh ho!" Kili’s voice rang across the clearing like the strike of a gong. "You want to SHAG our uncle, Mr. Baggins?!"
The only thing Bilbo Baggins really wanted at that moment was, actually, not to shag the king, but to die.
The silence that followed was instant and absolute. Even the crackle of the campfire suddenly seemed muffled. Dwalin stopped sharpening his axe. Bombur froze with his spoon halfway to his mouth. In fact, anyone who had been doing anything at all stopped doing it that very second and stared at the hobbit.
Bilbo felt the ground slipping from beneath his feet. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Or better yet, swallow all the dwarves! Every single one of them, without exception.
"What? No!" he shrieked, flailing his arms. "That's not what I meant! I only said his name because he... he... he's back! It was a slip of the tongue! I just saw him approaching!"
The silence showed no signs of dissipating. To his horror, Bilbo realized absolutely everyone was looking at him. And at the center of this mute theater, on the boulder next to Dwalin, sat Thorin Oakenshield, who was slowly shifting his gaze from the flushed hobbit to his nephews, and then to Bofur and Nori. Unfortunately, his face was cast in shadow, making it impossible for the hobbit to read his expression.
"And besides, this is all a game! A stupid, ridiculous game you lot invented just to make a fool out of me! I don't want to... I don't want to sleep with him at all! Or does that sound rude? I mean, I'm not... it's not that I'm strictly against it, I... I mean. NO. I want to sleep alone! In my own hole!"
He caught his breath and added, quieter now, with the despair of an absolutely doomed hobbit: "In my own bed... with my own books..."
"A game?" Thorin's voice was deceptively calm. Far too calm. "What game would that be, Bofur?"
Bofur, who a second ago had been grinning the widest, suddenly developed a keen interest in the stars in the sky and the fur on his hat. "Oh, you know, Your Majesty... Just a bit of fun... a trifle..." he muttered and smiled relaxively.
"A trifle?! You yourselves, you..! ...these... dwarves... explained to me that it is a crucial part of dwarven culture! And as an honored guest, I have no right to refuse!"
Bilbo looked at Thorin with a hopeful, pitiful plea for understanding.
Thorin slowly turned his head toward Kili and Fili. His eyes narrowed. Not a single muscle twitched on his face, but something in his gaze made his nephews take a synchronized step back.
"A 'crucial part of culture', is it?" Thorin repeated in an icy tone. "Somehow, I have managed to live nearly two hundred years without it. As did my father, and my grandfather. Strange."
Kili swallowed nervously. Fili blinked desperately. Bofur and Nori already seemed to be sitting quite a distance away, talking about something entirely unrelated.
"Since you are so deeply concerned with the cultural education of our hobbit," Thorin took a step forward, clasping his hands behind his back, "the two of you will take the first watch tonight. And the second one as well. You will have plenty of time to discuss all the finer nuances of dwarven tradition."
"But Uncle!.." Kili whined, rapidly losing his bravado.
Thorin shot them a dark scowl, and the nephews (wearing horribly sour expressions) vanished like chaff in the wind. They dragged a quiet Ori along with them, while Nori and Bofur, trying not to draw attention, carefully sidled away toward the campfire, leaving the ill-fated parchment discarded on the grass.
Bilbo finally let out a sigh of relief. However, that relief was short-lived. It lasted precisely until the moment Thorin, who was about to turn back to Dwalin, suddenly looked at the burglar once more.
"Though... it was rather flattering, Master Burglar," Thorin said quietly.
He smirked—barely noticeably, just with one corner of his mouth, but in a way that made Bilbo's knees feel weak for a second, as a fresh wave of heat rushed to his face.
What a scoundrel, the hobbit thought desperately, staring at the retreating back of the king. And in that very second, he mentally rewritten the rules of the game, placing Thorin Oakenshield into absolutely every single category.