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Chapter Text

He received a message from the wizard several months ago, one of the many ravens flapping about towards his office window and speaking of how Gandalf was coming to Erebor. The message seemed urgent, to why the dwarf king wasn’t sure. The battle was over, had been over for the past six years, Thorin Oakenshield now the great King of Erebor with his nephews and sister by his side, as well as the rest of the Company. Erebor was flourishing; trade deals were reinstated, dwarves returned to their old homes, the Men of Dale and the Elves of the Woodland Realm were becoming their allies despite old tensions. Thorin couldn’t be happier.

Well, not so much happier- more content.

The Dwarf King’s mind often wandered towards a familiar green door to a warm Smial amongst rolling green hills and prosperous peoples. There were a few times that the dwarves of his company would find him looking longingly towards the West where they once traveled across Middle Earth through rain, sleet, and snow to reclaim a mountain from a fire breathing dragon. As he stood on those balconies of his chambers, which had become a common occurrence, his mind would always fall on one particular thought: What of Bilbo Baggins?

Before the battle, there were screams and bellows of how the hobbit had betrayed him. Banished! He had declared in his gold sickness, having almost thrown Bilbo over the stone gates of Erebor, though thanks to the wizard and the Company, the hobbit was able to make his escape in the safe hands of Elves and Men. Then the gold sickness had broke, and the dwarf King brought out of his insanity to fight alongside his brethren in war, the likes of which be was barely able to get out of alive. All of which was thanks to the hobbit, who seemingly appeared out of nowhere and struck Azong through the back so Thorin could take off the pale orc’s head. After the orc’s head had bounced and slid across the ice, it was then that the dwarf found the state of the hobbit he had called traitor.

Bilbo was missing an eye, and blood was heavy amongst his right side, staining the thick blue coat he wore. It was a miracle that the hobbit was able to stay on his feet long enough to run across the battlefield, much less to engage against Azog. Though the King was heavily injured as well, Thorin caught Bilbo as he fell and he called for help frantically when the great forms of the Eagles rose over the horizon.

He had forgiven Bilbo, even far before he joined the battle but when the Eagles had taken them, Thorin too lost consciousness. When he awoke, he wasn’t sure how long he had been out, all he wanted to know was where was the hobbit?!

Gone is what they said. Not dead, just gone. Somehow the halfling slipped out sometime in the coming nights from the Medical tent, all traces of him disappearing. Thorin had ordered a search party, which was something that the Company was happily to oblige in with a growing number of men and Elves joining in on the search. But they found nothing, no tracks, no clothes, not even a lock of golden curly hair. Bilbo simply disappeared.

So in the coming years as King, that very question of What of Bilbo Baggins never left his mind. The question as it turned out, seemed to be the related topic upon the grey wizard’s arrival to Erebor. Gandalf had been very displeased when he arrived to the dwarven kingdom, and upon sitting down in the King’s private office, he began to speak of his travels in his search of their burglar.

“I have traveled East, and to the South,” the wizard’s booming voice spoke, authoritative and knowing, “I have made my way to the borders of the North and back, crossing the Misty Mountains, and I have braved the Mirkwood and encountered armies of goblins. I traveled West through Bree amongst the Men, and reached the rolling green hills of the border of the Shire. And do you know what I found, Thorin Oakenshield?”

The dwarven King was sitting his rather luxurious office chair, arms stiff upon his delicately intricately decorated desk. Though he cared not for its design or how it was so to represent the value of royalty as he listened intently to the wizard, “What did you find Gandalf?”

“Nothing, Thorin,” the wizard had practically snapped back, obviously very troubled. He gripped his staff tightly, “I had traveled up Bagshot row to find Bag End taken over by a weasel of woman - one of Bilbo’s nasty relatives, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins! Dreadful hobbit she was! Spouting all sorts of things and-” Thorin suddenly became aware of Gandalf’s angry rants as he prattled on about Bilbo’s rather disloyal and snobbish relatives. He went on and on about how he released a dark shadow over the hobbit woman when he came upon Bag End to hear nothing but her curses and vile insults. The wizard had practically ran her out of Bag End, demanding to speak to the Thain at once.

Balin was gracious enough to bring Gandalf a cup of tea to calm him down. It worked, though not as much as they hoped, the wizard stirring his spoon with the utmost scowl on his face. He cleared his throat, Gandalf trying to retain his professional demeanor, “ But nonetheless,” he sighed, “I did come away with some information.”

“Information?” Thorin had quirked an eyebrow, his back straightening and eyes looking up, hopeful.

The wizard nodded, “Yes,” he sipped his tea, “Thankful I am of a one Hamfast Gamgee, who was able to pull me aside privately to speak about Bilbo Baggins. Indeed, Bilbo had returned to the Shire, but he found himself unwelcomed by the Shire folk.”

“What?” came Balin’s response, taking Thorin’s shocked reaction to a verbal level.

Gandalf fumed, setting his tea cup down on Thorin’s desk. “Yes, I was most cross when I learned of it as well. They did not take well to his appearance as it seemed, he looked, as they said, ‘Like most unlike a respectable hobbit’ and they did not welcome his ‘tales of adventure and Tookish nature’. Only Hamfast seemed to be welcoming to Bilbo.” Thorin could almost see the steam rising from the wizard’s ears, “They ran him out of town as it seemed, Hamfast had to sneak him back to offer him what little shelter he could. But according to dear Hamfast, it was all too much for the hobbit.”

“Oh laddie,” Balin whispered, having to sit down in the neighboring chair next to the wizard due to the shock.

Thorin’s hands were clenched atop the desk, knuckles almost cracking. His dark eyes whipping up to the wizard, “Did he give any clue as to where Bilbo is?”

“Only a few,” Gandalf sighed, lightly tapping his staff, and the dwarves were listening intently, “He had left five years ago, originally going east. Hamfast receives a letter from him every once in awhile, and the last he heard was that Bilbo was near the borders of Rohan.”

“Then Rohan is where we must go,” came Thorin’s sudden outburst.

It brought Balin out of his shock, and the elder dwarf looked on him, confusion settling on his features, “Thorin?”

“Balin, inform Dwalin to ready an escort,” Thorin stood up from his chair, moving to grab his fur coat from the wrack that it hung on.

“But Thorin-” Balin raised a finger.

“Dis is very well capable of watching the kingdom while I’m away,” he glanced to the elder dwarf, putting on his majestically fur coat that was riddled with the finest colors of deep blues and silver.

“Aye, but laddie-”

“And the court will just have to make due with my absence if they want to continue arguing over mundane controversies,” Thorin was holding back to the sneer at the thought, “This is a more important matter.”

“My King-”

“Balin,” came the sighing response from the king, and he looked to his advisor. His shoulders were laxed, and the look of acceptance of what had to be done was standing full fledged, and strong upon the Dwarven King’s face. “I have to do this,” Thorin spoke as calmly as he could, “For over half a decade we have left our gratitude unspoken to Bilbo, we owe it to him for what he has done for our kingdom. For-For what he has done for me.”

Balin was silent, and the ever knowing smile grew on his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes on his old, grey face. He tilted his head towards the King, “Thorin,” he said, “I was just going to add that you better tell your nephews before you go on a hunting for the hobbit. They’d never forgive you if you went without them.”

There was a sigh, though Thorin’s smile was evident as he looked down to his oldest and dear friend and nodded, “Of course.”

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So the King set out, with his Captain of the Guard, his two nephews, a toymaker, an escort of the finest dwarven soldiers Erebor had to offer, and a wizard it tow. They found themselves traveling for weeks, crossing over Mirkwood and down the Misty Mountains, following the trail that led all the way to forests of Rohan.

It was along their travels that they ask in every settlement that they stop in if anyone had seen the likes of a Halfling? Most don’t answer, others just shake their heads, and the latter just run and hide at the sight of a Dwarven party marching through. But it’s when they stop in at a tavern in a small village along the trail that they learn of their Burglar’s activities.

“Aye, small and short he was,” the tavern owner said, a plump bearded man with less teeth than hair, “Won against some of the strongest drunkard’s in the village in a challenge! You should've seen the little fellow! One eye and a sharp smile, made off with pockets full of gold!”

“Did he speak of where he was heading?” Thorin had asked, holding his tankard of ale.

The tavern owner shook his head, “Nay, he didn’t,” he frowned, “One of the scouts said he was headin’ northwest towards the forests. Nothing else m’afraid.”

Thorin had thanked him in their short stay in the village, pressing on the next day.

It became a pattern with each settlement or village they would hit, the tale of a halfling that could drink anyone under the table, or was quick with a blade or bow, or could swindle you out of your house and home. None of which sounded like Bilbo, and Thorin was beginning to worry about what the hobbit had been doing in the last few years that would turn him over so badly.

Fili and Kili had begun stating their theories as they rode along, having just left the last settlement which turned out to be the final settlement before they reached the borders of Rohan. Fili would stroking his beard, musing, “You think he held up with the Elves?”

“For Bilbo to be good with a bow? I hope not!” Kili had exclaimed, “I would feel insulted at the thought!”

“You’re thinking it, therefore you’re already insulted, Kee,” came Fili flat reply.

“Well I’m insulted regardless!” Kili waved his hand, “If anyone should of taught Bilbo how to use a weapon, it should of been us!”

Aye, it should've been.

Thorin closed his eyes, the painful thought crossing his mind. It was one of the many times his mind would wander, how he would imagine what would’ve been like if Bilbo stayed with them in Erebor. He wanted to show him the halls of his ancestors, show him the markets, and the mountains secret gardens that were hidden carefully from sight. He would of taught Bilbo had to use a sword properly, treated him to the finest dinners, and showered him in the best clothing. He had wanted so badly to see the hobbit in his colors, in his robes like he had promised. It was one of the many promises he made to Bilbo before they sailed across the lake to the Lonely Mountain.

Truth be told, it was no secret amongst the Company that the King and the hobbit had eyes for each other. It started out slow of course, after the carrock; a touch of the shoulder there, a graze of a the hand there, they would sit together and smoke together, even talk about each other’s childhoods from time to time. Their first real kiss was within the dungeons of Mirkwood, Bilbo was so distraught to see Thorin in the cell that the King couldn’t bear it and he pulled the hobbit against his lips. It was their promise to each to survive all of this, to survive through this journey so they could have a future together. And of course, the hobbit came through and down the river they went in a caravan of barrels. When they had finally reached Laketown, hours after the fancy banquet that the lord of the town had held to no doubt try and persuade Thorin to fall in his good graces, he and Bilbo had retired for the night. Their faces flushed and stomachs full of ale, they had slipped out and practically stumbled as they excused themselves from the table. He vaguely remembers the company passing along smug smirks and grins as they passed by, watching them leave and chuckling to themselves and no doubt tossing coin purses to the winners of whatever said bet was instated. He and Bilbo were already kissing by the time the door to the dining hall was closed, both giggling like tweens as they ascended the stairs to the bedrooms. At some point Thorin caught Bilbo by the hips and lifted him up, carrying him up the stairs as he kissed him passionately all the way to the private bedroom that they were sharing. They spent the night in bed with each other, tangled in each other limbs under the thin sheets, Thorin watching as Bilbo slept next to him. He made all of his promises to the hobbit that night, speaking fondly and voice soft. He knew then that Bilbo was his One.

And all of that changed with the coming of Thorin’s gold sickness, which was still something he struggled with. The ever wracking guilt would plague him and he would find himself sometimes unable to face his family or friends. His nephews were mostly the ones that would pull him out of his hole and back onto the surface, but every time he felt that there was still a part of him down there in the darkness that refused to come up. And he knew it was because of words unspoken to a particular little hobbit. They made camp near the forest that night, Thorin taking on the first watch despite Dwalin’s and his guard’s concerns. He simply shook his head, saying he wanted the time alone and he would let them know when he was ready for bed. The Dwarf King sat by the crackling fire, smoking his pipe and letting his thoughts wander. He didn’t register the slowly creeping darkness that was stalking towards the camp, or the cracking of twigs and snapping of branches. There was a cry, a screeching animalistic roar that echoed and it caused the whole camp to jump from their spots.

Thorin barely had a chance to grab for his sword before an orc came flying out of the forest. More orcs followed, the pack descending onto the camp like locusts and the terrorizing had begun. There was so much chaos, the Dwarf King was battling against one orc then to block against another. He doesn’t know how they got separated, the caravan scattering and Dwalin screaming to Thorin and the Princes to run when more orcs began to pop out of the woodwork. All the King remembers is running, hearing Fili calling for him and Kili, and their voices carrying as they called for Gandalf.

He found himself alone in the forest, three orcs trailing behind him. He was still brandishing his sword but one of his arms had taken a hit and he could feel the blood trickling down his clothes. He slid to a halt against the grass, the darkness of the forest overshadowing him as he came upon a rock wall in his path. He was trapped, and he cursed when he heard the growls and snarls of orcs stalking up to him. Thorin kept his stance, holding Orcrist up to ready himself and cursed out a few words in Khuzdul to the gnarly beasts before they descended upon him.

One orc flung his axe, the other swinging a sword and Thorin ducked, swinging his sword in retaliation. It only brought him a blow to the back of the head, an orc somehow landing a club against the dwarf’s skull. The Dwarf King fell, teeth clench and eyes fighting unconsciousness as he sat on all fours against the ground. He could see the trio of orcs walking up to stand over him, and the obvious leader raised his axe to ready the finishing blow. Before Thorin could even attempt a way of escape, an arrow shot through the orc’s throat. The creature went down, and the other two scurried around to look for the attacker. The last two orcs were easily slain, one more arrow piercing an orc’s skull while the other lost it’s head to an oncoming blade.

Thorin was barely able to keep his eyes open, his head throbbing and his limbs growing weak. He collapsed against the cool grass, hand limply grasping onto Orcrist as his would be savior appeared from the darkness of the forest. His vision blurred and all Thorin could make out was the faint, blue glow from a small blade that withered and faded. Before he felt any hands upon him, Thorin lost consciousness.

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His head was throbbing, that much he knew as Thorin opened one of his eyes. The sun was peeking through the small window that sat above him, old curtains lightly swaying now and then. He sat up, groaning as he brought one his hands to his head. He paused when he saw that it was his injured hand, but it was treated and carefully wrapped in gauze. Thorin could feel the gauze around his head, fingers delicately feeling around his forehead. It was then that he became aware of his surroundings.

Thorin found himself sitting upon a small bed within what appeared to be a small cottage. It wasn’t anything grandeur, the bed overlooking a small fire pit next to a table and chairs. A black pot was sitting over the firepit, obviously cooking something fresh from what Thorin could tell from the smell. Near the table and chairs was a small set of shelves, most likely housing any preserves or jars of food and spices. He swung his legs to stand, a wave of nausea hitting him briefly but he fought it tooth and nail to keep whatever was left in his stomach down. He shook it off, standing up from the bed and took a deep breath to ready himself so he could thank whoever saved his life.

“You shouldn’t being standing,” came a calm voice that stopped Thorin dead in his tracks.

When the dwarf looked over he found a rocking chair sitting in the corner across from the bed. His eyes laid upon the form that sat in the rocking chair, and his shoulders sagged at the sight as his breath escaped his lips.

“B-Bilbo?” came Thorin’s quiet reply.

The halfling tilted his head, sitting in his rocking chair as he held Orcrist and studying the blade carefully. He wasn’t even looking at the dwarf, but Thorin could only stare at the hobbit as he sat. Bilbo was wearing a worn, faded dark green coat that was obviously meant for Men. His left eye was clasped with an leather eyepatch that wrapped around his head and covered most of the socket and some of his cheek. His tunic was not much lighter than his coat, his pants brown and roughly dirtied, with a belt that no doubt held Sting close to his hip. His right arm, from what he could see was wrapped in black cloth, no doubt to hide the scars from the battle.

Bilbo wandered his good eye over Orcrist, “You know I never got to take a good look at your sword,” he said, voice musing as he thought aloud. He ran a finger down the blade, “The craftsmanship is quite beautiful.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin called again softly, a smile gracing his lips as he stepped forward, “Mahal, you’re all right-”

He was met with the sharp end of Orcrist, Bilbo holding his sword out to keep the dwarf where he stood. Bilbo’s good eye was staring at the King, the stern glare evident with caution, “What are you doing here?” his voice spoke low and warningly.

Thorin had raised his hands, eyes looking down the length of the sword before they drifted to the hobbit. “Bilbo,” he breathed, “I mean you no harm.”

“What are you doing here, Thorin?” came the question again, more venom in the hobbit’s voice.

The King swallowed, and he sighed, “We were looking for you.”

“Why?” Bilbo was quick to reply.

Thorin held his gaze to one hazel eye that shot back at him, “Because you disappeared, Bilbo,” he kept himself as calm as possible.

The one eye that stared back at the dwarf narrowed into a questioning slit, Bilbo twitching his nose as he tilted his head, “Hm.” He let the sword drop, the tip of the blade meeting the dirt of the floor, and Bilbo stood up from the rocking chair. Golden curls swayed as he turned his head towards the dwarf, “So you led a dwarven caravan to hunt me down?”

Thorin blinked, “We weren’t hunting you down, Bilbo,” he finally let his hands fall, “Gandalf spoke to us about your disappearance, we set out to find you!”

There was a sputter of muttering come from the hobbit, something along the lines of ‘Meddlesome wizards’ and ‘Why can’t he keep his robes out of someone else's’ business.’ Bilbo swung the sword to slide it back into its scabbard that was now hanging around the hobbit’s shoulders. The hobbit twitched his nose once more, sniffling, “Well,” he looked over to the dwarf, “There’s food in the pot, and water over in that little pitcher-thing over- oh, you’re a dwarf! I’m sure you’re not that stupid! Figure it out! I have a date with a pack of orcs!”

Thorin was watching the hobbit, a little perplexed at Bilbo’s habits as he scurried around the small cottage. Bilbo had gathered his bow and his arrows, still brandishing Orcrist on his back before making to the door. He gave Thorin one last look, “Oh, one last thing O’ King under the Treasure Hoard,” his tongue clicked as he spoke, “It wouldn’t be wise to try and leave, I have a number of traps placed intricately around my little home. So I advise you stay in for your own safety.” With the swing of the door, the hobbit was gone.

The dwarf was left standing there by the bed, eyes wide and mouth agape. A date with a pack of orcs? Traps around the cottage? And for the love of Mahal, just because he was a dwarf didn’t make him stupid! Thorin glanced at the black pot that was bubbling lightly underneath the lid, then turning back to the door where Bilbo once stood. The hobbit’s behavior was strange, the rumors he head heard before about Bilbo were starting to become more and more real. He sighed, and went to the table to grab a wooden bowl and spoon to feed himself, though he lacked an appetite. As he poured the stew into his bowl, his eyes stared listlessly down at the contents as the steam rose to evaporate into the air.

He took one bite, letting his shoulders sag with a sigh as he even couldn’t find the joy in eating. His mind kept reeling over his little hobbit, and he couldn’t find himself saying anything else as he spoke quietly in the silence of the cottage, “What has happened to you, Mr. Baggins?”

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On the first day, Thorin; despite Bilbo’s warnings, did indeed step outside the cottage soon after finishing his meal. There was a part of him that wanted to challenge the hobbit’s words, his feet stepping carefully onto the grass just mere feet away from the cottage’s front door. He had been trained in the art of trapping, so he was well confident in finding Bilbo’s traps without any difficulty.

Of course that just blew up in his face.

It was few hours before he saw Bilbo again, the little hobbit carrying a bag over his shoulder with the cluster of weapons over his back. The hobbit stopped to look up to the hanging net that swung from a tall oak tree, settling to cross his arms and quirking an eyebrow, “I warned you, did I not?”

Thorin was practically glaring holes into the hobbit’s skull, his dark eyes giving no hint of changing his mood as he hung, upside down in the woven net. With a sigh, Bilbo pulled out Orcrist and Thorin began to spout out protests. The hobbit ignored him, and swung the sword at the rope that was holding the net up, watching as the dwarf fell against the ground with a loud THUD!

Bilbo whistled as he strolled over to the groaning dwarf, heaving the sack over his shoulder again and stepped over the King. “Come on now, dwarf!” the hobbit shouted back, “If you get into another trap, I’ll just use you as bait next time!”

The only response was a low grumble and the slow shuffle of leaves that followed the hobbit.

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Thorin had been wondering what was in the sack that Bilbo had brought back, and to his horror it turned out to be the remnants of an orc’s head. Fear flooded his brain, the dwarf terrified that the hobbit was going to use the head in a stew or a roast, but he sighed with relief when Bilbo took it outside. He watched from the doorway as the little hobbit carefully tied the orc’s head in rope, and climbed up another an old oak to strategically place it in one of his many traps.

Bilbo leaped down from the tree with little difficulty, dusting off his hands, “That should do it!”

“Do what, exactly?” Thorin quirked an eyebrow.

“Ah, my dear Thorin,” Bilbo almost sang, “Scare tactics! Been seeing one too many an orc around these parts, and I hope that this will stray them away from my little home.”

The hobbit hummed as he walked passed the dwarf, Thorin’s eyebrow quirked skyward as he watch the smaller creature. The more he stayed around this hobbit, the more bizarre nature made itself known to the dwarf. Crystal blues studied the hobbit, “Do you have any intention on leading me out of here?”

A hum, “Why would I do that?”

Thorin crossed his arms, “Because my party is most likely looking for us- me,” his bit his tongue on that last part, “I am a King am I not? So a King suddenly vanishing out of thin air is going to create quite a stir. The whole army will be looking for me.”

“That’s nice,” Bilbo hummed again.

Thorin blinked, gawking at the hobbit that was casually moving around his cottage. He cleared his throat, shifting his footing, “And I for one, do not want to get stuck in any of your traps.”

Bilbo rolled his eyes to look at the dwarf, “Thorin Oakenshield,” he drawled, having been putting away his bows, but Orcrist was still on his back, “If I let you go, you’re going to lead that party and that meddlesome wizard straight to me. And I for one have had enough of adventures, thank you!”

“Do you not trust me to leave you alone?” Thorin tilted his head.

“Nope,” Bilbo smirked as he went to grab a bowl of stew.

Ah, well. That was to be expected.

Thorin grounded his teeth for a moment, taking a deep breath through his nose. He ran his tongue over his teeth behind his lips, moving to sit across the hobbit that was now sitting at his little table. Thorin clasped his hands together, eyes looking intently at the hobbit, “Bilbo,” he said, “I cannot stay here forever.”

“Mhm,” Bilbo was stirring the wooden spoon around the bowl, obviously uninterested.

“I could leave you be?” that was a lie.

“Uh huh.”

“And I would call off the search party so you will never have to worry about dwarves ever again?” Another lie.

Yes he knew that it was bad to lie to the hobbit, especially when he just found him and wanted so desperately to gain his trust again. But considering Bilbo’s state of mind there was no way he was going to leave him here all by himself. Not when there were orcs running about, no matter how ‘skilled’ Bilbo made himself out to be, and by Mahal he was not going to have any of it!

Thorin watched the hobbit carefully, “Do you understand?” he said, “If you lead me out of here, I promise to never see you again.” Or until the party can catch you and the wizard can properly look into your mental position.

The dwarf raised an eyebrow towards the hobbit, “Deal?”

The hobbit smacked the spoon against the table, and there was a low growl that escaped his throat. He narrowed his one eye towards the dwarf, pointing the wooden spoon at him, “Now see here, Thorin Oakenshield,” he snapped, “That last time I made a deal with a dwarf, I lost an eye!” Bilbo snarled as he stood up from the table, and Thorin visibly flinched, “I almost got burned to a crisp by a fire breathing dragon! Almost killed by orcs, men, and Elves! Nearly drowned in a river or eaten by giant spiders! Oh! Let’s not forget that I was almost thrown over the gates of Erebor!”

Thorin watched with eyes wide as the hobbit continued on his tirade, sitting silently in his seat. “I lost my home! My doilies! My china!” Bilbo motioned with the spoon, obviously ranting in his anger, “And worst of all I lost my-my one--I lost--I lost--one-one-my--my wha....” And just as suddenly as Bilbo’s tirade started, it stopped with the soft whisper of those last few words. Bilbo’s one eye was wide and searching, and Thorin tilted his head as he studied the hobbit. He could see the glossiness in that one hazel eye, almost panicked as Bilbo began muttering and mumbling to himself over and over.

“Bilbo?” Thorin called softly, slowly getting up from his chair.

The hobbit in question snapped his head towards Thorin, and he dropped the spoon with a clatter. Bilbo rushed for the door, grabbing his bow and ran outside. Thorin was calling out to him, but before he could run after him the door slammed in his face. When the door swung open again, the dwarf stepped outside to search for the hobbit. But by the time he made a few steps out the door, the hobbit was already gone, leaving Thorin standing alone in the green grass by the cottage, surrounded by the tall oaks of the forest.

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It was around sundown when Bilbo had returned to the tiny little cottage. Thorin had been asleep against the table, head resting in his folded arms when he awoke to the sound of a door opening. He sat up quickly, fearing it was an intruder but his shoulders sagged at the sight of the little hobbit. But as the relief washed over Thorin, it faded quickly when he took in the sight of the small creature standing by the doorway.

Bilbo almost seemed in shambles, but his face was solemn as the days were warm. His body was covered in what looked to be dried blood, coat stained and blotchy, and his small hands were holding the remains of some poor animal that the hobbit apparently been hunting that day. He walked over to the table, setting the meat down and kept his one eye away from the dwarf.

Thorin was already standing from his chair, hands held out by his sides and mouth open but no words came out. He wasn’t sure what to do much less what to say to the poor thing.

When Bilbo finally glanced up to Thorin, his eye was half lidded and his face seemed almost drained. “I need to wash up, there’s a stream behind the cottage you know,” he said quietly, “Would you mind tending to the fowls?”

Thorin stared at Bilbo for a single moment, swallowing thickly before nodding quietly.

Bilbo smiled slightly, “Wonderful,” he said softly, turning around for the door, “I don’t want to look like a mess when mother comes around for dinner.”

As the hobbit stepped out of the cottage, Thorin was left standing in the middle of room. His eyes wide and still staring at the door, and he turned back to the remnants of the bird on the table. He felt his stomach churn, something settling uneasily in his insides and he felt a shiver ripple down his spine. The natural instinct was kicking in, the alarms and whistles going off in his mind as he stood in that small, dark little cottage.

This wasn’t right. None of this was right.

Thorin thought back to the many conversations that he and Bilbo had during the journey. The ones where they would exchange family and childhood stories, some making each other laugh and others requiring a pat on the back afterwards. He remembers distinctly about one of those stories, one little detail that Bilbo slipped out in their conversations those few years back.

Belladonna Took Baggins was dead. And has been dead for a number of years now.

Why would Bilbo say she was coming for dinner?

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Dinner was left silent, the very mention of Bilbo’s mother apparently had slipped the hobbit’s mind. And Thorin dared not to speak about it when they sat and ate the pheasant Bilbo had caught that day.

The pieces were starting to fall into place, frustratingly slowly but they were starting to. Thorin was gaining small bits here and there, but he had to study Bilbo longer to make sure whatever his assumptions were, were correct. Frankly, if the army was taking awhile to gather together in order to find him, he was actually quite glad for it. Thorin’s heart was set on helping Bilbo, and if the army was on it’s way, he didn’t care.

The hobbit needed him. And that was that.

On the second day, Thorin awoke alone in the cottage and decided to help himself a little snooping around. He started with the interior, looking carefully around the wooden walls and eyeing whatever was sitting on Bilbo’s shelf of spices and mystical wonder. He didn’t realized he had missed it before, but he found a rather large, rather expensive bottle whiskey on the bottom shelf. It was completely untouched and almost seemed new, Bilbo no doubt probably winning it in some game a few days ago.

Then he stumbled upon Bilbo’s secret hoard, a dirty rug on the floor that covered wooden hatch. When tossing the rug away, he pulled the hatch and found quite a number of things. From coins to purses, swords to toys, and even a few instruments in the mix; Bilbo had a collection of trinkets just stuffed under the floor of his cottage. Thorin thought back to the trolls, how that one of them referred to Bilbo once as a ‘ferret’. He snorted, thinking that they were not too far off.

Thorin moved to step outside (carefully) and make his way to the stream that sat behind the cottage. It was something serene amongst all the strangeness, Thorin thought, a pleasant breather from the cottage of mystery that the hobbit called home. The dwarf took to washing his face briefly before hearing the curses from one hobbit accompanied with the slow trots of- was that a horse?

“Where’d you get the horse?” Thorin asked, eyebrow quirked so high it might of fallen off his face.

Bilbo frowned for a moment, looking back at the large grey and white creature that stood next to him. He twitched his nose, looking Thorin dead in the eye and said, “I told a farmer I was a magician.”

“...”

“He bet I couldn’t disappear, so I made a wager for his horse - and as you can see, I won.”

“...” Thorin bit his lip, “What are you going to do with the horse?”

“How should I know!” Bilbo waved his arm, the reigns wiggling in his grasp, “I’m not a farmer!”

Thorin decided to leave it at that for the day.

___________________________________________

On the third day, as Thorin was trying to figure out why Bilbo would have a cat shaped porcelain statue amongst his hoard, he heard the curses once again rise from the small hobbit. The horse was leisurely grazing around the cottage, apparently not too interested in going anywhere as he indulged on the green grass. Bilbo had left and returned that morning, and when Thorin stepped outside, he stopped mid-step through in the doorway.

He frowned, “Take it back.”

“What?” Bilbo seemed confused.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin stated, voice low and he decided to bring out his kingly authority, “You are not going have a baby oliphant running around your cottage.”

As it was, Bilbo was standing next to a large, baby oliphant that was already sporting rather sharp, frightening tusks. He frowned, “But I won the bloody wager!”

“I don’t care,” Thorin crossed his arms, eyes wary of the oliphant.

“Listen here, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo wagged a finger towards the dwarf, “This is my land, that is my cottage, and confound it - this is my oliphant!”

Thorin’s lip twitched, and he took a deep breath through his nose, “What are you going to do with it?”

“I-” Bilbo attempted to retort, but whatever silly excuse he had, had withered and died in his throat. He frowned, his one eye looking up to the oliphant and it huffed its trunk against the hobbit, Bilbo’s golden curls swaying and he waved a hand at the small of the oliphant’s breath. He twitched his nose, narrowing his eye at Thorin, “Oh-” he grit his teeth,”Fine! I’ll take the bloody oliphant back!”

As Bilbo turned with the massive beast in tow, Thorin couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit smug.

__________________________________________

Thorin’s stay with the hobbit was continuing on well into a few weeks. He was starting to get a sense of Bilbo’s behavior, all of which resided around three things: drinking, wagers, and food. Bilbo’s behavior was - if you haven’t guessed by now- rather odd for his little burglar. The sassiness was still the same, the fussy little hobbit always making a scene when it came either cleaning or cooking. But then there were the random spikes of excitement or the odd thought that would pop up every now and then. It even extended to his wagers.

For example, there was a time about two or three days ago that Bilbo came back to his little home with a goat. Thorin didn’t mind it actually, considering the fact that perhaps the hobbit was seeing reason in getting something that would be useful to him. However, as it turns out, the goat was a peculiar sort, and somehow ended up climbing the old oak where the orc’s head was currently calling home. It ended up nibbling and tearing off pieces of the orc’s head, and Bilbo was standing out there for what seemed like hours, shouting at the goat for it’s lack of manners.

Though, despite the humorous occasions that the hobbit would find himself in, Thorin also learned that there were good days and bad days with Bilbo’s behaviour. One instance was last week, late at night when Bilbo had been babbling on and on about the nuisances that were those rabbits that were tearing up his (of which, Thorin found, did in fact exist) prized tomatoes. He was rambling, and somehow his mind wandered into the memories of when he was a hobbit in Bag End. His voice had trailed off, as it did before when Bilbo was ranting at Thorin about his ‘dwarven deal’ and soon the hobbit had grown quiet.

Thorin was so concerned he had to physically shake Bilbo in order to bring him out of the catatonic state. Bilbo had jumped, almost bolting for the door but this time Thorin was able to grab him. He was met with a rather displeased hobbit, but he didn’t react violently, only pushing to get out of the dwarf’s grasp.

“I have to get ready!” Bilbo cried, finally speaking.

“Ready?” Thorin grounded his teeth, holding onto the smaller creature.

“Yes! I have to! Don’t you see?” Bilbo exclaimed, waving his arms around and motioning to the interior of the cottage. He was looking around frantically, “Bofur is coming! My home is a mess! I don’t want Bofur to come to a filthy house when he’s showing me his latest toy!”

Thorin could only stare, bewildered at the sight of Bilbo as he prattled on and on about Bofur coming to visit. The episodes just seemed so random, but Thorin could only sit there and hold onto Bilbo as he tried his best to turn away and run out the door. During the weeks Thorin had been in this little cottage with the hobbit, he had concluded that these episodes were Bilbo’s mind crossing the wires and things just getting mixed up. Perhaps from the battle, maybe he sustained an injury on his head? Or maybe he was riddled with an unseen disease? Thorin just didn’t know what to call it, he just saw it as Bilbo’s ‘confusion’.

But one night came, where Thorin saw where Bilbo’s mind truly was.

It was dark, very late that night when Thorin was sitting in the cottage waiting for Bilbo to return. He was about to take whatever weapon he could fashion out of Bilbo’s hoard and go out to look for the hobbit when the door swung open. Bilbo had hurried inside, slamming the door shut and pressing his back to it, as if to keep some unseen force out.

Thorin stood up from his seat at the table, the fire crackling in the pit as he looked upon the little hobbit. “Mahal, Bilbo!” he breathed, “You had me worried!”

No verbal response came from the hobbit, Bilbo’s one eye wide and wild as he stared ahead. Upon further inspection, Thorin could see Bilbo shaking in his spot, knees practically knocking against one another.

The dwarf stepped forward, “Bilbo?” he called out softly.

The hobbit didn’t respond, only slowly sinking to the dirt floor as he kept his back against the door. Thorin was by his side in an instant, and demanded to know what was going on. His hands gripped the trembling hobbit, and Bilbo’s head snapped towards Thorin. He saw the tears in Bilbo’s eye, the glossiness heavy as a single tear escaped and trailed down the hobbit’s cheek. He finally breathed, “They’re coming.”

“Who?” Thorin spoke quietly so not to startle the hobbit, “ Who is coming, Bilbo?”

“The-The dwarves,” Bilbo stuttered, sniffling as he cried, “I-I saw them. I saw them on the trail! They’ve come to take me away! They’re going to punish me!”

“What?” Thorin’s brow creased, and tried to gain Bilbo’s attention, “Bilbo, what are you talking about? You’re talking nonsense.”

“I betrayed him,” Bilbo sobbed quietly, “I betrayed him. I took the stone, and I betrayed him. He banished me, but now he wants to take me away. Thorin wants to kill me-”

“Bilbo!” Thorin had practically shouted, and the hobbit jumped in his grip, “What are you talking about?! This is absurd! I would never do that, I would never want any harm to come to you!” He shook the hobbit, his crystal blue eyes catching the gaze of Bilbo’s one small hazel orb.

And that’s when he saw it, the turn of the head as Bilbo stared back at him. Bilbo’s face fell, tear stained and body still trembling in his grasp. He looked up to Thorin, swallowing as he spoke up to the dwarf, his one eye listless and tired.

“Why are you still here,” Bilbo had said, “You usually don’t stay this long. The others never do.”

Thorin sat there, staring at the hobbit as he knelt in front of him on the floor. The dwarf could feel his shoulders sagging as the realization hit like a punch to the gut, his eyes growing wide as the memories flashed over him. The constant babbling, the random, quick thoughts that would zig zag from one or another, and the claims of Bilbo’s mother, of Bofur, and- and…

And me.

Bilbo was hallucinating all of these things, all of these people. Through his first initial banishment, Bilbo wasn’t just banished from Erebor but also the very place he called home. The people rejected him so therefore he was isolated, nothing but the clothes on his back as he traveled. Bilbo had been so alone that through the isolation he was conjuring up old friends through his mind, visions of loved ones that he would claim were coming to visit. But in reality, it was the only way for Bilbo’s mind to really cope with the loss that he suffered, and left to his own devices he was just tumbling down the hole that spiraled out of control. How long had he’d been suffering through this? How long had he’d been alone with these thoughts, with these visions plaguing him day in and day out?

All Thorin could do was bring the hobbit close, and silently let the tears escape his eyes. The guilt washing over him like a flood, and he could no longer contain himself. He let out a shaky breath, “Oh my hobbit,” he had whispered, “My dear hobbit, my heart…”

_________________________________________________

The incident had been a week ago, and for Bilbo to have a reaction from just glimpsing at a dwarf then Thorin knew getting the hobbit back to Erebor was going to need some tender care. He had to gauge how much time he had between when the caravan would arrive on the right trail and when they would find the cottage. Judging by Bilbo’s discovery last week, he didn’t have a lot of time.

So what do you do with a hallucinating hobbit who refused to leave the confines of his so-called ‘safe haven’ of a forest?

Taking Bilbo by force would be a very bad idea, Thorin was sure the hobbit would go catatonic permanently if he were to wrap him up in a blanket and toss him over his shoulder, then make his merry way back to Erebor. Sleeping agents were out of the question as well, considering the fact that whenever Bilbo slept, it was very little and sometimes he’d be gone for most of the day. Slipping it into his food wouldn’t do because the hobbit was quick to judge and most likely catch on, making Thorin eat the drugged stew as well and then they both would be out. There was a moment where Thorin just contemplate knocking Bilbo out with the hilt of his sword, but the hobbit kept Orcrist on him at all times, so that was definitely off the table.

He had gripped his hair tightly in frustration, wanting to bang his head against the table. Instead he opted to just lay his head down against the wooden table and sigh. He turned his head when the skin of his forehead protested against the texture of the wood, and he found himself staring at the wall opposite the door. It was the wall where Bilbo’s shelf stood, Thorin’s eyes bored and wandering over it’s contents.

Can, can, bag of wheat, can, some jar full of pickled-- something? Another can, stale bread, a bottle of whisk-

Thorin paused, and his eyes went wide as the torch sparked in his head. He raised his head from the table, looking upon the still very full glass bottle of alcohol sitting on the shelf. His fingers drummed on the table, biting his lip as his mind began to race, and the idea became a full fledged plot within seconds.

Let’s just hope it would work.

_______________________________________________

When Bilbo arrived back at the cottage that night, he was holding a bag of what looked to be fresh biscuits and he was humming in a low tune. He swindled it off of someone, some farmer-trader-passer by, he didn’t know, nor cared. The little hobbit was just happy to have a bag of biscuits, a hand eagerly plucking one out and stuffing it into his mouth. He turned around, and paused, his shoulders sagging and his head tilting just a tad as he looked to the table.

“Hey now,” Bilbo frowned, “That’s my bottle of whiskey you got there!”

Thorin was sitting at the table, boots propped up and hands behind his head. The bottle of whiskey was sitting right next to his foot, to which the dwarf gave it a little tap. “Yes. Yes it is,” Thorin hummed, bringing his boots down to sit up in his chair.

Bilbo narrowed his eye towards the dwarf, and he circled around the table to drop his biscuits by the shelf. He glanced between Thorin and the bottle, “What are you doing with my bottle, Thorin?”

The dwarf clasped his hands, running his thumbs over each other. He shrugged, “Oh nothing, just,” he paused, letting his eyes roll until they fell back towards the hobbit, “Thought you would like to partake in a wager?”

The light in Bilbo’s one eye lit up, flashing as the little hobbit almost smiled devilishly, “A wager you say?” He danced his fingers along the head of the chair across from Thorin before pulling it out and plopping down. He leaned across the table, drumming his fingers against the wood, “And what sort of wager are we playing at? Hmmm?”

Thorin reached out to the bottle, spinning it around so the whiskey could dance around in the glass. He smirked, “A drinking game.”

Bilbo scoffed, “Oh please!” he exclaimed dramatically, “I’m sorry but if you haven’t heard, I’m the little halfling that can drink anyone under the table in the span of several counties, thank you!”

“Aye that you can,” Thorin hummed, chuckling, “But let me ask you this: have you ever challenged a dwarf?”

The hobbit snapped into silence, and he frowned, “No,” he crossed his arms, “Can’t say I have.”

“Well let me tell you,” Thorin mused, “Dwarves, unlike man, have a much higher tolerance when it comes to alcohol. Surely if you can face the likes of a man, then you can face a dwarf?”

Bilbo’s nose twitched, and he was fiddling with the fabric of his coat. He clicked his tongue, “What are the stakes?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Simple: If I win, you let me go, and lead me out of your little hell pit of traps as my escort all the way to Lonely Mountain. And-- ah right; you give me my sword back,” Thorin was tapping his finger against the cork of the bottle.

Bilbo seemed very displeased with those terms, but regardless, he nodded, “And if you lose?”

“If I lose,” Thorin began, eyebrows rising as he sighed, “I stay, you keep my sword, and you never have to worry about another dwarf ever again.”

Bilbo hummed, taking a deep breath as he went silent. Thorin could see the gears shifting in the little hobbit’s head, and Bilbo smiled rather smugly as he reached out a hand to the dwarf, “Deal.”

They shook on it, and as Bilbo brought his hand away, he chuckled, “You know,” he began, “Once I win, it matters not if you stay anyway. You’ll just fade away, like everyone else. And the others I’m sure are eager to visit.”

Thorin remained silent as he uncorked the bottle.

________________________________________________

Their little drinking game went on to what seemed like hours. They were drinking the whiskey in shots, the little cups made from wood that Thorin had whittled earlier as he waited for Bilbo. Thorin had done the calculations over and over again, trying to count out how many shots it was going to take until he would be the one to finish the bottle. So far they were neck and neck, and the dwarf was starting to get nervous.

Bilbo held a small, lopsided grin on his face as he took the next shot, slapping the wooden cup on the table.

Thorin went ahead and poured his next shot, thankful that earlier he made sure to eat something before the hobbit came home. He regretted that stale bread, but it was working wonders on soaking up all that alcohol. Yes, so what if he cheated just a little? It was not at all his intention to just stay here with the hobbit when he eagerly needed to get him help. He was doing it for Bilbo’s sake.

And speaking of Bilbo; they were now at the last of the bottle, a good two shots left. The hobbit was now swaying in his seat, cheeks and ears flushed and he was almost humming to himself. Thorin was careful to pour the liquid into the small cup, watching the hobbit carefully as he swayed back and forth. He took his last shot, turning the cup over face down on the table.

The last of the bottle was going to be Bilbo’s, and Thorin was already beginning to panic.

Bilbo grinned, giggling as he reached over for the bottle, fumbling to grasp at the smooth surface. When his smaller fingers finally caught the neck of the bottle, he moved to pour it into the small wooden cup.

There is goes, Thorin had thought, the deep frown and disappointment beginning to settle upon his features as he turned away, the whole plan just poof! Gone.

It was then that the dwarf heard a loud And his head shot up to the little creature across the table. Bilbo’s head was laying face first against the wooden surface, the wooden cup in one hand and the bottle in the other. The poor little hobbit had passed out, which was an amazing feat considering how long he lasted against the Dwarf King. Thorin narrowed his eyes, wincing to try and see if the hobbit had finished the bottle or not. When he finally leaned forward towards the hobbit, he had practically shouted with joy at the sight.

Sitting inside the bottle was just enough whiskey for one last shot. The one last shot that Bilbo did not take.

Thorin had plucked the bottle from Bilbo’s hand and corked it, saving it for later for when the hobbit would wake up to his unsavory defeat. He sighed with relief after setting the bottle aside, and went to tend to the sleeping hobbit that sat at the table. He reached over, hooking his arms under the hobbit and lifted him up. Thorin pulled off the cloak, setting it on the chair and went ahead to unhook the belt from Bilbo’s hips. Once all the outer layers were gone, Thorin carried the hobbit to his small, little bed and laid him down.

The Dwarf King smiled at the peaceful face that was looking back at him as Bilbo slumbered. He sat down next to the hobbit, reaching up to stroke a hand through golden curls, “You never cease to amaze me, my little burglar.”

Bilbo stirred, and Thorin’s hand pulled away ever so slightly not to startle the hobbit. The one hazel eye cracked open, searching around for a moment as Bilbo kept his hand on the small, slim pillow of his tiny bed. Thorin was still for a moment, awaiting the reaction he might get from the now very drunk hobbit. What he got was a small, tired smile and a pleasant sigh, “This is nice,” Bilbo spoke softly.

Thorin smiled, shoulders sagging with relief, “Aye, that it is.”

The hazel orb looked up to Thorin, the smile still upon Bilbo’s face as he spoke, “You’re still here.”

The dwarf chuckled, nodding, “I am.”

Bilbo shifted, a hand reaching up to grasp at Thorin’s arm, small fingers laxed and soft. “Good,” he whispered, “Just stay a little longer. You-- remind me so much of him.”

Thorin furrowed his brow, a little confused but before he could speak the hobbit continued. “I miss him,” Bilbo said, and the smile had faded into a small, trembling scowl, “I miss him so much. Please stay, just a little while longer. I’m so tired of being alone.”

“Shh, shhh,” Thorin shushed calmly, though he was fighting the lump in his throat. He swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment as he tried to control himself and he looked back down to the hobbit. He shifted, moving to take off his boots and undo his belt before he scooted down onto the small bed. He settled down next to the hobbit, and reached a hand up to Bilbo’s face, lightly stroking it. His crystal blue eyes looked upon the small form with golden curls, and he breathed, “I’ll stay, Bilbo.”

Bilbo was practically fighting sleep, though he was losing and the small smile returned to his dimple cheeks. “Good,” he said again, “Just stay. Just stay until morning. Just this once.” The hobbit swallowed, and tilted his head into the pillow, his hazel eye looking up to the dwarf. There was a silence between them, and Thorin couldn’t bare to speak as Bilbo stared back at him. The hobbit let the smile soften, “You have his eyes,” he whispered, his eye closing as sleep took over, “His beautiful, beautiful eyes…”

Thorin watched the hobbit let his body take over, and soon Bilbo was laxed against the bed, softly breathing against the dwarf. He held in a sob as he watched the hobbit sleep, only closing his eyes as he let out a shaky breath. He wrapped an arm around Bilbo, pulling him close, and he let his forehead press against Bilbo’s before closing his eyes. “Goodnight, my burglar,” came the soft whisper.

_______________________________________________

The sunlight shined through the window, and he felt the throb of his temple when he tried to open his eye. Bilbo winced, blinking wearily as he was brought back to reality, and he shifted ever so slightly against the warm body that was laying next to him. He could hear something, something thumping against his ear and it tickled his skin. He knew this sound, it was very familiar because he knew that he also had this same sound.

A heartbeat. He could hear a heartbeat in his ear. Well that didn’t make any sense, who else would have a heartbeat besides himself? It’s just him here, and that bloody ghost that keeps sticking around. Ghosts don’t have heartbeats, especially if they look like Thorin Oakenshield who was definitely not here. No the Dwarf King was all the way in Erebor, being a King and doing his Kingly things. He wouldn’t be here, in a shabby little cottage near Rohan with a dirty little hobbit with one eye. No, that just wouldn’t be proper for a King now would it?

Bilbo frowned at the ghost, and pushed his head away from the muscled chest that he’d apparently been sleeping against all night. He was getting rather tired of this ghost being around, why wouldn’t he leave? It’s not like the others don’t have plans with him! Bofur had come by, but it was so very brief, and he never had two ghosts stay at once before. He knew for sure Gandalf was expected soon, and also Ori, and he knew Bifur would be coming by soon too!

No, no, no! This just won’t do! This ghosts needs to go! Well he’ll just have to kick him out again. He’s done that loads a times, and it usually always works.

Bilbo brought up a hand from his side, and moved to push it against the chest that laid next to him. He was about to fuss, to tell the ghost to sod off and get lost already when he felt something firm under his hand. This ghost was solid, which was rather odd and it didn’t make any sense. Bilbo frowned, as he put a little more pressure against the chest and felt the soft thumping of the heartbeat he heard earlier.

It was a heartbeat. The ghost was solid and had a heartbeat. But that just couldn’t be, none of his ghosts were like this! The only reason this could be possible was if Thorin Oakenshield was laying next to him instead of in a kingdom far, far away-

Something snapped, and Bilbo’s eye went wide and wild. He slowly inclined his head, the hazel orb looking up to the bearded face that laid just above his forehead. Something in him made him scramble to sit up, shooting up in his bed and one hand clasped over his mouth as he trembled. In his panicked movements, he had woken the other party in the bed and the dwarf jolted to lift his head up from the bed. He was looking around, as if searching for a threat but found none.

Thorin’s eyes fell upon the small, trembling form on the bed next to him, his face immediately softened. “Bilbo” he breathed, moving to sit up from the bed, “Bilbo, what’s wrong?”

Bilbo could feel the tears begin to fall, and the hand around his mouth shook as he brought it away. He took a deep, shaky breath, “Y-You’re real,” he stuttered, “You’re r-really h-h-here.”

It took a moment for the dwarf to realize what the hobbit was saying, and when it dawned on him, Thorin had shifted on the bed. The dwarf was sitting across from the hobbit on the bed, making no other movements.

Bilbo was still trembling, the tears a constant stream down his face as he stared at the dwarf. He swallowed, “H-How is this possible?” he rasped out.

Thorin let his shoulders fall as he sighed, but he never let his eye contact waver from the hobbit. He kept a steady gaze with that hazel orb, “Gandalf had told us of your disappearance,” Thorin spoke carefully, “We set out to find you so we could make sure that you were safe. We heard about your travels through the neighboring counties and that’s what led us on the trail to Rohan. Do you not remember saving me from the orc pack?”

Bilbo gave a shaky nod, “I-I do. B-But,” he sniffled, eye darting as he looked over Thorin, “I-I thought it was all--it was all an--”

“Illusion?” Thorin finished, looking up at the hobbit expectantly.

Tear stained cheeks nodded, and a soft sob escaped Bilbo’s lips. He was holding his hands to his own chest, heart pounding and the hobbit shaking so hard that Thorin thought he would take the bed apart. The dwarf watched the hobbit from his spot, silence forming between them and Thorin could see the battle behind Bilbo’s one eye. The hobbit no doubt was questioning everything, and Thorin wanted to put a stop to it once and for all.

Tender hands reached up carefully, slow enough to not startle the small creature. Fingers gentle grasped at the small ones that were held tight against Bilbo’s chest, and Thorin gently pulled them away. He brought the smaller hands to rest on his own broad chest, his large ones encompassing the tender fingers. Thorin glanced down at Bilbo’s hands, “Do you feel that, Bilbo?”

It was soft and thumping, despite the toned muscle on Thorin’s chest, Bilbo could feel the heartbeat as it pumped steadily. He looked up to the dwarf, nodding his head slightly.

“This- This right here means I am truly with you,” Thorin whispered, his crystal blue eyes looking up to Bilbo, shining in the sunlight. “As long my heart beats in my chest, I will always be with you, Bilbo. Always, my heart.”

Bilbo was staring at the dwarf, his one eye never looking away from those beautiful blue eyes that stared back at him. He remembers now, those eyes that would look upon him with so much compassion much like how Thorin was now, how they held the same tenderness when they travelled along the road to Erebor. They kept him going, through the sleet, and the snow, and the rivers, and the mountains of gold; those blue eyes were what inspired him to keep going.

He wasn’t sure how it started, Bilbo suddenly feeling all the walls crumbling around him and the floodgates opened. He felt a sob escape his throat, and it just kept coming until it almost felt like a river of tears running down his cheek. Strong arms brought Bilbo close, and they wrapped around him as Thorin held him. He cried into the toned chest, no doubt staining the blue tunic with tears as he sobbed and hiccupped against the dwarf. He’d been so alone, so isolated that he never thought he would see this day again. That he would never see his dwarf again. The ghosts were always too much, and there were days when he had to scream at the top of his lungs to keep them at bay.

But this was no ghost. This was Thorin Oakenshield, his Thorin Oakenshield, and he was so overjoyed to feel those strong arms around him once more after years of thinking they would do him nothing but harm.

Thorin continued to hold Bilbo as he cried, his own tears shedding as he rested his cheek against those golden curls. He had watched Bilbo all these weeks, trying to figure out how to get through to the hobbit, and he could almost hear Mahal sing with joy as he held Bilbo close. It was going to be one of the many hurdles they would have to face, but Thorin was more than willing to see it through. He would stand by Bilbo’s side every step of the way.

It seemed like hours as they sat there on the bed, Bilbo now a gentle weight against Thorin’s chest, and the dwarf was gently stroking against golden locks. He shifted, turning to look down at Bilbo who slowly inclined his head to look up to the dwarf. Thorin was smiling tenderly, and he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss against the hobbit’s lips. He pulled back quietly, not sure what to expect from the hobbit but the smaller hands that reached up to wrap around his neck told him exactly what he needed to know. Bilbo pulled Thorin against him, his lips meeting for a deepened kiss that kept them still on the bed for a long while.

When they finally parted, resorting to just laying in the bed in silence and holding each other. The sun was shining to where it would be midday by now, and Thorin turned to look down at the small form next to him. He stroked along those golden curls, a gentle smile upon his lips, “My heart,” he spoke softly, “I think it’s about time that we went home.”

Bilbo’s only reply was a tiny, sleepy, shy smile.

____________________________________________________

“Are you sure this is the right direction?” Nori called out, having been following the group as they searched the forest.

“It has to be!” Fili shouted back, “This is where we found his coat!”

The great King Under the Mountain had been missing for well over a month. All that was found of Thorin was his fur coat and a bit of cloth soaked with blood. Gandalf, Dwalin, and the princes, who thankfully were able to escape the orc ambush intact, had search the forest before begrudgingly going back for help. The raven was sent within a day, and a few days later a small army of dwarves lead by Balin and the rest of the Company came a runnin' with back up.

They had searched all along the forests near Rohan, but had been told by the local villagers just outside the forest how dangerous the interior forest had become. The wizard and the dwarves found themselves with no choice but to brave the interior, and so far they only encountered a small pack or orcs which of course stood no match to an army of dwarves.

It was just the Company and a wizard now leading the way, the soldiers following closely behind them. They were coming upon a rather misty part of the forest, the only saving grace was that it was still daylight and the sunlight offered quite a bit of relief to see far ahead. The forest was rocky with thick, evergreen grass and old oaks; perfect for the likes of orcs or other creatures to hide.

Kili cursed as he almost tripped over a large root, practically stumbling before he caught himself. He sighed, dusting himself off as he retained some dirt on his cloak but it mattered not. He turned to look ahead, and his eyes fell upon movement in the bush between the trees. He pointed, “Look!” he cried out.

The other members of the company had all shot towards the prince, and immediately there were guards at their sides.

“Do you think it’s an orc?” Balin had spoken up, brandishing his weapon.

“Nay, they would of sent warg scouts ahead,” Dwalin retorted.

“I only see two,” Nori was squinting his eyes.

“They look too short to be orcs,” Dori nodded.

“Could be goblins!” Ori piped up.

“Aye, but they be too far north for them to be this far away from their kin,” Gloin grumbled back.

“What did ye say?” Oin was holding his ear trumpet.

“It ain’t goblins you old bloke!” Bofur snorted.

“Then what could they be?!” Bombur was gripping his hammer.

Bifur could only sputter out something in Khuzdul.

“They’re getting closer- wait - are they holding hands?” Kili had let his bow down slightly.

“Aye they are, and for good reason too!” Fill grinned as he slipped his sword into his scabbard.

And that left the wizard without a word, but only smiling as the two dwarven princes lept forward, taking off across the grass to greet the two oncoming companions. Thorin had practically squawked in Khuzdul when the two forms of his nephews came barreling into him. He was tackled to the forest floor, the wind knocked out of him but it was more due to Fili and Kili’s gripping hugs then the fall. He could only smile, sighing as he hugged his nephews back tightly, glad to see his family once again and more so alive. When he was finally allowed to stand, the rest of the company had finally gathered round and Thorin greeted them kindly.

When the wizard had approached them, he called out to the army to keep a pace back before stepping up the company. His staff grounded against the grass, and his tall stature looked upon the smallest form that stood a good few feet away from the group. His eyes twinkled, and the smile grew on his face, crinkling his cheeks.

“My, my,” the wizard spoke happily, “Bilbo Baggins.”

Just like that, the entire company had stopped in their words and antics. All eyes turned the little creature that stood just feet away behind Thorin, and silence weighed on them all. The Dwarf King glanced back at the hobbit, and then back at the Company, his face suddenly falling with concern. Thorin turned away from the company, hurrying over to Bilbo and speaking quietly to the smaller creature.

After some moments, the Company watched as Thorin offered a hand towards Bilbo, and the hobbit slowly but cautiously accepted it. Thorin lead Bilbo towards the group of dwarves, and he felt the squeeze from the hobbit as they came closer. Soon, they were standing in front of the Company, all eyes on the hobbit as he kept himself close to the Dwarf King. Thorin squeezed his hand gently, a silent comfort towards the hobbit, It’s all right, it said, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

“Bilbo?” came Kili’s voice, calling out to the hobbit.

Bilbo almost jumped, and it took everything in his power not to turn tail and run. He sniffled, twitching his nose and nodding towards the dwarves, letting a small, weak smile grace his lips.

That seemed more than enough to allow Fili and Kili to scurry forwards, arms held out wide and broad smiles amongst their faces. Bilbo almost screamed, every fiber of his being wanting to turn around and run but Thorin kept him firmly by his side. The princes had their arms around the hobbit within seconds, and Bilbo was just waiting for them to disappear in a puff of smoke, because all of this could still be a dream. But as their bodies pressed against his, their arms securely wrapped around him, and their voices high in excitement as they asked him an abundant of questions; Bilbo was slowly, but surely becoming aware that this was, in fact, not a dream.

Gandalf had approached the Dwarf King, the tall grey wizard looking down to Thorin with a fond smile. He tilted his head, voice low, “You have much to tell me, I’m sure?” he nodded to the hobbit, “Concerning our burglar?”

Thorin’s face fell just a slight bit, glancing to Bilbo who was giving weak smiles and stuttering to his nephews and the oncoming Company with every question he got. He looked back up to Gandalf, letting a soft sigh escape his nose, “He is--” he grounded his teeth, voice low, “He is in need of some-- particular help.”

The grey wizard could only nod, though the gentle smile remained, “Now Thorin,” he said, “I am quite sure that the best of help can be arranged for our dear, little hobbit.”

The Dwarf King smiled, and he walked forwards with the wizard in to towards the little hobbit that had made a special place in all of their hearts. Bilbo was almost ecstatic to see Gandalf, the smaller creature practically clinging to his robes as he chattered on about the new skills he had learned, and the people he had met, and the orcs he had encountered. Thorin watched as Bilbo kept himself almost calm around the Company, though the signs he grew to learn were still there and he made sure to step in when something was starting to put the hobbit off. But nonetheless, Bilbo had become accepting to the Company and the notion that they would be traveling back to the Lonely Mountain.

And as they loaded up the wagons and horses, Thorin found himself holding onto the hobbit’s hand once more as they sat in a cart driven by Gandalf.

“You two might want to consider getting some much needed rest,” the wizard rumbled, humming as he lit his pipe and drove his cart, “We have quite some time before we hit our stopping point.”

Thorin nodded, “Aye, just nowhere near a tavern, please?” he laid down against the sacks that riddled the cart, Bilbo next to him, “I’d rather not see another drop of alcohol for the rest of my life, thank you.”

“Why is that, uncle?” Kili piped up from his pony as he rode alongside Gandalf’s cart.

“We had a wager,” Bilbo smirked, moving to nestled under Thorin’s arm.

“A wager, you say?” Gandalf chimed in, “And may I ask who was pronounced the winner?”

Thorin smirked when Bilbo made a little sound and twitched his nose. He wrapped his arm around the hobbit, and pulled him close, hearing a squeak in response, “I believe that is a tale is for another day.”

The wizard chuckled, much to Fili and Kili’s dismay but the Dwarf King didn’t pay them no mind. He glanced down at Bilbo, the hobbit feigning with dramatic defeat over their wager before returning with a small smirk placed on his lips. Thorin couldn’t help but chuckle, and he nuzzled against the hobbit, grateful to feel his warmth against him once more. As they rode under the clear, blue sky, as the birds fluttered about and the chatter of the dwarves echoed around the caravan; Thorin and Bilbo slept soundly in the cart, their tight embrace never faltering.

Chapter Text

Thorin looked up from the book he had been reading, his ears catching wind of the small voice that was muttering across the room. He let out a soft sigh through his nose, moving to turn his head to look around the living area of their private chambers. “Bilbo, love?” Thorin called out.

The hobbit in question was currently sitting on a plush armchair, his hands rummaging through a box of various items. He paused, his one eye directing its attention towards the Dwarf King, “Yes?”

“You’re muttering again,” Thorin stated, his crystal blue eyes looking upon the hobbit with a slight bit of concern.

“What?” Bilbo blinked, looking confused for a moment before he silently turned back to the box he was rummaging through. It was a small box of his personal items, all of which what he could acquire when he had briefly stayed at the Shire all those years ago. He frowned, sighing in defeat as he let his shoulders fall, “Oh dear.”

And that was his cue. Thorin closed the book he was reading with a snap, getting up from the chase he’d be lounging on and stepped forward towards the hobbit. Bilbo was now sitting with his hands clasped together, his one eye looking down towards the box that now sat on the floor. Thorin knelt by his hobbit, a gentle hand pressed against the smaller ones, “You are nervous?” he asked quietly.

Bilbo sighed once more, “I believe I am,” he let himself fall back against the armchair, golden curls resting against the cushioned head of the chair. He was staring up at the ceiling, frowning, “This is all pointless.”

Thorin took a seat on the arm of Bilbo’s chair, a strong hand stroking against wild curls. He gave a gentle smile, “What is troubling you, Bilbo?”

Bilbo twitched his nose, arms crossing as he closed himself off, “I’d rather not say.”

“Bilbo,” Thorin tilted his head towards the hobbit, a knowing looking on his face, “Remember what the Elf-”

“Elrond.”

“Fine - remember what Elrond said?” Thorin shook his head at the Elf’s name, “You must talk about these things.”

“Yes, that’s all well and good-- but I really don’t want to,” Bilbo grumbled.

Thorin quirked an eyebrow, a skeptical look on his face as he leaned towards the hobbit. He was silent, and held his gaze to Bilbo, the hobbit twitching his nose and darting his eye between Thorin and anything else that wasn’t Thorin. After a few moments of awkward silence, the hobbit gritted his teeth, giving an exasperating sigh, “Oh fine!” he shot his arms in the air, hands clawing at nothing in particular. “Blast you and your--your bloody handsome face.”

Thorin sat back, a satisfied smirk on his face as he made himself comfortable. He brushed off some lint from his pant leg before looking towards the hobbit, “Talk.”

Bilbo was glaring flatly towards the dwarf, and he leaned forward to rub his face. He muffled something into his hands, and Thorin titled his head to brush his own dark hair from his ear. “What was that?” he asked, cupping his ear.

Bilbo groaned, “I said-” he looked up towards the fireplace that was crackling before them, “I don’t want to go to the Shire.” His face fell and he held his head in his hands, “What’s the point of all this therapy if I can’t muster up the courage to face all those snot-job hobbits?!”

Thorin watched as the hobbit hung his head, hands clasped behind his neck as he found prospect in the delicate, intricately designed Elven rug on the floor. “I’m terrified, Thorin,” he said as calmly as his voice would allow, “I’m absolutely terrified of going back to the Shire.” He lifted his head to look back towards the Dwarf King that he came to love, “What if they spit me out again? Thorin if you saw the faces they gave me, the things they said-” Bilbo’s lip trembled slightly, and he closed his eye shut to take a deep breath through his nose to fight off the tears.

Strong arms wrapped around the smaller creature, Thorin having moved from sitting on the arm of the chair to squeezing himself next to Bilbo. He kissed against blonde curls, holding the hobbit close, “I know it’s frightening, my heart,” he said gently, voice low and melodious as he spoke which usually rendered Bilbo melted like butter, “But this is necessary, especially for you to heal. And you will not walk into this alone.”

Thorin pulled away from the hobbit, bringing a finger to Bilbo’s chin to direct that hazel orb towards the dwarf. He gave a gentle smile, “I’ll be here, Bilbo,” he said, “For you every step of the way.”

Bilbo was fighting the floodgates, and he immediately buried his face into the Dwarf King’s chest. His arms were tight around the muscled torso, sniffling, “You’re a bloody sap, Thorin,” he muffled into blue fabric.

Thorin chuckled, wrapping his arms around Bilbo once more, “A sap for you, love.”

The hobbit turned his face against the thicker chest, his eye settling on the fire that illuminated the living room. It had been two years since Bilbo was found by Thorin in the midst of that thick forest by Rohan. They journeyed back to Erebor, and while Bilbo slept in the cart most of the way- something they found was due to the hobbit’s recently poor sleeping habits- Thorin would occasionally sit up front with Gandalf. He would discuss with the wizard about Bilbo’s mental state, the illusions, the strange, snappy behavior that was much too random for the hobbit. And during this journey, Gandalf would suggest an idea for the bettering of Bilbo’s state; one that was much to Thorin’s dislike but he bit his tongue and sent out a raven immediately while they were on the trail to Erebor.

They received a response within a week of returning to Erebor, and Thorin had made preparations that day to leave for Rivendell.

Elrond was more than welcoming to the Dwarven caravan that arrived at the Elven gates, of that Thorin had been grateful. He remembers turning back to Bilbo while sitting on Gandalf’s cart (again) and waking the little hobbit, the halfling sitting up groggily while still wrapped in an abundance of furs and blankets. It was nearing the middle of Fall when they had arrived to Rivendell, and Bilbo’s treatment had begun almost immediately. It took a number of one-on-one sessions with Elrond for Bilbo to completely open up about his mind, his experiences with the dwarves, the dragon, and the hobbits of the Shire.

It was a shaky start, but Elrond was not one to give up so easily and decided to bring his daughter Lady Arwen into the fold. Bilbo took to her a little more easily, her presence less intimidating than the Elf lord. Arwen was able to bring about more information from Bilbo in order for them to make any progress, some of the therapy sessions bringing about his manic episodes where Thorin had to be called in sometimes to console him. There was a time where Thorin was displeased about the treatment, especially shortly after one of Bilbo’s episodes that almost left him catatonic. It was a setback, but the Elves had urged that the sessions were necessary, Bilbo had to speak in order to find balance with his trauma.

That was the term that caught Thorin’s attention- balance. Elrond had explained that Bilbo’s mind was most likely too damaged for the habits to be completely eradicated, that there will still be hints but the hobbit can learn to manage with them. Bilbo won’t be able to control the habits, but he could find balance with them, using the therapy sessions to learn techniques that would help the hobbit adapt. It was a lot to take in at first, but Thorin ever the stubborn dwarf was unwavering in his love and devotion and would stand by to support his hobbit no matter what.

And that was exactly what he did.

Thorin was asked at some point during the duration of Bilbo’s treatment to join in on the sessions. At first he was hesitant, especially when he wasn’t sure what he would be doing, but in the end he was very glad that he did. It turned out he was joining at the stage where Bilbo was confronting the past events at Erebor’s gate and it was time to speak. A lot of tears were shed, especially from Thorin. When it came to the point where Bilbo was speaking of his fear of the dwarves, and most of all- the fear of Thorin, the Dwarf King had sank to his knees in front of the hobbit, spilling his heart out about his fault in his gold sickness. They came out of those sessions with their relationship stronger, Thorin working for Bilbo’s forgiveness as they journeyed through the healing process. They shared intimate relations in bed for the first time in years that night.

So here they stayed, two years strong in Rivendell and the progress with the hobbit had grown considerably. Bilbo’s state of mind has greatly improved but he still retained some old habits. His stutters or muttering would come in every now and then when he was upset, or if he felt overwhelmed by too many people in the room he would grow quiet. The one thing that Bilbo could never truly shake were the hallucinations. After various sessions with the Elves where they would work towards the core of Bilbo’s visions, Elrond had surmised that the damage was too great for them to completely rid the hobbit of the hallucinations. The visions that pertained to the dwarves had for the most part, receded, but his visions of Belladonna Took Baggins, a result of the traumatic incidents in his life relating to the Shire had remained.

That was when Elrond proposed an idea a few weeks ago that perhaps in order for Bilbo to face these hurdles, that he should go back to the Shire and face the very folk that pushed him out. The idea had sprung when Gandalf had returned from one of his many wandering trips and told the Company about what he had encountered in the Shire.

“I made quick work to call the Thain when I saw that once again Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was taking up residence up in Bag End,” Gandalf had rumbled, his deep voice speaking as he puffed at his pipe. He blew a few smoke rings before continuing, “I was quite cross with them, especially the Thain, but they seemed undeterred when I had spoke of Bilbo’s current situation.”

The wizard looked most displeased as he spoke, “They spoke once again about his ‘disrespectful’ manner, how he 'soiled the Baggins’ name' and how he did not deserve to have Bag End in his possession.” The wizard went on, and on, and on about the Shire Folk’s disapproval of one Bilbo Baggins, Gandalf speaking with a disgruntled tone in his voice.

Thorin remembers looking over to the little hobbit that sat next to him, all gathered with the few members of the Company and the Elves. Bilbo had been seething, his hands were clenched and almost white-knuckling as he heaved heavy breaths and a nostrils flaring. The Dwarf King kept a steady hand on one of the hobbit’s clenched fists, feeling the slight trembling in the smaller hand which at first he thought was fear.

Turned out to be the exact opposite.

“SCANDALOUS!” the hobbit practically bellowed, voice echoing around the halls, hands freeing from the dwarf’s and clawing at the air. Dwarves and Elves alike all snapped their heads towards the smallest creature sitting on the table, watching him in his tirade. Thorin had been ducking away when Bilbo continued, “Those good for nothing, short-sighted, pompous, ignorant, atrocious--” he grit his teeth, raising his hands up into fists and then as he brought them down hard on the table, he yelled, “SNOT. JOB. HOBBITS!!” The sheer force of the hobbit’s voice was enough to cause the tea cups and spoons on the table to wobble.

Everyone was silent, eyes wide and staring as the hobbit breathed heavily at the table. Thorin sat, almost horrified; he swallowed thickly, almost gulping as he reached out a hand to the hobbit’s shoulder. He was expecting a snap, or even a punch to the face but he sighed with relief when he felt a deep breath come from the hobbit and Thorin sat back a bit against his chair.

There was a glint in the wizard’s eye, and Gandalf grasped onto his pipe to pull it away from his lips. He let the smoke flow from his nose as he leaned over the table to look at the hobbit square in the eye, “My dear Bilbo,” he began, “why so cross?”

It was slight, but Bilbo was beginning to mumble to himself as his one eye stared down at the stone where his clenched hands sat. When feeling a firm squeeze from Thorin, the hobbit looked up from the table, huffing, “That is my home they dare to say that I am unfit for!” He pulled back, clenching his fists, “That smial belonged to my mother and father, and they have no right to keep it from me!”

The wizard blinked, and he glanced to Elrond for a moment, seeing as the Elf was giving a curious tilt of the head towards the hobbit. Gandalf turned back to Bilbo, “Well, I’m afraid there wasn’t more I could do to take back your home,” he waved the pipe about, a disappointed look on his face. When he placed the pipe back into his mouth, he quirked an eyebrow, “Unless,” he began, “Do you, Bilbo, have any suggestions?”

And it didn’t take any longer but a second for the hobbit to reply, “March up there and give a good piece of my mind!”

There was silence as the hobbit continued to huff and puff in his seat. Gandalf only smiled, sitting back in his chair, “Then it’s settled.”

“Yes,” Bilbo nodded, though he paused mid nod. He shook his head, brow furrowed as the confusion fell onto his face “Wait- pardon?”

The wizard shrugged, “Well, my dear Bilbo,” he motioned with the pipe in his hand, “It appears that the only way to get your smial back is by going up there yourself-- as you just suggested.”

You sneaky, bastard of a wizard.

“But I-”

“He’s right, Master Baggins,” Elrond piped up before Bilbo could object, a knowing smile on the Elf’s face. He tilted his head towards the hobbit, “And this could prove to be a vital stepping stone in your healing.”

Bilbo sputtered, and he looked between the wizard and the Elf lord, obviously very flustered. His one eye turned towards his intended, Thorin stroking his beard a bit before looking to Bilbo. The Dwarf King nodded slightly, “Yes I would say that is a good idea, though we should tread lightly,” he smiled towards his hobbit, “And don’t worry love, the Company and myself would be joining you.”

“Yeah, we could put those hobbits in their place!” Kili piped up from his chair.

“They wouldn’t doubt you once they saw your escort,” Fili nodded, twirling one his beard braids.

“Then the plan is set,” Elrond rose from his chair, smiling gracefully as he glanced around the table, “We leave after the next full moon.”

The hobbit frowned, hands sliding to grip the edges of the stone table as his shoulders sank. Bilbo sighed, feeling the defeat sink in, “Oh dear,” he mumbled.

So here he was, sitting with his intended and packing away various items and sitting by the fire in their private chambers wanting to hide away in the deepest, darkest corner possible. They were set to leave by the next light and Bilbo was - for the millionth time now- kicking himself for falling into the wizard’s charming little trap. By tomorrow they would be setting out for the Shire, and despite having Thorin by his side, Bilbo could feel his nerves on edge and the ever domineering gaze from the ghost of his mother as she stood in the corner.

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Bilbo remembers his mother; her long, golden curls, soft eyes, and her warm, loving embrace that only a mother could offer. Belladonna Took Baggins had never raised a hand to her son, she was sweet and caring, made sweets whenever there were tears shedding or a nice cup of hot chocolate when the winds were chilly. Bilbo remembers being close to his mother, the only person in the Shire that he felt would never look down on him for his Tookish nature. And why would she? As a Took herself, she shared the very same nature. His father never approved of it of course, neither did most of the Shire. But as a Took, Belladonna was a stubborn sort and would happily let her son exploit his curiosity to his heart’s content up until the day she breathed her very last breath.

Which is why Bilbo was so confused about the visions of his mother, out of all the ghosts that he saw in his hallucinations, his mother’s presence was always a mystery. Why Belladonna? Why his mother? This hallucination of his mother was so unlike her too; while the others were always close to character considering they were the dwarves but his mother was so unlike her. She always seemed cold and domineering, an icy stare in her hazel eyes and she would never speak when she came into Bilbo’s visions. The Elves think it is linked to his rejection from the Shire, but that wouldn’t make any sense considering the fact that Belladonna was a peculiar sort herself. He would always shake his head, listen to the Elves, he would think to himself, they know what they’re talking about.

Though he could never fight the little voice in the back of his mind that told him something different.

They set out for the Shire that very next morning; and now, just a week later they were approaching the borders of the Shire. A few Elves had joined the caravan, Arwen amongst them as she acted as the hobbit’s counseling escort since Elrond was unable to join them due to ‘Elven business’ as Arwen put it, a small smile playing on her lips. Bilbo had been keeping to Thorin’s side through the whole trip, practically clinging to him whenever they stopped to camp or holding the dwarf’s hand in a white-knuckled grip. It was an understatement to say that Bilbo was scared, no he was absolutely petrified. His happy chattering had faded during that week and he kept himself quiet unless it was speaking to Thorin or Arwen. He found himself on the verge of fits, his mind starting to creep into darker corners due to his fear and stress.

It was in those states that his mother would be most prominent.

Bilbo recalls about halfway through the trip where he was sitting by the campfire one night with the caravan, Thorin warmly by his side. He was eating his plate of food, looking up to answer a question that Kili had asked and everything just stopped. There she was, Belladonna standing before him, so close he could touch her. She was standing over him, her eyes wide and looking straight into his one hazel orb. Even though she was just a hallucination, Bilbo could feel the coldness of her shadow swallowing him up in an icy embrace.

He hadn’t realized he had dropped his plate, the clattering sounds unable to faze him. It took a good shake from his dwarf to pull Bilbo out of Belladonna’s gaze, and he found himself gasping for air when he came back to reality. He had made a mad dash for the woods, Thorin spared no time and was hot on his heels. When the Dwarf King finally caught up with his hobbit, he found Bilbo hunched over and hiding in the crook of an old oak tree. Bilbo remembers that strong embrace that Thorin pulled him into, those muscled arms and veil of dark hair almost a shield against his fears. He cried into that embrace, his one eye flowing with tears and hands tightly gripping onto Thorin’s fur coat. It took a few hours, but Thorin was able to coax Bilbo back to camp, Arwen was comforting in her words as he spoke to her about his hallucination. There was little sleep that night.

It still ran a chill down his spine to remember that icy stare, so close and it felt so real. Bilbo would see his mother more and more as they got closer to the Shire, and even as he rode on his horse ( yes he kept the horse) he would see her along the grassy paths over the border.

The caravan wasn’t grand, though it still held a royal bearing as they strolled through the roads leading into the Shire. Lead by the Dwarf King, two Dwarf Princes, the Dwarf Captain of the Guard, a good handful of dwarven soldiers, three Elves, an Elven Princess, a Wizard, and one skittish hobbit; Bilbo could only assume they looked like a circus if it weren’t for the weapons and finely fashioned attire.

Thorin had his trademarked fur coat, but it had been mended with finer leather and fabrics. His tunic was a lovely shade of dark, royal blue with mithril lacing, his breeches a dark shade of brown with his normal boots. The beads on Thorin’s braids were a mix of mithril and silver, though one stood out amongst the collection; an oddly molded bead made out of copper, etched with a misshapen acorn. It was Bilbo’s gift to Thorin, considering the fact that the only metal he could snag during their brief stay in Erebor before leaving for Rivendell. Bilbo had secretly fashioned it while they were staying in Rivendell, with the help of Kili and Fili of course. He knew little of Dwarven courting rituals, but he knew enough that a bead made special for someone you loved was enough to ask to be your intended. Needless to say, Thorin was overjoyed.

It always gave Bilbo a warm swell in his heart to see Thorin wear his misshapen bead, the thought that they were soon to be married always leaving a flutter in his chest. Even now, as he rode alongside Thorin on his (too) high horse, he felt the tightness in his chest and the warm smile playing on his lips.

However, the flutter died out the minute they crested the hill that overlooked the Shire.

Bilbo pulled the reins of his horse, and the large beast stopped abruptly on the hill. The hobbit could feel his his hands begin to tremble, his eye wide, and the lump rising in his throat. Never would he thought that the mere sight of so much green and smials would cause him to stop dead in his tracks.

Thorin had stopped when he noticed that the hobbit wasn’t budging, “Bilbo?” he called out. The caravan had stopped all together once the Dwarf King had called upon the hobbit. The hobbit in question, was silent as he sat on his horse, and the Dwarf King pulled his pony around to ride up alongside the hobbit. Thorin reached up to grasp Bilbo’s hand, thankfully he was high enough to reach the hobbit. He gave the smaller hand a light squeeze, “Bilbo?” he called out more softly.

Bilbo shook slightly in his saddle, “I can’t-” he swallowed hard, “I-I can’t do this. I’m so--so scared.”

Thorin frowned, though it was with concern, “I know, ghishavel,” his voice was gentle when he spoke the loving term in Khuzdul, “I know. But I’m here - we’re all here for you, Bilbo. We’re not going to let you do this alone, love.”

The dwarf could hear the soft hooves of Arwen’s horse as she approached the two on the hill, but his crystal blue eyes never left the hobbit. He ran a thumb over one of Bilbo’s finger, “Would you prefer to ride with me?” he kept his voice low.

Bilbo’s one eye was already watery, and he shook his head silently, obviously too afraid to get off from his safe spot that was high upon his horse. The hobbit closed his eye tightly, letting the tear roll down his cheek as he hung his head for a moment. He sniffled, taking in deep breaths as he sat and his grip strong onto Thorin’s hand. He dared not to open his eye, he knew if he did then Belladonna would be standing right next to him once again like before. Bilbo took another deep breath, sniffling, “She’s here,” he spoke quietly.

Thorin didn’t have to ask as to ‘who’ because he already knew who ‘she’ was. He breathed deeply through his nose, turning to glance at Arwen who sat with an equally concerned look on her soft features. He flexed his jaw, eyes looking away from the Elf as he sat on his pony and remained silent. He looked back to the little hobbit on the horse, and his brow furrowed with a sudden burst of determination.

Thorin promptly pushed himself up so he could grip onto the bridle of the horse’s saddle, pulling much attention from the hobbit. “Thorin what are you-?” but before Bilbo could finish, the Dwarf King was firmly planted behind the hobbit on the horse.

The larger dwarf placed his hands on either side of Bilbo’s hips, and smiled down at him as he sat behind the hobbit. His eyes were gentle as he tilted his head, “If we’re going to be marching into the Shire,” he said calmly, “then I want you to lead.”

“L-Lead?!” Bilbo blinked, sputtering a moment before he looked around at the caravan. There were an abundance of confusion and questioning faces staring back at the King and his hobbit. Bilbo turned back to Thorin, “What do you mean lead?!” he tried to keep his cracking voice low, “I-I can b-barely move from this spot! And she won’t let me!” Bilbo had motioned towards the empty spot of grass that sat next to the horse.

Thorin’s strong arms wrapped around the hobbit, and his hands grasped at the smaller ones once more. “Ghishavel,” Thorin spoke softly, leaning his head over Bilbo’s shoulder, “I have led you down the darkest holes, the deepest caverns, and almost into the belly of that worm.” Crystal blue eyes caught the one large hazel orb that stared back at him, his grasp on Bilbo’s hands were gentle, “You followed me, and in that time you’ve been at my side protecting me from my own darkness and my own demons,” he sighed through his nose, “But in return I’ve given you nothing but heartache, and I promised myself I wouldn’t let that happen again.”

Bilbo was confused, though he was silent and let Thorin continue, “So here, in the Shire,” he said, a soft smile on his lips, “You will lead, and I will follow. So I can protect you as you did for me, from the darkness and the demons.”

The hobbit could feel the watery tear escape his eye, and he let out a shuddering breath as he dipped his head low. He sniffled, closing his eye as he felt the warmth against his back from the Dwarf King. It was comforting, the warmth and strength of his dwarf- his intended, his One where he can always count on to be by his side. And even in his severe stages of grief and fear, Thorin was right by him and true to dwarf stubbornness, he refused to let go or turn away. Solid as stone.

Opening his one eye; Bilbo could see in his peripheral vision that his mother was still standing there, staring at him. He closed it one more, taking a deep breath and sniffled, nodding his head, “Okay.” He looked back up to the Dwarf King, a weak smile on his lips, “Okay,” he sniffled again.

Thorin smiled, warm and gentle as he gave the hobbit a kiss on the cheek, “You are as strong as mithril, love.”

Bilbo smirked, “And you’re still a sap, my heart.”

The Dwarf King chuckled, looking up to the Elven princess and nodded. Arwen smiled from her place on her horse and pulled the reins to face back towards the Shire. Thorin gave a few orders to have his pony follow behind Gandalf’s cart, soon turning back to the hobbit that sat in front of him.

Thorin motioned towards the path, “Lead the way, ghishavel.”

_________________________________________________

When they had arrived to Bag End, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had practically dropped her entire collection of potatoes when laying eyes on the caravan. Hobbits all around were staring at him, Bilbo ‘Mad’ Baggins as he sat on a tall white and grey horse with the King of Erebor sitting behind him. He smirked at the thought that he looked like a prince returning to his kingdom with a newly rescued damsel, at least Thorin had the hair for it. But the sight was not welcoming to Lobelia of course, and she sent word right away to the Thain.

It wasn’t too long till Fortinbras the Thain, an old hobbit that sported a head of curly white hair and a bowler hat to go with his finely dressed hobbit attire came strolling down the road with a rather fussy Lobelia followed behind him. Bilbo had been watching from his place on his horse, his hands tight around the reins of his horse. He closed his one eye, taking a deep breath through his nose and out his mouth before dismounting the horse. The Thain had just arrived to the caravan as Bilbo offered his small hand to the Dwarf King to help him off the horse.

The Thain looked to study, almost marvel at the caravan, but he almost seemed displeased by the sight. The old hobbit seemed to give a familiar twitch of the nose before gripping the collars of his brown coat, “Bilbo,” he nodded to the younger hobbit, “It is quite-- a surprise to see you again.”

I bet it is you old coot, Bilbo was grounding his teeth behind his lips but could only give a silent nod in response.

The elder hobbit cleared his throat, “And what business do you have in the Shire, may I ask?”

“To reclaim what was stolen from me,” Bilbo had bluntly spat.

“Stolen?” the Thain had quirked an eyebrow.

“Yes, stolen,” Bilbo couldn’t emphasize the word enough, “Bag End is rightfully mine. I’ve come to reclaim the home of my mother and father.”

“You’re mad if you think you can take back that smial!” Lobelia spat out, nose turned up as she spoke.

“Settle down,” the Thain waved a hand at the Sackville-Baggins, turning his old face towards Bilbo. He looked upon the one-eyed hobbit, and almost a fondness crossed over his wrinkled features. He had known Bilbo since he was just a small thing, Belladonna and Bungo had done right by him and he had turned out to be quite a respectable hobbit. However, after Bilbo’s return from his ‘adventures’, there was doubt in his mind of the young Baggins’ respectability but it never pushed further than that. But due to the pressure from the Sackville-Baggins, as well as half the Shire to back their claims; the Thain had the unfortunate task of telling Bilbo to leave the Shire before the hobbit could speak on his own behalf. It was a decision that left a bad taste in his mouth, and he hasn't felt right about it since.

The Thain almost seemed to study the younger hobbit before him seeing as Bilbo had a newer, nicer green coat that sat on his shoulders, covering the golden vest and warm white tunic with brown trousers. His eye-patch had gotten an upgrade, similar in style as his previous one but it was made with finer leather and dressed with small mithril beads along the patch and small emeralds in a star pattern where the eye should be. Much has changed with this hobbit of the Baggins clan, but despite the rough edges it was still Bilbo standing before him.

The Thain could only sigh and nod his head, “I believe this matter should be discussed behind closed doors.” Lobelia almost squawked, gawking at the elder hobbit, “You can’t be serious?! The Thain, I demand that-”

“No demands from you Lobelia,” came the sharp reply from the elder hobbit, the Thain narrowing his gaze towards the Sackville-Baggins. He adjusted his hat, “As the Thain, it is my duty to address the concerns of every hobbit in the Shire. And despite Bilbo’s situation,” he gestured to the younger hobbit, “he is still a hobbit, and he is still from the Shire.” The Thain glanced back to Bilbo and the Dwarf King, “I will see you and Mrs. Sackville-Baggins shortly.”

Bilbo let the heavy sigh escape his throat, his shoulder sagging just a tad and he felt the warmth on his shoulder from Thorin’s strong hand. He nodded towards the Thain, his voice fumbling only slightly as he spoke, “Th-Thank you.”

______________________________________________

Bilbo stared down at the cup of warm tea that sat before him on the wooden table. His hands were curled on either side of the cup, his one eye avoiding anyone else in the room as his fingers fidgeted against the wooden surface of the table. They were currently sitting in the smial of the Thain, in the dining room where a long wooden table was laid out with fancy furnishings surrounding it. The Thain sat at the head of table as was usual for him in these situations, casually sipping his tea and sitting quietly as he observed the occupants in the room. Lobelia was sitting right across from Bilbo, her scowl heavy as she let a sharp gaze towards the one-eyed hobbit. Thorin was matching her gaze with his dark, brooding stare; the dwarf a mound of muscle as he sat next to Bilbo.

But despite the presence of his beloved, Bilbo was still a mass of anxiety. Even as the Thain began to speak, he could feel the cold shadow creeping over his shoulders, knowing all too well what was coming. He could feel her, the chilling, crippling gaze of his mother staring at him from behind. She appeared soon after they sat at the table, and it was becoming difficult to keep his wits about him. Bilbo had resided to focusing on his own hands, opening and closing them to keep him distracted. He closed his eye, trying to breathe deeply through his nose but that did nothing to keep his shoulders from shaking now and again. The tremors were beginning to wrack his frame, almost as if the cold grip from his mother was sinking against his skin.

What does she want? What does she want? Whatdoesshewantfromme?!

“Bilbo Baggins?”

Bilbo snapped his head up when he heard his name being called, almost startled. The younger hobbit swallowed, his voice betraying him, “Y-Yes?” The Thain was arching an old, wiry grey eyebrow at the one eyed hobbit, “I said,” he spoke slowly, “Do you have any documentation you would like to share?”

There was a pause, Bilbo almost confused before the realization hit and he was fumbling around his coat. A scoff from Lobelia, “Honestly, Fortinbras,” she turned up her nose, “Why are we wasting our time with this? It’s obvious he is unfit for Bag End.”

Thorin’s piercing stare couldn’t be anymore sharper, those icy blue eyes a strong indication of what the dwarf’s frustration with this woman. He glanced to Bilbo, the anger fading into concern as the little hobbit was searching around his coat. A loud sigh of relief escaped Bilbo’s lips, and he pulled out a folded piece of paper, “H-Here it is!” he proclaimed.

When Bilbo handed over the document in question, the Thain took it gradually and proceeded to look it over. It was documentation of Bilbo’s therapy with the Elves of Rivendell, notes and sessions included. Thorin had thought it odd that documentation of the therapy had to be at all, this was Bilbo’s private business and it should stay private. Especially if Hobbits are rather nosey creatures and were prone to gossip; why even give the documentation at all?

The Thain hummed as he read over the document, “Company of one Thorin Oakenshield,” he looked up to the dwarf, “I am assuming that is you, master dwarf?”

Thorin nodded, “Aye.”

“And this is of course Bilbo’s signature,” the Thain glanced to Bilbo as he folded up the document. He placed the contract back on the table, letting a sigh escape his nose, “Well, everything seems to be in order.”

“So Bilbo will be acquiring his home again?” Thorin looked up.

Fortinbras the Thain turned his old, greying face towards the dwarf king, his jaw grinding behind his lips. He twitched his nose, his expression having fallen, “Not quite, I’m afraid.”

Thorin narrowed his gaze, “What do you mean,” he glanced between the contract and the Thain, his shoulders going stiff, “These are the proper documents to prove of his healing. What more do you want from him?”

The Thain raised a hand, nodding, “At ease, master dwarf,” he spoke calmly with a sigh. The old hobbit clasped his hands together as he leaned against the table, his eyes falling upon the younger hobbit who sat quietly in his seat at the table. The Thain frowned, almost sadly as he began to speak, “The documents may be order,” he said, “But there is still the concern for Bilbo’s respectability and whether or not he is fit to keep Bag End.”

The dwarf king felt his face fall, “What?” his lip twitched, obviously insulted by the words spoken about his hobbit. He leaned forward over the table, “Bilbo is more than capable to take Bag End,” Thorin had to hold back the sneer, “For Mahal’s sake, it is his home!”

“Well he should of thought of that before he went scampering off with you, dwarves!” Lobelia spat, turning up her nose again. She gestured to Bilbo, waving her stringy fingers towards the one eyed hobbit, “He came back with those wretched stories of monsters and orcs, scaring the living daylights out of the children and all of Hobbiton,” she sneered, “and he pulled a sword on a child don’t you know! A sword to a child’s throat! Honestly he learned such insulate manners from the likes of you!”

“That’s enough!” Thorin’s voice boomed, the dwarf almost storming as he stood from the table, promptly silencing Lobelia. He let the sneer grace his lips as he spoke, “How dare you speak of Bilbo like that?” Thorin kept his voice low, “He has showed more courage and more strength than any other creature in Middle Earth. And you have the nerve to spit out allegations and lies-”

“It’s true,” spoke the Thain. Thorin blinked, his voice cut short at hearing the words and he turned towards the elder hobbit. He blinked once more, “What?”

The Thain was silent for a moment, his eyes having been looking to the younger hobbit who was sitting silently at the table. He looked up to Thorin, his wrinkled features almost deflating at his sigh, “What she is saying,” the Thain spoke, “It’s all true.”

Thorin stared at the Thain, though he didn’t speak as he glanced down to Bilbo who was silent and staring towards the wood of the table. The small curtain of those golden curls seem to attempt to hid the glossy hazel eye that was staring down at the table with shame. His fists were clenched and his shoulders trembling, Bilbo did all he could to avoid Thorin’s gaze.

Fortinbras sighed, his eyes falling back to the younger hobbit, “When he arrived back to the Shire, at first he shared only tales of goblins and dragons. Harmless at first, something the little ones enjoyed to hear and it was a joy to see Bilbo entertaining the children.” The elder hobbit had given a small, sad smile as he thought back to the memories of groups of little fauntlings gathering around Bilbo’s garden to listen to his tales.

He hung his head slightly, greying features falling as he flexed his fingers in his clasped hands, “But the Shire folk were unwelcoming to the changes,” Fortinbras glanced to Thorin, gesturing to his own eye to signify Bilbo’s lost one. “Both outwardly and inwardly, they were not accepting to the tales of adventures and Bilbo’s change in attitude. Understand that hobbits hold propriety over anything else in the Shire,” Fortinbras continued, “They started to avoid him around the Shire and so Bilbo kept to himself at Bag End.” The Thain shook his head, “We don’t know what became of him while he lived there alone, but whatever happened made him a danger to everyone else in the Shire.”

A heavy sigh flew from the wrinkled lips of the Thain, and the elder hobbit looked away, “One of the Harfoot children; Delilah Harfoot supposedly came to Bad End with a basket of biscuits because her mother decided to shine some sympathy on Bilbo that day.” Fortinbras’ gaze narrowed a bit, “All I know was there was a scream, next thing we knew was that Bilbo was holding a sword to the child’s throat. Thankfully, she was unharmed but-- well, you can expect the outrage that followed.” The Thain leaned back against his chair, old wood creaking as he did so, “I didn’t even give him a chance to explain himself,” he shook his head once more, “I just sent him away.”

The Dwarf King turn to glance down at the smaller creature that sat next to him as he stood at the table. Bilbo’s hands were clenched, almost white-knuckled on the wooden surface of the table, and he could see that his one eye was closed tight and the tremors in his shoulders rising. The words were like knives against Bilbo’s skin, and the Dwarf King could see the pain in his hobbit’s features.

That explains the documentation...

Thorin brought a heavy hand to Bilbo’s shoulder, his eyes falling to look away from the hobbit. He glanced up to the Thain, “I believe we may need a moment alone.”

The Thain was happy to oblige.

____________________________________________________

Once alone in the dining room of the smial, Thorin sat back down in his seat next to Bilbo. His crystal blue eyes searched around the hobbit’s face, spotting the hazel orb that was now looking away from him. Thorin reached up to stroke a hand at Bilbo’s cheek, “Ghishavel,” he kept his voice low.

The tear stained face of the hobbit is what greeted him when Bilbo looked up to Thorin. The small hobbit sniffled, “So now you know the truth,” he whispered, “I’m a monster.”

Thorin shook his head, “No,” he spoke calmly, as gentle as he could, “No, Bilbo, no. You’re not a monster.” Strong arms reached out and brought the smaller hobbit against his chest, Thorin bringing Bilbo close. Almost instantly he could feel the hobbit sob against his fur coat, Bilbo’s shoulder’s shaking with tremors and Thorin a forever wall of warmth surrounding the hobbit. Thorin kissed against the golden curls, “I’m here, ghishavel,” he whispered, “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

Silent sobs were his only response, Bilbo too afraid to look up to Thorin. It almost seemed like hours as they sat there but really it was just a matter of minutes. Bilbo turned his face against the coat, sniffling once more but still let the tears fall as he kept his eye closed and relished in the warmth of his dwarf. Once he mustered the strength and bravery to open his eye, he was looking across the room towards the window. However, the lone, dark figure standing in front of the window caused him to freeze in Thorin’s arms.

Belladonna stared at the small creature in the dwarf’s arms, her eyes locking with the one hazel orb that stared back, wild and afraid. Bilbo couldn’t hear Thorin’s words as the dwarf called con him, nor the shaking of his shoulders as Thorin shook him. The hobbit was frozen, solid in his spot and speechless as he sat. The hallucination caused a domineering shadow to fall upon the hobbit, and Bilbo could feel himself growing colder and colder the longer he stared back at those piercing eyes.

There was movement in the shadow, Belladonna approaching Bilbo step by quiet step, however her gaze never faltered. Bilbo was unmoving, so caught up in his mother’s gaze that he didn’t realize that as she came closer, her hands were reaching out for him. Thorin was still shaking him, calling for him, but everything was silent, the loud piercing whistle ringing in his ears. Bilbo’s eye widened when Belladonna came face-to-face with him, the hazel orb almost shaking as he locked his gaze with the hallucination. Then the cold child ran up his back when feeling the slender fingers clasp over his cheeks, Belladonna’s hands having grasped onto his face.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he could only sit there silently with fear and anticipation as his mother locked his gaze with his, her eyes boring in his soul. Soon he felt the world, fall away from him as his vision blurred around the edges, and everything went black.

_______________________________________________

He remembers being alone in that smial, no neighbors to knock on his door, no family members to stop by and say hello; only himself and the every present silence of Bag End. He tried to return to his old life, he truly did, but the experience that he endured while traveling on the road has left its mark on him and he remembered Gandalf’s words before he stepped out his door on to the journey.

He returned. And he wasn’t the same.

It was small little habits here and there, harmless at first but all the troublesome things start that way don’t they?

He would mutter to himself here and there, making his tea or cooking dinner he would talk to himself but acting as if there was another occupant in the room. He would gesture with his spoon, talking of the smelliness of trolls, the dangers of orcs, and what not; always with a strong exaggeration in his voice as he tried to mimic the accents of all the creatures and beings he had come in contact with. When he would sit alone by the fire, he would look up to the pictures of his mother and father on the wall and speak to them, acting as if they never left. Speaking in his father’s tongue or his mother’s snappiness, he would imagine what would be happening if they were sitting with him at that very moment.

The isolation had not been kind to him, even when he would venture out to the markets. The other hobbits would down on him, frown upon in him and his ‘inappropriate’ attire. Some of the market vendors would even refuse to sell any of their stock to him, the whispers from the market goers rising with rumors and gossip, and judgemental gazes.

‘Mad Baggins’ is what they called him as he left the market, his basket empty and belly hungry.

The lack of nutrition due to his little supply of food didn’t help him, even traveling to Bree for food took a toll on his small little body. That coupled with the increasing isolation was beginning to cause the swirl of thoughts to break in his mind, and soon the mocking voices he would make almost seemed too real.

Then one night, when the fire was a lit and he sat in his armchair with a growing cold cup of tea, he saw the shadows move in the corner of his vision. Fear grew on him, and he went to sleep with Sting in his hands that night. As the nights went on, the shadows grew and grew into solid shapes that he would catch in his day-to-day tasks, and his paranoia rose from that. He would lose sleep due to his dreams, the shadows strong and riddling him with nightmares. His sanity was fading and he didn’t know what to make of anything anymore. His eyes held dark circles, his plump weight diminishing till he was just a walking bag of bones, and his hair a curly mess.

He was indeed a shadow of the hobbit that he once was.

In the darkness of his poorly lit sitting room, as the fire died down as he sat curled up on in his armchair, he held onto Sting tightly, body shaking in its cries for nourishment. The shadows rose in his vision, and when he turned his head to look, he froze in his very spot.

Belladonna Took Baggins stood before him as bright as the moonlight shining through the window.

He remembers now, that night when he finally snapped. The shadows had become real, the hallucinations officially becoming a regular occurrence in his day-to-day life. He didn’t sleep at all that night, Sting tight in his grasp as he sat in the armchair with his mother just staring at him till sun rose the next morning. The sharp knock at his door was what broke her away from his vision, and with fear in his heart and mind, he brandished Sting when he went to answer the door. Poor Delilah Harfoot didn’t see it coming, her basket of fresh biscuits falling to the ground and the poor little hobbit lass cried as she ran off.

The neighbors who had heard the child’s scream came running, and all they saw was his sword held at Delilah’s throat, his barking orders echoing all throughout Hobbitton.

And that had been the end of it.

_____________________________________________________

Bilbo remembers now, as he sits on the floor against the wall of the Thain’s pleasantly furnished dining room with his betrothed, the Thain himself, and a snooty Sackville-Baggins looking over him. Belladonna was his first hallucination to appear to him, a ghost of what she use to be and a heavy reminder of what happened to him all those days and months ago when he finally snapped. He lost the lust for life that day, he saw nothing but the shadows around him and the emptiness in his soul.

Perhaps that was why she’s still with him, her presence a shadow of the light she would bring in his life when she was alive. Even now with his One in his life and his support behind him, he still feels the shadows of fear and doubt creeping up on him. ‘Stop being afraid, and be brave,’ perhaps that is what she is trying to say whenever the hallucination would make itself known?

Be brave. Face your fears.

Another shake to his shoulders brought Bilbo out of his daze, his one hazel eye looking up when a warm, gentle hand was brought to his cheek. At this point, Arwen had joined the ranks of onlookers in the Thain’s dining room, her soft features wracked with concern. He let out a deep breath, as if he was holding it for ages and felt his shoulders sag. The She-Elf gave a small smile, a quiet sigh escaping her features when seeing Bilbo coming into focus on reality and she turned to the other occupants in the room.

Thorin was immediately by his side and the hobbit felt strong arms bring him close, tightly, and whispers of love and support ringing out as the dwarf kissed amongst the head of golden curls. Bilbo felt kisses against his head and cheeks, and he couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his face as he let the tears fall. When finally looking up from the bear hug that Thorin had him in, Bilbo could see that Fortinbras had visibly sighed, his shoulders sagging with relief.

“Welcome back, Mr. Baggins,” Fortinbras had said, quietly though so not to startle the younger hobbit.

The Dwarf King helped Bilbo up, and moved him to sit on a chair at the table, Arwen sitting on one side as Thorin sat on the other. The younger hobbit leaned back against the chair, giving a weak smile towards the Thain as he sat back in his designated chair. “I apologize if this has delayed our discussion, Fortinbras,” Bilbo spoke weakly, his voice quiet but he was gaining his strength back.

“No, no, Bilbo,” the Thain shook his head, “All is well as long as you are, dear lad.” The elder hobbit sat back in his chair, “But I must ask, Bilbo,” he began, “Do you still wish to continue this discussion?”

Bilbo had opened his mouth to speak, but the shrill voice of a Sackville-Baggins snapped in, “Fortinbras, this is preposterous!” Lobelia practically shrieked, “There is no point for it!”

“Lobelia,” the Thain sighed, “I was addressing Bilbo, not yourself-”

“Really Fortinbras?” Lobelia wasn’t even seated in her chair as she popped a hand to her hip and started pointing a finger in Bilbo’s direction. “Did you not see what he was reduced to?” she turned up her nose to the one-eyed hobbit, “He was practically drooling on the floor like a wee babe! And you wish to further this discussion whether or not he is ‘fit’? Of course he’s not!”

“Lobelia,” all eyes turned to the small voice that spoke up from the table, a chair having been pushed out where the hobbit now stood. Bilbo was using most of his strength to keep himself upright as he stood at the table, his chair backed against the wooden cabinet that sat next to the dining table. The other four occupants in the room looked up to the one-eyed hobbit silently, more shocked that he was speaking at all and Thorin had reached out a gentle hand to the smaller one next to him.

Bilbo gripped it tightly, and with a twitch of his nose and lifted his chin, he spoke, “On my adventures to the Lonely Mountain,” he began, “I faced a great deal of perils.” Lobelia was silent as she watched the hobbit, though her furrowed brown and pouted sneer spoke volumes as she listened. Bilbo continued, “I had to outwit trolls, outrun orcs, survive the rains and falling rocks of a thunder battle, escape a Elven dungeon, and face a dragon. I’ve fought through a battle of various armies, and helped a King reclaim his kingdom.”

He couldn’t stop the small sag in his shoulders at the memories of his adventures, “I endured a lot of pain and heartbreak during my time out in the world,” he felt the squeeze from the stronger hand that wrapped around his own. Bilbo closed his eye for a moment and swallowed, he then sighed and looked back up to Lobelia, “But through it all, I survived.” He smirked as he continued, “The wizard was right: if I returned, I would not be the same. And you know what, I’m glad,” he said, raising his chin and feeling just a bit more proud, “I’m much stronger than I was, smarter than I was, and through my adventures I’ve gained the love and loyalty of people I’d never thought would bat an eye.”

Bilbo could feel the fond smile from Thorin as the Dwarf King looked up to him. He adjusted his shoulders, “So I may not have all my wits about me from time to time,” he let his one hazel eye stare straight into Lobelia’s face, “But I’ll be damned if you think you can stand there and call me ‘unfit’ for my own home!” He twitched his nose, “I am a Baggins of Bag End,” he said, “And I am more fit for that smial than you know!”

Lobelia was standing, her nose still upturned but she seemed unsure what to say as she scowled and looked away from the rest of the group. The Thain however, seemed rather impressed as he sat in his chair, a proud smile on his wrinkled face. There was a moment of silence, Bilbo still standing as Thorin looked up him with a warm smile and nothing but love in his crystal blue eyes. Arwen was very pleased, a gentle hand patting against Bilbo’s arm as he stood at the table.

Lobelia couldn’t hold back the sneer on his face, looking to the Thain in what seemed like desperation, “Fortinbras!” she exclaimed, “You must have something to say about this?!”

The old hobbit looked up to the Sackville-Baggins as she stood, one of her feet tapping impatiently against the old wood of the floor. He cleared his throat, “Ah, yes, yes,” he pushed himself up from his chair, adjusting his hat and vest as he did so. He looked upon the other occupants of the room, all eyes falling on the elder hobbit. Fortinbras grasped at the collar of his vest, resorting to a rather professional stance, “I, indeed, have something to say about this.”

As the anticipation was almost visibly rising within the room, old Fortinbras Took raised his chin, and smiled.

__________________________________________________

Thorin leaned down to the mess of golden curls that laid next to him on the plush bed in their private bedroom, placing a gentle kiss against Bilbo’s forehead. The hobbit stirred against his pillow, letting out a small grunt followed by stretching his thin limbs. A heavy sigh escaped Bilbo’s nose, and the hobbit turned over against the pillow to look up to his dwarf. The one hazel eye was barely open, but Bilbo could see those crystal blue eyes staring back at him and he smiled, “Good morning,” he mumbled.

“Good morning ghishavel,” Thorin kept his voice low as he responded, a warm smile playing his lips. Gentle hands stroked against the golden curls, “It appears we’ve slept in again.”

“Oh dear,” Bilbo shifted against the pillow once more, grinning as he stretched a hand against the bare skin of the muscled torso of his Dwarf, “Then perhaps we should stay in bed then, shall we?”

Thorin chuckled, “I wish we could, love,” he smiled, “But you know we have to get ready for the road.”

Bilbo laid his head back, sighing through his nose, “Ah yes,” he almost groaned, “It’s today isn’t it?”

“That it is, love,” Thorin tilted his head, bringing his hand to stroke against those rosey hobbit cheeks, “But we’ll be back next summer.”

“I do hope so,” Bilbo laid flat against his back, “I am very much looking forward to being an uncle.”

As it turned out, the Thain had come to decision to grant Bilbo ownership of Bag End once again. It came by listening to Bilbo’s words, of his travels and his triumphs, that persuaded him to grant him Bag End once again. To hear Bilbo speak of his perils and to outright admit that he may not be completely there in the head was very brave of the hobbit, but Fortinbras could see that the Baggins was strong and even stronger with his support group behind him.

“You’ve come a long way, lad,” Fortinbras had said, “Your mother and father would be proud.”

Bilbo can still remember the look on Lobelia Sackville-Baggins face as the Thain proclaimed his decision; wide-eyed, gawking, and almost hysterical with scandalous anger. She had tried to scurry back to Bag End and lock herself inside, but thankfully Dwalin and a handful of Dwarven guards had showed up on the doorstep.

Within the week, Bilbo was able to step back into his family home once more, furniture and belongings included all the way down to his mother’s doilies. It was a huge leap for his recovery, or that was what Arwen had said; the She-Elf by his side as they spoke in his weekly sessions. Bilbo had braved the demons inside of him, and though he can still see the hallucinations on occasion, he made progress and was finding balance in his life. But there were a few things that needed to be resolved, that being that now he had Bag End in his possession- what was he going to do with it?

Bilbo and Thorin were set to be wed within the coming of summer, but that would mean that they would have to go back to Erebor. They had talked about what to do, and to their surprise the Thain proposed an idea.

“Why not have the wedding in the Shire?” Fortinbras had asked, sipping at his cup of tea.

Bilbo blinked, “But-- what of the other hobbits?” he asked, “Aren’t they still-- well…”

Fortinbras shook his head, “Ah, my dear lad,” he set down his tea cup, “With hobbits, as you know, word spreads fast.” The elder hobbit looked up as Bilbo still seemed confused, and he leaned over a bit with a quirked eyebrow and a grin, “And since your arrival, some of the hobbits have had a change of heart. Especially now that they know you’re marrying a king.”

Bilbo tried to hide his blushing cheeks through sipping at his tea cup, a little embarrassed and nervous of the other hobbits in the Shire. But the Thain was truthful in his words; when the decision was declared that Bilbo and Thorin were going to have their wedding in the Shire, they were met with many a hobbit offering their support. Despite some of the hobbit families (amongst them, the Sackville-Baggins’ of course) being against it, the wedding was still a bright, lively party filled with the likes of Hobbits, Dwarves, and Elves. Dis along with Dain had been accompanied by a small caravan to attend the wedding, and through the night it had erupted into a delightful and rather large celebration.

Bilbo doesn’t remember much of that night, he had gotten so drunk that he just remembers speaking his vows and then he woke up the next morning in bed, hungover, naked, and laying next to Thorin as he snored away in his sleep. No doubt it was a rather marvelous night for the both of them; just the memory of seeing Thorin next to him with nothing but a bed sheet and bare skin still made his cheeks and ears burn.

Of course, after the wedding the business with Bag End had to be addressed. Lobelia tried to bring up a variety of arguments as to why the smial should be left in her possession, but thankfully the Thain wouldn’t hear any of it. All the decision making was left to Bilbo, and for a moment he was left a little stumped.

However, that was until Drogo and a very pregnant Primula came along.

Bilbo still felt bad for missing their wedding while he was off on his adventures, but Drogo was kind and understanding as was Primula. He was very grateful for them, they were two out of the very, very few individuals that had shut him out when he was banished from the Shire. Next to Hamfast, Primula and Drogo would bring him food and supplies while he camped out in the Gamgee smial. And now to see that the Brandybuck-Baggins was expecting a third party to their little family, it brought forth Bilbo’s decision to leave Bag End to his cousin.

Needless to say, Drogo and Primula were at a loss for words, so much that Primula was almost reduced to tears. But there were hugs and smiles, and many, many promises to come back and visit. Bag End deserved a family, especially since it had been so many years since it felt the scurry of small feet and hear the laughter of children. Primula and Drogo were perfect for the smial.

Bilbo was smiling to himself as he still laid in the plush bed of his old bedroom, his eyes crinkling at the ends. He felt the bed dip next to him and a strong, calloused hand of his Dwarf slide up his forearm. Thorin was already dressed in his traveling clothes, nothing fancy but still retained the importance of a Dwarf King.

Thorin smiled and motioned towards the door, “Shall we, love?”

Bilbo let the smile grow into a grin and he rolled out of bed to join his husband and greet the day.

Chapter Text

Two years later.

Bilbo looks into the mirror as he adjusts the mithril crown on his head, the leafy design made special to reflect his heritage and the kingdom he now calls home. He straightens up his silver colored vest and grabs the dark green coat from the peg by the dresser, slipping it over his shoulders. The final touch is the eyepatch that’s been woven with mithril beads and emeralds, one of the various designs that Thorin had personally requested.

As he slipped the fabric over his scarred and gnarled eye, he felt strong, gentle hands slip around his waist, and Bilbo can feel the tickling strands of Thorin’s beard against his neck. Those crystal blue eyes look at Bilbo in the mirror, “You look marvelous as ever, ghishavel.”

“And you’re as sappy as ever, love,” Bilbo grinned as he leaned against the bearded face of his Dwarf, feeling a chuckle rumble from Thorin’s chest as he pressed against him. The hobbit turned to meet Thorin in a kiss, the two of them holding it for a moment before Bilbo pulled away.

“We should get down there,” Bilbo said, patting Thorin’s chest, “I’m sure Thranduil is driving Balin crazy by now.”

“Aye,” Thorin sighed, turning to lead Bilbo to the door, “But if he can break Balin, then there truly is no hope for this alliance.”

“Well we better keep the peace then,” Bilbo smirked, quirking his eyebrow towards the Dwarf King, only to see Thorin’s eyes roll.

Thorin groaned, “Only if that tree-shagger keeps his mouth shut,” he flexed his jaw, reaching for the door handle to the heavy, wooden door of the royal chambers.

“Temper, love, temper,” Bilbo patted at Thorin’s shoulder, tilting his head towards the Dwarf. He smiled, “Nothing is going to get done unless you keep the peace.”

Thorin sighed, though the smile slid over his bearded face; he couldn’t deny the true, diplomatic words of his hobbit and consort. Bilbo was a force to be reckoned with when it came to discussion of politics and trade agreements within and out of the kingdom. The Dwarf King nodded,“Aye,” and he leaned down to kiss the hobbit’s cheek, “After you, dear.”

The door was pulled open and Thorin was about to let Bilbo walk out first, but before the hobbit could step out of the doorway he paused. Bilbo patted against his coat, “Oh,” he frowned, sighing, “Butter biscuits, I forgot the papers.” He looked up to Thorin, “One moment,” and before the Dwarf King could say anything, the hobbit had scurried off to his office that sat adjoined to the Royal Chambers.

Bilbo had pushed open the door to his office, making a beeline for his desk. There was a circular window that sat behind the desk, perfect for a hobbit who often required the sunlight and fresh air. His fingers filled through the stack of papers, searching for the right documents until he let out a quiet, “Aha!” He pulled out the necessary parchment, read through to make sure everything was in order and proceeded to roll up the paper.

As he made it a few steps towards the office door, he soon became aware of something in the corner of his eye. His hands slowed in their attempt to roll up the parchment, fingers gripping the paper a little tighter than it was necessary and he found himself at a stand still in the middle of his office.

He could feel the chill along his spine, and the slight tremble in his shoulders but he couldn’t bring himself to turn around towards the form that stood in the room. He refused it, he forbade it, he turned away so he wouldn’t acknowledge it, and he closed his eye so he wouldn’t have to look upon the cold shadow in the corner of his office. He was taking deep breaths through his nose, mouth kept shut and silent, but his mind was racing and the mantra he had learned to calm himself began to beat within his head.

Be brave, Bilbo. Be brave, Bilbo. Be brave, Bilbo. Be brave -

“Bilbo?”

Bilbo’s eye snapped open at the call of his name, and he looked up to see the concerned features of his Dwarf staring back at him. Thorin stepped forward carefully, reaching out gentle hands placed on the hobbit’s shoulders. He leaned his head down a bit, “Is everything all right, ghishavel?” he spoke quietly.

The hobbit breathed, his one hazel eye looking up to the clear, crystal blue ones that stared back at him. He was about to turn his head towards the corner, but caught himself and forced himself to keep his eye on his Dwarf. Bilbo swallowed, sighing as he smiled, “Y-Yes,” he gave a shaky nod towards the Dwarf King, “Of course, love.”

Thorin paused for a moment, his face falling into that firm stare of concern. Of course he could see the signs, however as Bilbo stood firmly in his place with that pleading looking in his eye, he decided not to push it. Thorin nodded, reaching over and patting one of Bilbo’s shoulder, “All right,” he nodded towards the door, “Shall we?”

Bilbo nodded and followed Thorin, his hand gripping the door handle to his office and moving to close the door. Before he could close it however, he paused, just for a moment but before he could let the anxiety rise he promptly turned his head and closed the door, leaving silence and an empty room. As he followed Thorin towards the meeting hall, he held his head high and his grip around Thorin’s hand strong. He was told countless times that he would never be completely rid of them, that the hallucinations will always be there and he would have to face them.

But Bilbo knew, as he walked down the stone halls of Erebor next to the Dwarf King that is his One, that he would never have to face them alone.

And for that, Bilbo was very thankful.