Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bilbo still doesn't fully understand it.

From what the Elves and Gandalf had worked out, it was all his fault. Now, they didn't explicitly state this, not in such words at least, but Bilbo couldn't help but feel that the blame for it all lied with him.

What he does understand is that it all began after his little fall in the Goblin Tunnels.

The cave-dwellers hadn't been down there for many years but after the Company’s escape from the perilous mountain hideout, the goblins searched high and low for remaining signs of the intruders. While down in the tunnels, they were able to catch the scent of something familiar to them. Something they hadn’t smelt for many years; the scent of Hobbit. Namely, Took Hobbit.

The very same tale Gandalf had told him that fateful night of the unexpected party to try to convince him to join a foolhardy quest had come to light once more. If he had the heart left, Bilbo would have laughed at the irony of it all.

It was the tale of his Great-Grand-Uncle Brandobas “the Bullroarer” Took. When old Bullroarer knocked the head off of the Goblin Chief Golfimbul’s shoulders, it apparently struck a nerve. In the goblins’ retreat, they had forgotten the scent of Hobbit and apparently the bad blood to their king-killer. It wasn't until Bilbo’s little adventure and his subsequent tumble in the Goblin Tunnels did the scent become known once more. It wasn't easy to track however, so they needed to wait for the creature Gollum to expel himself from the tunnels to get a fresher scent, for not even they would go near him.

That's how they were able to track the Took line. Through Bilbo. That smidgen of Tookishness in him led the foul creatures to the Shire, on Bullroarer Day, no less. Everyone was celebrating. No one was ready for battle.

“It was not your fault, you know.” spoke a voice suddenly, disturbing the quiet of the Rivendell room and Bilbo from his thoughts, reading them with the ability that only his nephew possessed.

Bilbo turned around to see - just as he suspected - the young hobbit standing in the doorway.

“Oh, Frodo. You know it's impolite to sneak up on others.” Bilbo chided, momentary alarm over the sudden arrival easing away. “Without knocking, no less...” he added in a mutter as he turned back to his new desk made of a slab of stone and beautifully carved wood that Lord Elrond himself was kind enough to have commissioned for him.

“Well, there aren't exactly doors to knock on now, are there?” the boy remarked with a playful grin, in a rather audacious manner.

“When did you become so cheeky?” Bilbo reprimanded without much malice as he began to sort through his papers once more.

“Ah, I'm afraid that my younger cousins are to blame for that development.” Frodo informed, tone falsely grave as he took a seat on one of the elaborate-looking footstools beside the desk. “I’ve been spending much too much time with them, as of late.”

“Ah, I see.” Bilbo huffed as he felt a small smile grace his face - a rarity these days - at the thought of his younger wards and their antics. Small blessings like these were a real treat with the somber mood everyone had been feeling as of late. With this thought, Bilbo continued a pressing line of questioning, “Speaking of which, how are the others faring today? And what kind of trouble might you be letting them get into whilst you take your leave of them, hm?”

“Oh, relax. They’re off troubling poor ole Lindir.” Frodo dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Besides, Sam’s there to keep them in check.” he assured. Then, as if he could sense a change in the air, Bilbo looked up from his papers and over to his nephew only to see that Frodo’s easy smile had strained. He was looking at nothing really in particular, but his mind seemed heavy by something all the same. “But it’s not as though any of them have the heart for trouble making at the moment…” the boy trailed forlornly.

“Sam's mood is much the same,” Frodo started in his report, beginning with the Bagginses’ only non-relation. “he’s still very quiet, more so than he once already was, and likes to avoid talking about anything if I try bringing it up. Or if he does allow us to discuss it, he just insists that he himself is fine and worries for the others.”

Bilbo hummed, as troubled by the revelation as his young nephew was. It was very like Sam to make little of his troubles. As Bilbo first feared, Sam’s role as an older brother had followed him on the road as he applied it to their younger companions. That was all fine and dandy, especially when there were younglings to look after, but Sam himself was a child and he was already too self-sacrificing for his own good. Because of Bilbo, Sam was away from his entire family, alone in a sense that the rest of the hobbits weren’t, yet he still felt the need to fulfill the role of a provider and helper and Bilbo felt horrible for it.

“Merry is still very moody and is getting quite snippy, if I do say so myself.” Frodo continued, drawing Bilbo from his troubled thoughts with more troubling news. Frodo himself looked quite miffed by the change in his younger cousin.

“He’s confused. Merry being ‘snippy’ is just part of his coping.” Bilbo offered in an attempt to ease his nephew’s clear ire.

At this, Frodo’s angry frown turned grim, as if he had already accepted this fact and was none too pleased with it all the same. “I know that, but he gets angry so easily and at the smallest of things.” Frodo countered. After a moment of silence, he softly added, “I miss my Merry-lad…” and Bilbo felt his already weary heart ache.

After his parents died and before Bilbo adopted him, Frodo lived in Brandy Hall with his Brandybuck relations and took the role of an older brother-figure to one of the younger hobbit lads, his first cousin Merry. Seeing their relationship strained so due to the results of his own actions made Bilbo feel beyond guilty and downright despicable.

“I know, lad. I gather that Merry is more so angry with his inability to do something about our current situation rather than with whatever he pretends is bothering him.” Bilbo consoled, attempting to ease his young ward as much as he was himself.

“I know, but he’s even snapping at Pippin!” Frodo exclaimed, sounding exasperated.

Now at this bit of information regarding the youngest of their party, Bilbo looked surprised for normally Merry treated his precious baby cousin with such fondness.

“And what of Pippin? How is he?” Bilbo asked, suddenly worried if he had ruined that relationship as well. If it were true, then Bilbo was truly heinous indeed because he had never seen a relationship that rivaled that of the two young cousins from the countryside (there was another pair he once knew who came close, but not quite).

Frodo’s annoyance at his first cousin seemed to melt away with the thought of his youngest relation. “The same too, I suppose. His heart still seems lighter than the rest of ours but I’m afraid he’s still nowhere near his usual levels of cheer. He’s happy and playful most days though he is very peeved and confused at Merry’s actions. You know he hasn’t let Pippin out of his sight once, since all this has happened? Merry even watches him as he takes his naps! He’s been quite keen on keeping track of all of us, actually...”

“Yes, it’s as I thought.” Bilbo mused. “Merry is perhaps just very angry with his inability to do anything and just sees watching over all of you as a sort of standing guard. And Pippin is just too young to fully understand what’s going on.”

“He’s just confused.” Frodo chimed in, picking up on the common theme his uncle was implying.

“Exactly. And Sam is still reluctant to share anything. Though I do suppose he’s missing his family. They all are.”

Frodo nodded solemnly, no doubt feeling a bit guilty that he was the only one to have his parental-figure with him. Bilbo smiled wearily and got up from his seat to kneel in front of the lad and patted his leg in a comforting manner, causing the dark-haired boy to look up at him.

“I want to thank you for the way you’re handling all this, Frodo.” Bilbo said sincerely. “You’re being very mature.”

“Of course I am. I am an adult, you know.” Frodo stated matter-of-factly, sounding slightly indignant.

“Just barely. Enjoy your youth.” Bilbo huffed in a laugh as he got up to return to his chair.

The two were in comfortable silence for a few peaceful moments as Bilbo looked over his papers, until Frodo spoke up once more. “Uncle Bilbo?” he began rather tentatively.

“Yes?” the elder answered, turning his head in the other’s direction ever so slightly. His desk was a right mess at present...

“You trust me, don’t you?” Frodo asked rather cryptically.

At this, Bilbo turned away from his desk once again. “Uh, well, yes of course I do.” he honestly replied.

“Then if I do something, something that I think is for the best, you wouldn’t get angry? Even if you were against it?” the young hobbit continued on strangely.

Now Bilbo was completely lost. “Y-Yes…? But, Frodo whatever do you mean?”

The boy definitely looked a bit guilty of something but before Frodo could answer, Elven horns sounded from outside, announcing visitors.

“Gandalf isn’t due back yet…” Bilbo muttered to himself curiously, walking past Frodo to step out onto his balcony to try to catch a glimpse of who could be here. Lord Elrond did not mention they’d be receiving any visitors…

“It’s not Gandalf.” Frodo simply said as he walked down the steps - quite hurriedly - and disappeared.

Before Bilbo could stop his suspicious nephew, he caught sight of seven very familiar dwarves gathering below his balcony and proceeded to stare in utter bafflement.

Chapter Text

A few weeks earlier…

When Ori and Kíli came crashing into his makeshift office, Balin didn’t know what to think. The boys were speaking at the same time - quite maniacally - with one of them waving something around in the air, though the movements were far too rapid to distinguish what it was or even whose grasp it was in. This type of hyperactivity was expected of Kíli, for he’s always been boisterous, but soft-spoken Ori this excited about something was a sight to behold.

It was true that as they aged, Kíli became a bit more mature and learned to mellow out and Ori had grown more confident and sharp-witted as he further pursued his scholarly interests. However, lads will always be lads, so they were still much the same as they always were and it quite showed in moments like these. What exactly could cause the lads to act like wee dwarflings though, Balin had no idea.

As they stayed in the Blue Mountains, Balin gave specific orders for himself not to be disturbed unless it was of the highest importance, for he was making plans for the Dwarves’ big reclamation of Khazad-dûm.

Erebor would always be healing from Smaug’s wrath, but it was far better than it was in the early days after their quest to reclaim it. It was once again bustling with life and ruled by a king who’s own healing was linked to that of the Mountain’s. Only quite recently has Balin finally felt the kingdom and king had come along far enough that he could leave them both for a year or two to make assessments on the Mines of Moria and see what preparations needed to be made. Or, alternatively, determine if the reclaiming of one of their great Dwarven Kingdoms of old was a lost cause.

Around seven months ago, Balin departed the Mountain with all the dwarves able and willing to journey westward in tow. Caravans traveled much slower than Companies, however - especially when they were not being actively chased - so they had only just settled in the Blue Mountains a few weeks ago. As of yet, they had only sent scouts out to Moria’s gates, which is why they needed all the time they could spare to plan.

Himself and Óin were currently discussing possible ways to drive the orcs occupying the ancient city out, knowing that it was too great a risk to try to face them head on. What could possibly be so important that the lads disturbed them?

“Calm down, you two! I cannot understand a word either of you are saying.” Balin said in a raised tone, but the two young dwarves didn’t seem to be able to calm down from whatever had gotten them into such a frenzy. He raised his voice and tried again, “What in Mahal’s name are you—”

However, just at that moment, the tent flap swished open violently again to reveal a sweaty Bofur and a disheveled looking Nori. Balin couldn’t remember where the two had stationed themselves. In fact, thinking on it now, he believes that they were heading into the market, last he heard, so the fact that either of them were even here at base camp was truly a shock.

“Is it true?” Bofur asked in such a rush that Balin wasn’t sure of what he had even said for a moment.

“Is what true?” the elder asked once he could distinguish the barely sensical words, baffled.

Though before either of the newcomers were able to answer, the tent flap flew open yet again, revealing Glóin straight from patrol - axe and all.

“Is it true?” he unknowingly parroted, sounding out of breath. And as he well should be! His post was a good fifteen minutes of walking away!

Now Balin was completely confounded. What was it that got these dwarves’ beards in a bunch? “Is what true? You’re all acting mad!” he found himself exclaiming.

Ori, who seemed to be composing himself at a rate much quicker than Kíli was, finally stuttered out a clear response for the poor old dwarf. “L-L-Letter.” he simply said, holding out the mysterious object that he was frantically waving around not but a few moments ago.

Balin took the article - a simple white envelope, he could finally discern - and read the neat handwriting on the front;

‘Balin the Dwarf, Son of Fundin

The Blue Mountains’

“A letter?” he questioned, disbelieving, looking up at the out-of-breath dwarves gathered in this quickly-cramped tent. “All this fuss over a letter?”

Kíli recovered first, most likely due to his age and natural vigor, and answered him this time. “It’s not just any letter. Look at the seal, look at it!” he ordered gleefully.

Balin, though usually not one to take orders from the young prince, turned the letter around as instructed - for the young dwarf seemed to be much too zealous over such a thing, even for Kíli. Looking at the back of the envelope, there wasn’t really anything distinguishing about it, except for its simple, red wax seal; simple because it only depicted a single letter. But that single letter evoked more awe than any ornate coat of arms ever could, at least for this band of dwarves.

“‘B’?” Balin said aloud, eyes going wide as something that felt akin to hope sparked within him. Envelopes weren’t their usual method of messaging, amongst Dwarves. Ravens had far greater speed than foot-carriers and such a weighty burden would only hinder the birds, so this message came from no Dwarf. Even so, the seal itself was far too telling...

“I-I recognized the stationary. And I’ve seen the seal once before, years ago.” Ori informed, unknowingly voicing Balin’s trail of thought aloud. He did not wait for a prompt to continue, for he quickly supplied, “It was six years ago. In the Shire.”

At this, Balin paused, seeming to forget how to breathe for a moment, his suspicions not only confirmed, but corroborated by additional evidence.

“The Shire?” Óin spoke up for him, voice full of awe.

“You don’t mean…” Bofur trailed off, not wishing to finish the sentence, for the possibility that would be mentioned seemed too good to be true.

“Where Bilbo is from.” Nori finished for him in a breath.

There was silence as, for but a moment, everyone let the unsaid be left unsaid, until one couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer;

“‘B’ as in ‘Boggins’!” Kíli exclaimed with his endearing mispronunciation of their once-burglar’s surname.

“Where did you get this?” Balin demanded, his tone growing serious as he finally looked up from the seal and over to Ori.

Startled by the elder’s intensity, but understanding it completely, Ori hastily replied. “I-It was left outside my tent. It just sat there. I couldn’t find whoever left it. Then I saw the seal and immediately went around asking for you.”

“We may have let it slip along the way who we thought it was from.” Kíli admitted, gesturing to the other Company members present.

“Alright, everyone,” Óin spoke up. “now we’re not certain that it is from Bilbo...” he tried to rationalize, not wishing to see everyone wind up disappointed, for it had been years since they last heard from their dear old friend.

“Well, what are we waiting for then?” Glóin asked impatiently. “Let’s open it and see.” he said decidedly with a nod.

All the dwarves readily agreed and urged Balin to finally open up the letter that would either lift their spirits or crush them. Balin grabbed his letter opener - it was really a carving knife but he never truly took up the craft - and cut under the wax seal. Once released, the flap popped up and everyone seemed to cease breathing as Balin removed the letter contained within. First and foremost, he noticed familiar, Hobbity handwriting that looked as if it could be Bilbo’s or something very close to it. He then began to read aloud;

“Dear Master Balin (and whomever else it may concern),

My name is Frodo Baggins.”

Nori looked thoughtful. “So s’not from Bilbo, but—”

“It is a Baggins!” Kíli cut in. “Maybe they’re related?” he suggested. “Does it say that, Balin?”

“You did not give me a chance to read if so, my young prince.” said elder reprimanded, admittedly rather eager to continue himself.

Usually, the young dwarf would give a cheeky remark, but to no-great surprise he instantly quieted, anxious to hear more. Balin shook his head at the power their Burglar held, even when not present, and continued to read;

“Though we have never met, you have known my uncle once, Bilbo.”

“It is a relative! It’s his nephew!” Ori exclaimed in utter cheer. “I didn’t even know Mister Bilbo had any siblings?” he voiced, confusion lacing his tone and maybe an underlying tone of hurt there as well.

“What else does he say?” asked Bofur, his eyes alight with joy. They hadn’t heard anything from Bilbo in years. Over the years and of all the dwarves, Bofur seemed to be one of the ones most hurt by Bilbo’s lack of correspondence, Balin noted. Not that the musician wasn’t guilty of a lack of communication himself, yet he always imagined he’d see or hear from his once close friend again (in fact, Balin suspected that one of the main reasons that Bofur had accompanied them all to the Blue Mountains in the first place was so that he could finally take Bilbo up on his offer of afternoon tea).

“If you all would let me finish…” Balin admonished without much malice, for he himself was feeling quite giddy. He continued reading once again;

“I have heard nothing but kind and great stories about you and the rest of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield for many years now. My uncle - who is alive and fairing well - often would speak of your calm understanding and support in many subjects, Master Balin, so it is you I write to in my time of trouble.”

At this, the mood quickly turned somber as the dwarves’ minds thought of all the terrible things that could have happened to cause the nephew of Bilbo Baggins to write directly to the Adviser of the King Under the Mountain. The writer, Frodo, had already wisely informed them that Bilbo was alive and well, so what else could have possibly happened to warrant the breaking of the six year silence from their beloved Hobbit?

Nothing they imagined could have prepared them for the horrible news Balin read to them next;

“A few months ago, the Shire was invaded by Goblins. They mangled, maimed, and murdered anything - or anyone - that stood in their way.”

All the dwarves had looks of utter shock and horror on their faces. Kíli’s face was white and the joyous smile he had held was gone. Ori raised a hand to his mouth, appearing as if we were about to be sick. Bofur had removed his hat and began wringing it in his hands as all the light vanished from his eyes. Óin looked grim, while Glóin and Nori held looks of pure rage.

“My uncle, I, and three other of our kin fled our homes at the command of our Thain. For many a fear-filled night, we would travel the land, watching out for any beast who wished to do us harm.

“It is at this point in my sorrowed writing that I must thank you, kind Dwarves, for I know that my kinsmen and I would not be alive if you had not turned my uncle into the fine fighter that he is today. The odd two or three Goblins that did manage to happen upon our troop were readily slain by a protective blade my uncle calls ‘Sting’. (I do believe you had once called it a ‘letter opener, Master Balin’).

“It was during these terrifying moments that I truly accepted my uncle’s tales of his adventures as true. My uncle has never been a liar, mind you, but he’s also incredibly kind and a very peaceable type of character, so I always found it difficult to imagine him actually doing any of the deeds he claimed to have done (even though he had so obviously downplayed them).”

With the knowledge of the bravery and skill of their Hobbit in the face of danger, the dwarves felt a little light of pride flicker in their hearts through all the turmoil.

“After many a night on the road, we were welcomed at Rivendell where we took refuge. Once we had received word from Gandalf the Grey that the Goblins had cleared from the Shire, we had returned home, only to find it completely empty, asides from the carnage of battle.

“The Elves and Gandalf have been completely stumped as to where the rest of our people have gone. In all appearances, it seems as if every Hobbit in the Shire, who had not perished at the hands of the Goblins, have vanished into thin air. We’ve remained in Rivendell ever since and I’m afraid that no news of the whereabouts of my people has risen.

“Gandalf informed me that you would be in the Blue Mountains, Master Balin, which is the reasoning behind my letter. I implore you, Master Dwarf, to write to my uncle. Let him know that he is not alone.

“For right now, the world is a very lonely place for a Hobbit.

“Sincerely,
Frodo Baggins”

Balin had finally finished reading and now all the dwarves stood in stunned silence until it was broken by a timid voice.

“They’re...gone? All of the Hobbits are just gone?” Kίli softly questioned.

“All but five, it would seem.” Óin frowned deeply as he sat down heavily in his previously-forgotten chair.

“What business would Goblins have with Hobbits?” Glóin demanded, more so than asked.

“Doesn’t matter, I’ll gut every Goblin I see. I swear to it.” Nori vowed, his knuckles clenched white in fury.

Bofur still had his hat removed, but his expression hid a promise of vengeance as well. “Well, what’re we waiting for? We’re getting started on this letter right away!”

Nearly all the dwarves voiced their agreeance and Ori nodded fervently, reaching into his bag to pull out his parchment and ink. “What should we say exactly? Bilbo hasn’t contacted us himself for years now and his nephew made it seem as if he went behind his back to write this. Should we act like we know nothing of what’s happening? Should we apologize again for what happened at the Mountain? Should we—”

“Slow down there, Ori.” Balin yielded with a firm hand gesture, finally broken from his stunned shock. “We won’t be writing to Bilbo.”

“What?!” all of the tent’s occupants seemed to bark out at the same time.

“Then who are we writing to?” Kíli demanded in a rage. “Our Company swore loyalty to all that were a part of it. If you—”

“Óin, get the fastest carrier raven you have, for there is some news that the King needs to hear straightaway.” Balin cut off with an order. Óin smiled knowingly and gave a nod, hoisting himself from his seat and leaving the tent in a hurry. Balin then turned to Ori and said, “Ori, gather your parchment, pens, and inks.”

Ori’s eyes then lit up in understanding. “Right!” he agreed with a firm nod as he returned to compiling all the needed supplies on the table.

“And what of the rest of us?” Bofur asked, looking equally as nervous and excited as the rest of the dwarves present were feeling while waiting to have their hopes confirmed. Balin saw no need to deny them of it any longer.

“The rest of you will be packing your things.” Balin answered. The remaining party of dwarves felt grins stretch their faces as he proclaimed, “we have a burglar to see to.”

Chapter Text

Bilbo, in his many years, has learned to expect the unexpected. He himself has experienced unexpected parties, journeys, battles, and friendships. But never would he have ever expected, not in this age or any age, for a party of Dwarves to come to Rivendell - a realm of Elves - on their own accord. He also would not expect for them to be his old traveling companions either, but what other dwarves would even contemplate doing such a thing, let alone follow through?

“Cousin Bilbo, Cousin Bilbo!” was all the warning the shell-shocked hobbit received before he felt a small mass crash right into his legs. It was only thanks to years of practice that he was able to remain standing.

Right. That would be Pippin then. And wherever Pippin goes, so does...

The pitter-patter of two sets of small Hobbit feet then followed, signaling the arrival of Samwise and Merry. The latter there because he was basically physically attached to Pippin’s side and the former there because he felt a need to constantly watch the two cousins, lest they make trouble for themselves or, more likely, any poor soul who happened to be nearby.

Feeling as though his eyes were still glued to the scene in the courtyard, but knowing he couldn’t ignore the insistent child any longer without him causing a scene of his own, Bilbo finally looked down to the lad who was still persistently tugging on his pant leg.

“Cousin Bilbo, there are Dwarves in the courtyard!” Pippin informed in a hushed tone, that wasn’t very hushed at all.

“Yes, Pippin. There are.” Bilbo simply supplied as confirmation, looking back to the gathering in the courtyard below. As the party of dwarves continued looking around the area, searching for something, Bilbo took a few steps back from the railing, dragging Pippin along with him. The lad had a real knack for causing scenes and a tendency to be overly curious, which usually ended up being quite the disastrous combination, so Bilbo’s learned to take precautions where and when he can.

Luckily, the hobbits hadn’t been spotted yet from their spot on the terrace above. Though Bilbo was having a hard time figuring out why that was a good thing, let alone why he was even hiding in the first place.

Since the rowdy dwarves held his attention so, Bilbo felt rather than saw Samwise venture a few feet closer, yet he still remained behind the older hobbit, sneaking a timid yet curious glance at the queer visitors below. “But I thought Dwarves didn’t like Elves, Mr. Bilbo?” he inquired.

“No, Sam. They typically do not.” Bilbo answered, eyes still on the dwarves, who seemed to be getting more and more demanding and impatient as their inaudible demands went unanswered by the ill-prepared Elven attendants trying to corral them.

Now Merry he did see, as the lad walked a few inches closer to the balcony’s edge than Bilbo or Sam had dared, though he soon stepped back to Bilbo’s side and pulled Pippin along with him, who had somehow managed to sneak his way over to the railing to get a better look at the foreign people without Bilbo even noticing. The smallest lad let out a whine of complaint as his cousin kept a firm grip on his arm.

“What’re they doing here then?” Merry asked, ignoring his cousin’s protests and sounding quite suspicious of the gathering below.

“I don’t know, Merry.” Bilbo honestly replied, mind too occupied to truly appreciate the humor behind the amount of suspicion in the lad’s voice and posturing.

The band of hobbits stood there staring curiously for a few moments more, watching as another - assumedly more prepared - group of elves went out to finally officially greet the restless party of dwarves. They weren’t paid much heed, though. The dwarves seemed to have demands for one thing only. What, specifically, Bilbo could only imagine.

“Are...Are they the Dwarves from your stories, Mr. Bilbo?” Sam hesitantly spoke up, giving the elder a curious look.

Merry and Pippin then shot up their curly heads to look at Bilbo as well, looking as if the thought had never occurred to them until now and, simultaneously, was too obvious to have missed. And too good to be true, at that.

“...Yes. Yes they are.” Bilbo confirmed after a pause, as if he were just now accepting that yes, these were - some of - his old traveling companions and yes, they were here. In Rivendell.

“I thought there were more?” Pippin chimed in from his position behind Merry. “There’s only…” he paused for a long moment. “...ten of them.” he eventually assessed.

“There are seven of them, Pip.” Merry corrected.

“I rounded.” the younger replied with a shrug.

Merry scoffed. “You don’t know what that means.”

“Yes I do!” Pippin exclaimed with great offense. “It means I got a number wrong the first time, but it’s right if I say it’s rounded!”

Merry scrunched up his nose, as if the claim had soured his tongue like a lemon. “That’s not—”

Ignoring the bickering, Bilbo turned to the three lads he had been taking care of for many weeks now. He knelt down to their level, placing a hand each on Sam and Merry’s shoulders. Sam looked a little uncomfortable, but didn't try to wiggle his way out of it, as he so often did, so Bilbo decided it wasn’t too bothersome to the boy. And Merry still looked wary of whatever was happening below the terrace, but he finally spared Bilbo a glance as the elder met his gaze straight on. “Alright you two, now these are indeed some very good friends of mine, but I haven't seen them for a very long time.” he began evenly.

And just as Bilbo expected, Pippin’s fear of missing out on whatever it was that Bilbo may be keeping from him and not the other boys won over his interest for the group of dwarves. He drifted closer to the other hobbits. “That sounds sad.” he stated, sounding highly empathetic.

Bilbo paused for a moment and for the first time in many years, he started thinking about his own feelings, rather than those of a young hobbit; or band of emotionally-stunted dwarves. “Y-Yes…” he answered finally, feeling his throat tighten up a bit. He turned his head to look back at the railing now behind him, the dwarves no longer within sight, but their boisterous voices were no less audible. “I’ve missed them terribly.” Bilbo found himself admitting aloud. He then turned back to the lads. “But I’m afraid I may have upset them long ago, so I’ve never expected to see them again.”

Samwise was biting his lip, a telltale sign that there was something he wanted to say, but wasn't sure if it would be right of him to. “What is it, Sam?” Bilbo requested in a kind voice, to soothe the lad’s no doubt restless thoughts.

“B-Beggin’ your pardon, sir. But if you've missed them, then you should go see them.” Samwise stated, for once not fighting to free each word from the confines of his lips. “There’s no use in standing around. They obviously want to see you if they’ve come all this way from that mountain of theirs’.”

Bilbo was taken aback by the truth of the observation for a moment and Sam blushed furiously, openly flabbergasted at his own audaciousness. Before the lad could start a stream of apologies, Bilbo felt himself break out into an honest-to-goodness laugh. It wasn't a boisterous laugh, but it was one that contained a fair amount of surprised mirth. One that the lads often wretched out of him sooner or later. “You’re right, Sam. There is no use in standing around when I have friends to greet now, is there?

“Follow me, lads.” Bilbo instructed as he straightened up to his full height, determined to not waste any more precious time with stalling. “There are some people whom I would very much like for you to meet.”

The lads’ moods then changed along with Bilbo’s. Samwise seemed excited at the prospect of meeting yet another race of people he would never have seen in the Shire. Merry looked quite hesitant, as if he couldn’t quite decide if this situation was safe enough for his liking, or if he really wanted to meet the Dwarves from Bilbo’s stories. He hung close to Bilbo’s side, wary eyes narrowing at his younger cousin. Bilbo huffed in amused annoyance, before he bent down and picked Pippin up by his midsection and rested the lad on his hip. Pippin let out a small noise of complaint, but didn’t further fight the older hobbit and simply wound his arms around Bilbo’s neck, resting comfortably. He couldn’t get down the stairs on his own anyway, for they were much too big for him, and regardless, he seemed too excited to care about being carried around. It would seem Bilbo had also pleased Merry as well, for the lad then turned his eyes down to the strangers (honestly, Bilbo has never met a more smothering seventeen year old. Though he was grateful for Merry’s predictability, all the same).

Bilbo, with Pippin in arm, started down the steps, the other two boys following closely behind. The older hobbit felt his heartbeat steadily rise, until it seemed it were about to just thump right out of his chest. He took a deep breath just as he were right behind his old friends, who didn’t seem to notice him, then opened his mouth to voice a question―

“Are they lady Dwarves?” Pippin asked curiously to Bilbo. The lad had meant to whisper his inquiry, which was rather considerate of him, but since he was Pippin and had his own ideas as to what ‘quiet’ meant, he of course asked loudly enough that he downright startled all the dwarves standing before them.

They must’ve been tense being in the Elven city, for the dwarves all reached for their weapons at once, which led to Sam’s face turning ashen and caused Pippin to let out a surprised squeak, which led to a tense Merry jumping in front of Bilbo, blocking his kin from the path of the dwarves with his own tiny body.

“Wait, wait!” Bilbo cried out in a rush, grabbing onto the back of Merry’s jacket and pulling him away from the weapons, as though he were a kitten being pulled by his scruff. “What do you think you’re doing, charging into battle? With nothing but your bare hands, no less?!” he chastised the lad.

“They were reaching for their axes!” Merry argued, still trying to squirm his way out of Bilbo’s tight grip.

“Well, we did startle them…” Samwise reasoned, coming out from his apparent hiding spot behind the older hobbit.

“Pippin shrieked. I did what I thought was right.” Merry huffed, stubbornly crossing his arms across his chest in defense of his actions.

“I didn’t shriek.” said boy tried to insist. “Really, I didn’t.” Pippin pleaded, seeming to use all the sincerity he could muster.

Without Bilbo’s notice, the ever-present loud chatter that had filled the courtyard since the band of outsiders’ arrival had died down, as now all the dwarves did nothing but stare at their Hobbit standing before them, oblivious to all else but their former burglar.

The Hobbit, however, appeared to be oblivious to them now as well, as he focused his attention on the young ones surrounding him. “Oh, please do not start with the bickering again, boys…” he pleaded.

“...Bilbo?” Ori finally spoke up for the group of stunned dwarves, sounding rather confused yet hesitant, as if afraid to startle a wild animal.

Upon hearing his name, the oldest hobbit looked away from the children and then for the first time in many years, Bilbo met the eyes of the Company (at least, most of them).

“Yes, hullo.” he said politely, yet snippily, in the way that was so very Bilbo that the rest of the Company broke out into wide smiles and cacophonous cheers as they surrounded their Hobbit and pulled him into a massive group hug. The muffled sound of children squealing in surprise as they were overcome by oblivious dwarves was just barely audible over the deep roaring of the dwarves’ voiced delight.

“It’s so good to see you again, Mister Boggins!”

Bilbo, try as he might, just couldn’t escape the wall of Dwarf surrounding him, but he still tried to pry his way out of the hold, all the same. He had much to address, after all. “Kíli, you know very well that that’s not―”

“Oh, I’ve missed you!”

“I’ve missed you too, Bofur. But I―”

“I’m so glad you’re alright!”

“Yes, thank you, Ori, I am. But I―”

“You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“Were you expecting me to, Master Nori—”

“You really gave us quite the scare there, laddie! We weren’t sure if that letter told us the right place at first, but here you are!”

“Letter? Master Glóin, what are—”

Instead of a dwarf cutting him off this time, however, the sounds of battle cries did. But not just any battle cries. They were the battle cries of wee Hobbit children.

Kíli - who had been unceremoniously shoved to the back of the hugging procession - felt a small thumping against his leg and looked down, only to see a mop of curly golden hair.

“You let Bilbo out of there right now!” Kíli’s attacker - a wee little thing - commanded as he continued to pummel his fists into Kíli’s leg.

“M-Merry…” another boy, this one with straw colored hair, stuttered, trying to tug the other away. “You shouldn’t do that.” he warned. “He has arrows.”

“I thought they only worked from far away?” inquired another little one, this one the smallest of them all, popping up from the other side of the angry lad who Kíli was currently holding at bay, not seeming to sense any threat, unlike the others.

Suddenly, as if they had been drenched in ice cold water, all the dwarves had frozen in their actions, staring down at the gathering of small hobbits with looks of utter astonishment.

Nori wondered aloud, “Are these…”

“Children!” Glóin finished for him, with great enthusiasm.

The Company then seemed to become even more boisterous at this realization, if even possible. They now all swarmed the children instead of Bilbo, looking as if they had stumbled upon a hoard of gold.

“I don't believe it,” Kíli breathed out in breathless glee, picking up the small hobbit child, who was still having a go at his legs, and lifted him high up into the air. The lad’s protests doubled at this new development, and the lad who was previously holding the other back looked as if he were about to faint from utter shock. The dwarf hardly paid him any mind though, too busy marveling at the little one in his hold. “And I thought Bilbo was small!” Kíli joked, causing the lad in his grasp to blush furiously, and his efforts to free himself to somehow quadruple.

Suddenly, a steely look took over the biggest of the lads’ faces and he bellowed in a quaky voice, “You put him down y-you, you big brute!” and before he knew it, Kíli had another hobbit pounding away at his boots, this one with admittedly a surprising amount of force behind his hits, while the original still tried to futilely kick Kíli in the face with his tiny - by Hobbit standards - feet.

Nori had been watching the development with amusement, until suddenly, from right behind him - alarmingly close to his ear - he heard a small voice speak up. “Do all Dwarves carry so many sharp things?" the smallest boy queried, right from atop Nori’s back, referring to the knives from the inside of his coat pockets. The dwarf was completely floored as to how the lad got up there without his notice. He was atop his back, for Mahal’s sake! "And shiny things?" the wee lad added, holding out his hand, a large gem taking up the entirety of his palm. Nori's eyes bulged, as he noticed the boy had also somehow managed to swipe the sack of coins and gems he had been ‘holding onto’, all without the dwarf even noticing. Hobbits trained their burglars young!

As Bofur finally released him from their crushing hug, Bilbo was able to fully take in the chaotic scenes unfolding before him. Needless to say, he was not amused.

“Oh sweet Lady Yavanna, enough!” Bilbo barked, shocking everyone into stillness (hobbit fauntlings and fully-grown dwarves alike). He then went about properly scolding everyone.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck, you stop your kicking! You’re not a rabbit. Samwise, I know you're trying to help, but you're just spurring Merry on and Kíli is a friend.”

Said dwarf grinned as Sam blushed and stepped away from Kíli’s boots, mumbling an apology. Kíli’s smile didn’t go unnoticed by Bilbo however.

“And you!” the hobbit shouted, pointing straight at the Dwarven-prince. “You put that boy down this instant!” Bilbo commanded, using an absurd amount of hand gesturing to show just how serious he was.

Properly chastised, Kíli placed Merry back on the ground, who looked as if he were about to start fighting once more, but quickly diminished all protests at the severe look Bilbo gave him. The older hobbit then heard a small snicker and quickly turned his attention elsewhere.

“And don't think that I've forgotten about you, Peregrin Took. You better return those things to Nori post haste! Who taught you to rummage through somebody's pockets like a thief? And get down from there! He is not a tree for you to climb.”

With a magnificent pout, Pippin released his hold on Nori and dropped to the ground, causing the dwarves to start in worry, but right themselves in confusion when the boy landed on his feet and hands in a crouch, much like a cat. Nori patted his pockets, the sack of coins somehow placed back where it belonged again, once more without his notice.

Bilbo made swift work of rounding up all the lads, keeping them in place with his arms around their shoulders. “And this goes for all of you as well as Master Nori, please mind your weapons.” Bilbo finished, exasperated.

Finally, the stunned silence was broken by the hearty chuckles emitting from none other than Balin. “Well, Bilbo, I can see that you’ve been busy.” he laughed.

“It’s good to see you again, lad.” Óin simply greeted with a nod and genuine smile.

Bilbo blushed, realizing his rude manners. “Oh, I’m so sorry, everyone.” he apologized hastily, coming down from his tense mood. “But this is all so much. It is wonderful to see you all, but I’m a little surprised. Whatever are you all doing here?”

“We’ve received a message.” Bofur informed him, removing his hat with a solemn look. “We’ve heard of your uh...situation.”

“We are sorry for your loss, old friend.” Glóin said, earning agreement from the others present.

Bilbo felt his confusion fade into numbness, once he realized what they were referring to. “Oh.” he simply said.

The dwarves then all held looks of guilt for bringing up the subject, while Samwise and Merry’s faces turned saddened and grim.

Never one to withhold apologies, Ori started, “Oh, we are so sorry, Bilbo. We didn’t mean―”

“No, no. Truly, it is alright.” Bilbo consoled, rubbing the shoulders of the lads he was currently embracing, trying to make his voice sound less hurt, for everyone’s sake. “It really means so much to me that you came all this way. Just for silly old me.” he honestly thanked, changing the subject for the moment, but meaning his words no less.

“Master Baggins, there isn’t much that we wouldn’t do for you, I hope you know.” Balin informed earnestly, earning loud proclamations of agreement from the dwarves all around.

A shaky smile pulled on Bilbo’s lips as he did his best to keep himself composed. “That means the world to me.” he said sincerely, feeling slightly overwhelmed by his emotions. He took a breath, and then voiced a question that had been rattling around in his mind for the last few minutes. “But what was all that you were saying before, about a message? I never sent out any letters?”

“That’s because it was one of mine.” Frodo spoke up, finally making his appearance. And just after all the trouble had finished too. Typical.

“Ah, you must be Young Master Frodo.” Balin spoke up, strolling over to the newcomer, leaving a gaping Bilbo behind. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You have a wonderful way with words for a lad of your age, for I was imagining someone much older.” he complimented before he soon gave a low bow. “Balin, son of Fundin. At your service.”

Frodo promptly returned the gesture. “Frodo, son of Drogo, at yours.” he replied in such a way that Bilbo wasn’t sure if he was trying to be cheeky or not.

“Frodo,” Bilbo finally hissed out with a flabbergasted look at his nephew. “you, y-you…you wrote to the Dwarves?”

“That’s right.” Frodo confirmed, sounding rather matter-of-fact.

“You wrote to the Dwarves?” Bilbo repeated for some reason, unsure himself as to why he did.

“Oh, don’t sound so surprised, Uncle.” the young hobbit sighed, as if Bilbo were the child.

Though for the first time in a long while, Bilbo felt at a loss for words. “W…Why?” his stupefied brain finally settled upon.

Frodo promptly rolled his eyes. The dwarves similarly seemed to be snickering at seeing their Hobbit so at a loss.

“Because you were sulking.” Frodo simply answered with a shrug.

Bilbo’s shock then promptly made way to his anger, and he found his words once more. He had quite a few choice ones to share with his nephew, for that matter.

“What were you thinking?!” Bilbo exclaimed. “Do you not recall what Gandalf said of keeping inconspicuous? How would he react if he knew you were sending off for Dwarves to march their way into Rivendell?!” voice admittedly rather hysterical.

“Gandalf gave me the parchment.” Frodo laughed, unbothered by his uncle’s tizzy, and Bilbo had to resist a guttural groan because of course… After all, it wasn’t the first time Bilbo noted that Frodo shared his meddlesome ways with the Wizard. Before Bilbo could comment further, Frodo continued, “Besides, I did not send for them. I simply asked Mr. Balin here to write to you. I know how gloomy you’ve been these years past, yet alone these last few months. I didn’t expect for them to make their way over here, though I can’t say that I’m unhappy that they did.” he finished, resting his hands on his hips, as if proud of a job well done.

“The lad speaks true.” Balin spoke up once more. “We received a post from Young Master Baggins here, much to our great surprise and delight, and well, we thought we might as well save some ink and give our reply in person, since we were so near.”

“That’s right!” Kíli exclaimed. “We were already in the Blue Mountains. Official royal business. Very important stuff.” he sniffed rather haughtily, in such a way that his irony was clear.

“Not more important than coming to see you, though!” Ori quickly interjected, as if afraid they had caused offense. “W-We did not intend to avoid you, regardless of receiving a letter or not. We—”

“—Got held up, s’all.” Nori concluded in his brother’s stead, slapping a hand down onto Ori’s shoulder, as if to keep him from going off on a spiraling tangent.

“And we figured that the offer for tea didn't have an expiration date either.” Bofur reasoned with a broad grin. “We never meant to stay away for so long anyhow.”

“Or remain so out of touch.” Glóin furthered.

“Yes, yes,” Óin grumbled loudly, as if impatient with the speed of their explanations. “But our reasons for traveling here, to Rivendell, are as official as they are congenial.”

“That they are.” Balin nodded, before he turned to the Company’s resident scribe. “Master Ori, why don’t you give our friend here his message?”

Ori seemed to give an eager jump but composed himself. “Oh, yes!” he agreed. The scribe then rummaged through his bag and pulled out a scroll, unraveling it to read;

“Master Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, while―”

Ori casted a glance at the young hobbits, who were watching attentively.

“―while humm, problems in your homeland are sought to and efforts to reclaim it are commenced by Elves and Wizards alike, the support of the Dwarves of Erebor and the Blue Mountains are also irrevocably given. While forces are sent to deal with this matter, you as well as your kin, are hereby granted refuge in the halls of Erebor, by order of the King Under the Mountain. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror.” he finished, rolling the parchment back up before handing it over to Bilbo.

Admittedly shaky-handed, Bilbo took the offered parchment and unfurled it, glancing over the decree with his own eyes before they darted to the bottom of the page, where there was a very familiar signature that he recognized from his contract all those years ago, one he had traced with his fingers countless time in his truly melancholic moments. Bilbo’s eyes widened even further as the reality of the situation settled upon him, and he felt the rest of the hobbits peer over to catch a glimpse of the signed parchment themselves.

The hobbits all had varying degrees of shocked expressions. Frodo somehow looked even more pleased with the outcome of his actions, Samwise looked equally surprised as well as somewhat slightly giddy, Merry had his eyes narrowed in silent scrutiny, and Pippin looked between his kin with a confused expression, not quite understanding what was happening.

“W-What?” Bilbo choked out.

“Do you want to read it again?” Ori kindly offered.

“No. No, I know what it says,” Bilbo muttered, eyes still glued to the parchment. “I just don’t understand why... Or…Or how…”

“The Dwarves of Erebor have been entrusted with your safety, Bilbo.” a new voice then spoke as the Eleven-lord of Rivendell himself glided onto the scene, along with Lindir - who must have fetched him. Bilbo felt Sam straighten his posture in response to the elves’ presence.

“Lord Elrond,” Bilbo quickly greeted as he finally looked up from the scroll he still gripped with nearly whitened knuckles, then followed with, “what exactly do you mean?”

The elf turned to look at the young hobbits still practically hanging onto Bilbo, unabashedly staring at the strange dwarves, looking fascinated. Elrond then looked to Frodo. “Perhaps it’s best if we continue this talk with a select audience?” he suggested with a raised brow.

Frodo gave the Elven-lord an understanding nod. “Right, then. Come along now, lads.” he said as he bent down to gather Pippin in his arms, before straightening and walking away. “I bet you’re hungry. It’s almost time for Elevenses.” he informed the young lad offhandedly. Any protests Pippin might’ve had died with the promise of food, and just as Frodo expected, Merry followed like a little duckling as his younger cousin was carried away from him. Samwise didn’t need any incentive or bribery of food to follow, for he was happy to do whatever Frodo deemed necessary.

As the lads walked off, Bilbo stared after them with a fond look, before turning back to Elrond and the dwarves gathered around. Once he was sure that the boys were out of keen Hobbit-earshot, he asked impatiently, “Now what’s all this about? Truly?”

Lord Elrond’s face softened as he looked upon the hobbit. “I do not wish to cause you further troubles, my friend, but it is important that you understand that everything that is being done is for the sake of you and your people. That being said, we all must acknowledge the possibility that you and your young kinsmen may very well be the last of your kind.”

Bilbo’s frown deepened. “You think I don’t already know that? I think of it every day!” he snapped. Elrond did not flinch, but the dwarves did. They all held crushed looks. At this, Bilbo’s momentary anger dissipated and he looked at Elrond remorsefully. The Elven-lord had always been so kind to Bilbo, and they had grown surprisingly close in the months since he and the lads had begun their stay in his city. “I-I am sorry. I know you do not mean to hurt me, you’ve done so much for me already, and yet I still do not know what to do.” he finally admitted with a defeated look. “I’ve spent most of my life thinking that I was never meant to be a Hobbit, that the Shire was never the place for me. But now that it’s gone and I may b-be―” Bilbo’s voice cracked as he cut himself off and he looked down, ashamed. He quickly pulled his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and furiously wiped at his eyes. He found himself unable to continue.

“Do not despair, my friend.” Elrond said in a soothing tone as he placed a comforting hand on Bilbo’s shoulder (causing the dwarves to tense a bit, for no proper reason at all). “Not all is lost. Much still remains to be unseen. While the rest of your kin are missing, we wish to keep you safe and safe is away from these lands where Goblins crawl in greater numbers than they do out in the East. These creatures who, might I remind you, are not only after your people in general, but your particular bloodline. The longer you reside in Rivendell, the greater danger you are in.”

And the greater danger everyone else is in, Bilbo realized. It was something he long thought, but never had the heart to confirm, though Elrond had all-but done so himself now. Rivendell was a splendid city, but it wasn’t exactly fortified. At least, not in the same way that, say, a mountain kingdom was. And from Bilbo’s understanding, the goblins were tireless here in the West. Elrond had elves out patrolling his boarders every day. Even human Rangers had offered up their services in keeping the swarms of goblins at bay. It seemed that the wretched creatures had all-but emptied the Misty Mountain caves that they had once dwelled in.

Still. All that being said… “I highly doubt that the Dwarven King would appreciate five Hobbits dwelling in his Mountain.” Bilbo argued, his heart turning sour, yet sickly sweet, as he thought of the moody dwarf he hadn’t spoken to for more than six years.

“King Thorin was the one who suggested you be moved, and was the one to offer Dwarven support in the efforts to locate your people. He even sends forces to stay behind and defend the boarders of your homeland, from my understanding.” Elrond informed, causing Bilbo’s head to snap up in surprise.

“More like ordered…” Bilbo heard Lindir mutter from his spot aside the other Rivendell elves, earning a few amused glances from his kin.

“In fact,” the Elrond continued. “he was quite enraged that he hadn’t been informed of your plight earlier. I believe he called the Elves, ‘irresponsible, foolish, selfish, and sorely mistaken for believing we had any business in housing the Children of the Kindly West while the Dwarves of Erebor are the ones indebted to them’.” he finished, with a strange quirk of his lips, sounding oddly amused.

Bilbo felt shocked beyond words, but had the irrepressible urge to turn to Balin and the others for confirmation. “Is this true?”

“Of course it’s true!” Kíli assured passionately, as if offended Bilbo had even doubted it. “Thorin was furious once he found out what had happened.”

Bilbo felt his heart stutter for but a moment. “Really?”

“We all were.” Nori confirmed with a malicious look, directed not at anyone present, but at the goblins who so boldly dared to harm the hobbits in the first place.

“The only thing that stopped Uncle from storming over here the very second he received our raven was Mother.” Kíli informed in a laugh. “According to Fíli, she said ‘if Master Hobbit went through all this trouble to help you reclaim the Mountain, the least you could do is run it properly’.” he said in a gruff voice, assumedly mimicking his mother’s.

Bilbo then felt a true, tiny laugh escape his lips, which caused the dwarves to feel all the more lighter by it. Momentarily startled by the dwarves’ ability to cheer him up so easily, Bilbo became quiet for a moment as he thought on the past. “Your mother sounds like quite the Dwarf.” he eventually remarked, recalling the stories he had once heard of her and the desire he had to meet her. However, he had fled the Mountain before he could, fearing that seeing her sons and brother hurt so greatly would lead her to blame the strange hobbit in their midst.

“Oh, she is. And she’s been dying to meet you, for years now.” Kíli smiled, taking a step closer to his friend.

“She has?” Bilbo queried, truly astonished, and slightly unnerved by the revelation.

“Indeed.” Balin confirmed. “Lady Dís is quite interested in meeting the Hobbit who has her brother so…‘enamored’.” he said with a wink and a chuckle. “Her words, not mine.” he assured. Bilbo felt the tips of his ears go pink, regardless.

Elrond cleared his throat, the amused look still on his face, if not now more pronounced. “Yes, King Thorin and the White Council have all come to the agreement that the Hobbits of the Shire shall reside in Erebor, so long as the need be. Gandalf, the Rangers, and my Elves with the now added aid of the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, will continue our search for your lost people, I assure you. But we believe it best for you to take your mind off of your troubles. Visit your old friends. Show the children the lands they have only yet heard of.”

Bilbo was contemplative for a few moments until he spoke up again. “And we won’t be a burden to you?” he asked, turning to the dwarves. “These are children. Good children, but children all the same. They can be trouble-and-meddlesome, as you can see by my nephew’s actions.” he said a bit flatly at the reminder of Frodo’s grand intervention.

“Children are a rarity amongst our people.” Bofur informed with a joyous smile. “I can assure you, they will have an entire mountain ready to serve their every whim.” and though he laughed, Bilbo could tell he was entirely serious.

Glóin also nodded fervently in agreement and Bilbo trusted both their judgements, for during his travels, he learned that Glóin himself was a devoted father and Bofur a loving uncle to Bombur’s many children.

Looking around at the faces of his former companions, Bilbo felt his heart fill with something akin to relief and utter gladness. He never thought he’d see his old companions look at him with such caring, devoted expressions again. Not since he had betrayed their trust by stealing that stone and regained it once more by saving their lives, only to run away out of fear in the end. One of his greatest regrets was that he left before he could see Erebor return to its former glory. Bilbo wondered what sort of progress the Mountain had made in his six years away. And, he realized quite suddenly, that he would very much like to see it, with his own eyes.

“I suppose…” Bilbo started, taking a pause to swallow the lump forming in his throat. “I suppose I could do with another adventure.”

The smiles and sounds of pure elation that answered him back was all the reassurance that Bilbo needed to know that he and the lads would be in good hands.

Chapter Text

“Annnnnd, there!” Bilbo announced, pinning Merry’s cloak into place. “You’re all set for an adventure.” he stated proudly, placing his hands on his hips and taking a step back to observe his handiwork.

Merry gave a scowl, adjusting the heavy green cloak that the Elves had gifted all the hobbits with. “Hardly seems proper…” he mumbled under his breath, casting his eyes away.

Bilbo gave a laugh at the familiarity of it all. “That’s just the Brandybuck in you talking.” he informed, lifting his hand and reaching to the young boy’s face. Merry went cross-eyed as he followed Bilbo’s index finger, then scrunched up his nose when it received a bop. “Soon enough, that smidgen of Tookishness will be ready to come out.”

“Hopefully not too soon…” Bilbo was sure he heard Sam murmur to himself.

“Yes, well we Brandybucks aren’t as weak willed as you Bagginses,” Merry stated matter-of-factly. “So there will be no Tookishness here, no sir.”

Frodo, pinning Pippin’s cloak into place, started to protest. “Oi, watch yourself there, Meriadoc.” he chided with mirth. “Pretty soon only Sam will be left to fend for you.”

“Oh, no worries there, Mr. Frodo. We Gamgees are proud to side with the Bagginses, through and through.” the younger hobbit reassured with a nod, buttoning the simple grey jacket he wore underneath his cloak.

“Say Bilbo, what exactly is Tookishness?” Kíli asked as their party readied to leave, apparently listening in on the hobbits’ exchange.

“Me!” Pippin exclaimed, causing some of the dwarves who were not paying attention to start in surprise at the tiny bellow.

“It comes from a family name.” Bilbo answered with a laugh at the boy’s outburst and dwarves amusing reaction to it “The Tooks are a prominent family in the Shire.”

Ori, who had been preparing his pack close by, looked as if he were pondering something that he had trouble remembering. “I’ve heard that name before. Yourself and Gandalf have mentioned it a few times...” he recalled.

“That’s more than likely.” Bilbo remarked, checking all of the children’s bags that were filled with supplies as well as some meager items they were able to salvage from the Shire a few months before. “I’m a Took, actually. On my mother’s side.”

“They’re one of the oldest Hobbit families in the Shire. Their bloodline can be directly traced back to the Fallohides of old.” Frodo informed as he leaned against one of the trees just outside the gates of Rivendell. “They also have quite the reputation for being the more adventurous of Hobbit folk. Less respectable.” he teased.

Bilbo let out a grunt as he straightened to his full height, his bag-check done. “It was Gandalf’s constant comparison of my Took ancestors and I that caused me to come on that silly adventure in the first place.”

“It wasn’t the song?” Bofur asked with a cheeky grin.

Bilbo coughed. “The song certainly had a part to play in my decision, yes. But it was hardly the deciding factor…” he trailed off.

“What do you mean, Cousin Bilbo?” Pippin asked curiously. “I thought you said the King had a pretty voice?” was his honest remark of confusion.

Some dwarves snickered while others out-right laughed.

“Yes, alright...” Bilbo grumbled, ready to drop the subject.

Frodo, on the other hand, looked much more mischievous. With a knowing glint in his eyes, he turned to his youngest cousin and said, “Why, you’re right, Pip-lad. In fact, I do believe the words Uncle used to describe it were ‘as somber as the song, and just as beautiful’.”

Bilbo was positively red as he shot Frodo an unhappy glare as the group of dwarves burst out into snorts and chuckles. Frodo just fixed him with a cheeky look in return and Balin smiled at Bilbo with a bright twinkle in his eyes. The two had such a similar and knowing look that Bilbo was beginning to get quite crossed (and admittedly rather alarmed…).

“Alright.” Bilbo groaned. “But I ask you to find me a single Hobbit who isn’t tempted by song! Such a creature doesn’t exist.” he stated definitively.

Glóin gave a hearty laugh as he lifted up some of the hobbits’ packs to carry. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you join in on a song once, Master Baggins.”

“That’s just because he didn’t know the words.” Bofur sing-songed with a wave of his finger. “You ask him for a Hobbity song and it’ll knock your boots straight off.”

“How would his boots fall off...?” Sam mumbled to himself, confused by the foreign expression.

“I didn’t know you sing, Bilbo!” Kíli announced, sounding both excited over the revelation and personally insulted that he didn't already know so.

“He’s a wonderful songwriter too.” Bofur praised.

It seemed that Bilbo’s face would now permanently be dusted crimson. “Yes, thank you, Bofur.” he said in a voice that wasn’t very thankful at all.

“I didn’t know you had such interests.” said Ori. He was surprised it hadn’t come up in any of their conversations from years past. Whilst on their quest, Ori and Bilbo learned they were of like-minds and often shared certain aspects of their different cultures with one another. Ori couldn’t share much since most Dwarves were taught to live in secrecy from a very young age but Bilbo accepted whatever Ori could speak of, many of which subjects that most would find boring. Bilbo was also a very gifted speaker and had no qualms with sharing Hobbit culture. Their talks often lead to subjects such as songs and poetry but never had the Hobbit performed for him nor did he mention he wrote.

“That’s because no one asked. Besides Bofur.” Bilbo simply answered. He sniffed as he fussed with his overcoat buttons, which had already been meticulously done-up. “Besides, I’m not a songwriter. It’s just a silly hobby…”

“But your songs are very pretty, Cousin Bilbo! And fun!” Pippin declared.

“Here here, sir.” Sam chimed in shyly. “You are very talented, Mr. Bilbo.”

Bilbo embarrassingly waved off their praise, feeling his face heat up. “Thank you, lads. But my songs are hardly anything to bother others with.”

“You should sing for us, Bilbo!” Kíli proclaimed.

Bilbo looked comically startled. “Oh. Oh no, I think not…”

“Why not?” Nori spoke up, looking rather affronted. “If you ask me, it’s rather unfair that only Bofur gets to hear it.”

Balin, who had been watching the scene rather entertained, stopped the others before they could continue their cajoling for song. “Leave our Hobbit be, everyone. We should be going now. The road we face is long so it’s best not to dally.”

“I see no point in going further away from home.” Merry, who had remained eerily silent during the whole conversation, now grumbled as he folded his arms across his chest in a defiant manner.

“Merry…” Frodo warned in a placating voice.

“No, Frodo. I want a good reason as to why we’re going out on the road again.” Merry demanded. “No good comes from the road.”

“But the road is where you have adventures!” Pippin exclaimed, shocked that his usually fun-loving cousin would be so opposed to the thought of traveling once more.

“It’s also where you’re exposed and can get hurt and killed.” he snapped, causing the younger boy to flinch away.

“Merry,” Frodo said more sternly, his tone conveying hurt and steadily growing ire.

“That’s not very like you to say, Mr. Merry.” Sam noted, voice apprehensive.

“We’ve been doing a lot of things that aren’t very like ourselves, Sam. Adventuring being one of them.” Merry continued. With a shout he finished, “because of hobbits who couldn’t stay where they belonged, we don’t have a home anymore!”

“Meriadoc Brandybuck!” Frodo gasped, sounding absolutely appalled.

The group was in stunned silence. The pure anger that seemed to be radiating from the young boy in waves shocked even the dwarves, for they had never seen a child lash out in such a way. It actually sobered the mood quite a bit and reminded them all that their reunion with Bilbo was not one born out of happiness but grief and desperation.

“Merry,” Bilbo’s steady voice spoke up, causing all in the group to look to him. While Frodo looked about ready to properly scold Merry, Bilbo was the epitome of calm. His expression was difficult to read, he did not look angry at the rude behavior nor did he look upset over the accusation. He walked over to the boy and knelt in front of him. “it doesn’t do anyone any good to dwell on affairs of the past.” he informed. “Whilst they may be the reason for present strife, they shan't be the reason for it in the future.”

Merry’s brows were furrowed and his expression was one of hostile confusion. Bilbo made a point to glance to his side and Merry’s eyes followed to where Pippin stood, teary-eyed and a bit shaky at the display of anger. That shocked Merry out of his spell instantly and was more effective than any scolding Bilbo could have ever given.

“I-I’m sorry...” Merry mumbled out in an uncharacteristic stutter, his eyes fixed on the ground in embarrassment. He looked back up to the older hobbit and when their eyes met Bilbo could see that though he was still angry and confused, Merry was truly sorry, as his eyes were now shined and he held a remorseful expression.

Bilbo smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze. “It’s alright, lad.” he reassured. Though he then leaned in closer to the lad’s ear and mock-whispered, “Though I’m not the one you should be trying to appease. Your efforts should be directed at those cousins of yours, if you ask me.”

Merry’s head then turned to Frodo who looked quite peeved. Merry grimaced, well aware that Frodo’s ire was not something anyone should wish on themself.

Feeling sympathetic to the angry little lad, Bilbo cast Frodo a warning look. The younger caught it and let out a short breath, probably as he smothered his own irritation. The peeved look on the older boy’s face didn’t disappear but it turned less severe.

“Yes, no harm done.” Frodo finally sighed, sounding like he didn’t quite want to let the lad get away with such an outburst so easily but respected his uncle’s decision enough to let it go, at least for now.

Pippin however still looked rather upset and with a shaky voice spoke, “D-Did you really mean it, Merry? Do you not like a-adventures anymore?” he asked breathily, not one to be ignored. The boy wasn’t in tears, but was very nearly.

With a combination of speed and caution he only reserved for his baby cousin, Merry then rushed over to Pippin and encased him in a hug. “Of course I didn’t, Pip.”

“Y-You still like a-adventuring with me?” the younger lad questioned, his shaky voice muffled by the fabric of his cousin's cloak-clad shoulder.

“There’s nothing I like more.” Merry reassured.

Pippin pulled away slightly and looked directly into Merry's eyes, expression deathly serious. “Not even Auntie Esmie’s apple pie?” he asked, voice surprising more steady.

Merry gave a huff that could very nearly resemble a laugh. “No, not even Mum’s apple pie. Though it’s very close.” he teased with a playful ruffle of his baby cousin's hair, much to the younger's slight chagrin.

Bilbo, quite happy with the outcome of the talk, straightened up. He gathered all the hobbits under his arms and ushered them slowly to the front gates and the road that led away from the safe haven of Rivendell. “It’s a dangerous business, boys, going outside your door. You step out onto the road and if you don’t keep your feet about you, there’s no knowing where you might be swept off to.”

The dwarves had gathered behind them, not willing to make the younglings start the long journey before any of them were ready. Most had impressed expressions directed towards Bilbo, especially Balin and Glóin. Though all the hobbit lads stared ahead to the path with various expressions of trepidation, none of them seemed willing to take the first step and even Frodo showed some hesitation. Until Sam took a step forward onto the trail, surprising all present.

“Well, the road isn’t so bad.” he remarked, sounding a bit nervous. He then turned his face to the party and with a rare gleam in his eyes he began to timidly sing;

“There’s a road calling you to stray
Step by step pulling you away,”

Those in the Company looked to the quietest hobbit boy in a mixture of surprise and confusion. Soon after Sam began to sing, the hobbits’ eyes all seemed to light up in recognition. Frodo held a look of amusement and pride as he observed his usually shy young friend, while Pippin’s entire face was alight with glee. Even Merry’s frown had lightened. There was nothing quite like a walking song to lift one’s spirits.

Bilbo himself was quite pleased and flattered too for the song Sam had chosen to sing was one of Bilbo’s own creations and one all the boys were familiar with. As a matter of fact, it's something he came up with on that very quest to Erebor, years before. Bilbo introduced it to the children on their first night on the road and since then it had been one they sang countless times when they all needed a little cheering up. The boys had even made a performance out of it, assigning parts to each other to sing. Though this time, Sam sang the part that usually went to Frodo. Though the older boy didn’t seem at all that perturbed for Frodo joined in where Sam usually would, not missing a beat. Frodo sang with confidence which allowed for Sam’s timid singing to grow to a tone that matched the older boy’s;

“Under moon and star
Take the road no matter how far.”

The two had now started to walk down the path, prompting the others to follow them. Without looking back to see however, they continued;

“The road goes on, ever ever on
Hill by hill, mile by mile
Field by field, stile by stile
The road goes on, ever ever on”

Frodo and Sam then turned to look at Bilbo with expectancy and so he happily sang the solo they had assigned him. As he sang, he gained looks of surprise from the rest of the Company;

“So behind the moon and beyond the sun
Step by step where the road may run”

At this point, everyone had started walking, the dwarves all listening intently, a bit of pep added to their steps

Both Balin and Nori glanced their way with amused looks as they walked. Óin was holding his ear trumpet up, seemingly to better hear the melody. Glόin was smiling softly, happy to hear the young voices filled with cheer. Ori’s fingers appeared to be twitching, as if itching to write down the lyrics. The dwarf looked as if he were trying to commit all of the words to memory but Bilbo did not doubt that the scribe would ask for the lyrics later. From besides him, Bofur had one of the largest grins Bilbo has ever seen him beam. Bilbo expects he’ll ask to be taught the song as well, just like the last time Bilbo shared a song with him. Kíli looked almost as joyed as Pippin, who seemed to be buzzing with enthusiasm as his part was coming up.

However, Pippin seemed to have other ideas for this performance because he tugged furiously on Merry’s arm, giving him the widest pleading eyes any of the dwarves had ever seen. It went unsaid, but to the hobbits it was clear that Pippin wished for Merry to start the verse instead. Merry rolled his eyes but sang regardless;

“Where it leads no one ever knows
Don’t look back, follow where it goes”

Pippin’s naturally bright and wide smiled had returned full force and for the first time in many weeks, Bilbo saw Merry truly relax as his younger cousin, still holding onto his arm, began to sing with him;

“To the farthest shore
Take the road a hundred miles more

“The road goes on, ever ever on
Moor by moor, glen by glen
Vale by vale, fen by fen
The road goes on, ever ever on”

All the Company was in glee and looking as though they were expecting for Bilbo to sing another part, so he decided not to disappoint and added a new verse;

“See the road flow past your doorstep
Calling for your feet to stray
Like a deep and rolling river
It will sweep them far away”

The hobbit boys seemed unfazed at the addition. In fact they seemed downright inspired by it as they finally began to sing the last verse of the song with gusto and Bilbo, not being able to help himself, joined in at equal measure;

“Just beyond the far horizon
Lies a waiting world unknown
Like the dawn its beauty beckons
With a wonder all it’s own”

When their tune was finished, the dwarves erupted into cheers and applause. All the hobbits were beaming. Pippin was practically bouncing up and down at the praise the dwarves were giving. Merry looked as if he forgot he was singing in front of strangers and blushed, but he did not look regretful. Frodo patted Sam on the back, spawning a surprised look on the younger boy’s face. Though it was not one of uncomfortable surprise but one of delight as though for the first time in his short life, Sam was too joyful to care about the proper etiquette between lower and higher class Hobbits.

“That was wonderful, lads! I never heard a more merrier tune!” Bofur praised, ruffling the curly heads of both Merry and Pippin as he grinned at Frodo and Sam. “Are all Hobbits gifted with such lovely singing voices?” he asked in honest awe.

Merry seemed to blush more but his smile turned more confident, nearly boastful while Pippin giggled in delight. Sam seemed to puff his chest out a bit and Frodo’s steady smile remained as he spoke up on behalf of the other three. “Why thank you, Mr. Bofur. Though we are hardly performers.” he said jokingly. As an afterthought he added, “Except for Pip-lad, who loves the attention.” he teased.

Pippin, in good heart, only stuck his tongue out at his oldest cousin and Frodo soon returned the gesture with a silly smile.

Kíli grinned at Merry before he then ruffled the boy’s hair as well. “And I thought you said you didn’t want an adventure?” he stated before Merry ducked out from under his hand.

“Well,” Merry started, kicking a rock out in front of him. “I suppose my feet do.” he simply said. The boy then cast a glance to his beaming younger cousin, who felt the gaze and looked to him, his smile somehow growing wider. “Adventures are perfectly fine, so long as you’re sharing them with the right folk.” Merry finished, unknowingly striking a chord with Kíli and causing him to beam in return.

Bilbo walked behind them and could not stop the growing feeling of fondness from forming in his heart. As he followed his grinning and laughing companions and kin, he felt not so alone for the first time in a long while.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you sing before, let alone sound so joyous.” Balin remarked as he matched his pace to Bilbo’s. The dwarf’s comment sounded teasing, though those who did not know him wouldn’t have picked up on it.

However it seemed that six years was not long enough to forget the dwarf’s subtle humor since Bilbo could detect it just fine. He let a truly happy albeit bashful smile grace his face. “I don’t believe I’ve ever really had a better reason to, Master Balin.”

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It was done by a pathetic creature. A creature not tall enough to be a Man but not strong enough to be a Dwarf. All had forgotten what It was called or where It came from or why they were fighting It in the first place. But the fight with It was fierce and would be told to their descendants for ages to come. Not because it was tragic but because it was one big hilarious joke.

This was a fate worse than death. Living with this embarrassment tarnishing your Scent. No trespass such as this could be forgiven. The most heinous thing he had done was breathe. The most heinous thing he had done was exist. The most heinous thing he had ever done was be born with this filthy blood.

The event was so ingrained into his bloodline that their Curse was to never forget the Scent. It was passed down from offspring to offspring so they could never forget the shame. Never forget the smell but never know where it came from and never know where to find it. Never know what it belonged to besides a weak enemy who humiliatingly defeated the once revered leader of your people.

No matter how many foul-smelling things he tried to scent instead, he couldn’t get rid of the Scent. He had relations who tried to burn their nostrils and rip out their nasal cavities and tear their flesh from their bones to forget the Scent, to stop smelling anything and everything altogether just so they could not smell the Scent of It. As they deformed themselves and even after, the Scent remained. Even when they could smell nothing else, the Scent remained. For those who rid themselves of the ability to smell altogether, they descended into madness, for the only thing they could smell now was It. Just It remained and It would always linger.

When all else was eviscerated, the Scent of It remained. No one knew where It came from, what It was properly called, and how to be rid of the Scent of It. He believed you never could.

But there was one thing he knew. One word only. One word of the one being that ruined his life before he even knew what life was, before he even had one. Before his sire-er even had one himself.

Took.

Took had taken everything. Took had taken their pride. Their dignity. Their respect. Their power. Their sanity.

When he finally smelt It, he thought it was a trick of the Curse. He thought it was the Scent that always lingered and would never go away, but it began to get more powerful, stronger as the night of their King’s death went on. He smelt the scent of Dwarf, many Dwarf. But something else also. Something amongst the stench of Dwarf that made his blood curdle and his airways scream.

The Creature that lived in the Tunnels was not alone anymore. No. Now he smelt It. There was no doubt that he smelt it. And though his blood was burning and his skin was crawling with the simultaneous urge to run.kill.find.flee.REACH.FIND.KILL.RUN.FIND.KILL.DESTROY, he remained Above. For as much as he hated, detested, loathed, DESPISED the Scent that seemed real down there - a Scent that didn’t seem to be a figment of his Curse - he feared the scent that radiated from Creature more. The scent that radiated from whatever Creature was carrying.

After what seemed like ages after the Dwarves had left, Creature grew more and more loud and crazed and the scent of whatever Creature carried had faded. Creature still reaked of it’s lingering scent but it wasn’t as strong. He knew Creature no longer possessed what was making that distressing scent. Eventually, Creature too left, most likely in search of whatever made the fear-enducing scent.

When Creature finally left, Fumbul and others who shared his Curse went down into the Tunnels. There, they found the Scent again. Faint, but there and real, unlike their Curse. When they stepped into the Tunnels, they could smell It. It’s past fear, It’s sweat, It’s blood…

This. This was the stench of Took. This was the stench of Took-blood. This was the stench of the bestow-er of their Curse. This was the stench of the blood of the one that ruined their Blood. This was the stench of the Takers, and as they crazily, greedily scented the entire area and the Scent grew stronger, a trail was formed. A trail that would lead to the Takers. They would follow this trail. They would follow this trail to the Took-blood and any of the kind that stood in their way. They would take from the Took-blood.

Took-blood had taken their pride. Took-blood had taken their dignity. Took-blood had taken their respect. Took-blood had taken their power. Took-blood had taken their sanity.

Fumbul’s bloodline had found a new purpose. A way to get rid of the shame of their Curse and a way to get back all that had been taken. It was time that they take from Took-blood.

As his Curse-sharers all roared and shrieked in glee at his promise of revenge and retribution, one chant reverberated throughout the caves. One promise to right all the wrongs that had been dealt upon them. One war-cry to unite them in their shared task:

‘Took-blood take, take Took blood.’

‘Took-blood take, take Took blood.’

‘TOOK-BLOOD TAKE, TAKE TOOK BLOOD.’

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Chapter Text

Fíli’s head felt like it was going to explode. For hours, he’s been stuck in the stuffy old Records Room trying to find out whatever information on Hobbits that he could per his uncle’s demands.
Thorin had readily agreed to grant Bilbo and his kin stay here in Erebor for as long as the need be and everyone had been ordered to do whatever it took to make the Hobbits feel welcomed. This included learning about their culture so as to make them feel at home as much as possible.

The only problem was that no one knew anything about Hobbits. Sure the Company had known one, but that didn’t mean they knew them all. Bilbo also hardly ever spoke to any of them on Hobbit culture and the time that the Company did spend in the Shire was all but fleeting.

Looking in the Records Room seemed to be proving fruitless as well. At first glance, it would seem that Hobbits were the most secretive people in all of Middle-earth but after getting to know Bilbo, Fíli and the rest of the Company had come to realize that Dwarves were still holders of that title. In reality, Hobbits were so overly polite that they would not speak of themselves or their culture unless otherwise asked and the Company had hardly ever asked Bilbo anything about himself and his people whilst on their quest. The only dwarf who would even think about asking such questions was Ori and he was now hundreds of miles away, escorting Bilbo and his kin to the Lonely Mountain. The next best thing the dwarves had after Ori or even a hobbit himself was Ori’s writings but Fíli was having not much luck with these papers either.

Ori, ever the erudite, had been compiling some records on the peoples of Middle-earth and unlike their records of the past, these records included Hobbits. The problem was, it was hardly anything.

‘Hobbits are a race of people hailing from the Shire, located east of Ered Luin. They stand between 3 and 4 feet tall, the average height being 3 feet and 6 inches, earning them the name Halflings from Men.’

Fíli could still recall the looks Bilbo received from the Men of Lake-town, as he was quite the sight to behold for them. At being called a Halfling or little person, Bilbo would bristle and go off on a rant ‘I’m of average height for my people, thank you very much’ he would mutter to himself and never to the humans themselves. ‘Did you ever wonder that perhaps it is you who is a giant and I who am normal?’ he’d grumble. It was moments like this that the dwarves truly realized how noteworthy of a decision it was for Bilbo to accompany them, for it had been so long since Hobbits had wandered from the Shire that they had faded into the legends of Men.

‘Other distinctive features include their pointed ears, much like an Elf’s but more rounded. Their large ears give them excellent hearing and they can pick up on most sounds others can not. They also have large, hairy feet with leathery and tough soles, making shoes unnecessary. Though their feet are resistant to cold, they are not immune and prolonged exposure to coldness can lead to extreme discomfort.’

Fíli also recalled the dwarves’ multiple attempts and offers to get Bilbo boots that would fit his feet. They even offered to make him some at one point, even though none of them were cobblers by trade. Yet even as the terrain became rougher and the nights grew colder, Bilbo still refused. He claimed that ‘Unless you wish for me to walk on hot coals or stand on nails, I’m fine’. He claimed it’d be ‘unsightly’ and ‘highly indecent‘ if he were to cover his feet so, which was just plain confusing.

‘Hobbits make their homes in holes in the ground, referred to as ‘smials,’ but their holes are much more like underground houses for they are warm and cozy and have wooden floors and carefully sculpted walls.

‘Hobbits speak the language Hobbitish, a sub-dialect of Westron.

‘Hobbits strongly value food, cheer, and song. They are considered to be extremely resilient and courageous at times. They are also remarkably light on their feet and can go unseen by most, if they desire, making them excellent at sneaking around.‘

Fíli still had a hard time understanding how someone with such large feet could move around without making even the slightest of sounds. He still had no clue how Bilbo managed to sneak his way through Mirkwood and free them from their cells. He also remembers how the Company members would tease Bilbo whenever his stomach would growl on their journey, joking how he still wasn’t used to being away from the comforts of home. Bilbo would take it all in good jest, ‘Yes, yes. I just need to get used to it, is all’ he would murmur and continue on without further complaint. Fíli also remembered how horrible they all felt when they learned that they were actually starving Bilbo when Gandalf shared with them, many weeks into their journey, that Hobbits eat six meals. After that, they had all taken to slipping Bilbo some extra rations throughout the day, and though he said it was unnecessary, he graciously accepted anything they were willing to give while they could spare it.

Fíli added that to his list;

- Don’t call them Halflings
- Don’t need or want shoes, but can get cold (take extra precautions in Winter?)
- Like being cozy and warm
- Enjoy songs, food, and drink
- Sneaky
- Six meals a day (learn more about each meal)

And that was it. That was all they really knew about Hobbits and their people. Fíli had no idea how they were going to comfort these people in a strange land when their hosts knew nearly nothing about them.

He was just about to start checking some scrolls he picked up in Dale - he’d been referencing any documents that made a mention of “Shire” or “little folk” or “Halflings” and had recently received some promising scrolls from Rohan - when the doors opened, a servant stepping inside.

“I’m sorry to bother you, your Highness. But the King requests your presence in the Company Commons.” the servant informed.

“The Company Commons?” he repeated back. Finally, something interesting was happening! Fíli thanked the servant, asked for his documents to be looked after, and made his way to the meeting room that only permitted former members of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

Moving through the halls as swiftly as possible while still trying to keep the air of the crown-prince about him, he soon burst through the grand doors of the Commons to find that all their members - who were not out escorting their soon-to-be guests - were already present.

The Commons were a grand, cozy environment. There was a fireplace that lit up the whole room, spreading warmth throughout. A large table with fourteen chairs, a small alcove with a private collection of books, a kitchen, and a comfy, personally crafted chair for each member of the Company, including Bilbo, who’s chair had never held an occupant. But not for much longer.

He was surprised but certainly not upset to see that Gandalf the Grey himself stood inside the room before the fireplace, smoking a pipe with uncharacteristic vigor. His behavior seemed rather tense and he looked quite tired, if Fíli were to be so bold as to make such an assessment.

“Ah, Fíli. Nice of you to join us.” his uncle drolled from his armchair in greeting, pulling Fíli’s attention way from the stressed looking wizard.

“Sorry,” the young dwarf apologized as he made his way to his seat. “I was in the Records Room gathering information on Hobbits just now. Like you asked.” he informed in defense.

Thorin simply gave him a lazy nod, indicating that it was alright and that he was only teasing his nephew. It was hard to pick up on his uncle’s moods when all his expressions nearly looked the same.

“Gathering information on Hobbits, you say?” Gandalf asked, sounding incredulous. “My, my, you are treating your new responsibility rather seriously. Which is wonderful. I would not expect anything but your utmost care to go into the hosting of Bilbo and his kin.”

“Of course we wouldn’t treat such a task lightly.” Dori bristled indignantly.

“We’re looking after just a few of them. I don’t see what is cause for such concern.” Dwalin scoffed.

“No, of course not, Master Dwalin. Considering that these few Hobbits might possibly be the last in the history of Middle-earth, I wouldn’t be concerned in the least!” the wizard snapped. It would seem he was in quite a sour mood, which no one was surprised by. It was no secret that Gandalf the Grey held a soft spot for the people of the Shire. “This is the reason for my visit, you see? You hold a very important task and I hope you do not treat it lightly.” he directed towards the rest of the room. He then paused in his speaking to take another angry puff from his pipe.

“Gandalf,” Fíli spoke up, breaking the tense and somber mood that had befallen the Company at the wizard’s insight. “since no one knows Hobbits better than you, I was wondering if you could maybe tell us more about them.” he requested. “Besides the basics, of course.”

“Like more about their meals.” Bombur spoke up. “If I’m to be cooking six meals a day for our guests, I want to get them right.” reasoned the usually quiet dwarf. He was taking this matter very seriously, it seemed. The Company seemed to recall the number of Hobbit meals at the ginger dwarf’s statement and offered their agreements.

“Hm. Yes. I suppose that is important...” the wizard hummed before taking a long drag from his pipe and releasing a plume of smoke. “But Hobbits eat six meals whenever they can, not daily. Though I suppose you’re going to need to know the daily schedule in this instance… Yes, it’d be especially good to know it. They need to gain some more meat on their bones if they’re to reach the proper standards...” he rambled on, seemingly to himself.

Though rambling wasn’t anything new for the wizard, chain-smoking and mumbling his words around his pipe was. At least, it wasn’t his typical behavior. It was more akin to his behavior in the early stages of their quest when he would fret over something. The wizard, ever secretive, was keeping something from them and only Thorin seemed to notice.

“You seem to enjoy keeping secrets from us, Wizard, for you are not telling us the truth. At least, not all of it.” the king spoke up, tone conveying the barestest hint of amusement with large undertones of annoyance.

The Company ended their side conversations about Hobbit meals at this and all thought the same.

“Come to think of it,” Dori started. “it did sound a little odd the way you put it. Why would we need to know ‘in this instance’?”

“Ah,” Gandalf breathed out in a billow of smoke, seeming to realize that he had been caught. “Yes, well, I suppose there is no use in hiding it from you. It is rather important to know…” he started to trail off again.

“Gandalf.” Thorin simply said in an admonishing tone.

Gandalf heaved a great sigh before tapping out the contents of his pipe chamber into the fireplace and placed the pipe away in the folds of his robes. “The thing about your guests, King Thorin, is that they are not just any Hobbit folk.”

‘Meaning, what?’ Bifur finally spoke up at this moment in a mix of Khuzdul and Iglishmêk.

“Exactly. What’s so special about them? Besides the obvious fact that they’re in quite the predicament.” Dwalin asked.

“Well for one, two are from very influential Hobbit families, the closest thing to governments or monarchies that Hobbits have.” he informed. “You’ve received my letter on the Took Clan and the reason behind the Goblins’ hatred for them, have you not?” Gandalf inquired. At their nods, he continued. “Well, three of them are of direct Took descent, putting them at a higher risk on the road.”

“Which three?” Thorin demanded, a frown on his face and a knot forming in his stomach.

“There’s Peregrin Took, who is a descendant of the Tooks of old, son to the once-current Thain, who could loosely be considered the primary leader of the Shire.” the wizard explained before he partook in the slightest moment of hesitation, as if carefully thinking of his next words. “And then there are the two who have Took mothers.” he continued.

“Which two, Gandalf?” Thorin requested once more, his impatience and dread growing.

Gandalf seemed to be tired indeed for he simply frowned and answered, “Those two would be Master Meriadoc Brandybuck, son to the Master of Buckland and Mister Bilbo Baggins who is the grandchild of the twenty-sixth Thain, the Old Took.”

The room broke into decrees of shock and worry at this revelation. Thorin’s fear had been confirmed, their Burglar was at a great risk on the road. The king stood from his chair, silencing everyone in the room with the simple action. He was quite clearly angered. “And you did not see fit to warn us of this previously? Whilst Bilbo is out there being hunted by Goblins at this very moment?”

Gandalf didn’t seem to be feeling particularly threatened however as he just rolled his eyes. “Oh relax, you smothering dwarf!” he huffed. “Need I remind you that he is being escorted here by seven of your Company members? Their journey here is the least of your worries.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Dwalin questioned.

“I mean, that Bilbo is a fully grown hobbit. He’s perfectly capable of caring for himself. I am not sending him here for you to protect.” the wizard grumbled.

“Then why are you sending him here?” queried Dori, sounding frustrated at the wizard’s lack of clarity.

And just then, the true meaning behind Gandalf’s words finally hit Thorin. His grip on his chair slackened and his eyes widened. “You do not send Bilbo here alone. You send him to us with his remaining kin. Sons of prominent figures.”

Gandalf looked over at the king and gave a nod, seeming to confirm whatever suspicion Thorin had not yet voiced aloud. Thorin lowered his head and looked off with a comically alarmed expression.

Fíli looked between the two, confused. “What does that mean? His kin cannot take care of themselves?”

“Are they not capable of fighting?” Dwalin asked. "Isn't that to be expected?"

“They’re a peaceable folk, after all.” Dori seemed to agree.

"Hey, now. I think Bilbo more than proved Hobbits are more than capable of handling themselves—" Fíli started in defense of their Hobbit, others beginning to join in.

“No,” Thorin interrupted in a gruff voice. “no, they are not capable of defending themselves.” he stated, expression grim as he heavily fell back down to his seat. “For they are children.”

At this, all in the room paused. Children? Four out of the five Hobbits left were just children?

“O-Oh, goodness…” Dori breathed out, a look of pure shock and horror on his face. “The poor dears…”

“H-How old?” Bombur asked with a tense look, most probably thinking of his own children having to go through such an ordeal.

Gandalf seemed to finally deflate with the relief of revealing the truth for he answered honestly, “The oldest has just come of age this past month. But Frodo is a very mature lad...”

“And the youngest of them?” Bombur continued to press.

Gandalf paused for a moment, again hesitating as if he didn’t want to say. In the end, he decided to just be out with it, “He has just reached nine.”

The room went silent at that. “H…How old is that by Dwarves standards?” Fíli queried. Dwarves lived far longer than Hobbits, after all. When they had first learned Bilbo’s age on the quest, all of the Company were floored, though were all settled once they remembered the differences in aging between certain races. Maybe nine wasn’t as young as they were fearing...

“By Dwarven standards, he would developmentally be…” Gandalf stroked his beard in thought as he went over the math in his head. “around ten and a few months, more or less.”

Well, Fíli thought, so went that theory, before the room erupted in outrage once more.

“They’re just wee babes!” Dori exclaimed, his face white.

Thorin ran his hand over his face as he heaved a great sigh. “We will have our hands full...” he trailed off, already sounding weary.

Bifur grunted and signed 'They, Know, How Much?’

"He's right.” Dori agreed. “Being so young going through such an ordeal… Do they even know what's happening?"

“The last I spoke to them, only the youngest was unaware of the exact situation.” Gandalf answered. “He knows something is wrong and that he can’t be at home right now, just not what or why. The other lads are aware of what has happened but they both do not know the cause of the trouble, I’m sure. Frodo has been aware from the start, from my understanding.”

Bifur signed once more, adding his opinion vocally as well, "They, Comfort Make, We ... We, Need, Know More.”

“I agree.” Fíli concurred with a firm nod. “It would be wise if we knew more about our guests, so we can better prepare for their stay. And Gandalf, you know more about them than anyone!”

“Aye,” Dwalin spoke. “seeing as they are due in just a few weeks, it’d be good to learn all that we can now.”

“Not to mention we’ll have to child-proof the rooms!” Dori exclaimed. “All the sharp edges to hurt oneself on… And all the hazardous areas that’ll have to be sectioned off!”

“And they’ll need hearty meals!” Bombur declared. “I must know the proper food groups for young Hobbits if they’re to grow up stout and strong! Or whatever it is Hobbit lads are to grow up to be...”

Bifur spoke and signed something to his cousin, a smile on his face.

Bombur grinned back. “Yes, plump and sturdy sounds right!”

“We’re to double the defenses.” Dwalin informed gruffly, crossing his arms. Fíli cast him a grin, causing the older dwarf to glower in return. “Because they’re of royal blood.” he assured, his reasoning strictly logical, not emotional.

“Of course.” Fíli agreed with as much conviction as the rest of his kin.

As the room broke out into more excited conversation and chaotic decrees of preparation tactics, the wizard rubbed his temples, feeling his headache grow.

The Valar save Gandalf and those poor, poor hobbits from smothering dwarves…

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They were on the road. A special occasion, for this year they’d be celebrating Bullroarer Day over in Tookland. Sam was excited that his father had finally granted permission for him to accompany the Bagginses out of Hobbiton under the guise of lending a helping hand transporting luggage. Frodo was looking forward to seeing some of his old friends from when he lived closer in Brandy Hall and seeing his younger cousins. His female cousins were off in Buckland but Merry had made the trip to Tuckborough this year with his father and Pippin remained at home instead of accompanying his mother and sisters for the sole purpose of seeing his cousins. Bilbo was just glad to get away from the judgy eyes of the citizens of Hobbiton and be in the company of foolhardy Tooks once again - though even mild mannered Bilbo was considered pretty odd to them. Too stuffy for the Tooks and too adventurous for the Bagginses, the sad tale of Bilbo’s life.

However, all the excitement for the trip was quickly lost when from the corner of his eye he noticed a familiar blue glow; Sting’s warning that foul creatures were near. He had developed a bad habit of carrying the old sword around with him ever since his adventure - though at festivals such as this, the children usually got a real hoot out of seeing it - but to say that he regretted carrying it with him that day would be a lie.

He did his best to keep himself and the boys out of sight as they made their way to the Great Smials but they couldn’t remain hidden the entire time. A few goblins managed to come across them no matter how low they crouched or how concealed they were in the underbrush. It was as if the creatures could track them not with their eyes, but something else… It was as if they could smell them...

Each time they were found, Bilbo sought to getting rid of the offending creature as quickly as possible, so it wouldn’t attract any more of its kin. In doing so, he had no doubts that he positively scarred Frodo and Sam. Ever since he ran Sting through the first goblin that came across them, Frodo hadn’t looked at him the same. Frodo looked at him as if he weren’t himself, as if Bilbo were a different person entirely.

Bilbo supposed that he was. He tried to leave that version of himself behind - the version of himself that went on that outrageous adventure and lost so much - but he supposed he could never be rid of it. He supposed that version of himself was a part of him forever and was as close to his true self as anyone would ever see.

When they had arrived, it seemed Tuckborough had a greater concentration of goblins than out in the countryside. Bilbo felt his dread quickly build but he knew he had to risk going through this area. Knew they had to get to the Great Smials, knew there was no safer place and the Thain had to be informed of the intruders (however Bilbo had the strong feeling that he already knew). He looked around at the dead around him - Goblin and Hobbit alike - and gulped down the bile the rose in his throat.

“Eyes forward, boys. We’re nearly there.” he instructed, keeping his voice steady as he manually averted Frodo and Sam’s horrified expressions from the carnage below them by lifting their heads and directing their attention to the road in front of them, where their destination lay ahead.

When they had finally arrived outside the Great Smials, all the fear Bilbo had over not being allowed in the great fortress - for it was surely sealed off in this crisis - died away when he saw hobbits standing guard out front, carrying actual weapons. The weaponry had been opened? He’s surprised his people even remembered they had one.

When the guards noticed him, such a surprised and somewhat relieved look crossed their faces before one of them announced in a frantic tone, “He’s here! Bilbo Baggins is here!”

The previously deserted-seeming smials then bustled with life as they were quickly escorted inside by the Hobbitry-in-arms (he couldn’t believe his eyes when we saw that). As Sam accompanied Frodo to discover the whereabouts of his cousins, Bilbo was escorted through the great, tunneling halls by the armed guards. He was more than a little surprised and uncomfortable at the looks he received from the hobbits they passed. He couldn’t determine if they viewed him as some sort of savior or sign of doom. Looking down at himself, he realized it was most likely because he was quite a sight, sword at his side and clothes stained beyond belief with not only dirt but blood as well. He was led into the office of the Thain himself and learned that they had missed not only a Shire-moot but a Shire-muster as well. There hadn’t been a Shire-moot or Shire-muster in ages, not since the Fell Winter of 2911.

“Our people haven’t seen conflict like this in years. Decades.” the Thain revealed to Bilbo in the confines of his office, the usually neat space littered with maps, documents, and what Bilbo could only assume to be battle plans. “Saradoc is frantic. His lands were the first to be invaded and everyday the number of dead rise. The Master of Buckland has sounded the Horn-call of Buckland. We can’t ignore it.” he reasoned as he ran a hand down his tired face. Bilbo sympathized with the man. He had only held his title for a year or so now and something like this happens? A simple farmer handed such a massive responsibility because of something as simple as bloodlines...

And the Horn-call of Buckland was a dire occurrence indeed. For the Horn-call only sounded in great times of trouble, times of incursion and invasion, such as when the White Wolves invaded during that same Fell Winter when the Brandywine River froze over.

“The Rangers in the North are holding back the invasion as best they can, but they’re quickly being overwhelmed. They need all the extra help they can get.” the Thain continued on.

“Then let me join the arms, Paladin.” Bilbo implored. “I’m the only Hobbit who has actually battled with Goblins before.” he argued, surprising himself. He didn’t want to fight - he once dared to dream he left those days behind him - but he knew that if he didn’t help his people now, he’d regret it for the rest of his days.

“I know.” the Thain replied in a harsh tone, as if offended that Bilbo would believe he had forgotten this. It was strange, when he came back from his adventure, most if not all hobbits believed Bilbo to be a liar or just plain mad, but Paladin always seemed to have some sort of inkling that there was at least some semblance of truth behind Bilbo’s tales. No hobbit returned from just any old outing changed the way Bilbo had been.

The Thain’s harsh look softened slightly as he made his way over to the older hobbit and rested a comforting hand upon the other’s shoulder. “I know that you’re more well-versed in times of…conflict.” he said for lack of a better word. “That means you’re the only one I can trust with this task. Head East, find Gandalf and get help from those Elves you’re always blubbering on to the children about.” he joked half-heartedly with a dwindling smile.

It was true that a few of the Rangers of the North were holding back the Goblin forces, but even they were beginning to be overwhelmed by the sheer number of them. A few had slipped past their defenses, leading to the Horn-call to sound. They were in desperate need of aid and if they had Gandalf… Well, Bilbo wasn’t sure what the wizard could do in a situation like this, but he had seen battles fought in the Shire before, had even been a part of them (though he knew the wizard would strongly refute this). And to have the Elves of Rivendell on their side? Well those would be some powerful allies indeed.

“We’re in over our heads, true. But we’re not useless.” the Thain continued. “Our people have gone to battles we weren't prepared for before and this time is no different. But you’re the only one of us who can make a difference. The only one who knows enough to make a difference. The only one who’d be willing to actively seek help from outsiders and actually gain it.”

“But Paladin, I—”

“That’s enough.” the other hobbit interrupted verbally along with the swift motion of a raised hand. “That’s an order from your Thain.” he stated firmly, expression hardening into Paladin’s usual stern look once more.

This, Bilbo realized, was the true purpose of the Thain; to lead during battle. To command the people in times of strife. Bilbo didn’t have the right to refuse, for this was the one instance in which the Thain was most powerful; times of conflict.

Then, the hard expression the other hobbit had melted away into something much more - dare he say - timid. He looked almost hesitant as he spoke once more, “And as a personal request…from cousin to cousin, please, look after the lads. I trust them being safer at your side than any place else.”

Safer at his side? What a joke! Bilbo has always attracted danger yet here the man was, requesting that he keep his nephew and only son safe. Asking that he protect the future Master of Buckland and the heir to the Thainship? Standing there in stunned silence, Bilbo came to the realization that Paladin had no idea if the tales of Bilbo’s heroics were true or not. He only had Bilbo’s word - and the small wealth he had collected - as any indicator of proof.

This wasn’t a Thain asking him to protect the future of the Shire. This was a desperate man. A man who didn’t know if his wife or daughters were safe. This was a desperate father, trusting Bilbo with the life of his only son. In the end, foolhardy Bilbo didn’t have the right - or the heart - to say no.

“They’ll die.” spoke a familiar voice, breaking the silence that Paladin and Bilbo had let fall.

Bilbo quickly turned around only to find Frodo standing in the doorway of the office. “Frodo?” he responded in confusion. Wasn’t he supposed to be locating his cousins? Where was Sam?

Frodo stared at him blankly, his blue eyes too piercing, too familiar. “They’ll die out there on the road. We all will. And you know it.”

“D-Don’t say such things.” Bilbo tried to say firmly, but he knew his surprised voice had betrayed him. He turned away from his nephew so he wouldn’t have to look into those eyes. They reminded him too much of his.

Though he turned away, Frodo pressed on. He came closer, voice too harsh, so unlike his nephew. “You won’t be able to protect them. You’ve never been able to protect what’s most important to you.”

“What do you know of it?!” Bilbo snapped, fists clenching and shoulders hunching over himself, as if it could protect him from the onslaught of hurt the words brought.

“I know of it just fine.” a deep voice rumbled, instantly turning the blood in Bilbo’s veins into ice. His head shot up from the ground and he whipped around to face his nephew, only for his heart to drop and his eyes to widened, for standing before him wasn’t his nephew any longer.

“I know of it,” Thorin started, face downcast before he lifted his eyes and Bilbo met cold, icy blues that screamed of betrayal and rage. “because you weren’t able to protect me.”

Bilbo woke with a start, his skin clammy and heart racing much too fast. He went to sit up but found his movements restricted and for a moment he almost panicked before he remembered just what the weight on top of him was. He looked down to see Frodo’s head laying atop his stomach, the way he had fallen asleep, what couldn’t have been just a few hours ago, based on how tired he felt.

The hobbits, as per their usual sleeping arrangements, fell asleep in a pile. They were as wrapped up in each other as they were in the scarves and mittens Ori had knitted them to keep warm in the rapidly cooling Autumn weather. Pippin was sprawled across Frodo’s torso, laying on his stomach and encasing the older hobbit in a hug, all but drooling on the elder’s shirt. Merry was curled against Frodo’s right side, curly golden hair just brushing against Bilbo’s knees. He had a protective hand laying across Pippin’s back, gripping onto the fabric of his younger cousin’s clothes, keeping a close watch even in sleep. Sam, as usual, had started off on Frodo’s left side, with his back facing the other, curled into himself. However during the night, he managed to shift his position so drastically that he now laid sprawled across Frodo’s legs with Pippin’s own kicking out at him every now and then and his own arm stretched out across Merry’s legs, a common occurrence.

Bilbo let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding and gently rested his hand atop Frodo’s dark curls. He laid his head back and looked up to the sky, doing his best to ease his racing heart.

It was a clear night. Through the treetops, he could just make out the stars.

“I still don’t understand it.” started a quiet voice, low enough that Bilbo wasn’t startled. The hobbit turned his head to face Glóin, who was currently seated with his back against a tree, on watch duty. At Bilbo’s curious look, Glóin indicated the cluster of children with a nod of his head. “How they sleep comfortably like that. Children are such mysteries. They can sleep in positions such as that or fall down a flight of stone steps and be completely alright, but the moment they scrape a knee it’s the end of the world.” he chuckled as he polished the axe resting in his lap.

“Does it ever get any easier?” Bilbo started in a quiet voice of his own. At Glóin’s curious look, he elaborated, “Letting them out into that world where they can get so easily hurt, knowing full well you can’t stop them from doing so? Knowing that when the time comes, you can’t protect them?”

Glóin paused in his polishing, as if to ponder the question. Finally he answered, “No. It doesn’t.”

Bilbo huffed a breathy laugh and turned his face back up to the stars. He supposed an honest answer was what he needed to hear. Knowing so didn’t make the truth any easier, though.

“However,” Glóin began again unexpectedly, causing Bilbo to turn his head back to him once again. “the greatest thing we can do is teach them. Teach them not to make our mistakes. Teach them how to protect themselves and trust them enough to do so.”

“Trust, you say?” Bilbo inquired with barely concealed trepidation at even the thought of the word. “I don’t know if this old heart of mine can stand to try trusting once more.” he revealed with a soft, humorless laugh.

“Well, you have to trust in children, Master Burglar. After all, they have to trust in us.” the dwarf implored. “When we’re done in this realm, all we leave behind is the earth we once walked, the stone we once carved, and the lessons we once taught. Children are the ones who have to make due with what we leave behind. Better leave them with something good, if you ask me.”

Bilbo reflected over the dwarf’s words for a moment, hands idly stroking through Frodo’s dark curls before he spoke once more. “Your son Gimli is a lucky lad to have a father so wise.” he complimented truthfully, recalling all the times Glóin would speak of his son whilst on their quest. “How old would he be now? 45? My, he’s already grown, isn’t he?”

“Aye.” Glóin answered in response to all, a fond smile naturally gracing his face at the thought of his pride and joy. “But these lads are also lucky to have such a diligent, observant, and kind-hearted keeper such as yourself.” he stated, bringing the conversation back to Bilbo.

Said hobbit felt his face flush slightly at the compliments. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that I─”

“Nonsense, Master Burglar.” he cut off. “Very few creatures would be pleasant enough to remember not only the coming of age of another people, but also the specific age of an old acquaintance’s son.”

Nori let out a scoff at this, alerting the two nightowls to the fact that they weren’t the only ones awake at such an hour. “With how often you blabbered on about the boy, I’d be more surprised if Bilbo didn’t remember how old he was.” he groaned. Bilbo heard the distinct, purposefully muffled laughs of Kíli and Bofur - and what sounded suspiciously like Balin - causing him even more embarrassment at the revelation that their conversation wasn’t as private as he had thought it to be. He should’ve realized from the lack of snores...

All possible responses to the comment by either Bilbo or Glóin were stopped however when Pippin gave another - particularly hard - unconscious kick of his foot, causing Sam to let out a displeased groan and swipe at the boy’s feet, something he’d never dare to do in the waking world. Sam’s shifting in turn disturbed Merry who - without opening his eyes or showing any indication that he was awake - hardened his grip on Pippin’s clothing and pulled, slowly rolling the younger boy off of Frodo’s chest and to his side. The boy let out a soft whine, face scrunching up in protest, but otherwise remained asleep. Once Pippin was sandwiched between himself and Frodo, Merry threw his limbs over his younger cousin until he was properly encasing the boy and his wayward feet in a firm hold. Pippin’s scrunched up face then relaxed. Sam, now free of the threat of kicking feet, resituated himself, which meant rolling his entire body until his head now lay on Frodo’s stomach and his left arm was sprawled over both Merry and Pippin’s sides. Frodo brought a hand around and rested it on Sam’s back, the four younger hobbits now even more entangled with one another than before, if even possible. All movement from the children ceased as they all returned to a deep slumber.

Glóin and the rest of the Company that was still awake and witnessed the spectacle, were barely able to conceal their chuckles.

“See?” Glóin asked rhetorically, quiet voice laced with mirth. “Never will you find a more resilient creature than children. And if they’re Hobbit children?” he emphasized with a very pointed look towards Bilbo. “Well, I don’t believe there’s anything they couldn’t overcome.” he finished, sitting back against his tree and resuming his polishing.

Bilbo placed his left hand atop Frodo’s, which was rested upon Sam’s steadily rising and falling back, and felt himself smile despite his earlier dark feelings. Though his heart still ached with thoughts of home and the future, looking up at the stars, the boys sleeping soundly around him, surrounded by friends, he couldn’t help but think Glóin was more than correct in his assessment.

The lads would be just fine.

Chapter Text

Bilbo awoke to sunlight flickering through treetops. For a moment, he was confused and a bit peeved at himself for dozing off outside again. Everyone in the neighborhood gave him enough trouble as it was without him falling asleep underneath the shade of a great oak. He never truly recovered from being presumed dead. If any other hobbit was dozing off outside, it’d be no problem. But mad Bilbo Baggins? Old wives would have gossip material for weeks.

Then he remembered that trees were not this tall in the Shire, nor was he even in the Shire. He was on the road.

As though doused with water, Bilbo immediately rose and checked his surroundings, looking all around himself, searching for very specific figures.

He spotted Glóin, Balin, and Merry seated around the campfire. Glóin was cooking a meager breakfast of a watery porridge and a few pieces of leftover venison from yesterday’s dinner and Merry seemed to be listening to Balin tell him a story. Bilbo was able to catch a few words and gather that he was speaking of Erebor. Though if the expression on the boy’s face was any indication, Merry was using the old dwarf's storytelling as a means of distraction from something else. Curious.

Off to the side yet still within earshot of Balin and others were Ori and Frodo. The dwarf was avidly speaking to the young hobbit about something, passing him a journal and various pieces of parchment and Frodo seemed to be soaking it all up happily, if the expression on his face and his enthusiastic nods were any indication.

Bilbo then turned his head in the other direction to see that Kíli and Bofur were crouched in front of an old log, a sight most strange, even for them.

He looked around their campsite some more only to discover that Óin and Nori were missing and to his alarm, so were Sam and Pippin. Early on, Bilbo had established a rule for the lads to never wander off anywhere without the company of Bilbo or at least one of the dwarves. He was glad that Sam and Pippin seemed to be following the rule, but Óin of all choices? Not that he had a problem with the old dwarf, just that he wasn’t the most...observant of the available options. And Nori’s lack of presence didn’t make him feel much better either. Who knew what trouble-making tendencies he could be rubbing off on Pippin? The lad’s fingers were sticky enough as is.

It was with these trailing, wandering thoughts that Bilbo finally decided to properly wake up and have a closer look around, rather than needlessly worry. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and gave a small hiss as his shoulder flashed in pain at the gesture. He rolled it a few times as he recalled the events of last night.

They had been making good progress. Without any more delays, they should reach Erebor before the last moon of Autumn, just in time for Durin’s Day (the irony was not lost on him). However, last night was their first bump in the road. A - luckily small - group of goblins was able to catch up with their party and give them all a rather nasty surprise. The Company was able to defeat the offending creatures easily enough but not without a few nicks and scrapes and scared hobbit lads to show for it.

“How is your shoulder fairing?” a familiar voice asked, interrupting Bilbo’s thoughts. He looked up to see a concerned Frodo standing before him, who had apparently ended his conversation with Ori.

“Good morning.” Bilbo greeted instead. Frodo gave him a rather unimpressed look but stuck out his hand towards Bilbo. The older hobbit took the offered hand and pulled himself up with a grunt.

“You did not answer my question.” Frodo said once the other was standing properly, sounding quite miffed as he looked to Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Oh, I’m fine, Frodo. Truly. I just pulled it, is all and Óin saw it fixed in a jiffy.” he reassured as he patted the dust off his trousers, using the arm of his injured shoulder to show he was quite alright. “Where are Sam and Pippin?”

Frodo looked a bit skeptical, but answered all the same. “Sam is off with Mr. Óin gathering herbs. He saw it best to make and store some more salves despite the extra weight rather than risk not having any on hand like last night. Mr. Nori accompanied them as a precaution.” he explained.

“Yes, those both sound like wise ideas...” Bilbo agreed with a nod. It was then he realized that there was still one party member who had not been accounted for; probably the most worrying of all. “And Pippin?” he asked.

Frodo jerked his head over to Kíli and Bofur and the old fallen log they were crouched in front of. The two were peering into opposite ends, speaking into it and reaching in their arms, failing to grab something out of reach. “In there.” Frodo said.

Bilbo blinked, positively floored for a moment. “Wait. In the log?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what’s he doing in there?” Bilbo asked in a baffled tone.

Frodo was making that face he made when something both alarmed and amused him at the same time, an expression only their youngest hobbit lad was capable of evoking. “He’s still quite startled by last night’s events. We all are.”

“Ah, I see…” Bilbo trailed off, staring off at the scene before him in slight worry.

At the start of their journey, Pippin wouldn’t go near any trees whatsoever, the reasoning an inane fear he had gained because of some tall tale about trees coming alive and snatching up young, unsuspecting hobbits in their roots. And due to the suspiciously guilty look on Merry’s face when Pippin revealed this fear - the forced-casual look he got when he knew someone was talking about something he was involved in but wasn’t supposed to be - Bilbo had a pretty strong feeling that he and most likely Fredegar Bolger were to blame for that.

“Uncle,” Frodo started, breaking Bilbo out of his musings. His tone was more hushed than it was for their entire conversation when he continued, “there’s something else you should know…” he trailed off, sounding slightly unsure how to word what he wanted to say next.

“Yes, what is it?” Bilbo answered without looking to his nephew, for he was already starting to make his way to the log to try and lure the young Took out. Bilbo’s path was however promptly blocked by a quite peeved-looking Merry.

“You and I need to share some words.” the lad declared in such a way that reminded Bilbo so much of gruff Saradoc that it both amused and slightly worried him.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then.” Frodo announced, his valiant efforts to try to warn his uncle all for naught. He walked away from the two and made his way over to Balin seeing as Ori had joined Kíli and Bofur in their endeavor to coax Pippin out of hiding.

Turning back to the situation at hand, Bilbo faced the angered child head on. “Whatever is the matter?” he asked, befuddled.

“What do you mean, ‘whatever is the matter’? A lot is a matter!” Merry shouted, using his arms to gesture just how strongly he felt this to be so.

Bilbo upturned his head, his nose giving a twitch before his mouth settled into an unimpressed frown. “As soon as you’re ready to change your tone, young sir, I’ll be ready to have a civilized conversation with you.” he simply stated, walking over to a large stone and taking a seat. Merry gave a frustrated sigh and grumbled under his breath but nevertheless stomped his way over to Bilbo and took a seat next to him, folding his arms across his chest. “Deep breath in, lad.” Bilbo instructed and after receiving stern a look, Merry did as told. “and one out.”

Upon his command, Merry breathed out a long, weary sigh, the fight deflating out of his shoulders.

“Better now?” Bilbo now asked in a warmer tone.

“Yes...” the boy reluctantly answered, sounding rather irked that Bilbo’s method had been so effective.

Bilbo then decided to get right to it and said, “Good. Now I know you’re upset, Merry. You have every right to be. I have not been fair to you. I’ve been keeping things from you because I thought it for the best but now I see I’ve only been hurting you worse and for that I am truly sorry. Any questions you have now, I swear to answer honestly.”

Merry gazed at him, looking simply scrutinous. “You swear it?”

“I swear it.” Bilbo promised, drawing an invisible X over his heart, a silly but sincere gesture, which Merry seemed to appreciate as he visibly became less hostile. His face then scrunched up in thought, a tell that he was taking a moment to gather his thoughts. Bilbo allowed the lad all the time he needed and patiently waited until Merry decided to speak up. The lad drew his eyes from the ground and he stared off at something.

Bilbo followed the boy’s gaze over to the whole log fiasco. Kíli was laying on the ground, flat on his stomach and seemed to be conversing with the young hobbit inside while Ori was peering into a large hole in the side of it. Bofur was futilly reaching his arm in and blindly grasping, not able to get a grip on the lad by the looks of it. Bilbo was so distracted by the spectacle that he almost didn’t hear Merry when he spoke up again.

“Why did the Goblins invade?” the lad finally asked, regaining Bilbo’s undivided attention.

A heavy question to answer, but Bilbo did promise after all. “You’re familiar with the story of old Bullroarer, yes?” at the boy’s nod, Bilbo continued. “I’m afraid that there’s still some bad blood between them and Hobbits because of it and me going to the Goblin Tunnels a few years ago made them...recall it.” he revealed, trying his best not to sound ashamed, but facing that reality never became any easier, no matter how many times he told the tale. No matter what Frodo or Gandalf or Elrond or any of the dwarves tried to say to appease Bilbo’s guilty conscience, the shame remained.

Merry’s face scrunched up slightly in confusion, as if he were recalling something he once heard some time ago. “But I thought you said you never met any of the Goblins?” he queried. “You just ran into that Gollum fellow.”

Bilbo repressed a shudder at the memory of his encounter with the tunnels’ inhabitant. He continued speaking instead of festering on the memories, “Yes, but Goblins have a very good sense of smell it seems and they were able to know that I was there, but not until after I left.” he explained.

Merry bobbed his head up and down slightly, looking like he was trying to slowly absorb everything Bilbo was telling him and evaluating it in his head. “Why’re they so keen on chasing after us?” he eventually asked.

“Gandalf and myself believe it to be the Took bloodline. Same thing that’s been getting Hobbits into trouble for centuries.” he joked halfheartedly.

“They’re still mad at Bullroarer…” Merry started, voice trailing off sounding as though he were trying to piece his thoughts together. “...so they’re hunting down his bloodline?” he concluded.

“It would seem so, yes.” Bilbo confirmed, not surprised at the boy’s skills of deduction. Merry had always been very keen after all, just like his father.

Suddenly, Merry stood up with a horrified expression on his face as realization dawned on him. He stared after his cousin-in-hiding. “They’re out to get Pippin?” he asked in a hushed tone of alarm.

“They’re after any Hobbit but are particular to any with Took relations, yes. Which includes you and I.” he reminded pointedly.

Merry’s frown deepened before he turned back to his elder with a knowing look. “That’s why you’re moving us, isn’t it.” he stated, more-so than asked.

Bilbo gave a nod. “We’ll be safer amongst friends and with some distance between us and trouble.” he reasoned. “I’ve been assured that the Elves, Rangers, Gandalf, and now the Dwarves will aid in protecting the Shire and figuring out just what is going on while we’re gone but as I said, it’s best if we get somewhere where the Goblins would think twice before attacking.”

“What happened to everyone? In the Shire. Why can’t we go back?” Merry continued, face expectant and looking for the truth. Sharp senses would be able to determine if Bilbo was lying, so the older hobbit decided to tell the full truth.

“I wish I knew. Some Hobbits are… Well, some are—”

“Dead?” Merry finished for him, voice too blunt for such a subject.

Bilbo swallowed thickly. “Yes.”

Then, Merry became eerily quiet. After a moment of stretched silence, in a small voice, he began, “Is it...Is it anyone that I… Are my parents—”

“No.” Bilbo quickly cut off, expression severe. “No, Merry. I would have told you.” he assured, reaching out and pulling the boy close to rest his hands upon the lad’s shoulders, looking him square in the eyes to convey his honesty.

Merry took a moment to recompose himself. He took a steadying breath. “You’re right. I know you would. Sorry, I…” he trailed, seemingly unsure of what he wanted to say.

“It’s nothing to be sorry for.” Bilbo reassured without hesitancy. “But do not misunderstand me. There are a good few Hobbits who were lost forever to the Goblins’ hands, but a greater number are uncounted for. Such a great number that it’s baffling.”

“And no one knows where? Not even Gandalf or the Elves? Still?” Merry questioned, sounding perplexed himself.

“No. But like I said, they’re working on figuring it out. Gandalf has a strong feeling that magic was somehow involved.”

“Magic?” the boy repeated, sounding incredulous.

“I don’t understand it either. That’s as much as I know, I’m afraid.”

A heavy silence settled over the two as they reflected on the situation. As bad as it was to know that some of their kin had perished - valiantly defending their homeland or savagely harmed for no fault of their own - it seemed that not knowing their exact fate was almost worse. Waiting around, hoping, Bilbo had done enough of that in his lifetime.

“I understand.” Merry finally nodded after much pause. He sat back down on the rock next to Bilbo and hunched his shoulders, staring at the ground intensely, brows furrowed. “I’m sorry how I’ve been acting.” he apologized, almost hesitantly. “I just… I miss home. And Ma and Da and all the folk at Brandy Hall…” he sniffed and Bilbo suddenly recalled that no matter how mature or stone-hearted Merry tried to act in tough situations, he was still just a lad. He wasn’t even a tween, yet. Bilbo quickly drew out his handkerchief and offered it to the boy, which Merry accepted graciously, dabbing at his eyes.

“Home isn’t gone forever, lad.” Bilbo said comfortingly as he placed his arm around the lad and rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. “It’s just...misplaced is all.”

At this point, Óin, Sam, and Nori had returned with what appeared to be a fresh basket of herbs and Frodo was giving Bilbo a look that said ‘I know you’re having a lovely moment but it’s time to have your shoulder looked at’.

Bilbo sighed in good grace before running his hand through Merry’s tangled curls. “Now, why don’t you go see if you can round up that cousin of yours? And do something about these knots, hm?” he indicated with a gentle tug to said hair.

After rubbing at his eyes one last time, Merry gave a firm nod, straightened up to his full height, and made his way over to the log. The dwarves watched his approach with curious and tired expressions, seeming to have given up hope. Merry bent down and held his hand out to one end of the log, saying something that Bilbo couldn’t quite pick out. To all but the hobbits’ surprise, a small hand instantly shot out of the log, taking hold of the offered appendage and the rest of Pippin emerged soon after. As the dwarves gaped at them with unabashed shock, the older boy led the younger over to the campfire, sitting Pippin down and then wandered over to his pack, drawing out a comb as well as a curious apple. Merry then sought to fixing Pippin’s unruly curls as the younger munched away on the mysterious piece of fruit.

Despite the growing ire of Frodo, Bilbo made his way over to Kíli, Ori, and Bofur, whose bewildered expressions were all too hilarious to miss up close. The latter of whom with an askew hat as he scratched the top of his head in befuddlement.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Bofur said once Bilbo neared, though the comment sounded to be to himself as much as it was to the hobbit. “All morning we’ve been trying to get him out of that blasted thing…” he revealed, voice pitched high in confusion.

“What did Merry say to him?” Bilbo asked, though he had a rather good idea.

Kíli, with an airy laugh, answered, “It was amazing! He just held out his hand and said ‘there’s not enough room in that log to eat an apple’. The kid didn’t even question it. Just shot his hand straight out and followed.”

“Ah, that sounds about right.” Bilbo reasoned with a fond chuckle of his own. Leave it to Merry to not only remember that there was no greater bribe for Pippin than a snack but to actually have a store of them somewhere just for said purpose.

At this point, Sam had timidly shuffled over to their group and his hands were fidgeting, a tell-tale sign that he wanted to say something but didn’t think it appropriate to speak up and interrupt.

Bilbo looked over to the boy and gave an affable smile. “What is it, Sam?”

The boy seemed to let out a relieved sigh at not having to raise his voice to speak and responded, “I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Bilbo, but Mr. Frodo is getting rather cross. I believe he wants you to see Mr. Óin straightaway.”

Bilbo looked over to his nephew and indeed the boy was shooting him an irritated stare as he drummed his fingers impatiently against the rock he was using as an impromptu table. Leave it to his rotten nephew to send sweet Sam to do his dirty work.

“That he is.” Bilbo observed. “Well, best make my way over to Mr. Óin then. Thank you for the warning, Samwise.” he thanked as he left to go meet with the healer and appease his nephew.

“Of course, Mr. Bilbo.” the boy answered after him.

Bofur, mind still reeling from the whole log scenario, spoke once more. “I still can’t believe it! We were trying all morning to get Master Pippin out of that blasted thing. Even you, boyo.” he complained, now addressing Sam.

Sam jerked a bit, as if alarmed at being spoken to directly by the dwarf. “A-Ah, yes. Well, Mr. Merry has always had a way with Mr. Pippin. He’s assigned himself as the lad’s protector the day he was born and the two have been thick as thieves ever since. And the world is all the more alert because of it...” he mumbled out, tone slightly flat.

“Whad’ya mean by that?” Bofur asked in a laugh, genuinely interested due to the dry look and tone the usually polite boy had.

Sam flushed slightly upon realizing he had been caught and looked away, nervously scratching at his cheek with his index finger. “O-Oh, well, nothing bad, really, but… They cause quite a bit of trouble usually. They haven’t really had much of the heart or time for it lately, much to Mr. Pippin’s confusion but they’re typically...a little much.” he revealed, pausing to carefully consider his word choice. “Let’s just say, there’s typically never time for a dull moment when they’re around.”

“Really?” Kíli breathed out in a slightly astonished tone, a little intrigued by the similarities to his own life. “And they’re not brothers, no?”

“They are in every way and sense except for blood, your Highness.” Sam informed, still using the title that Kíli insisted he drop a long time ago. Sam then paused for a moment before adding, “Well, cousins are considered blood, but you know my meaning.”

“Are you all related?” Ori inquired, finally speaking up. At Sam’s curious look, he elaborated, “I remember Master Frodo referring to Master Merry as his cousin as well.”

Sam seemed to perk up a bit more at this topic, as his eyes alight with hesitant excitement, eager to share some knowledge as well as provide clarification. “Ah, well, yes. Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin are the closest in terms of relations, them being first cousins and all. Then it’s Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry, they’re first cousins once removed. Then Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin are first cousins twice removed. Then Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo are second cousins once removed. And Mr. Frodo and Mr. Pippin are second cousins once removed as well.”

All three dwarves just stared at Sam for a moment with completely perplexed and astonished expressions.

“By my beard…” Bofur started, scratching his head once again and displacing his hat. “Hobbits are complicated creatures. Even their relations are a mystery!”

Sam blushed after realizing he had rambled. “I-I suppose it is rather strange. I’m sorry to confuse, sirs.”

While both Kíli and Bofur looked completely confounded, Ori had been diligently soaking up every bit of information he’d been given. “It’s alright.” he reassured the young boy, remembering when he himself was rather shy to speak up and how embarrassing it could be when he’d go on and on about a subject most of his peers knew nothing about. “But what about you, Master Samwise?”

Sam looked up at Ori, genuinely perplexed. “Me, sir?” he questioned.

“Yes, you.” the scribe smiled amiably. “What is your relation to the others? You did not say.”

“A-Ah,” the young hobbit breathed out as he finally caught on. “Well, that’s because I have none, sir. We Gamgees aren’t of any special blood...”

“Oh?” Kíli questioned. “You’re not related to any of them?”

“No, sir.” the lad confirmed along with a shake of his head. “My family’s worked for the Bagginses for many a year, that we have. My Gaffer - ah, I mean my Da - has known Mr. Bilbo since he himself was young.” the boy explained.

“And you’re working for them already?” Bofur asked, intrigued to meet a Hobbit of his same social class. He was under the impression that all Hobbits were of important blood, what with the majority he’s become acquainted with being so. “You’re such a wee thing…”

“Oh, no!” Sam quickly defended after realizing what Bofur was implying. “I’m happy to work for the Baggins family. They treat me very kindly, they do.”

“And the Bagginses are very happy to be treated even more kindly by the Gamgees.” Bilbo said, positively startling Sam when he suddenly appeared from behind and gently rested both his hands upon the boy’s shoulders.

“M-Mr. Bilbo!” Sam exclaimed, immediately turning to face his elder. “I didn’t mean to speak of you all sneakily like, sir, honest. I―”

Bilbo patted the boy’s shoulders in a placating manner. “It’s fine, it’s fine. Don’t be silly.” he reassured with a kind smile. “You sound as if you think you offend.”

“How’s that arm of yours, Mr. Bilbo?” Sam asked in a concerned tone in lieu of responding.

“It’s doing just fine.” the older hobbit sighed good-naturedly. “Why don’t you go join my overbearing nephew and the others for some breakfast? I do believe Merry was able to mysteriously procure some sweet potatoes from somewhere…”

“Sweet potatoes? All the way out here?” Sam queried, holding an expression of disbelief and barely concealed excitement. He quickly schooled his expression and gave a firm nod. “I do believe I’ll have a look then.” he said decidedly. He then turned to the three dwarves behind him and gave a polite nod. “Thank you, sirs, for making nice conversation.”

Bofur tipped his hat at the boy. “‘Twas wonderfully informing. Would be glad to do it again.”

“Yes, I learned a great deal.” Ori readily agreed. He smiled kindly at they boy and complemented, “You’re a very smart and polite lad, Master Samwise. I’d love to chat with you again sometime.”

Sam blushed all the way up to the tip of his pointed ears. “R-Right. T-Thank you very much, sirs.” he all-but squeaked out before he hurriedly made his way over to the other members of his kin, hunching his shoulders and casting his red face down as he set off at a brisk pace.

“He’s a lovely lad.” Bofur remarked with a fond laugh once the boy was gone and just the three dwarves and older hobbit remained. “They all are.”

“Yes, I am quite lucky to have them here.” Bilbo agreed with a fond look of his own. He then turned back to his old friends and graced them with their own soft yet blinding smile. “And to have you all here as well.” he thanked.

The dwarves all felt their hearts stutter for but a moment at the genuinely happy and deeply appreciative look on their Hobbit’s face.

“O-Of course!” Ori exclaimed.

“Don’t be daft!” Bofur chided as he clapped Bilbo on the back.

Kíli beamed at him. “Where else would we possibly be, Mister Boggins?”

Dís has never seen her brother in such a state. Thorin was usually the moody King of Sulking, but this was just getting ridiculous. No one could walk up to the king and ask him a simple ‘How are you?’ without risking the loss of their head.

“It’s because of Master Baggins,” her eldest child had informed her a few nights ago when she had been contemplating the absurdity of her brother’s mood swings aloud. “he was like this the entire Quest. I used to think it was just because of all the pressure but he was even like this at the most peaceful of moments.” he revealed.

“Does he despise the creature so?” she had questioned.

“No, of course not.“ Fíli had immediately answered. “It’s the opposite, in fact. I’m quite sure that Bilbo makes him nervous.”

And what a thought that was. Thorin and his true thoughts and feelings have always been a mystery to all (including the dwarf himself), but Dís has always had a knack for reading him. She’s never seen her brother in love. She’s almost positive he’s never been in love with anything besides their homeland. Could it be that her brother wasn’t so much as in love but...smitten? It took all of her self control to keep herself from bursting into laughter at the thought of her stoic older brother playing the part of a lovesick dwarf. But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed possible. Likely, even.

First, she thought of her brother’s past love life which was very easy considering that there was none. Never had he ever expressed any interest, romantic or no, in any other being. Though of course, Dís has only ever seen her brother be offered courtship from other dwarves, male and female alike. Father was actually quite angry with Thorin after he turned down the offer of courting a very lovely dwarrowdam of high class from the Iron Hills, for Dís’s gender was rare amongst her people. However, her father got over his anger when Fíli was born and Thorin declared that he’d be properly bestowed the title of Thorin’s Heir. As long as the line of Durin was continued, her father was happy and the matter of finding someone to marry off to Thorin was dropped.

Now that she was thinking back, Dís has only ever seen her brother express disinterest in those who approached him, namely of the Dwarven race. Maybe her brother wasn’t attracted to Dwarves? It wasn’t such a hard thing to believe, for people were much more tolerant of interracial relations these days. Dís should know, for her youngest was currently courting an Elven maiden - that took some getting used to - and she was almost certain that her oldest was trying to pursue a relationship with one of the King of Dale’s daughters.

So if her brother wasn’t attracted to Dwarves, that was fine! She supposed the men in her family were cursed to love any but those of their own race, be it a child of Men, an Elf, or even Halfling… Well, at least it wasn’t gold or treasures they were enamored with, she reasoned.

She then thought about the times Thorin had pursued relationships of his own, which was again very quick because the answer was never. One day, many years ago, when Dís asked her brother if he was even interested in romantic relationships after turning down another proposed one, her brother simply replied with, “I will pursue a relationship when there is someone worthy to pursue.”

The aloof arse. As if it were a game, the pursuit of a lover.

It seemed to be the case that she wouldn't obtain any answers from Thorin himself and Fíli seemed to be right in his assessment that their incoming guests were the source of his hostile and stricter-than-usual temperament. More specifically, whenever Master Baggins was mentioned, Thorin would become extremely defensive, like he thought that he had to explain his every action. In her many years of experience, Dís has come to realize that whenever her brother was feeling awkward, instead of getting embarrassed or nervous like any normal being would, he would just get angrier with himself and take it out on others around him.

On a slightly different note, Dís had also curiously caught Thorin touching up his appearance on more than one occasion. As hilarious of a spectacle as it was, it was something that Dís had never seen him fuss over before and she began to wonder if this hobbit was indeed influencing her brother's actions, even after many years and many miles away.

And it wasn't only her brother who Master Hobbit's arrival was influencing, it was all of the Company members'. They all seemed happy, excited even, to be reuniting with their former Burglar and seemed to be preparing not only the Mountain for their guests’ arrival but themselves as well. They were all on the best of their behavior - whatever form that may take as it was different for each dwarf. She knew it was not only the excitement over the knowledge that children were coming to Erebor that was getting everyone all worked up (though it was a large part) but also the arrival of Master Hobbit himself. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of creature he must be to be getting this sort of reaction from everyone.

She’s never meet any Hobbits, so she has no reference for what they were like. Before this whole mountain-retaking fiasco occurred, she had never even heard much about them asides from their name. From the stories she’s heard, they were simple creatures. Close in stature to Dwarves but softer and with features closer to that of an Elf but with personalities more like drunken Men. Honestly, Mahal only knew how a creature could be so simple, yet so complex. Though Dís doubted that these creatures were anything but simple if one had enamored her people so. This section of her evaluation involved more investigating.

“Bilbo? He’s a fussy and soft creature.” Dwalin remarked as he hit a training dummy so hard that it’s head flew off, positively frightening a group of new recruits. “...I suppose he’s useful enough with a sword.” he added in a muted volume, almost as if it were an afterthought. Though his tone was gruff, the slight hesitation and diluted compliment was Dwalin-speak for a glowing appraisal.

So he was a fighter then? There was no possible way Hobbits were a warrior race but she had heard of all the incredible feats Master Hobbit had accomplished. Saving her brother from the Pale Orc not once but twice, surviving the terrors of Mirkwood on his own, entering a dragon’s den and coming out completely unscathed… It would seem that Hobbits were a reckless and bold band of fighters. However, her next interaction made her throw away this assessment.

“Oh, Mister Bilbo is such a smart fellow. You could talk to him for hours and he’ll always have something interesting to add. Such nice manners too.” Dori sighed dreamily as he continued to sweep the rubble littered floor of a room that was well on its way to becoming one of their grand chambers once more.

Wonderful manners? What kind of burglar has wonderful manners? And he’s prim and proper enough that even Dori is charmed by him? Then Master Hobbit certainly couldn’t be as swashbuckling as they say, yet all in the Company agreed that without him, their Quest would’ve ended in failure a long time ago…

She now knew a bit more about his feats and accomplishments, which all seemed to contradict her proposed assessment of his personality, so she set out to discover more about the Hobbit himself, rather than his deeds.

When she had visited Bifur at his workshop and asked him what he thought about the Hobbit, he went off on a long rant in a mix Khuzdul and Iglishmêk, saying nothing but kind things in regards to his character. She also learned that Master Hobbit was a fan of craftsmanship. When she asked if he meant weapons crafting, Bifur had strongly denied this and went digging through his storage and pulled out one of his creations, a simple yet undoubtedly complex wooden toy of a bear on a wagon with moving wheels that caused the bear to hit a drum when pulled along on a string. Bifur revealed that the Hobbit not only helped him come up with the design but also assisted with the woodwork and moving mechanisms during one of the short respites on their journey.

She next visited Bombur in the Kitchens as he crafted that evening’s dinner, his children causing a ruckus around him that no one seemed to mind. “Never have I met someone with such an appetite or palette! That Hobbit could out-eat me!” the hefty dwarf exclaimed with a belly-jiggling laugh. Dís did a double take at that bit of information. Just what was this creature...?

“Bilbo’s incredible, Amad.” Fíli said in a voice full of awe when she had caught him before he had to go trailing off after his uncle, observing his duties for the day. “I can’t wait for you to meet him when Kíli gets back. I just know that despite the unfortunate circumstances, it’ll be great fun. Like the old days.” he finished, sounding almost nostalgic before Thorin called him away. That was a shining seal of approval for there were very few adult figures that her ever childhood-stuck sons deemed to be ‘fun’.

The final opinion in Dís’s assessments came from Thorin himself a few days later as he made sure everything was in proper working order before the arrival of their guests.

“What do I think of Master Baggins?” he repeated, looking up from his documents. At Dís’s nod, her brother looked away. Not back to his work but off into the distance, seeing something that Dís herself could not. He had a strange look in his eyes that she had never seen him bear hence. Before turning his attention back to his papers he simply answered with, “He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

The aloof arse.

Chapter Text

The sound of clinking metal is what drove him to wake.

He was in Erebor but not the Erebor of his childhood nor the Erebor of today. This was an Erebor that had not yet begun to heal but was on its way to doing so. Thorin himself felt much the same.

He still felt weak but he knew he was faring much better than he was before. When Thorin woke for the very first time, he didn’t know just how bad his condition was for he was sleeping throughout most of the long healing process. But judging from everyone’s relieved and tearful reactions when he finally opened his eyes, he knew that he was very nearly dead (for even Dwalin’s eyes were misty).

In fact, he should have died. Had it not been for the sudden appearance of a very good thief, he and his sister-sons would have died at the hands of the ruthless Orcs that sought to erase the line of Durin.

And when he says sudden appearance he means sudden because Bilbo had materialized out of thin air, like a guardian spirit sent from above to save him. Thorin still wasn’t sure how the Hobbit managed that feat or if the whole thing was just a delirious hallucination he conjured up as he slowly bled out onto to the cold ice below him. He rationalized it to be the latter.

He knew his thoughts were wandering, as they often did when he was filled with healing draughts that made his mind muddy and his eyelids heavy. Breaking through the medically induced haze, he finally recalled that he was woken due to the sound of another’s presence in his healing chambers. He slowly sat up only to see a very familiar figure at the table that lied against the wall across from his bed, the visitor’s back was turned to him as it completed a concealed action. Thorin immediately recognized his guest.

“Master Baggins?” he called out, voice thick and scratchy from disuse.

Said hobbit immediately paused in his actions as if he were frozen. Then his hand shot to his pocket, concealing something inside of it that Thorin could not distinguish. The hobbit slowly turned to the dwarf resting in the bed, a cautious expression on his face. Bilbo was looking to the ground as he almost hesitantly greeted, “Your Majesty,” in a quiet voice, one hand curled into a loose fist at his side and the other still resting within his pocket.

As muddled as his mind may be due to the tonics, Thorin was still able to realize with startling clarity that this was the first time he had seen Bilbo since the Battle (at this thought, his mind flashed him images of a worried, tearful and guilt-stricken face looking down upon him as he slept, but he could not tell with certainty if those were true or just more delusions). He also realized with some disappointment that even Bilbo had begun to call him ‘your Majesty’. Though he should have, he hadn’t realized that finally reclaiming his homeland would lead his friends to become so formal with him.

“What are you doing?” Thorin finally asked instead of voicing his concerns. He realized he had let a long silence fall.

Bilbo at last looked up to him but he quickly broke eye contact again when he moved to the side to reveal a tray with a pitcher of water as well as a drinking goblet. There was also an ornate silver vase filled with small purple and white flowers of some kind. During his days of healing in which he was awake, Thorin had noticed that someone had been continuously filling that vase with fresh flowers. He asked the various Company members that visited his healing chambers - Balin, Óin, and Dwalin being the primary three - but they either did not know or wouldn’t say where they came from. It seems he had finally found the culprit.

“It was you?” Thorin questioned, following the thought. “The flowers.” he continued at Bilbo’s blank stare.

Bilbo’s expression then changed. He smiled very halfheartedly and - dare Thorin think - timidly. “Yes. Who else did you think it was?” Bilbo quipped back, voice containing only a hint of his usually strong sarcasm, sounding so much unlike the endearingly familiar Hobbit Thorin had come to know.

“I suppose that’s fair…” the dwarf easily yielded. Due to his healing state, he didn’t have much energy for arguing.

He looked to the flowers once again and simply observed them. It made sense, really. No one in Erebor had an affinity for things such as flowers and plants that weren’t used for healing quite like Bilbo. Recalling the lush, rolling green hills and carefully kept gardens he passed whilst walking through the Shire, he wondered if a green thumb was a trait amongst all Hobbits or if his was just unique?

Since he was inspecting the flowers, he hadn’t kept track of Bilbo so he didn’t realize that the hobbit had moved from the end of the bed until he heard the sound of pouring water. He looked to his bedside just as Bilbo handed him the drinking goblet. After Thorin didn’t take it right away, Bilbo nudged his arm slightly to emphasize the cup. “Here. Drink. Slowly.” he ordered, sounding firm.

Thorin finally got his arms to work and took the offered cup, tipping it back and taking a long, slow drink. His dry throat felt instantly better. He hadn’t even realized how thirsty he was. He had drained the cup without even trying to. “Thank you.” he practically sighed once he had finished, voice now more smooth and even as he handed the empty goblet back to Bilbo when the hobbit held out his hand.

Bilbo nodded and refilled the cup before placing it down on the bedside table, still within Thorin’s reach if he so wanted. “You’re welcome.” the hobbit replied. Now that he no longer had an immediate task to undertake, he stood there and looked fairly awkward as his hands fidgeted slightly. Other than his fidgeting, Bilbo made no other move.

Thorin raised an eyebrow and nodded his head towards the chair next to his bed. “Sit?” he requested, though it sounded more like a command.

Bilbo looked indecisive for a moment and Thorin could literally see him make the decision to sit down due to his naturally expressive face. He eventually plopped down, hands resting on his lap in tight fists before he returned one to his pocket and began to fiddle with whatever he placed inside it once more.

As the hobbit still continued to avoid eye contact, Thorin took the time to fully observe Bilbo’s features. He looked tired, that was for certain. He was still dressed very well (as nicely as one could be in clothes that weren’t specifically made for one’s people) and his hair had looked as though he had been able to properly run a comb through it, something he was rarely able to do while on their Quest. His appearance looked physically better than it had even been during their journey, but his presence seemed a bit...off. He was rather fidgety, foot tapping up and down, and he was still avoiding eye contact, which upset Thorin for reasons he couldn’t quite decipher yet.

“I haven’t seen you yet.” Thorin spoke up, breaking the silence and surprising both Bilbo and himself. After the hobbit looked to him questioningly, he elaborated, “Each time I’ve woken, I’ve asked for you. But this is the first time I’ve seen you here.” he finished. Though it was a bit more honest than his usual observations - Thorin figured he could thank the medicines for that - he thought bluntness was what both he and Bilbo needed right now.

“Y-Yes,” Bilbo started, looking away again, much to Thorin’s annoyance. “I know.” he said softly, as if guilty. Since when had the Hobbit not bullheadedly met his stare? Not since very early on in their journey. Not since before that first battle with Azog where he saved Thorin’s life for the first time.

“Why haven’t you come? Before now?” Thorin inquired further when the hobbit made no attempt to supply the information on his own.

Bilbo frowned, looking mildly offended. “I did. You just weren’t awake.” he said flatly. “The world does not stop when you close your eyes, I hope you know.” he chided dryly, reminding Thorin of the Hobbit he knew.

“Well that’s no good.” Thorin said, ignoring the last comment. “I should have been awake for it.” he reasoned, sounding strangely disappointed.

Bilbo studied him for a moment longer before his nervous expression slowly softened into something that looked minorly amused. “You’re rather loopy, aren’t you?” he asked with a sigh, anxiety seeming to lessen.

Thorin vaguely gestured to his head with his hand. “I believe it is the draughts. They make things...mushy.” he confirmed, leaning back on his pillows and looking up to the ceiling.

“Are you referring to your brain or yourself?” the hobbit questioned, sounding teasing.

“I’m not sure.” Thorin answered, genuinely uncertain.

Bilbo made an amused sound and finally relaxed in his seat, carefully watching the dwarf.

“Master Baggins,” Thorin started, still looking to the ceiling.

“Hm?” Bilbo hummed in question.

“What is in your pocket?” he asked, looking over to his friend. Hm. It seems he could now finally think of Bilbo as a friend rather than a respected companion. Thorin briefly wondered when that development had occurred.

Returning to the present, Thorin looked at Bilbo at just the right moment to see the surprised expression befall his face. “C-Come again?” he questioned in a slightly startled tone, as if caught off guard.

“Your pocket. What do you have inside of it? You’re fiddling…” Thorin trailed off, realizing he was slowly losing his grasp on the waking world as his eyelids began to refuse to stay open. “You’re fiddling with something.” he continued.

“Ah…” Bilbo simply breathed out, tense shoulders relaxing. He stood from his seat and approached the bed. He quickly maneuvered Thorin to be lying back down fully, pulling the displaced blankets back over him. “You best get some rest. Hm?” he suggested in a soft voice.

Thorin didn’t have the energy to disagree since he was rather tired, but this was the first time he had seen Bilbo in Mahal knows how long and he’d be damned if he let him get away now.

As Bilbo turned to leave, Thorin shot out his hand and grabbed onto the hobbit’s arm, weakly keeping him in place. Bilbo turned to him, curiously surprised.

“You still have not answered my question.” Thorin said as an explanation to his actions, slowly blinking his eyes to combat the sleep that beckoned to him.

Thorin wasn’t quite sure, but he’s almost certain that the small smile Bilbo graced him with was rather sad. He gently took ahold of Thorin’s hand and the dwarf felt something small be placed within his palm. He couldn’t see what the object was as Bilbo used both his hands to close Thorin’s digits around it in a loose fist before guiding it to rest on his chest.

“It’s a gift.” Bilbo simply stated, gently patting the dwarf’s hand with his own.

“A gift…?” Thorin parroted, already feeling his consciousness slip from his grasp along with Bilbo’s own touch.

“Yes.” Bilbo confirmed with a fond tone, just as Thorin’s eyes finally slid closed and stayed closed. “A parting gift.”

If he had known it was the last time he’d ever see or hear from Bilbo, he would have tried harder to stay awake. But alas, Thorin finally succumbed to sleep.

And that was the last they ever spoke.

He woke with the realization he’d been dreaming. It was not a violent awakening like the one caused by nightmares, but the disheartening kind. The one where you wake to realize that you were not truly living in the moment of your dreams and were now once again in reality.

It was not the worst dream Thorin had ever woken from. He had enough dreams of horror and bloodshed to last a lifetime. But dreams of moments he wished he could change but knew he could not? He was not sure if he could handle much more of it. He’d been dreaming the same memory for six years now, one would have thought it’d stopped causing him such distress. But he was still plagued by memories like this in his daily life as well as his dreams, even after all this time...

There were many things he wished he did differently in his life. One of the primary things being his relationship with Bilbo. Specifically, how it ended.

He supposed it wasn’t the worst of partings, but it was still not completely satisfying. There were many things that he left unsaid. It was only after he finally woke from his healing sleep and was informed that the Hobbit had departed back to his homeland did he truly know just how much he wanted to voice these things. Namely, he never had the chance to truly apologize for the way he had treated him (one of his recurring nightmares was of his hand wrapped around a slim throat, large feet dangling over a steep ledge, and wide eyes filled with utter shock and fear). Another was that he never got the proper chance to say goodbye.

When he woke after his healing, truly feeling like his old self once more, he was slightly furious at the hobbit for leaving whilst he slept and angered at his kin for not informing him or trying harder to stop Bilbo from leaving. However after a little bit of thought, he realized that there was nothing any of them could have done. Only Thorin would have been able to make the hobbit stay and that would have been selfish. Bilbo had his own home waiting for him back West. He promised to help reclaim their homeland and that’s what he did, he had no other obligation keeping him here. Thorin knew he’d be eternally in the hobbit’s debt, for there was nothing he could do that would truly make up for all the help that Bilbo gave he and his kin.

But now Thorin had a chance. Now Bilbo’s homeland was the one that was lost. Now he was the one who needed saving and Thorin would be damned if he turned away from the hobbit in his time of need. Not again.

Whatever excuses he made in the past to not reach out to the hobbit - whether it be the excuse of his duty to Erebor or him believing himself not worthy of forgiveness - it did not matter now.

His Hobbit needed his help and Thorin’d be damned if he let him quietly slip away this time.

It was with these thoughts that he rose from his bed and got dressed for the day, hours earlier than he needed to. There were preparations to be made now that the hobbits’ arrival was slowly approaching and Thorin did not plan to waste a single moment in the meantime.

Whether he knew it or not, Bilbo had given Thorin many gifts. The gift of his homeland, the gift of his friendship, the gift of the lives of not only Thorin himself but his sister-sons’ and all those who’d now be able to call Erebor home, present and future. And of course, Thorin could not forget his parting gift…

He made sure that all of Bilbo’s gifts were not wasted, least of all his parting gift.

Now he was using that last gift to give something back to Bilbo and the rest of his kin. And Thorin was making sure that it’d be a damned good gift.

The Party had been traveling for a few days without any major incidents. They were making good time and had yet to run into any more goblins, however Kíli could tell that Bilbo was anxious about something. He seemed to be more vigilant - and that was saying something. The hobbit was always on high alert, even in their moments of respite.

One night, after all the children had already fallen asleep, Bilbo confessed to the rest of the Party that his growing weariness was due to the fact that they had yet to run into the leader of the Goblins. According to the information the Rangers provided for Bilbo and the Elves, he was called Fumbul and was obsessed with finding Bilbo, since he was the one who had inadvertently led the Goblins into the Shire in the first place.

Since he was considered the leader of the Goblins, Fumbul had many minions at his disposal who gave them all lots of trouble. However, he was strangely elusive. Even Bilbo himself had never run into the creature and he and the lads had been on the road for many months longer than the rest of them. The lack of a confrontation was making Bilbo nervous and Kíli couldn’t say that he blamed him.

The younger hobbits were handling the trials of the road rather well, but the long journey was beginning to weather at even their youthful dispositions. As a means to occupy their anxious minds, they had each taken up tasks to dedicate themselves to.

Frodo was much the same, meaning he took to sticking his nose into other people’s - specifically Bilbo’s - business. This took the form of making sure everyone was eating proper meals when they could, not withholding injuries or troubles, and getting the proper amounts of sleep.

Sam, asides from the general help he already supplied to everyone for anything, had became Óin’s personal assistant since he was quite good at identifying herbs and various other plants that could be used for healing.

However none of the hobbits had a bigger change than Merry. His mood had improved some, for he no longer lashed out at his elders as often as he once did and he even roped Pippin into some trouble-making such as swiping extra rations and switching around the dwarves’ boots when they slept at night so they’d wake to ill-fitting footwear.

However, his mischief-making wasn’t all it seemed to be at first glance. Kíli wondered if the fun Merry was having with his cousin was really just a distraction for the younger boy as much as it was a distraction for Merry himself.

Ever since Merry became informed of the true danger they were in, he’d taken to watching over Pippin at every hour of the day and even into the night. The younger boy couldn’t so much as sigh without his older cousin questioning him on it. Kíli didn’t know how Pippin managed such a doting yet stifling companion. Though after a short pause, he was sure that he almost did know how it felt to deal with someone like Merry. He felt his heart ache with nostalgia because not for the first time since knowing the young lads, he’d been reminded of his own relationship with his brother.

The similarities were clear to him. The fair-haired elder with a charming grin and a knack for showboating and the darker-haired younger one with wide eyes and a bright smile. Both with an affinity for trouble-making and enough cheer to infect a band of grouchy, travel-wearied dwarves (and the same band of travel-wearied dwarves, to boot). Honestly, Kíli couldn’t wait to return home solely because of the horrified expression that was sure to be on Uncle’s face when he realized the Mountain was gaining another Fíli and Kíli, this time in the form of tiny Hobbits.

Similarities weren’t all that grand however, especially when they come in the form of overbearing elders. Pippin was getting noticeably peeved at his cousin for watching his every move and at the first chance he’d get, he find a way to slip away from Merry’s watchful gaze whenever it all became too much for him. And Pippin was very good at sneaking off, which only led to Merry getting even more worked up when the younger boy was no longer immediately in sight of him.

So to say that he had been surprised when young Pippin eagerly tugged on his tunic, insisting he be the one to go exploring with him whilst his cousins napped, would be a lie. Frodo had made all the hobbits lie down for a nap what couldn’t have been more than an hour ago, which included Pippin (and Bilbo much to the older hobbit’s annoyance). It seemed that once he was sure that the others were all asleep, Pippin wiggled his way out of the firm hold of Merry and made his getaway.

Though he knew he was just a means of escape, Kíli had to admit that he was extremely pleased to be the one the youngest hobbit chose to accompany him. It made an old dwarf like him feel like he still held an air of fun about him (it was also good to know that Pippin was following the ’never go anywhere alone/without a Dwarf’ rule Bilbo had instated).

Kíli had grown fond of all the young hobbits since their journey began but if he had to say which one he had more of a soft spot for, it’d have to be Pippin. The boy just reminded him so much of himself when he himself was a lad; eager to explore, impress, and a slightly smothering, blonde and trouble-loving elder to top it all off. Though he had to admit that even his brother wouldn’t go to the lengths that Merry goes to keep an eye on his younger cousin. (He wondered what Fíli was doing right now. Probably reading some boring documents or something for Uncle).

The two unlikely companions had made their way to the large pond they had passed on their way to their current campsite. It was about a fifteen minute walk from camp and Kíli didn’t mind the extra traveling because Pippin was quite the chatterbox and filled the time with endless babble, but that was a good thing, because Kíli was rather the rambler himself. Needless to say, the time that it took to get to the pond passed by quickly and they soon arrived at their destination.

The pond was attached to a rather wide and deep stream that was really more of a river. The pond itself was very still in comparison to the stream and Pippin and Kíli agreed that it was the perfect spot for stone-skipping. Pippin insisted Kíli wait patiently as he found the perfect rock to show off his skills. By the time he was done with his search, he had pockets full of skip-worthy stones. (Kíli made a mental note to himself to not allow the lad to get too close to the water for he’d surely be weighted down if he fell in, even if he could swim).

“Watch closely, Mr. Kíli!” Pippin eagerly commanded, drawing said dwarf away from his thoughts.

The archer let out a laugh. “I am, I am!” he assured.

After turning around to be sure the dwarf was indeed looking, Pippin turned back to the stream and scrunched up his face in determination. His brows furrowed and his tongue peeked out of the corner of his mouth as he readied his arm to throw. He drew his arm back and quickly flicked it forward. The stone skipped a good two times before sinking to the bottom.

Kíli let out a loud cheer and clapped. “Very impressive, Master Took!” he praised.

Pippin turned to him, his face alight with delight. “Truly?” he asked, seemingly unsure if the dwarf really meant his words.

“Truly! It was very impressive.” Kíli commended with a bright smile of his own. “I don’t think I could’ve done such a swell job when I was your age.”

Pippin looked elated at the praise and turned back to the stream, gazing at the barely visible ripples his stone had left in the water. “You should see Merry then. I’ve once seen him get a stone to skip six times!” he revealed, voice full of awe.

Kíli let out his own sound of awe in the form of a low whistle. He then said, “That does sound impressive.”

“It is!” the boy assured. “In a pond like this, he could get it to skip at least three times! Maybe even four!” he exclaimed. He then threw another stone, this one bouncing only once before sinking out of sight.

As Pippin readied to throw another, the thought occurred to Kíli that this seemed like the perfect opportunity to confirm some of his suspicions. He decided to go for it and asked, “Perhaps we should fetch Merry then? Let him have a go...?”

At Kíli’s words, Pippin’s stone left his hand far too readily and hit the water with a PLUNK, sinking to the bottom almost immediately.

“No.” Pippin answered, perhaps a little too quickly. “No, he should rest. He hasn’t gotten much lately.” the boy reasoned, however Kíli felt as though that was only half of the truth.

“Oh?” he voiced, trying to sound as casual as can be.

Pippin began digging through his pockets once more, searching for a stone with perhaps with a little too much focus for such a trivial task. “Yes… Ever since he spoke with Cousin Bilbo that day he’s been a bit...much.” the boy confessed a bit shyly, highly out of character. It seemed as if he felt he was somehow betraying his cousin by admitting how he felt.

However the boy wasn’t wrong about Merry’s behavior. As far as Kíli knew, Bilbo had told Merry the reason the Goblins were pursuing them was in order to exact revenge on Hobbits due to the actions of one of their ancestors. At the revelation that the Goblins were particular to those of their lineage, Merry had indeed been keeping a closer watch on his younger cousin, even more-so than he once already did. Kíli was a bit surprised that Pippin was able to pick up on the exact source of the new attention however. The lad was more perceptive than he - and the others for that matter - thought.

“Mr. Kíli,” Pippin started up again, gaining Kíli’s direct attention. The young hobbit seemed to be closely observing one of his stones as a means of avoiding eye contact. “You have an older brother, don’t you?”

“I do.” Kíli answered shortly, leaving the lad ample room to continue with his questioning.

“I remember him from Cousin Bilbo’s stories.” Pippin revealed. He didn’t speak up again right away because he took the time to throw the stone he had been inspecting. It skipped once before sinking.

Kíli had to admit, he was insanely pleased to know that Bilbo had turned the story of their Quest into a child-worthy tale, not to mention that Kíli himself was portrayed rather dashingly if the young hobbits’ first reactions to him were anything to go by. Bilbo always got insanely red and flustered whenever the boys would retell the Company the stories of their deeds based off of Bilbo’s accounts of them. Though as romanticized and child-friendly as he made them, it was extremely flattering to know that the Hobbit thought so highly and felt so strongly about them.

“Where is he?” Pippin asked as he dug through his pockets when it was clear Kíli wasn’t going to speak up without prompting. “Your brother, I mean.”

“He’s back in Erebor.” the dwarf simply answered, trying not to let the image of Fíli held up in some stuffy room sour his mood. He bent down with a soft grunt (he liked to joke he was getting old, but really it was his stupid knee, which never truly healed properly from that accursed arrow). He placed his bow down carefully against a large rock nearby and found his own smooth stone. He straightened up and threw it with well-practiced ease. It skipped thrice.

“Oh!” the hobbit voiced, both in regards to Kíli’s stone skipping and in response to his answer. Pippin had an impressed look at Kíli’s skill but it also seemed to be one slightly miffed over his own lack of ability. His brows scrunched as he looked at the stone in his palm before he chucked it into the stream. The stone didn’t bounce and it immediately sunk. Pippin looked to the ripples forlornly as he informed, “Merry and I like Cousin Bilbo’s stories of you and your brother a lot. He says we remind him of you two.”

Kíli smiled, glad he wasn’t the only one to notice the similarities. “I think so too.” he agreed. “You two are a lot like us when we were younger.”

Pippin turned to him, face slightly disbelieving. “Really?”

The archer nodded enthusiastically. “Really.”

Pippin turned back to the water, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Huh.” he simply voiced.

Kíli let out an honest laugh. “What does that mean? ‘Huh.’” he mimicked.

“Nothing...Honest!” Pippin quickly responded, turning to the dwarf, worried that he had caused offense. Kíli had an affronted look which caused Pippin to become even more frantic as he began to wildly wave his arms back and forth. “R-Really, I didn’t! I—” he began to insist but his apology was cut off by Kíli’s mirthful laughter. Pippin gave the biggest pout Kíli had ever seen, which only caused his chortling to louden.

“That was a nasty trick, Mr. Kíli!” the boy shouted over the dwarf’s laughs, kicking a stone which hit the archer’s boot with a soft thud. “I really thought you were upset…” he whined, though the corners of his mouth twitched as he did a poor job of hiding his own amusement.

Kíli’s laughter finally died down into light giggles. “My apologies, Master Took.” he responded sincerely. “But I must ask, why such a glum response to our comparison?”

“Oh.” the boy voiced once more, mouth turning into a slight frown. “It’s nothing just… Well, Cousin Bilbo’s stories of you are always so grand. I don’t know if I’d ever have such grand tales.” he admitted, turning back to the pond and kicking a stone into the water. He was quiet for a moment more before he spoke up again, “I don’t know if you know this, Mr. Kíli, but I’m tiny.”

Kíli let out an over-dramatic gasp. “Really?” he asked, feigning shock.

“No, really!” the boy answered back, turning once again to face Kíli, not sensing the dwarf’s jesting. “Even for Hobbits I’m tiny. I’ve always been.” he sighed, throwing another stone only to have it sink immediately. He grimaced.

Kíli quickly sobered as he sensed the young boy’s damper mood but he did his best to keep up the appearance of his own cheerful disposition. “Well, I don’t know much about Hobbits, but I’d say you still have a fair amount of growing left to do before you can really complain about height.” he pointed out. Honestly, Kíli couldn’t even properly kiss his One without perching on a crate or having her kneel down to meet him. That’s what he gets for courting an Elf, he supposed...

“Oh, I know.” Pippin sighed. “But waiting is very hard. I’m told I’m impatient. And a Fool of a Took.” he informed, no doubt quoting an adult from his life.

Kíli let out an amused sound in the form of a breath. “Now who told you that? They themselves must be a fool.” he defended.

“Gandalf.” Pippin answered without hesitation.

That caused Kíli to pause - because of course it had to be Gandalf. What was he to say to that?

However Pippin didn’t wait for Kíli’s response before he continued with, “I want to have grand adventures and do grand things and help everyone because they’re all sad, but it’s hard to do grand things when everyone’s always babying you. No one ever lets me try to help these days. Not even Merry. They don’t trust me. They won’t even tell me what’s happening back home. They think that I can’t tell that I’m the only one who doesn’t really know, but I can.

“Well I don’t blame them.” Pippin said with too much resignation for one his age. He threw another stone without trying and it predictably sunk immediately. “I can’t even skip a stupid stone.” he laughed without humor, looking to his feet, eyes filled with shame.

Kíli cast his own frown to the boy but it was luckily hidden from his sight since he was standing behind him, off to the side.

Bilbo had told the children stories of dashing heroes and chivalrous princes. Well, if that was how Pippin saw him, it was time Kíli started acting like it. After all, the boy was expecting a prince. It was time to get charming.

Determined, Kíli turned his expression back into a cheerful grin and made his way over to the lad. “Well, no wonder you’ll never get ‘em to skip! Not with that shoddy method.” he chided with a light laugh and shake of his head. Pippin turned to him with a curious look as Kíli bent down to his knees, picking up another smooth stone and directly placing it in Pippin’s palm. “Now, when you’re skipping a stone, quickness is the key, not power.”

Pippin looked down at the stone placed in his palm in wonder, carefully turning it over in his small hands. “But is quickness enough?” he asked as he looked up to the dwarf, a strange look upon his face.

“Well, not alone but it is very important. You also have to worry about stance and angle.” Kíli informed honestly. “Now, bend your knees, yes just like that. And now when you throw it, you want to release it at your hip. Then - and this is very important - be sure to flick your wrist very quickly when you release it. Like I said, quickness is key.”

“Got it!” Pippin declared with a determined nod. Kíli stepped back to give the lad room and watched attentively. Pippin scrunched up his face in determination once again. He turned his body to the correct angle and bent his knees in just the way Kíli had instructed. He pulled his arm back and took a deep breath. He then whipped his arm forward rapidly, the stone releasing from his grip at his waist with a flick of his wrist. The stone flew to the water and skipped not once or twice, but three times.

Pippin’s face lit up with glee as he literally jumped up in joy. “I did it!” he exclaimed, arms raised to the air in triumph as he bounced on the balls of his feet.

“Nice work, Master Pippin!” Kíli cheered, voice alight with genuine glee over the boy’s achievement.

Pippin spun around to face Kíli, a smile stretching from ear to ear. However, as soon as he faced Kíli, Pippin’s smile instantly vanished from his face and he turned as white as a sheet.

Kíli didn’t realize that Pippin wasn’t staring at him with that terrified, wide-eyed expression, but behind him until it was too late. As he was brought down to the ground due to a sharp pain slashing across his back and a heavy weight settling atop of him, Kíli realized his bow still lied where he left it, lying against the rock a few paces away.

As he struggled to get up to no avail, the two companions heard a voice speak up in garbled Westron, “Yesss.” it all-but hissed as goblins began to reveal themselves from their hiding spots in the trees. There had to be at least twenty of them. “Quite an impressive feat for such a pathetic creature….” growled out an unsightly, towering goblin with a hate-filled sneer, directed right at Pippin. “Very impressive,” the creature continued as it advanced closer and closer to the young hobbit. “for filthy Took-blood.”

The hobbit - though shaken to the core - had enough sense to back away from the advancing figure as much as possible until he felt his heels touch the freezing water of the stream. His terrified eyes darted behind him only to realize with horror that if he did somehow manage to get across to the other side of the stream, the opposite bank was filled with at least five goblins. Pippin looked to the struggling and pained Kíli still on the ground, a goblin snarling from atop his back. His terrified eyes darted back to the one slowly advancing on him.

“I have been searching for you, Tiny-Took. You have been hiding from me.” the goblin leered as he leisurely prowled closer to the young hobbit (at least, Pippin thought it was a he).

Pippin backed up farther into the freezing stream but didn’t dare go past his ankles, for he wasn’t a very good swimmer and was slightly ashamed to admit large bodies of water frightened him a great deal. But not Merry. Merry was a good swimmer. Merry was big enough to not get swept up completely by the current if he went in farther than his ankles. Merry could swim well enough to escape. Merry would know what to do. At that moment, Pippin realized that for an entire week he’s been trying to get away from his cousin but right now he’s never wanted him more.

“What is wrong, Tiny-Took?” the approaching goblin questioned. “No words for me? That is fair. You do not know my name. That is alright. I will tell it to you.” he continued on as he stopped in his advancement. He raised himself to his full height, positively towering over the small boy, even from his distance away. “My name is Fumbul.” he revealed with clear distaste over his own name. “Do you know why I am called this, Tiny-Took?” Fumbul asked.

Pippin rapidly shook his head back and forth as an indication of no, as he could not get his mouth to form words. It was as if his voice refused to come out.

Fumbul’s laugh sounded more like a scoff. “That seems right. I did not think such a stupid creature could understand my troubles.”

At this, the rest of the goblins all cackled along with their leader, leaving Pippin feeling ashamed as well as frightened beyond belief.

”I am called this because an ancestor of mine committed a misdeed. A…fumble, if you will.” he explained as he began to advance on Pippin again. The boy shot a look over to Kíli, and though he was bleeding a fair amount from the wound afflicted to him, he was still struggling profusely to get out from under the behemoth of a goblin that was sat atop his back. He managed to struggle enough that he freed an arm that was outstretched towards his bow, which was now closer to him because he was able to shift around so much. He still had his arrows. He could reach his bow if that goblin could just get off... If he was quick enough he could reach the bow. He could—

And then, it suddenly dawned on Pippin.

‘Quickness is key’ Kíli’s voice from earlier rang through his head.

Pippin shoved his shaky hands into his pockets and quickly looked back up to the creature that was still slowly advancing, taking his sweet time. As he recalled Kíli’s words, he found his voice, albeit a very unsteady one that did nothing to disguise the pure terror he was currently feeling. “W-What k-kind of...of...ah - f-fumble…?” he stuttered out, looking down at the water and discretely testing the slickness of the stones beneath his feet.

Fumbul paused in his advancement once again, a curious look to his distorted face. It seemed that he wasn’t expecting Pippin to speak up. He also seemed to take some sort of pleasure in the boy’s obvious fear, because his blackened eyes squinted into an expression that would be called mirth on any other being’s face. “Well, you should know.” he admonished (it seemed Pippin was always being chided, even by Goblins, the lad lamented).

Pippin’s eyes darted over to Kíli’s direction, then back to the goblin in front of him.

‘Quickness is key.’ said the Kíli in Pippin’s head. Pippin’s hands deftly searched for the largest stone in his pocket.

“It was your ancestor who allowed for the misdeed.” Fumbul continued.

‘Quickness is key.’ Kíli said again, voicelessly. Pippin’s hand gripped the smooth stone in a vice-like grip.

“O-Oh…?” Pippin stuttered once more, though he wasn’t quite sure what the goblin was talking about. He was focused on other things, anyway, but he needed to keep up appearances.

“Yes!” Fumbul practically barked, seeming angered. “It was—”

‘Quickness is key.’ the voiceless Kíli interrupted, and Pippin knew it was time.

By the time Kíli caught on to what Pippin was planning, it was already too late for him to even call out. He still tried though and screamed, “Pippin, don’t—!”

Without letting the Goblin leader or Kíli finish, Pippin adjusted his stance and with more speed than he’d ever used in all his life, turned towards Kíli, brought his arm back and with practically all his weight, brought his arm around, releasing the stone at his waist but angling his wrist just-so that the stone would arch upwards, slipping on the stones beneath his feet and falling onto his hands and knees into the freezing water below with the force of the throw.

And Pippin’s largest stone did indeed arch upwards, with far more speed and force than anyone - especially the goblin atop Kíli’s back - had expected.

The creature was so alarmed by the mere action of the stone-throwing, that it adjusted it’s stance just enough to give Kíli’s back the slightest bit of slack. That was all Kíli needed. Using a well-practice technique, he rolled out from under the displaced goblin, grabbed his bow, reached around to pull an arrow from his quiver, loaded the arrow into the bow string, aimed it at the goblin that once sat atop him, and fired. Without waiting to see if the arrow had found its mark, Kíli reloaded his bow and aimed at a new target and fired again.

However it seemed that his target had quicker reflexes than either he or Pippin thought, as Fumbul quickly reacted. With terrifying speed, he dodged the arrow, leapt at Pippin, grabbed the boy from the water where he fell and held him to his own chest, using the hobbit as a shield against Kíli. He wrapped his bony arm around Pippin’s slender neck, it being the only thing supporting his light weight.

“Drop the weapon, Dwarf.” Fumbul spat out, an animalistic gleam alight in his eyes. His arm tightened around Pippin’s neck and the boy’s legs kicked out uselessly as he felt his airway tighten. The lad futilely pulled at the arm with both his free hands but nothing would relieve the steadily growing pressure. Now Pippin truly couldn’t find his voice.

If he thought a little more with his head rather than his heart, Kíli might’ve shown second’s hesitation before he threw his bow to the ground, maybe have even tried to come up with a bit of a plan first. But alas, he was still a foolish slave to his heart, even after all these years. The bow and cocked arrow hit the ground with a thud.

“Good. Very good.” Fumbul mockingly praised. The pressure to Pippin’s neck released and the boy gave a large gasp before he was gripped around his midsection. Fumbul nodded his head to one of his goblins and Kíli was once again incapacitated with a harsh thwack to his head.

“M-Mr. Kíli!” the dwarf heard Pippin cry out as he fell to the ground. He was feeling slightly disoriented - as if his brain was loose inside his skull - but didn’t have too long to gain his bearings for his head was yanked back by his hair and he felt the tell-tale pinprick of a threatening blade across his neck.

“K-Kíli!” Pippin called again in a trembling voice.

“I-It’s alright, lad.” Kíli reassured as best he could, allowing a grin to spread across his face despite the pain he felt in his side, back, throat, and skull.

Pippin blinked at him in terrified wonder with wide, wet eyes, his tears finally spilling over. He meant to call out to Kíli once more, but before he got the chance to even think of what to say, he felt cool air hit his neck as his favorite scarf was yanked away. Pippin looked up to the creature holding him hostage, a question on his lips before he was cut off by Fumbul speaking something to another nearby goblin. Pippin couldn’t understand what he said, but he saw Fumbul throw his scarf into the air and the other creature caught it by spearing it through with his weapon before taking off into the forest.

“H-Hey! That’s my—“ Pippin began to protest but the rest of the words died in his throat as he felt his head be pulled back and something cold was placed against his neck. He didn’t know where this instinct came from, but he resisted the urge to gulp.

“Now,” Fumbul growled out threateningly with a slight nudge of his knife that had the skin of the boy’s neck stinging. “scream for me, Tiny-Took. Let us call that pack of yours, hm?”

And though Pippin somehow knew it was a trap and he’d only be calling the people he loved into danger, he couldn’t help but scream out the name of the one person he wanted most right now. The one person he tried to selfishly ignore for so long.

“M-MERRY!” he wailed with all the air in his lungs, much to Fumbul’s obvious delight. But Pippin didn’t care in this moment. Couldn’t care. As Fumbul and his band of goblins howled with laughter along with Pippin’s sobs, he cried out again, “MERRY!”

After all, he’s always been a Fool of a Took.

Chapter Text

Bilbo woke up to the sound of arguing. So in that sense, it was quite a rude awakening.

He sat up bleary eyed and looked around his makeshift cot, seeing that all the boys he was forced to nap with had all left him. So suffice to say, he was rather crossed. Honestly, he was a fully grown Hobbit and didn’t need to be taking any naps, especially not at his age. He was old, but not quite that old, thank you very much. He had been feeling more tired lately but that was mostly due to all the traveling and conflict, not his age. He couldn’t say that he’d miss all this walking once they finally arrived at their destination.

The Party has been making good progress in their journey and if luck remains on their side, they should run into their escorts any day now. A group of Mirkwood Elves would be accompanying them to the wooded kingdom where they’d rest for a few days before making the last leg of their trek to Erebor. King Thranduil had insisted on said escort and was more than happy to host them in his land for a short respite; in fact, he was the one that offered. Bilbo had a strong suspicion that the invitation was as much as an extension of goodwill as it was the elf’s sneaky way of getting on Thorin’s nerves. Honestly, what children they were.

However, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t appreciate the respite when the time came for it, which it sometimes seemed like it never would.

The Party was already a few days late to their rendezvous point due to their previous encounters with the rogue Goblin troop or two, but hopefully the Elves would have realized they were stalled and either journey out to meet them halfway or just wait at the intended meeting point. Late as they might be and as rude as the stalling was, the group of travelers had decided that resting for an afternoon and then traveling by night would be the wisest course of action. They’d have a chance to check their supplies and have a short rest and then would make their way to the gate of Mirkwood with the cover of darkness.

A change in plan was necessary because in an effort to catch them off guard, the Goblins had grown more bold and had taken to sometimes attacking at midday, something very strange for creatures who so despised sunlight. Traveling in darkness would be dangerous for the Party, but it would also be the last thing the Goblins would expect, which is why they ultimately decided to do it.

After this plan was established, Frodo had been the one to suggest the idea of a kip. Pippin would need one anyway since he’d get rather fussy and cranky without them even during normal circumstances, Merry also needed some rest to help his mood and knowing his younger cousin was resting within his sights and not out and about would appease his nerves, and Sam had been looking extremely worn out as of late too (not that he’d ever mention). The Party had agreed that it would do all the lads a world of good to get some much needed extra rest but Bilbo was having a hard time figuring out why he also had to be involved.

The only reason Bilbo had agreed to lie down at all was because it was the only way that Pippin agreed to settle down for a rest (which was admittedly a little suspicious, now that he thought about it) but Pippin agreeing had lead to Merry inviting himself along and Sam joined with little resistance after the barest of efforts of Frodo.

In an effort to appease the young hobbits, Bilbo only meant to lie with them till they fell asleep but for some reason, they saw him fit to act as the base to their Hobbit pile and so he ended up completely immobile with the weight of a babe, two nearly-tweens, and a cheeky thirty-three year old keeping him firmly in place. He must’ve been more tired than he thought, as he fell asleep without meaning to (not that he could escape the pile if he tried). Still, it didn’t mean he wasn’t crossed.

“Just leave him be, Merry!” Frodo practically shouted, which finally drove Bilbo to direct his sight to what woke him in the first place. And what a peculiar sight it was.

Frodo stood physically blocking a very displeased looking Merry from moving around him. Merry kept trying to weave around the older hobbit and make off into the woods - for some reason - but Frodo had the advantage of size and many years of experience in dealing with said Brandybuck’s escape maneuvers on his side so the young hobbit was unable to pass. It was quite the standoff, really.

A little ways off to the side stood Sam, who was watching the situation with a common expression on his face, the one that read that he didn’t really like what was happening but didn’t think it right to involve himself. Close by by stood Óin and Balin, the latter of whom looking troubled and concerned. The other dwarves were all spread out around the scene and all looked positively at a loss. They were discretely fencing the boys in so no one could go running off but were also standing close enough just in case they needed to intervene.

“For the last time, get out of my way, Frodo.” Merry practically growled as he once again futility tried to worm his way past Frodo and further into the forest.

“And for the last time, you leave him be!” Frodo responded, equally as hostile as he spread out his arms, causing his cloak to fan out and create a wide physical barrier.

“You’re not the boss of me!” Merry argued as he - shockingly - physically hit Frodo’s cloak to move it out of the way, but Frodo used the closeness to not-quite-gently but not-too-roughly push Merry back, much to the younger’s anger.

Bofur stepped in between the two, trying to put as much physical distance between them as possible. “Now, now, boys. Let’s all just take a deep breath and calm down...” he tried to placate, though it seemed neither lad had paid him any heed as they continued to seethe.

The boys had never gotten physical with one another, not if it weren’t just for play. Something was obviously, terribly wrong.

Though arguments amongst the lads weren’t anything new, this level of enmity was. Both looked far too tense and the gazes that they directed towards one another seemed to be filled with something that could very nearly be actual anger, which was very uncommon for Frodo and Merry. The two had spent nearly every possible moment together back when Frodo lived in Brandy Hall and in present, they usually got along swimmingly (before this whole invasion business).

Frodo was to Merry what Merry is to Pippin - an older relation who is more like a brother than a cousin - so it was quite distressing to see them acting this way with each other. Though Bilbo had sensed things were getting tense between all the boys as of late. They were all wearied and tired from the road and the anticipation to reach their destination was causing everyone to be rather antsy and irritable. But their bickering hadn’t ever been like this. In fact, Bilbo wasn’t sure if this even classified as bickering anymore.

After he reflected over all this, Bilbo sought to figure out just what the two could be arguing about. That was when he recalled they mentioned a ‘he’ and there was only one logical guess for who that could be.

With this knowledge, he quickly looked around camp a little more and that was when he realized that Pippin was strangely absent and so was Kíli, the former of which must’ve been the reasoning behind Merry’s foul mood.

With this startling realization, Bilbo got up from his spot on the ground - grabbing Sting and refastening his sword belt out of habit - and hastily made his way over to Balin, Óin, and Sam to do some reconnaissance. The three were close to the arguing hobbits but standing far enough away to distance themselves from the situation so the boys could work it out themselves.

“What’s going on here?” Bilbo asked as he approached and straightened out his suspenders, his usual tone of displeasure over the little disputes amongst the boys not present as he sensed the steadily rising ire building up in each young hobbit.

To the slight surprise of the elders, before Balin or Óin could even open their mouths to speak, Sam spoke up and informed, “Mr. Pippin went for a walk with Mr. Kíli and Mr. Merry’s worked himself into quite a state. He wants to go after them but Mr. Frodo won’t let him because he says Mr. Pippin needs some space.”

Bilbo was slightly taken aback due to all the information that was rapidly provided to him and also because Sam seemed just about done with the whole situation as his tone was rather flat and lacked the nervous lilt it usually carried. It seemed that all the fighting was starting to get on even his incredibly tolerant nerves as well.

“They’ve been going at it for ages.” Óin informed in defense of the boy’s out of character attitude, voice conveying he was equally as tired and at a loss.

“And where exactly are Pippin and Kíli?” Bilbo queried, doing his best not to sound too alarmed.

“They went down to that pond we passed earlier.” Balin revealed with a nod of his head in the direction of said place. “They haven’t been gone for more than thirty minutes. Kíli assured me that they would go no farther than the pond and be back long before supper.” he added, his even tone suggesting he has dealt with more than his fair share of fighting youths. Though he still seemed slightly alarmed at the lads’ growing argument if the cautious look in his eyes were any indication.

“Mr. Merry’s not pleased with it though and he wants to go follow.” Sam further supplied.

It suddenly all made sense. “Ah.” Bilbo simply voiced.

At this, Merry momentarily stopped his escape maneuvers and turned to the group gathered to the side and looked directly at Sam, a properly fed-up scowl on his face. “Of course I’m not pleased with it, Sam. Because no one should be out there on their own and I’m the only one who seems to recall that we’re being hunted by creatures who are literally out for our blood!” he shouted, tone pitched high with irritation. “And could everybody please stop talking about me like I can’t hear?”

“Can you blame them for thinking so? You never listen, it’s a shock those ears of yours even work!” Frodo scolded as he used the advantage of the momentary distraction to give a tug to Merry’s ear, much to the lad’s outrage. Frodo was apparently not done with hashing it out and he seemed to be in quite the foul mood. Usually Bilbo’s appearance was enough cause for him to stop scolding one of the lads and leave it to his uncle, but this instance seemed to be an exception. “And no one’s alone. Pippin and Kíli went together and the pond is less than a twenty minute walk away. I can nearly hear the stream from here. You’re being too much.”

“Frodo.” Bilbo warned, tone trying to subtly convey to the youth that he’d handle the situation now. However, it seemed that Frodo had reached his wits’ end.

“No, Bilbo.” Frodo responded without even turning to the eldest hobbit and instead dedicated the full brunt of his displeased stare at his cousin. “Since the start of all this you’ve been unbearable, Merry. What with your dour mood and your prying.”

Merry glared right back, looking as if he didn’t want to confront the fact that he hasn’t been his usual self lately. “So? Is it so bad that I want answers?! Is it so bad that I want to keep us safe?” he inquired.

“No, but the way you’re doing it is. Breathing down everyone’s necks all the time, keeping a constant watch, making demands for more information when there’s a reason people don’t want to tell you it.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” Merry scoffed. “All you do is stick your nose into other people’s business! Your prying is what caused us to go back on the road again in the first place!”

“At least my prying is helpful!” Frodo barked back, tone equally as tight. “All you’ve done is manage to tick off the ones you care about and drive them away!”

“M-Mr. Frodo…” Sam started in a quiet and shocked voice. His previously indifferent attitude had now vanished as the older hobbit’s words got more and more viscous. He had never seen Frodo worked up this much before, especially not towards his dear cousins.

Sam’s protests went unnoticed however, as Frodo continued on, “Haven’t you noticed that all week Pippin’s been trying to get away from you? You’re hounding him too much!”

Though he did his best to conceal it, Merry’s hardened expression twitched in such a way that everyone could see that Frodo’s words had struck a nerve. However, he kept up his stony demeanor and continued, “So? He’s always running off. That’s no different than when we’re home but now it’s more dangerous so I have to—”

“You’re still not listening!” Frodo interrupted, seeming to have reached the end of his patience. “He ran away from you, Merry. It’s you who he can’t stand! You’re being downright overbearing to him and I can’t say that I blame him for sneaking off. Your bad attitude isn’t helping anything and it’s a wonder that Pip’s waited this long to finally give you the slip. This tough-front you’re putting up is useless, Merry. There’s nothing you can do to change what’s happened so just give it a rest and stop being so unbearably selfish!” he finished with a yell that left everyone in stunned silence. Except for one.

“Frodo!” Bilbo shouted, voice absolutely scathing. At this, Frodo finally seemed to snap out of his anger-induced trance. He let out a heavy breath and looked at all the figures surrounding him.

Bilbo looked positively furious, Sam downright stunned, and the dwarves were all openly at a loss for words and all looked rather awkward, feeling they had just witnessed something they shouldn’t have.

But most harrowing of all was that Merry looked as if his whole world had been shattered. His hands, which were clenched in fists throughout the whole ordeal, were now slack at his sides as he stared unblinkingly at Frodo, looking shocked at his older cousin’s words, not just for their severity but for the truth behind them as well. It was only when Frodo looked at Merry’s stupefied and defeated face did he truly realize what he had just done.

“M-Merry…” Frodo breathed out heavily, looking appalled at himself, his bright blue eyes finally no longer clouded with anger. Instead, they were widened and filled with self-directed shock. “I-I didn’t mean to… I mean I—”

“LOOK OUT!” Bofur interrupted in a shout, and Frodo didn’t even have a chance to look confused before the dwarf quickly grabbed him and pulled him down to the ground, just as a goblin stabbed at the air he had previously occupied with a spear.

The hobbits still standing all jumped in surprise - even crying out in alarm - and took as many steps back and away from the creature as possible. Bilbo and the dwarves only looked shocked for a moment before they were all drawing their weapons.

The goblin let out an angered cry as it’s original target was taken from it’s reach. It then directed it’s attention to the next Hobbit closest to it, which happened to be Merry. It screeched at the boy in a hissy cry and Merry looked downright petrified, but before the goblin could try and lunge for the boy, Glóin knocked the creature’s spear from it’s grasp with his axe, a flash of blue briefly catching his eye before the spear snapped in two. With a swift and brutal downwards blow with the thick-end of Nori’s staff, the creature breathed no more. It didn’t stand a chance, not with a band of furry-filled, protective Dwarves bearing down on it unmercifully.

Once sure the goblin was fully dead, a commotion quickly stirred.

“It was just the one?” Ori asked skeptically as he looked into the trees around them, searching for anymore unseen enemies.

“It can’t be. It’s pack can’t be far behind.” Balin reasoned. He’s dealt with his fair share of Orcs, enough to know that they rarely traveled alone and the same applies to Goblins, especially whilst they were hunting.

“What’s this?” Glóin questioned, voice trailing off ominously, pointing to where the broken spear lied and what caught his eye moments before.

All heads turned towards where the dwarf’s pointed digit indicated, to the ground and the broken spear lying close to its previous owner. Speared through the tip of the weapon was a very familiar piece of blue fabric.

Frodo quickly hurried out from under Bofur and scrambled over to the goblin, barely hesitating before grabbing the no doubt grimy surface of the weapon and carefully yet hastily removing the fabric from the spear, face pale and utterly shocked. He held the torn article of clothing in a vice-like grip, eyes filled with dread and disbelief as he put his fingers through the big tear now in the knitted article.

“Is that…” Nori started, voice purposely trailing off for fear of the answer he knew to be the truth.

“P-Pippin’s scarf.” Ori stuttered out, eyes wide as realization slowly dawned.

“But does that mean—”

“Wait!” Sam shouted, face pulled into a strained expression as he cut the dwarf off. He didn’t even look guilty for raising his voice and interrupting as he continued, “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but did anybody else hear that?” he asked once he had everyone’s attention.

Everyone strained their ears and listened closely. The dwarves and other hobbits didn’t hear anything until suddenly, they picked up on a distant call.

“—rry—!” it rang faintly.

“Is that...” Bofur trailed before another faint cry filled the silence he left.

“—ilb—!”

Óin held his ear trumpet up. “That—” he started, before being cut off by another cry.

“—odo—!”

Glóin continued for him, “That sounds like...”

“—sa—!”

Balin looked to the hobbits, who all held horrified expressions as realization dawned on them, as finally they were able to make out a word of what was being called out.

“—merry—!” called out the familiar voice of a terrified young hobbit, voice quiet but it’s desperation clearly coming across even from a distance.

Bilbo felt his blood run cold and quickly looked to Sting, only to see that the blade was glowing brightly, brighter than it has since they’ve left the Shire.

Many things then happened at once.

First, Merry bolted into the forest in the direction in which the goblin came and the cries sounded from, moving faster than Bilbo had ever seen him run before, a shouting Glóin and Nori not far behind as they uselessly commanded him to wait.

“Merry!” Frodo then quickly shouted after him as he picked himself up off the ground and shot after his cousin, Bofur scrambling after him and grabbing his axe from where it fell after his dive.

“M-Mr. Frodo!” Sam called out uselessly as he too inevitably ended up running after the older hobbit without thinking, Óin and Ori following with their weapons drawn.

Almost immediately as the boys left the boundary of their camp, Bilbo had reacted with such a speed he didn’t know he possessed that it would have surprised him if he only had the time for it. Instead, he continued to run after the boys into the forest, heart feeling as though it were beating faster than it ever had in all his life. He heard Balin’s heavy footfalls trailing after him but didn’t allow himself the time to confirm as he was too busy shouting out after the boys.

“Sam! Merry! Frodo! Wait!” he yelled after them until he was finally able to clearly make out the words the screaming voice was calling, which nearly halted him in his tracks.

“MERRY! BILBO! FRODO! SAM! MERRY!” howled the fear-stricken voice of Pippin in absolute terror.

Instead of stopping in horror at having one of his worst fears confirmed, Bilbo felt his pace quicken with renewed vigor all on its own. He sprinted through the forest as if possessed, slicing at branches and bushes and leaping over logs and rocks that were in his way. He made sure to keep the lads in his sight as they sprinted ahead of him and took notice that some goblins had already revealed themselves from the confines of the trees and began their attack. The dwarves saw to it that they were all dealt with but the hobbit lads used their agility and size to almost expertly weave out of their way and continue on their path. If Bilbo or the dwarves had the time for it, they’d be proud.

With how fast they were all moving, the fifteen minute walk to the pond was traveled in less than five.

As they were nearing, Bilbo realized Merry was about to cross the edge of the clearing to the pond where he’d be extremely exposed. Bilbo couldn’t blame the lad for his poor judgment, for Merry was surely running strictly on adrenaline and fear, which left no time for rational thinking. Still, this set-up was undoubtedly a trap and Bilbo was desperate to reach Merry before he could reach the clearing. However it seemed he didn’t have to worry too much as somebody else stopped Merry in Bilbo’s stead.

Sam had sprinted so quickly that he had managed to catch up to the other boy and literally tackled Merry to the ground. He dragged him behind a large boulder, covering Merry’s mouth as he tried desperately to fight Sam off and reach his cousin who was still calling out for them all. In the end, Sam won due to his greater size and strength.

Now that those two were dealt with for the time being, Bilbo looked around and met the eyes of Frodo. They had a wordless conversation. Frodo seemed as though he wanted to go with Bilbo rather than leave the older hobbit to face the enemy alone. However in the end, Frodo reluctantly relented and gave a quick nod before ducking down behind the rock with the other two lads, out of sight of the enemy but alert to the danger around.

Feeling immensely proud even through all his fear, Bilbo heaved a breath to prepare himself before delaying no further and entered the clearing. Upon passing the treeline, he felt his dread-filled heart somehow grow heavier as he saw at the edge of the pond, standing in the water was a towering goblin and within his arms he tightly held a sobbing, pale Pippin, a jagged knife held closely to the boy’s slender throat. On the ground a few paces away, a beaten and bloody but otherwise conscious Kíli kneeled, a similar jagged blade being held to his throat as two goblins kept him in place by holding him down.

“Ahh, there you are.” practically hissed the goblin holding Pippin. “I was beginning to think you would not come. The little one here has nearly lost his voice.” he addressed with a nudge to the boy, which had Pippin letting out a startled sound, coming out as a hitch in his sobs.

“Let him go!” Bilbo bellowed, an anger festering within him that he had never felt before as he raised Sting threateningly.

“The infamous Traveler-Took! At last we meet.” the goblin said with a falsely friendly grin before turning his head towards Pippin. “It seems that you do have a use after all, Tiny-Took” he mockingly praised. Pippin closed his eyes and tried turning his face away from the goblin as best he could, but there was only so far he could go and the creature knew it, letting out a pleased chuckle as he heavily breathed his foul breath against the lad’s skin and his crying grew louder.

Bilbo saw red. “I said let him go!” he repeated, face contorted in rage as he made to step closer.

“Ah, ah.” the goblin tutted. “You would not want to startle me. I might slip.” he emphasized with a soft tug of the knife which had Pippin’s sobs hitching again. Bilbo stopped dead in his tracks as he saw a drop of blood roll down the boy’s neck and stain the collar of his shirt. Bilbo didn’t dare move another muscle.

“C-Cousin B-Bilbo…” Pippin whimpered, voice hoarse from all his yelling and crying.

“It’s alright, lad. I’m here.” the older quickly reassured, giving the lad a soft smile, hoping his true feelings didn’t betray his strong facade. He distantly heard the sound of his companions fighting off the goblins further in the woods. Which was good, but there were still a good twenty orcs in this clearing and Bilbo was alone. It was hard to play confident, but he had to. As much for the lads’ sakes as well as his own.

He also heard rustling from the bush and the familiar muffled voices of the lads, as if they were arguing amongst themselves and trying to keep quiet. He trusted Frodo to keep them hidden enough but he didn’t know for how much longer he and Sam would be able to manage Merry’s overwhelming anger or even their own. Bilbo wouldn’t blame them, for he wasn’t sure if he could even manage his own.

“Yes, yes, the hero Halfing is here. What joy.” the goblin jeered, gaining Bilbo’s attention once more. “You know, Traveler-Took, you are a very hard creature to track down.” he said, sounding almost conversational.

“Enough. What do you want?” Bilbo spat, turning his soft expression away from Pippin and directing the full-force of his glare upon the creature holding him.

This didn’t have the desired effect however, as the goblin laughed. “Firstly, you dropping that hideous Elvish weapon would be niceee.” the creature hissed with a pointed look towards Sting.

Bilbo debated for only a moment. He looked to the rock where the lads hid out of sight, he looked to the forest where his friends were fighting off hordes of goblins in order to make their way to the clearing, he looked to the ground to Kíli, who seemed enraged and frightened all at once. And finally he looked to the tear-flooded eyes of Pippin as the lad lifted his chin up and away from the knife as far as possible, no doubt an uncomfortable position to maintain but unquestioningly preferable to the other option.

Bilbo looked to the goblin with a scowl. “I drop my sword. You drop your knife.”

“Bargaining? You are not in the position to be making demands, Traveler…” the goblin trailed, looking to his knife at the boy’s throat. However, just as it seemed he would not relent, he continued, “But I suppose a delay would not hurt. I do so like his cries. It would be a pity to stop them too soon.” he mockingly sighed as he pulled the knife away from Pippin’s neck only to run the back of his hand down the hobbit’s wet cheek in a degrading petting motion, causing the boy to choke further on his sobs.

“C-Cousin B-Bilbo…” Pippin sobbed in a helpless plea.

“Stop that!” Bilbo yelled at the goblin, voice vitriolic.

“What of our deal, Traveler?” the goblin questioned, ignoring the hobbits’ protests as he continued his petting motion. “Of course, I also have no issue with killing Tiny now…” he trailed off as he started to move his knife back to Pippin’s neck, the lad’s cries loudening in fear.

“N-No!” Bilbo quickly called, halting the goblin’s actions. “No, no. A deal’s a deal...” he finally agreed with much displeasure lacing his voice. He swiftly sheathed Sting.

If his face was built differently, the goblin would have raised a questioning brow at Bilbo’s action. “I said to drop your blade.” he pointed out.

“And I said to drop yours, yet in your hand your knife remains so on my belt my sword will stay.” Bilbo quickly countered, leaving no room for argument.

The goblin, as well as Kíli and the lads who were no doubt listening in - looked at Bilbo with scrutinizing and disbelieving expressions, as if amazed at his boldness.

Finally, the goblin smiled, seemingly amused. “You are quite courageous for one so weak. It is funny. Mostly annoying, but still funny.” he commented, drawing the knife away from Pippin’s throat once more and hanging it from a tattered belt loop. At this, Kíli and the hobbits let out momentary sighs of relief.

However, the relief was short-lived as the goblin now used his free hand to run his mangy hand through Pippin’s curls, causing the lad a great deal of discomfort as he whined through his tears. Bilbo scowled, feeling rather powerless. He heard more rustling from the shrubbery, as if a scuffle had broken out among the lads. He didn’t doubt that they were able to see everything and that the goblin’s actions along with Pippin’s voiced turmoil were causing them all a great deal of distress. He could also no longer hear the sounds of his companions fighting. He couldn’t determine if that was good or bad.

“I suppose we can speak now.” the goblin continued.

“What could you and I possibly have to discuss?” Bilbo grounded out.

“You seem somewhat intelligent, Traveler. After all, your people need some kind of defense, as useless as it is compared to actual strength. Or rather, they needed.” he said, voice leaking false pity. “I would have hoped you gathered what we have to discuss. Namely, do you know me?”

“No, but I can guess your name.” Bilbo answered, ignoring the comment about his people. “I gather that you’re the one they call Fumbul?” the hobbit gauged.

The goblin sneered. “Yes, that is what I am called.” Fumbul answered.

At the confirmation, Bilbo felt his frown deepen. “And you’re the one who’s caused all this trouble.” he stated more-so than asked.

“Ah, now that is where you are wrong, Traveler.” Fumbul said, almost playfully. “I did not cause this trouble. It is you and your kin who spurred my actions. Your Blood has cursed mine!”

Bilbo grimaced as he studied his enemy. Fumbul seemed to be getting more and more tense, his false sense of ease was slowly vanishing into a demeanor purely controlled by emotions. He seemed to be a creature who tried to put on a false face, desiring to come off more in control, more intelligent than he actually was. That could be useful.

The hobbit quickly scanned his surroundings only to see that the number of goblins in the area had severely lessened. Why, there had to be no more than ten left surrounding them. How curious. Had they gone off into the forest or been taken away? Bilbo heard or saw no sign of the goblins leaving or being taken down. Surely, he would have heard his companions burst onto the scene and take out the enemy if they did indeed do so? Dwarves were excellent fighters but for what they excelled at in strength, they lacked in stealth. Where had the enemies and his companions gone…? The children have also been worryingly quiet…

Just as Bilbo was about to get nervous, he saw a quick flash of green and red and if he weren’t paying attention, he would’ve mistaken it for the Autumn foliage. But thankfully his eyes were keen and he was able to recognize the color scheme, even without seeing it for many years and even then only seeing it in passing. He wasn’t sure exactly what was happening, but Bilbo knew that he now had to do what he did best; stall.

He swallowed thickly but made sure he gave no tells of the budding hope he had. He began to speak. “You speak of cursed blood and me having wronged you, but I don’t remember ever crossing paths with you before.” he continued.

“It was not you, Traveler.” Fumbul hissed. “I said it was your Blood! The First-Took. The one who dared to behead our King! My Blood!”

Bilbo looked to the trees and was relieved and somewhat startled to see Bofur, giving him some sort of signal that Bilbo took to mean ‘hush’ and ‘wait’. He didn’t let this minor distraction show on his face as he answered Fumbul with, “So you seek to punish me and everyone in the Shire because of something that a member of our kin did hundreds of years ago?”

“And why should I not?” Fumbul questioned in a spat. “My Blood was the one who was defeated yet I suffer for his failure! Why should I be the only one punished?”

Bilbo now felt himself genuinely angry at the goblin’s poor reasoning. This was the reason so many of his people had perished? This was the reason so many were now missing? This conceited, selfish, overconfident fool of a creature? Bilbo felt his blood begin to boil. “The fact that Golfimbul was a sorry excuse for a king and fighter is none of my business or anyone else in the Shire’s, for that matter. And frankly, you’re no better than the ones who judge you for the actions of your ancestors if you’re now judging me for the actions of mine!” he snapped.

Fumbul glared harder. “Those are some bold words, Traveler. Foolish and bold.”

“Maybe. But it’s true all the same.” Bilbo said. “We don’t have to live to the expectations of those who came before us. The past has no business in the present.” he reasoned. He then paused minorly as his words made a connection to his personal life, but he hadn’t the time to linger over that now.

Bilbo’s expression hardened once more as he looked to the ground. “But you’ve made this my business. You made an enemy out of me when you invaded my homeland and hurt the ones I cared about. The ones I love.” he emphasized, feeling his hands begin to shake as he became overwhelmed with emotions. He pushed those feelings aside for the moment and turned his shaky hands into fists. “But it doesn’t matter, because in this instance, history will repeat itself. It has to.” he declared. He then looked up to Fumbul who was glaring at him and Bilbo met the vicious look head on with one of his own. He looked determined and confident as he announced, “I’ll win and you’ll lose. Just as our ancestors before.”

Fumbul’s face twisted into a snarl. “The efforts of every member of your kin were no match for me. What makes you think you have any chance of stopping me on your own?” he asked, no longer sounding amused.

From the trees, Bofur gave a ‘go’ motion. Bilbo gave a small smirk as he directed his eyes back to the goblin. “Because you let yourself get distracted. And I’m not alone.” he simply said.

Fumbul looked confused, Bilbo seemingly having broken his concentration with his words. “What?” he began to ask.

But then Bilbo saw movement from the large stone to the side. Frodo and Sam had worked their way out from behind either side of the large rock and seemed to be silently crawling. Bilbo’s eyes widened in horror. Was that who Bofur was truly signaling to? The children? Oh gods…

Fumbul followed Bilbo’s terrified gaze but before either could react, it was too late. Suddenly, Frodo and Sam’s movements were the least of anyone’s problems as Merry suddenly popped up from behind the rock and, without saying a word, drew his arm back and hurled an object at the goblin at such a great speed that Bilbo could only make out a dull silver streak through the air. The object flew through the air, flying straight to it’s target and hit the still turning Fumbul right upside the head, expertly striking it’s mark and missing Pippin.

The object, which clunked in the water with a sound similar to a heavy rock hitting stone, didn’t cause too much damage but it had surely hurt. Fumbul seemed enraged. “What?!” he exclaimed and his eyes narrowed in on Merry and the crouched yet still approaching figures of Sam and Frodo. “You little—” he started but never got the chance to finish as an arrow flew through the air and pierced straight through his shoulder. The pain was great enough that he let out a pained screech and dropped Pippin into the water, the young hobbit giving a sharp cry as he hit the stones below.

Frodo and Sam wasted no time and made a mad dash towards the water, roughly grabbing Pippin and carrying him away from the creature as more arrows started flying through the air, hitting various goblins.

Feeling fairly confident in his assumption but desperate for confirmation, Bilbo turned towards Kíli, who still rested on the ground, clearly in pain but not nearly as much as his captors were before the arrows that pierced their hearts killed them. The dwarf also looked surprised and was clearly not the one who had fired the arrow, which could only mean…

“Gwaem!” called a voice, causing Bilbo and Kíli to turn in it’s direction. Then out from the concealment of the dense forest, a group of elves - Mirkwood by the looks of them - entered the clearing, taking down enemies with swift swipes of their blades or quickfire releases of their bows. They made no sound, asides from their leader, an elf-maiden with long red hair and a commanding yet smooth voice.

“Gwaem!” she called again, raising her weapon into the air. From behind her with far less grace, the dwarves charged, letting out fierce battle cries as they mercilessly slammed into the enemies and took them down one by one. Then swiftly followed by the dwarves’ shouts came the loud roar of a beastly creature as a monstrously sized bear burst through the trees and ripped into the enemies. If he had the time, Bilbo would’ve been bewildered and touched. But he had not a moment to spare.

With this thought, Bilbo cautiously but quickly made his way over to Sam who struggled to drag a hurt Kíli away from the fight. Bilbo helped the lad drag the dwarf behind the confines of the large boulder. Once behind the safety of the rock, Bilbo heaved deep breaths and quickly looked over all the lads. Frodo was ducked down, holding a still crying Pippin in a vice-like grip and Merry was practically breathing down the older boy’s neck, trying to get his younger cousin to turn his face away from Frodo’s chest so he could get a better look at his hurts. Sam breathed heavily and looked pale and shaken, as if he were in shock at the events and his own bold actions in them.

Bilbo dared to peek out from behind the boulder to the fight occurring and saw that thanks to the help of his friends and allies, the Goblins were swiftly retreating. He turned back around and rested the back of his head against the rock for a moment, breathing out a heavy sigh. Now that they were relatively safe, Bilbo took the chance to become properly angry. He turned to Merry.

“What in the blazes were you thinking!” he practically screeched at the boy, trying to keep his voice hushed so as to not draw any unwanted attention.

Merry simply frowned at him as he looked momentarily away from Pippin and over to his elder. “So? It worked out just fine didn’t i–OW!” he cried out as Bilbo hit him upside the head. Just as Merry was about to argue, he looked to Bilbo’s face and all his fighting words seemed to die in his throat as he saw the tears gathering in the older hobbit’s eyes. Merry promptly closed his mouth and stared at Bilbo in minut shock.

Curious over the silence, Frodo turned his face away from Pippin to see what was happening only to gain a stunned expression, similar to Merry’s. “Bilbo…?” he trailed, sounding alarmed.

Embarrassingly aware of all the eyes that were on him, Bilbo still couldn’t hold back the soft sobs that were drawn from his throat as his tears fell. “O-Oh, I’m fine.” he started, unconvincingly. Now Kíli and Sam were staring at him in shock and somewhere in his mind, Bilbo registered that even Pippin’s sobs began to die down. “J-Just...Just never do something like that again! Do you hear me, Meriadoc Brandybuck?” he commanded as he pulled said boy into a fierce hug, much to the lad’s surprise. Bilbo breathed heavily, trying to calm himself down. Eventually, Merry turned his face into Bilbo’s neck and shockingly returned the hug.

After a short moment, Bilbo lifted his head from Merry’s curls and glared at Frodo and sent a displeased look towards Sam. “And that goes for you two as well. That was some foolish stunt you pulled. You could’ve gotten yourselves killed!” he reprimanded in a shaky voice before pulling the other two boys into the hug. They hadn’t the heart to protest, not even Sam, as Bilbo continued to softly cry.

If his senses weren’t so keen right now due to adrenaline, Bilbo would’ve missed the soft apology that Merry gave. “S-Sorry…” he muttered, sounding quite choked up himself. “But the Elf lady said she needed a distraction and he had a knife and Pippin was crying and I-I—” he began, voice also becoming full of emotion as he spoke.

“I-It’s true, Mr. Bilbo… We wanted to help and it’s all we could think to do.” came Sam’s muffled defense, stopping Merry from reliving the unhappy thoughts. “B-But I am sorry… I know it was reckless…”

“We’re all sorry.” Frodo assured, actually sounding remorseful. “But it was... Well we couldn’t just... We—”

“Shh, it’s alright. Just don’t do anything like that again without my saying so.” Bilbo quickly hushed them. “You could’ve… Well, never mind then. Everything’s fine now so we won’t speak of it anymore. Not now. We’re all fine now. We’re all fine…” he rambled, the endless chatter as much of a comfort for the children as it was for himself.

Then suddenly, a meek voice spoke up, “C-Cousin Bilbo...” it trailed.

“P-Pippin!” Bilbo called in alarm, all the other lads pulling away from the embrace to look at the smallest hobbit, who Frodo was still cradling. The boy had finally turned his face away from Frodo’s chest and looked at Bilbo with a heartbreaking expression. “Of course, dearheart, are you alright?” Bilbo asked the child as he gently held the lad’s head in his hands, assessing him.

Pippin looked a right mess. His eyes were puffy and his face was all red and his cheeks were stained with tears as well as dirt. Bilbo un-pocketed his handkerchief and did his best to start cleaning the boy’s face but despite their best efforts to calm the lad, his tears still flowed. Pippin’s clothes were also soaked from the fall he took in the water and Bilbo noticed with alarm that we was cradling one arm close to his chest. He then looked to the boy’s neck and saw that the angry red cut there was thankfully not bleeding too heavily but there were an alarming few droplets of red gathering where the blade had cut the deepest. Nothing Bilbo had now was clean enough to dress it. He needed bandages or gauze or...

“I-I-I’m alright.” Pippin stuttered, interrupting Bilbo’s thoughts and sounding to be anything but. It seemed to be a struggle for the lad to get the words out, as his voice was indeed hoarse and shaky. “I-Is...Is Kíli…” he trailed, looking over to the archer.

Said dwarf, who had remained slightly distanced to give the hobbits their privacy, then quickly did his best to scoot as close as possible to the boy. It was a struggle to stay in a non-hunched position due to the pain in his back, but he’d manage to do just about anything for the lad right now. “I’m alright.” he quickly assured with a soft smile. However, this had the opposite effect that Kíli desired as Pippin’s bottom lip began to tremble and he soon burst into tears once more, rushing forward and clinging to the dwarf in a desperate hug.

“I-I-I th-thought… I-I thought y-you…” he struggled to say between heaving sobs.

Kíli was quick to embrace the boy in a firm but gentle hug. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m here. I said I was fine so stop your crying already…” he lightly teased.

“H-He was s-so scary…” the lad cried from the protection of the dwarf’s chest as Kíli gently rubbed and pat the little hobbit’s back in a soothing manner.

“Really?” Kíli questioned. “I thought he was more ugly than anything.” he said rather calmly with a hint of a laugh.

Shockingly, but to everyone’s relief, Pippin let out the tiniest of laughs. As his sobs slowly lessened, he questioned, “D-Did you see how s-surprised he was when I threw that s-stone?”

Bilbo’s momentary calm was broken. “What?! You—”

Ignoring Bilbo and cutting him off, Kíli laughed, “He couldn't believe it!” causing Pippin to giggle softly. “You knocked him right down! It was a very grand action. Very grand indeed.” Kíli praised with a meaningful look to the lad that Bilbo didn’t quite understand.

Pippin finally pulled away from Kíli’s chest and shakily smiled at him, delighting all those present. “But did you see Merry’s throw? Did you see it?” he asked with a sniffle, looking genuinely amazed. “I told you! I told you Merry was excellent at stone throwing!” he continued despite lacking an answer.

Pippin then seemed to have a sudden realization as he pulled further away from Kíli to look at his cousin, who was staring at Pippin with a slight glower. Pippin’s cheery expression then turned into a guilty, quivering frown. “I’m sorry, Merry. I’m s-so sorry I was trying to get a-away from you. I—”

Merry rolled his eyes. “Oh, stop it. You won’t make me any less cross…” he said, voice quite harsh, causing Pippin to look away, properly scolded. “But,” he continued, instantly gaining Pippin’s attention once more. “I have been very smothering so...I understand. And I’m sorry.” he apologized looking rather guilty himself.

Pippin simply blinked at him for a moment before he smiled widely and slightly startled everyone when he allbut launched himself at Merry and hugged him. “Oh, silly, Merry. You don’t have to say sorry for loving me.” he chided, tone very matter-of-fact. Pippin continued to cling to Merry almost desperately, only pulling away just long enough to give a kiss to his cousin’s brow, which he could now reach since Merry was conveniently sitting.

Merry let out a huff. “No, I guess not.” he said. He smiled fondly, eyes slightly teary as he returned the embrace. “Just…tell me when I get to be too much, alright?” he requested, trying to keep his voice even.

“I will.” Pippin readily agreed as he plopped down into Merry’s lap, who easily accommodated him and wrapped him up in a nearly desperate embrace. The little hobbit offered no protest and was content to now stay in the safety of his cousin’s arms but he turned to keep an eye on Kíli who now slumped against the rock, seeming to finally let himself relax. Despite how weary he felt, he smiled and winked at Pippin, the boy giving a wide grin in return, leaving Bilbo to wonder what all that was about.

Then to everyone’s surprise, Merry, with slight hesitation, looked to Frodo and said, “And I’m also sorry for the way I acted. And that I didn’t realize it sooner.”

Frodo looked touched and albeit very remorseful as he softly smiled back at his cousin. “And I’m sorry for speaking so out of turn.” he apologized. “I had no right to say those things to you, Merry.”

Merry shook his head, disagreeing. “No, I needed to hear it, I think.”

“But still, I could’ve been—”

Then Sam leaned forward, “Well, I think we all have something or other to be sorry for.” he interrupted, which meant he must be very tired indeed. Whether he was physically tired or tired of all the arguing or tired of all the back-and-forth, Bilbo could only guess. “But I think we also have a lot to be grateful for.” the lad finished, looking worn but relieved. They all felt much the same.

Bilbo sighed but gave a soft smile and put his arm around Sam, who gave him a bashful look but otherwise didn’t protest. “We do indeed, Sam.” the older hobbit agreed. “We do indeed.”

Chapter Text

Safe for the meantime, the five hobbits and dwarf rested for a few moments, simply breathing in and out as their adrenaline slowly fizzled away and they all realized just how tired they were.

The sound of fighting had died down into almost nothing by now but Bilbo wouldn’t allow the group to venture out until they were sure that the Goblins were gone. The children were content to stay where they were, most likely still spooked by the whole ordeal and Bilbo couldn’t blame them, but Kíli kept trying to offer to go scout the scene despite the fact he could barely sit upright without swaying. Bilbo had to resist the powerful urge to smack him upside the head (which would be rather redundant considering the dwarf had a head injury and all). In the end, Kíli couldn’t put up much of a fight and so they all waited with anxious hearts and minds for a sign that it was safe to come out.

This sign eventually came in the form of Balin, who stumbled upon them all huddled together behind the shelter of their boulder. “There you are.” he sighed, sounding relieved. He looked tired and sweaty from the fight but otherwise fine. “Are you alright?”

Bilbo let out a breath of his own, pleased beyond words to see his friend. “I’m fine, but some of us could do with the attention of a healer.” he informed.

Nervously, he craned his neck around as best he could to try and make out the state of the clearing behind them but he didn’t dare venture out further from behind the rock. He couldn’t spot anything discernible besides the stray goblin limb or pool of blood here and there, so he turned back to Balin, seeking answers. “Is it safe? Where are the others? Are they alright?” he asked worriedly.

“Yes, yes, everyone’s alright.” Balin quickly briefed to dissuade the hobbit of his fears. “The Goblins that were left have all retreated. The rest of the Party is in pursuit.” he assured. He then turned towards Kíli, his eyes holding a slight twinkle. “Of course, none of this would have been possible without a little help from some old friends.”

Before anyone had a chance to confirm what Balin was implying, a tall figure entered their little nook and everyone seemed to pause.

It was the one who had commanded the fight, the Elven maiden with long red hair that seemed to be ablaze in the late afternoon light. Bilbo felt Sam stiffen his posture from besides him (almost a force of habit for the lad at this point, to be so at attention in the presence of an Elf).

The elf scanned her eyes over all those ducked behind the boulder until her eyes seemed to linger on one figure in particular.

Kíli, who was still leaning heavily against the rock due to his injuries, seemed to forget all about said injuries and promptly leaned forward as if to stand. His eyes alight as he positively beamed at the elf maiden. “Tauriel!” he exclaimed with an airy laugh, as if in disbelief.

The elf’s tense gaze rapidly observed the young dwarf’s figure, searching for injuries, but then the intense look softened along with her expression when she met his eyes.

“Gi suilon.” Tauriel greeted in return with a fond look in her eyes. “Na vedui.” she said more softly, voice quite wistful.

“Vemu!” Kíli practically chirped in return, the sickly pale color of his cheeks making way to healthy rosy hues, as if the elf’s presence alone was healing him.

Tauriel smiled at him for a moment more before she then schooled her features and looked away from the dwarf, turning her full attention to Bilbo. “Bilbo Baggins.” she indicated with a dip of her head as she now inspected him.

“Le suilon, Miss Tauriel.” Bilbo returned. He hoped his Elvish didn’t sound too rusty, as it had been some time since he last had the chance to practice the language in person, since he’s been traveling with slightly prejudiced Dwarves and all.

The elf smiled at him, confirming Bilbo’s fears or dissuading them, he did not know. “Mae l'ovannen. It is good to see you again.” Tauriel responded kindly. Then the easy air about her changed to something more careful and aware. Her gaze remained polite and kind but it was clear that she saw that they had no more time to waste with greetings. “Are you all alright?” she asked, looking to the children. Her eyes rapidly darted from one hobbit to the next yet it was clear that she was taking in every aspect of their physical beings, looking for injuries.

“For the most part. Some of us more than others.” Bilbo informed with a pointed look towards Kíli and Pippin. “Boe de nestad.” he added, hoping the Elvish didn’t sound too rough.

Though it seemed he worried needlessly as the elf looked to have understood just fine since she gave a quick nod and swiftly moved over to the two injured members. Despite the fact that Kíli was hurt, she made her way to Pippin first, the Hobbits’ safety being her top-most priority.

When Tauriel approached, Pippin seemed to shrink away slightly, causing Merry to tighten his hold on his cousin protectively. She took note of the behavior but continued on with her intended actions. “Le suilon, little one.” she greeted with a smile as she crouched down in front of the boy who was gazing at her in slight shy wonder. “Pedil edhellen?” she asked. Pippin only blinked at her owlishly.

“Afraid not.” Bilbo answered for the boy. “But not for my lack of trying, mind you. You’re best off trying to speak it with Frodo, there. Samwise is not too bad either.”

Tauriel then looked to the mentioned older hobbit boys, the latter of whom blushed wildly. “Most impressive for ones so young.” she complimented, causing Sam’s face to redden even further somehow and Frodo to smile softly, looking pleased. “But all the same.” she said before she turned her attention back to the smallest hobbit and continued her inquiry. “Greetings, little one. My name is Tauriel. What is your’s?” she repeated, this time in the common tongue.

Pippin stared at her with unabashed curiosity for a few moments longer before he finally answered. “Pippin…” he offered, looking openly curious of the elf but still hesitant around the stranger, most likely due to his previous traumatizing encounter, still fresh in his mind and evident by his reserved nature and visible injuries.

“A, Pippin.” Tauriel greeted in Elvish along with a smile she hoped would ease his nerves. “That is a greeting.” she clarified.

“Hullo.” he responded with a sniff, nose still quite runny from all his crying. He then squinted his eyes at her and seemed to be contemplating something. Finally, he voiced his thoughts as he asked, “Are you the Elf lady that everyone keeps talking about?”

Bilbo cleared his throat, not able to contain his surprise and ire over the boy’s bad manners (after all, it was impolite to speak of other’s behind their backs, let alone tell them to their face that you were doing it). Sam at least had the decency to look affronted over the boy’s boldness but Frodo, as always, looked very amused because of it. Tauriel simply tilted her head, face not revealing any of her emotions but the skin around her eyes crinkled slightly, the tell-tale sign of an Elf’s humor and interest.

“Oh? I’m spoken of often within your group?” Tauriel queried, innocently tilting her head in curiosity.

“Well, I heard Merry say something about you just before but that wasn’t the first time.” Pippin informed.

Suddenly, Kíli went rigid.

“Is that so?” Tauriel asked, feigning aloofness. “And from whom do you hear of me?” she furthered as she not so subtly glanced at a figure from the corner of her eye.

“Kíli, mostly.” Pippin supplied without hesitation, directly followed by said dwarf letting out a startled choking sound. Pippin then paused for a moment before adding, “Well actually, really only from him. He talks about you a lot.” he emphasized.

Tauriel finally openly laughed as she looked over to Kíli, who was covering his face in embarrassment. “Really now?” she asked as she turned back to Pippin.

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Really.” he confirmed, causing Kíli to now voice his turmoil over the betrayal with a groan, much to everyone’s amusement. Pippin remained seemingly blissfully unaware of Kíli’s embarrassment as he then leaned forward in Merry’s arms, cupping a hand at the side of his mouth, as if to inform of a secret. “But can I tell you something, Miss Tauriel?” he whispered, though since it was Pippin, everyone didn’t have to try very hard to hear.

Tauriel leaned forward, as if to better hear and fully join the conspiracy. “Yes?” she both confirmed and inquired.

Pippin looked around cautiously, carefully watching Kíli to make sure he wouldn’t overhear. After a moment more, he finally ‘revealed’, “I think he fancies you.”

The group then all laughed collectively - asides from Kíli who moaned a lament for his dignity and Tauriel who simply grinned broadly.

“You know, I’ve had the same suspicion for some time now...” she whispered back, happy to play along. Pippin’s eyes went wide before he nodded enthusiastically, glad to not be the only one to have thought so. He didn’t seem to catch the rest of the group’s amusement over the situation. Bilbo supposed that for all the mention that Kíli or the others made of Tauriel, no one ever happened to explain to Pippin that the two were courting.

“Mahal, end me now…” Kíli pleaded in a groan.

“Not just yet.” Tauriel said with a fond look, turning to the dwarf and fully enjoying the color that coated his handsome face. “Not if I have anything to do with it.” she added definitively. It was said in such a tone that only those privy to certain information would be able to detect the true value of the words. Kíli met her stare with an appreciative and fond look before Tauriel turned back to the young hobbit. “Now then, Pippin. Why don’t we see about those hurts of yours?”

“What about Kee?” Pippin asked with a worried look over in Kíli’s direction which made the young prince forget all about his embarrassed ire as his heart began to melt. This was the first time the little hobbit had ever referred to him as such. (He quickly cursed Hobbits and their charm. They made it impossible to stay mad! Though really, his and the Company’s previous experience with Bilbo should’ve taught him as much).

Tauriel also seemed to be charmed by the boy’s worry. It apparently pleased her a great deal to see that someone had become so fond of her partner. “I can assure you that I’ll attend to the Dwarven-prince as soon as I am ready, however right now you are my priority.” she stated.

At Pippin’s frown, Kíli spoke up once more. “It’s alright, lad. I’ve had worse, I promise.” he quickly assured, giving a boy a somewhat shaky smirk. While it was true that he was in a fair bit of pain from his head injury, his other hurts weren’t too bad. After all, he’s already been on the brink of death twice in his rather short life. What were a few more bumps and scrapes?

“Well, alright.” Pippin finally relented, sounding like he was mimicking an adult with his matter-of-fact tone and the phrase in general (in fact, Balin and Kíli noted with some amusement that it sounded distinctly like Bilbo). “But you’ll have to check with Merry first.” the boy then added.

At Tauriel’s curious look, Pippin helpfully lifted his gaze up to the other lad whose lap he currently resided in.

Tauriel looked up and locked eyes with Merry, who was watching her actions very cautiously. When she made to move closer, she noticed the boy’s hold on the youngest hobbit tightened slightly, however she did not let this dissuade her. She pulled back, giving him space.

“A, Merry.” she greeted in a polite tone with an even stare. This gaze was not nearly as opened and nurturing as the one she direct towards Pippin but was more acknowledging, as if she understood that Merry held some authority in this matter that was to be respected and well met. She continued speaking, “You have already heard my name but I will repeat it for you. My name is Tauriel. I am Captain of the Guard of the Elves of the Woodland Realm. My king, Thranduil of the Wood-elves, has tasked me with safely guiding you and your kin through our lands.”

“I figured as much, Miss Tauriel.” Merry responded, tone sounding rather mistrustful but the fact that he responded at all was indicative of his willingness to cooperate. It seemed he had learned his lesson to (sort of) mind his manners and his overall single-mindedness.

“Merry’s not too keen on strangers.” Frodo supplied, as if in defense of the younger boy’s less-than-polite response. After a quick look to Merry, who met his gaze, the older hobbit gained a slightly guilty expression once more before he added, “Though I can’t say I’m too fond of them myself, either. Not at present.” he admitted. It seemed that Frodo had also learned to not only mind his tongue but keep an open mind as well.

Tauriel nodded at the dark haired hobbit in acknowledgement before returning her attention to the one with golden curls once more. “You do well to mistrust strangers, Merry, for someone in your position. And I admire your valiant desire to protect those you love but I promise that you and I have the same desires. I am here to help you and your kin and swear to keep you all from harm with my life. And on that, you have my word.”

Merry seemed to study her for a moment longer before the stiffness to his shoulders finally slackened along with his hold on his young cousin. “Alright.” the young hobbit conceded after a moment more. He even helpfully turned Pippin around in his lap so that he would be fully facing the elf. “Just...be mindful.” he instructed, as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Good lad.” Bilbo praised as he gave a quick ruffle to the boy’s hair, who in turn gave him a slightly miffed look but otherwise offered no complaint. Bilbo felt a surge of proudness swell within him at the progress both Merry and Frodo had made not only with one another but personally as well. The circumstances were not at all what he would have wished for, but he was gladdened by the change it brought in the boys, nevertheless.

“Yes, thank you very much for your cooperation, Merry.” Tauriel thanked honestly. “It takes a great deal of strength to stand up to others but an even greater amount of strength to trust them. I give you my word that I will take great care to make this as swift and painless of a process as possible.”

Merry’s cheeks tinged pink but he kept his ever-present pout firmly in place. “Yes. Well…hmph.” he simply said for lack of any better words, all while avoiding eye contact.

Tauriel seemed as tickled at the change in the young hobbit’s behavior as much as the others were but she wasted no more time and returned her focus to the youngest child. “Now, Pippin, let’s finally have a look at your hurts. Is that still alright?” she asked.

“Yes...” Pippin confirmed, still looking a little hesitant but already shifting closer to give the elf a better look.

“I extend the same promise I made to your kin to you. I will be as quick and gentle as I can.” she assured. Pippin simply nodded, not seeming to trust himself to speak for fear he might lose his confidence. Tauriel then set to work.

As expected, she had already made her assessments of the boy’s injuries from afar and made quick work of addressing them. She gently maneuvered his appendages around to get a better idea of just what was wrong, every now and then asking him to lift his chin or move his fingers or arms in a certain way.

The rest of those present waited with baited breath and would give winces of sympathy or noises of displeasure whenever the boy would voice his pain in soft whimpers, quickly followed by Tauriel’s softly whispered apologies.

After a partially heart-wrenching whimper, Bilbo moved closer to the elf and her patient. He gently carded his fingers through Pippin’s tangled curls, noting with dismay that they were still wet from his fall in the water. The last thing they all needed was for a cold to develop. He resisted the urge to remove his own cloak and give it to the boy because he knew it would only get in the elf’s way and delay the speed of her evaluation.

“Everything fine?” Bilbo asked despite knowing Tauriel was going as fast as she could. He was trying to keep his nervousness contained but the wait combined with Pippin’s soft, hurt noises were causing him to become quite anxious.

Shortly after Bilbo had voiced his question, Tauriel seemed to have finished her examination. She pulled away slightly and sat on her haunches yet still gently cradled Pippin’s injured arm in her hands. “Yes, he will be fine.” she revealed, causing every worried hobbit and dwarf to let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

Tauriel waited for no further response to offer her assessment. “The cut on his neck has stopped bleeding and if tended to properly should not leave a scar. However I believe his wrist is at the very least sprained. The bones do not seem to be broken and there doesn’t appear to be any damage to the muscle but it is causing him significant pain. He will need to take mindful care of it and allow it time to heal. A few weeks without use would be suffice. His shoulder seems to be a bit sore - perhaps a strained muscle - but that should also heal just fine with some rest and maybe the aid of a few salves.” she concluded.

“That’s a relief.” Balin said in a sigh, voicing what they were all thinking. “I’ll go and fetch Óin.” he announced as he made to walk off in search of their healer.

“You say that now, Mr. Balin,” Frodo called after him, causing the dwarf to linger. “but just wait until Pip begins lamenting the ‘loss’ of his limb.” he continued, voice finally gaining it’s usual cheeky cheer once more. “You’ll be about ready to kick it yourself.” he joked morbidly.

Bilbo gave Frodo a dry look and Pippin stuck out his tongue, but Balin cracked a laugh goodheartedly. “Oh, I can only imagine!” he exclaimed. He then looked over to Kíli none too discreetly. “Though I like to think I’ve had my fair share of practice in dealing with unruly patients.” he continued, before he wasted no more time and went on his way.

“Alright, now you’re all just ganging up on me and Pip on purpose!” Kíli all-but whined as he too was now subjected to Tauriel’s careful examinations. “And your bedside manners tend to leave a lot to be desired, Balin!” he called with a raised voice so the older dwarf could still hear him as he left.

“Yeah!” Pippin concurred enthusiastically. “You’re all uncordigable!”

“It’s incorrigible, Pip.” Merry corrected.

“That’s what I said.”

Merry’s nose wrinkled in minor annoyance. “No, it’s not—”

Sam then took the moment to conveniently cough, interrupting any further bickering. After he had cleared his throat, he asked, “H-How’s Mr. Kíli doing, Miss Tauriel?”

“He should be fine, Samwise.” the elf addressed with a polite look, gaining a nervous grin from the young hobbit in return. She then turned back to Kíli and her expression became none too pleased. “However, he would do well to stop acting so recklessly. No matter how thick-headed Dwarves may be, they are not made of stone.” she teased.

Kíli feigned offense. “Oh please. I know it’s part of my charm. My recklessness gives you a chance to swoop in and look very heroic, if you ask me.”

“Am I to spend my life saving you, foolish Dwarf?” she questioned with a raised brow, sounding and appearing unimpressed. Yet still she extended her arm to gently cradle the dwarf’s face in her palm. She then moved to run her slender fingers through his wild hair until she came upon a braid and gazed at the sparkling bead on the end of it, looking almost reminiscent. “I am not quite sure if it’s an efficient use of my immortality.” she eventually concluded as she studied the bead.

“Oh, what would be the point of it if you didn’t?” Kíli teased in return, his hand reaching out to run his own thick digits through the elf’s long strands of hair in admiration until he too came upon a braid and matching bead and fiddled with it fondly.

Upon this, Bilbo couldn’t believe he didn’t notice Kíli’s beads before. Well, that wasn't necessarily true. He had noticed them but he had mistaken their meanings as something else and never bothered to ask for clarification. Truly he was curious about them, for they were quite beautifully intricate as all Dwarvish jewelry and garments were, but it just didn’t seem polite to ask. Dwarves were so strange, what with all their secrets and they kept them all so closely guarded, Bilbo was always hesitant to inquire about their exact purpose.

Recalling back to a previous conversation he once had with the only Dwarf who like to share customs, Ori had explained that beads, along with most jewelry, had significant meanings for Dwarves. Some pieces were plain (though Bilbo would hardly call their intricate designs such) and signified a coming of age or a family tie. Others had deeper meanings like a great achievement in life such as a victory in battle and others signified one’s social or relationship status.

Kíli had two beads braided into his hair, which were certainly not there for their quest all those years ago. One was fairly standard-looking, made of silver with ornate Dwarven markings engraved into it. The other had a very similar design however it was a bit larger and embezzled with a simply beautiful diamond-esque jewel that seemed to have golden strands contained within it. And upon a longer look, it was a twin to the bead that Tauriel had braided into her own auburn hair. Bilbo figured the matching designs must be some sort of signifier of a relationship. Were they a sign of bretrovel or simply just intent? Bilbo wasn’t as well versed in gemstone identification or the specifics of Dwarven beads, but that was no fault of his own. Really, he was a Hobbit! They didn’t worry about such things. Now, flowers, those were another matter entirely…

“As much pleasure as it gives me to ‘swoop in,’” Tauriel began, distracting Bilbo from his thoughts. “I’d rather spare you from every harm this world deals you. It has already dealt too many.”

Kíli seemed to finally sober as he met her gaze with an even look and took the elf’s slender face in his own hands. “I know. And I’d do the same for you too, you know?” he countered with a soft smile.

Tauriel returned the look with a small smile of her own, eyes unquestionably lit up in extreme fondness - agleam with love. “I know.” she answered as she lifted her other hand to the dwarf’s cheek, thumbs soothingly brushing along the brambley beard at his jaw.

Then everyone averted their eyes bashfully as the two lovers leaned in and shared a kiss that wordlessly spoke of the longing that went along with a relationship that was tested as frequently by distance, time, and turmoil as theirs was.

Upon witnessing the tender moment, Bilbo felt a familiar, strange feeling in his stomach. He wasn’t exactly sure as to why, however. He didn’t have anything against Kíli and Tauriel’s apparent courtship like many of their kin once would’ve and really it only made sense that their relationship had developed into something so familiar. It’s been more than six years, they’ve had more than enough time to grow closer as a pair, no matter their different walks of life. Despite this logic, Bilbo couldn’t help the strange feeling in his stomach. After a brief mortifying moment, he realized it felt akin to jealousy. But not towards either party involved, he easily concluded.

He recalled back to his days in Erebor after the Battle of the Five Armies, where he wasn’t the only non-Dwarf at the bedside of one of Durin’s Sons. After the dwarves’ injuries had been tended to and all there was left to do was wait for them to wake, Tauriel remained in the Mountain and helped to heal the injured, despite having her own hurts to deal with.

When he’d leave Thorin’s chambers for Fíli and Kíli’s, Bilbo would enter to the sight of the elf cradling the younger brother’s hand and merely staring at him. Every now and then when the dwarf’s face would twist in pain or discomfort, Tauriel would reach out and shoo his distress away with a simple touch and a few whispered words in her native tongue. The lines on Kíli’s face would then vanish as he once more settled into a fit-less slumber. She was always looking at him with such unabashed emotion in these moments, something she wouldn’t dare bare in the presence of others. It was hard to pinpoint the exact feelings portrayed by Tauriel’s tender gaze. There were traces of sadness and sorrow, surely, but there were also traces of something else. Traces of hope and deep fondness, maybe even affection.

Bilbo would catch glimpses of the private moments and feel guilty, as though he had seen something he was not meant to - which he gathered he wasn’t - but he was also left wondering what he looked like when he had gazed down upon Thorin in his sickbed. What kind of emotions and feelings were present on his face then? He’d be mortified to know.

Bilbo pulled away from his silly thoughts at the same moment that the two lovers pulled away from one another.

Shortly after, Balin returned with Óin in tow. However there was another with them and if the childrens’ startled expressions were any indication, Bilbo had a good guess as to who it was. To confirm if what he saw earlier during the conflict was not indeed a figment of his imagination, Bilbo looked up to meet the unknown subject’s gaze. And up, and up, and…

“Mr. Beorn!” Bilbo exclaimed, mouth stretching into a wide beam as his eyes rested upon the face of an old friend.

The massive figure of the skin-changer loomed over the small gathering of beings. He looked quite tense but upon hearing Bilbo’s greeting and looking down to meet the hobbit’s eyes, his harsh expression changed into one closely related to joy and surprise.

“Little Bunny,” Beorn greeted in return, looking more jovial than he had ever for any of the dwarves. This was a disposition he reserved for the smallest and most tolerable (and his most favorite) of Oakenshield’s Company. Without any indication, Beorn knelt down and picked Bilbo up from under the arms as if he were a faunt and lifted him into the air with ease.

The young hobbits stared, mouths agape in terrified horror while the dwarves just looked irked. Their annoyance only grew as instead of embarrassingly spluttering to be put down like he used to do all those years ago, Bilbo threw his arms around the skin-changer as best he could in an embrace.

“What a surprise!” the hobbit laughed, tone conveying his shock. He pulled away from the hug and placed his hands on Beorn’s hulking shoulders, distancing himself as best he could (but still too close for the dwarves’ liking if their intense stares were any indication). “Whatever are you doing here?” Bilbo asked in bafflement, ignoring his companions’ hilarious looks.

“There have been Goblins in my lands. I have been driving them out.” the skin-changer informed shortly.

“He has been a great help to us.” Tauriel elaborated, looking amused at the deadly-looking being’s gentle nature with the Halfling and the dwarves’ clear displeasure brought on by it. “When you did not arrive at the Forest Gate as expected, my Elves and I went in search of you. That is when we ran into Beorn.”

“And I come across trespassing Elves who say a group of Hobbits are in trouble. I only know of one bunny who’d wander so far from his burrow, so I followed.” Beorn continued. He then looked down to the group of hobbit children who were still on the ground, huddled together and staring at Beorn in shock (however none brave enough to come to the rescue of their caretaker this time).

“Bunnies.” Beorn then corrected, tone conveying awe. Then the skin-changer finally placed Bilbo back on the ground and joined the hobbits down below, resting on his knees yet still towering over everyone. He stared at the children, eyes sparkling like a Dwarf’s when he spies something shiny. The children (and - Bilbo noted with much amusement - even Frodo) simply stared back wide-eyed, at a loss for words.

Bilbo laughed before he could stop himself. “Come on then,” he directed to the young hobbits, motioning with a hand for them to get closer as he rested his other on Beorn’s shoulder in a friendly manner, a sign of goodwill. “I want you all to meet an old friend of mine.”

Frodo hesitantly shuffled closer, expression still slightly bewildered. Sam followed soon after but kept a further distance and looked much more reluctant. Merry stubbornly stayed put, suspicious, so therefore so did Pippin, who simply stared, unblinking. Taking in their reactions, Bilbo then came to the realization that Beorn was the largest being they’ve ever encountered. Even larger than Gandalf, who was considered to be quite tall, even among the Big Folk.

“This is my friend, Mr. Beorn. I’ve told you of him before.” Bilbo reminded, referring to his stories. “Beorn, these are my c...kin. Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin.” he introduced, indicating to each child as he stated their names. (That could’ve been embarrassing. He almost said ‘my children.’ Frodo would’ve never let him heard the end of it...)

“I thought Mr. Bear was a...well a bear?” Pippin queried. Though his face was pointed to the sky since Óin was tending to his neck wound, his curious green eyes remained locked on the large figure, as if to confirm he wasn’t indeed a bear.

“Mr. Beorn.” Bilbo corrected. “And he’s a Skin-changer.”

Sam seemed to have finally found his voice once more. “A Skin-changer?” he parroted, tone confused.

Before Bilbo could remind them of his flimsy story-time explanation of the concept, Beorn beat him to it, albeit in his own, vague way. “It means sometimes I am a bear and sometimes I am a man.” he clarified.

“So you can just…become a bear?” Merry questioned, sounding incredulous.

“Yes.” Beorn plainly answered, along with a nod of his head. “If I want.” he added.

“Huh.” Sam voiced breathily, as if being told that someone possessed such an ability was comparable to being told it might rain later.

“Neat!” Pippin exclaimed enthusiastically, face and tone full of awe.

Frodo slowly blinked, as if coming out of a trance. “He’s real?” he simply stated, sounding to be in disbelief.

Bilbo looked to his nephew and raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Of course he’s real.” he scoffed.

“No, it’s just…” Frodo started before stopping himself. He lifted his finger to his mouth and tapped it against his bottom lip as he looked off, contemplative and a bit self-conscious. “Well I thought you made him up.” he revealed honestly with a shrug. “The turning-into-a-bear part, anyway.”

Bilbo shook his head, unsurprised. “Well then, let this be a lesson to take me a little more seriously, hm?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far.” the young hobbit quickly countered, apparently recovered enough from his shock to pester his uncle once more.

“Oi—“

“It is nice to meet you all.” Beorn then spoke up, stopping further complaint from Bilbo. “It is now that I would like to extend an invitation.” he said aloofly.

Though instead of elaborating, he just stopped speaking, as if that was all that needed to be said. The skin-changer never was one to offer many words, especially ones with clear meanings, for that matter.

“Hm?” Bilbo voiced, confusion lacing his tone.

Beorn turned to the hobbit and said matter-of-factly, “You are all invited to stay in my home.”

“Hm?” Bilbo repeated, tone now bewildered.

“Master Beorn has kindly offered us lodgings.” Balin finally offered as an explanation as Bilbo turned to him. “For as much time as it takes for us to regain our bearings.” he furthered.

“Oh.“ the hobbit voiced, suddenly understanding. “The others can’t be too happy with this…” he trailed, thinking of the other dwarves who were not present.

“Oh, they weren’t.” Balin confirmed in a divert tone. “But once they heard the lads were injured, they agreed a few days rest would do us all well. We were already trying to gain extra rest with our slowed travel. I think a true respite will do us all a world of good. We’ll renew our energy and spirits and still make it to Erebor before Durin’s Day with time to spare.” he assured.

“King Thranduil is expecting us, isn’t he? What happens when we don’t arrive?” Bilbo questioned. He was sure the Elven-king wouldn’t mind the delay too much but Bilbo didn’t even want to think about what Thorin would do when they didn’t arrive on time. He might send the whole Mountain after them. Or worse yet, he’d declare war on the Elves because he would foolishly think that they had taken the Party prisoner.

“I have already sent one of my Elves to inform him.” Tauriel soon answered to dissuade Bilbo of his worries. “King Thranduil will soon know that we will delay for a few days as the Party heals from injuries. Once Kíli and Pippin have healed sufficiently, I will personally lead all of you through the Woodland Realm, where another group of Elves will meet us midway.” As Bilbo opened his mouth to voice a question, Tauriel continued before he could get a sound out. “I have also sent instructions to have the Dwarven-king informed of the delay. You have nothing to worry about, mellon nin. Everything is handled.” she assured.

“Oh. Well…” Bilbo started, slightly embarrassed that the elf could read him so well. He was a fool to think he was the only one taking notice of behavior when they both resided in the Mountain at sickly dwarves’ bedsides…

Pushing aside that embarrassing thought, Bilbo continued, “Well, we couldn’t possibly impose on Mr. Beorn.” he reasoned, turning to the mentioned figure, who raised his brows as a sign he was listening. “As I recall, you’re not too fond of Dwarves. You really wish to have them stay in your home? Again?” he asked.

“No.” Beorn answered bluntly, expression severe. After a moment of awkward silence, his mouth then stretched into a wide smile. Though it wasn’t clear at first, he had apparently told his version of a joke. “But a few Dwarves less than the last time is not too bad. Especially when I gain a few bunnies more.” he reasoned as he looked fondly to the group of hobbits.

In the end, Bilbo agreed to the plan. After all, what was he to do! Besides, a few days rest a little earlier than expected wouldn’t be too bad. No, they’d be most welcomed, indeed.

He could only hope that Thorin wouldn’t be too furious with them.

Chapter Text

Thorin was furious.

Ever since he received word from one of Thranduil's messengers that Bilbo’s traveling party would be delayed, his mood had been even more sour than usual.

For one, he was angry that the Party was still under attack, even as far East as they were. The Goblins were persistent and getting more bold with each passing day. It made all those of the Company still residing in the Mountain nervous and was an uncomfortable reminder of their days being hunted by Azog and his Orcs.

And though the messenger didn’t say who, apparently two of the Party had been injured which was the reason they were prolonging their journey to Erebor in the first place. The messenger also failed to learn where exactly the Party was taking refuge, which in turn made Thorin want to throttle the elf and required amad to make an effort to keep him from doing so.

All the messenger knew was that the Party was residing with an old ally who the Company eventually agreed to be the Skin-changer. He was the only being they knew of who lived near the outskirts of Mirkwood’s western borders (which also made Thorin unmanageable, for the Skin-changer was always too handsy with their Hobbit for any of their likings).

In short, Thorin was beginning to become unbearable which is why Fíli ran away to Dale with his mother, Dori, and a small escort of guards. Though they were out on official business, they all knew that they were using the outing as an excuse to get away from the king’s fowl mood for a day or two.

Technically speaking, Thorin didn’t grant Fíli permission to tag along to Dale but he wasn’t working on anything important really, he was just trailing after Thorin like usual. For the last few days, they’ve been having meeting after meeting, discussing damage repairs to be made deeper into the Mountain, from the confrontation with Smaug all those years ago near the Great Forges (and not for the first time, Fíli couldn’t help but wish that he was there for the terrifying yet unquestionably spectacular escapade). The Forges themselves were working just fine ever since they were lit with the dragon’s fire except Thorin wanted assessments made on the tunnels nearby. He was adamant about making sure it was completely safe to head further into the mining tunnels before they started their operations up again and Fíli - and the others of the Company for that matter - appreciated their king’s cautiousness.

However, what Fíli didn’t appreciate was the redundancy of the meetings. It was a lot of back and forth arguments and debates on where they should go, how much they should plan to mine, what the exact problem areas were, who should head the operations, and blah, blah, blah.

So after being sure to tell Dwalin (at the last possible moment when the general was at his most busiest) that he’d be heading off to Dale for a few days, Fíli promptly bolted from the Mountain and joined the rest of the group on their trip to the city of Men. His mother didn’t for one moment buy the lie that he got permission from his uncle to accompany them but she knew that Thorin could be quite the slave-driver and wished the break for her son almost as much as Fíli did for himself.

And so he joined his mother, Dori, and a few others of their kin on their visit to the Markets of Dale. It was always pleasing to see how far the city and it’s people had come after all the horrors they went through.

After Thorin’s gold sickness had passed and he woke from his healing sleep, he felt more than embarrassed over his treatment of the Men. He granted Bard and his people the money they were owed and then some, in compensation for Thorin breaking the promise of his word. As a sign of good faith, they were also sure to send over some of Dain’s architects and engineers to consult in their rebuilding efforts and even offered the people shelter from the winter’s wrath inside the Mountain. From this, their relationship with the newly reforming kingdom of Men only grew.

Since their relationship had improved considerably, Erebor were among the first to be allowed trade with the Green City’s quickly regrowing Grand Markets. Though they weren’t quite as grand as they once were, the Men were quite diplomatic - especially their King Bard. They were able to reignite interest in trade with other cities and kingdoms with the little that they salvaged, bought, or traded. Even the city’s reputation alone was enough to gain new business. In fact, most of Erebor’s imported goods were first shipped into Dale since the city was a good midway point for most traders. This was the reason for their visit today.

His mother and Dori were having talks with a textile merchant at present. While the dwarves were solely interested in going over their agreed upon terms, the merchant couldn’t help herself from trying to sell the wealthy dwarves more than they were already buying (which was ridiculous since they were nearly buying the merchant out of stock as it were). However, let it be known that Dwarves were never ones to say no to an opportunity to bargain and his mother was particularly good at getting what she wanted.

It seemed she would be making an afternoon out of it though and since talks of negotiation were what drove him from the Mountain in the first place, Fíli announced he’d be going for a walk to inspect some of the other stalls. Though he was a fully-grown dwarf and didn’t need his mother’s permission to go anywhere, he knew they’d all be in a right fit if he ended up getting stalled somewhere and he suddenly ‘disappeared’. His mother easily agreed to the idea and requested that he procure a few items that she herself needed. However, since Erebor’s heir couldn’t very well just go strolling through the Markets of Dale all on his own, an armed escort was placed upon him by his mother.

This escort came in the form of an overeager, overzealous, and just overall overt young dwarf, only having just risen from the ranks of a cadet in Erebor’s army not but a few years ago. The young soldier was promising and in a few years time, he could very well be one of Durin’s Folk’s finest.

However, that didn’t stop him from being any less annoying.

“All I’m saying, your Highness, is that you should take more pride in being included in the great talks his Majesty conducts.” the young dwarf continued to lecture as Fíli lamented his lack of peace both in and outside of the Mountain. “To be directly included in the noble process of returning our mighty halls to their former glory and beyond is the highest honor one could ask for!” the soldier finished with a grand flourish of his hands, arms lifting to the sky.

“And all I’m saying, Gimli, is that arguing over what kinds of chains and buckets should be used in the Mines gets a bit dull after the first three quarter-hours.” Fíli countered as he tried (and failed) to ignore the young dwarf’s spouting as he inspected some throwing knives that the smithy had displayed.

Much of their talks proceeded this way, with a lot of back and forth since both dwarves were too stubborn to relent. So they continued with their banter and browsing until they were interrupted by the sound of someone trying to gain their attention.

“Prince Fíli!” called a voice, stopping the dwarves in their speech. They looked to the direction of the sound only to see a young girl waving to them quite enthusiastically. Fíli’s face lit up in pleased recognition.

“Princess Tilda!” he greeted before he was promptly crashed into and soon tightly embraced. The girl’s wild approach had caused both Gimli and the human’s guards to startle slightly out of habit. They quickly controlled themselves but stood around awkwardly, not sure what was supposed to be their appropriate response.

Tilda took no heed of her guards’ clear uncertainty, for she was too busy reuniting with her friend. “Oh, I’ve missed you. It’s been so long.” the girl sighed as she gripped Fíli tightly in a fierce hold.

“No it hasn’t!” Fíli laughed as he fondly returned the hug. “It’s been what, two months since my last visit? You act as if it were two years.”

Tilda pulled away, smiling and elated. “Well, it certainly feels like it.” she said in defense.

“And judging by your reaction and how much you’ve grown, it might as well have been!” Fíli exclaimed as he lamented the fact that she now had a good few inches on him as well.

“I’m only a few inches taller than the last time we met. And I’ve still got a fair bit of growing to do.” she informed with a laugh.

“Yes, well stop.” Fíli jokingly ordered. “First Kíli surpasses me and now you? What am I to do?” he sighed.

“Life must be difficult for a Dwarf. Their heads are so close to the ground yet still they fumble with their pride...” Tilda empathized with a grim shake of her head, but the false sincerity of the words and gesture were revealed due to the grin upon her face.

“Oh, well if you have a comedy act to get back to, my Lady, I can just continue with my shopping…” Fíli said dryly as he began to turn away, back to the stalls.

“No, no! I only tease!” the girl quickly placated, grabbing onto Fíli’s fur cloak to keep him in place. The dwarf easily relented and willing let himself be pulled back. “What brings you to the Markets today? Did you not get your fill of timber last you visited?”

“No, we did - and Bifur was thrilled with the quality, by the way - but now we come seeking cloths.” Fíli informed. “My mother and Dori are bargaining with the merchant as we speak.” he indicated with a nod of his head in the direction of further down the street.

Tilda followed his eyes and turned back, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Supplies in bulk once more? And no furs? How very un-Dwarven…” she commented in a trailing voice.

“We’re working on a project.” Fíli vaguely informed with a shrug.

“So you keep saying.” Tilda said as her brows furrowed and it was true. Every time the Dwarves had visited the Markets of Dale recently it had been to gather supplies that were very strange, by Dwarven standards. “A bulk supply of timber, an extensive list of food items to be prepared in advance, plants and seeds, and before that, you were in the libraries looking through obscure texts. Just who are these visitors you’re receiving?” she questioned, causing Fíli to suddenly freeze.

“W-What?” he started embarrassingly shakily, caught off guard. He cleared his throat and tried again. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, please don’t play dumb with me.” Tilda sighed with a roll of her eyes. “I know Erebor is receiving visitors. It’s the only possible explanation for all of these supply runs. And they must be pretty important and staying for a quite a while judging by all that you’re preparing.” she deduced.

At this point, Fíli looked at those surrounding them. Gimli was watching him with a somewhat hilarious expression, looking as if he were caught between wanting to hear Fíli reveal their visitors’ identities (for not even he knew) and the burning need to honor his king’s wishes for secrecy, even if that meant stopping the crown-prince from speaking himself. Tilda’s guardsmen looked interested but were matching the displays that the rest of the market-goes were, in a way that made it painfully obvious that they were trying to appear as if they weren’t opening up their ears. Fíli frowned and shot them all nasty looks that had them turning away before he too fully turned away from Tilda.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he stated, pretending to be entranced by the goods in front of him.

“Why’re you lying to me too?” Tilda questioned, looking uncharacteristically indigent and upset. She moved closer to Fíli and lowered her voice but was still loud enough to convey her strong emotions. “Even Da wouldn’t tell me the truth, but I know someone’s coming! Someone important! Why won’t you tell me the truth?” she demanded.

“Because it’s privileged information and your father does well to not share it so easily.” Fíli snapped back in his own lowered, hissing voice once he turned back to the girl.

Tilda looked startled, caught off guard by her friend’s out of character behavior. She took a step back, as if she were physically burned by the words.

In an instant, Fíli regretted his biting words. “Sorry.” he hastily apologized. “But it’s...it’s…ugh.” he finished with a groan, unsure of just what to do. He thought for a moment, studying Tilda’s down-put expression, feeling horrendously guilty that he had put it there. He looked around at the curious eyes of the market place before finally he sighed and grabbed onto the girl’s arm. “Just...come with me.” he ordered as he led her down to one of the nearby alleys.

Tilda’s face lit up in both curiosity and satisfaction and freely allowed the dwarf to lead her away but her guards made to stop the two, for surely allowing a young man to drag one of their princesses down an alley wasn’t the right thing to do - Dwarf-prince or no. They voiced as much.

“No, no. It’s alright. I won’t be more than five minutes.” Tilda quickly promised her guards. “We’ll be within sight, but just need a moment of privacy. Just make sure no one overhears us?” she requested and in the end, her guards conceded and stood their post.

Gimli, however, was not so yielding.

“But, your Highness—” the red-haired dwarf began in a splutter, sounding completely taken aback by Fíli’s apparent decision to share their state secrets.

“Just relax for once, Gimli. Make sure we’re not disturbed.” Fíli ordered with finality.

Gimli looked like he strongly disagreed that this was a good idea but said no more, for it was a direct order from his prince and he had no right to refuse. He sighed heavily and then stiffly nodded, looking like it was the last thing he wanted to do. He started to grumble to himself as he made to go to his new ‘post’.

Fíli then paused in his steps and turned back to the young dwarf. “And Gimli,” he called.

Said dwarf turned to the prince curiously and nearly jumped out of his armour as Fíli tossed something to him unexpectedly. He fumbled with it for a moment before he got a good grip on the object and was able to discern what it was. It was a small velvet sack. He opened it up and looked inside, seeing it was filled with gold coins. He looked up to the prince, unimpressed.

“Once you’re certain the areas are secure, buy yourself something nice.” Fíli instructed with a wink as he finally walked away with Tilda, who did her best to conceal her giggles at the other dwarf’s affronted look.

Gimli harrumphed and drew the strings of the bag taunt in a dramatic fashion. He then stomped his way over to the smithy’s display but went no further, being sure that the two royals were still well within sight as he grumpily browsed. His angry aura was enough to keep the curious eavesdropper away and if that wasn’t enough, Gimli had no reservations with barking at them to be on their way.

“You’re terrible.” Tilda chided once they were finally in the relative privacy of the alley. “What’s stopping him from going to get one of your kin to drag you back?”

“Ah, Gimli’s fine.” Fíli assured. “He seems like he’s made of stone but he’s really a big softie. He’ll keep an eye on things and may look like he’s having a Mahal awful time, but at the end of the day, he wants to please.”

“You shouldn’t take such advantage of his noble heart.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing with me right now?” he asked dryly.

Tilda paused for a moment, tilting her head in thought. “Huh. I suppose you’re right.” she simply agreed.

Fíli shook his head but decided to get this business done with as quickly as possible, both due to their time constraint and to lessen the risk of being overheard. “What did you want to know? Like I said, this is extremely privileged information so I won’t tell you too much but I’ll answer as best I can.”

Tilda beamed at him. “Thank you! Truly, thank you.” she said genuinely, pulling the dwarf into a hug once more. She continued to look elated until her mood seemed to suddenly turn. When she started to speak once more, it was in a voice quieted by sadness, “It gets so lonesome here whilst Bain and Sigrid are off doing such great things, like adventuring and fighting and diplomacy. It leaves me feeling so useless, especially when Da doesn’t trust me enough to tell me things about the Kingdom’s business. Just because I’m the lastborn he feels I should have no part in things. I want to be more than just a public figure for the family. I could do so much more…”

Fíli felt his heart twinge in sympathy, knowing a similar feeling all too well. “I don’t doubt that. But I do however doubt that your father thinks of you so. This information is just of the highest importance. If word of it got out, it could lead to grave trouble for some very good people. Your father is one of the very few trusted to know the exact nature of the visit.”

Tilda seemed to perk up at this. “So there are visitors coming?” she questioned.

“Yes, very important ones.” Fíli confirmed with a nod.

The girl looked pleased to know her theory was correct but her face crinkled up in confusion. “I don’t understand. Are they royals from another kingdom or something? Wouldn’t an announcement be made of their arrival? In celebration?”

Fíli shook his head. “No, they’re not that kind of important. They’re important because they mean a great deal to us. Personally. That’s why we’re all in such a state. Uncle’s been...uptight because of it. Things didn’t end so well with this old friend last time and he’s trying to make up for it by helping them now.”

“Helping them?” she repeated in a questioning tone.

Fíli eyes darted to the ends of the alley, paranoid that they could be overheard. He said too much already but knew he couldn’t stop the girl’s curiosity now. “They’re...They’re refugees.” he said more quietly now than he did for any other part of their conversation. “Their home was taken from them. They come seeking shelter.”

Tilda’s face turned grim, recalling awful memories of her childhood that left her nights plagued by nightmares for years. “O-Oh my…” she said breathlessly.

“We don’t know how long we’ll be housing them. Maybe indefinitely, but it’s important that they get here safe and sound, so we can’t have news of their arrival traveling. They’re in danger. And having others know where they’re going will put them at even greater risk.”

“If they mean a lot to you personally, and only those who are trusted are involved and Da is… Does that mean I know these visitors?”

Fíli shook his head. “I can’t say.”

“But I must know them… Who else could it… Could it…” and suddenly, it came to her. Her eyes lit up in recognition and surprise. “Wait a moment, it isn’t that little fellow you used to travel with, is it? Da’s friend? Sir B–” she started to guess before Fíli clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Don’t speak a name.” he ordered in a hiss as he looked around warily once again. As expected, the guards and Gimli were doing a good job of keeping their conversation private however one could never be certain in the world of Men. If those of Dale still possessed the ears and mouths of those Lake-towners, there was no guarantee that any conversation here was ever private.

Tilda nodded firmly, looking deathly serious as Fíli pulled his hand away.

“I understand.” the girl finally spoke, voice hushed. “I also understand why you did not wish to tell me and regret having made you do so…” she said, sounding remorseful.

“Well, don’t. In the end, I chose to tell you and you figured most of it out on your own. Just know that this information cannot be spoken again. Not until they’re all safe in Erebor’s halls.”

“Of course.” she readily agreed. She was quiet for a moment more before she voiced a question, sounding hesitant but pressing, “When do they arrive?”

Fíli was also hesitant to answer but lowered his voice once more and responded anyway. “Last I heard, if all goes well, by next month’s end.”

“So soon…” Tilda noted. “Have they been wandering for long?”

“Yes. I won’t say exactly how long, but enough that they’re certainly beyond weary and enough to make all in the Mountain anxious.”

“Even the King?” Tilda stated in a questioning tone as she tried to contain her mirth over the idea. She knew quite well of Fíli’s frustrations with his uncle’s bad moods and was clearly amused at having had apparently found it’s source.

Fíli himself couldn’t help his own small laugh. “Yes, even the King. Maybe even especially.” he added, causing Tilda to giggle more. Then he pulled away from the girl and raised his voice to it’s normal speaking volume. “But that’s all I’ll say on the matter.” he said with finality.

“I understand. It was more than enough.” she assured. “And I apologize again for pressuring you so. If I had known…”

Fíli waved his hand to dismiss her guilt. “It’s fine. Like I said, I chose to tell. But again I must stress the importance of keeping this a secret. Every bit of it.”

“Of course.” Tilda confirmed and Fíli knew she would keep her word, for she looked more serious than she ever had. She then glanced to the ground shyly but looked quite appreciative. “Thank you again, Fee. For trusting me.”

“You have more than my trust. You have my friendship and the role of my confidant, in all matters.” Fíli reminded with a smile, placing a hand on her shoulder and drawing her attention back up from the ground. “However, we should probably go now. We must be making quite the scene and I loath to think of what your father would do to me if the town’s people starting spreading the news that you and I made off to an alleyway for privacy.” he semi-joked as he indicated for the princess to exit the alley before him, ever the gentle-dwarf.

Tilda laughed, already starting to make her leave. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry so. Everyone knows it’s the other Princess of Dale you’d rather share that kind of privacy with.” she teased with a wink.

Fíli felt his face heat up but he pulled his mouth into a displeased frown. “How old are you again? You shouldn’t imply such things…”

Tilda couldn’t contain her insistent laughter as the two emerged from the alley and met up with their guards once more. And if they got any strange looks from the town’s people, that was something for Fíli to worry about later. For now, he needed to worry about getting the color of his cheeks back to their normal hue by the time he met up with his mother once more, less she get suspicious.

(Despite his efforts, his mother gave him a knowing look but her teasing was greatly outweighed by her ire over her son’s apparent inability to shop effectively; he had forgotten to get the items she had requested but Gimli was more than happy to supply a cover-story that involved Fíli getting distracted by a sweets vendor and spending all their coin there).

Chapter Text

“You what?” Bilbo questioned, sounding absolutely scandalized.

Frodo rolled his eyes - really Bilbo needed to scold him out of that nasty habit, the boy had no shame - and repeated, “I said, I think we should all learn how to fight. ‘All’ being the lads and I.”

Besides for Tauriel and Beorn who had left to patrol not but thirty minutes ago, everyone was outside of Beorn’s great house enjoying the much needed peace, which is why Frodo tried to ‘casually’ bring up his suggestion now. They were all using this short respite from traveling and danger to enjoy some much needed fresh air and relaxation before they’d once again have to return to the road. Bilbo had every intention of reaching Erebor before the cool Autumn chill turned into the freezing Winter’s cold. Though this would shorten their respite to only a couple of days, Bilbo would rather not run the risk of any of the Party members falling ill, least of all the children. Since these days of rest were precious, everyone had been using the time to properly sleep, eat, bathe, and maintain and repair their clothes and weapons for the next leg of their journey.

Frodo - being the cunning lad that he was - knew that it was best to bring up a request with company present so he could get others’ opinions on the matter as opposed to only Bilbo’s, which would’ve been opposite to his own. This way, he could force them all to pick sides. The lad was nefarious and his smarts truly scared Bilbo sometimes because they were almost always used for evil (which was a tad dramatic but Bilbo had been scorned one too many times to think of the lad’s attributes in any other way).

The most devious part of Frodo’s plan however was that he had brought up this suggestion in front of the only being who would never drop it, now that the seed of the idea was planted.

“YES!” Pippin all-but screeched from his position where he, Merry, and Sam were teaching a recovering Kíli and curious Glóin and Bofur (who all startled upon the boy’s outburst) how to play conkers.

Just as Bilbo and Frodo had expected, Pippin was bursting with enthusiasm over the idea of learning to fight and both Sam and Merry looked to be equally as interested, having had stopped their game. Though they were much better at containing this interest than Pippin was and simply looked up at Bilbo with curious expressions, as if wordlessly asking if this was allowed to happen.

“No.” Bilbo firmly stated in the direction of the three younger hobbits, hopefully dissuading their curiosity before turning back to Frodo. “And no! Why—“

“Actually,” Balin started, cutting Bilbo off pre-rant and gaining his attention. “the lad is right. It wouldn’t be such a bad idea for the wee ones to get some experience with a weapon or two.”

Bilbo stared at who he thought to be his most rational friend, stunned that he had apparently thought wrong. “Did you just hear yourself?” Bilbo asked rhetorically. “‘Wee ones“‘ and ‘weapons’ are phrases with a great deal of disunity, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t know,” Kíli then spoke up, leaning forward to closely observe Sam and Merry, who in turn stared back curiously. “I was around their age when I got my first knife.” he reasoned.

Sam and Merry were silent as they both glanced at one another before turning to stare at Bilbo for confirmation at the same moment, oddly in tandem.

“Do I have to once again explain to you the distinct, extreme cultural difference between a twenty-year old Dwarf and a twenty-year old Hobbit?” Bilbo questioned bluntly.

“I thought we were doing weapons training already?” Bofur then asked. Bilbo turned to him, utterly perplexed. As an indication, Bofur slowly lifted up his arm and revealed the large chestnut hanging on the string wrapped around his hand.

Bilbo stared blankly for a moment until suddenly, it registered. “Th...That’s a game.” he said, caught off guard by the reveal that he didn’t already know so.

Glóin, Kíli, and Bofur then looked down to their conkers, as if seeing them for the first time. Their mouths opened into ‘o’ shapes as they seemed to suddenly realize.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Kíli said after a moment as he rubbed his sore, reddened knuckles. “Quite a ruthless ‘game,’ I’d say.”

“It is. That’s why I told you all to stop playing an hour ago.” Bilbo reminded dryly and it was true. After their search for marbles had turned up empty, the children were fixated on the idea of using some large chestnuts they found in a game of conkers. Merry was the one who had the initial idea in the hopes to cheer up Pippin who was still recovering (both physically and emotionally) from the Goblin attack down by the pond. Sam had joined at Merry’s insistence, desiring a distraction himself. Bilbo was against the idea from the start because really, he didn’t need any bruised arms or blackened eyes. After all, they were staying at Beorn’s to heal not leave with more injuries than they came here with.

The children proceeded to play anyway and Bilbo felt a headache steadily grow as everyone kept arguing and complaining of hurts. Pippin ended up getting vinegar from somewhere to harden his chestnut, claiming he was allowed to cheat since he was down a limb but both Sam and Merry strongly disagreed with this logic and made him sit out which lead to a lot of pouting and whining.

The youngest then proceeded to enlist the aid of Kíli in ‘defending his honor’ and the dwarf readily agreed but was having a hard time getting the hang of the game, especially when he was on the receiving end of Merry’s brutal technique. It was at this rather overzealous display that Bilbo realized Merry might still blame Kíli for Pippin’s injuries and was using his skills in the game to get his revenge. He ended up chiding him on his roughhousing but Merry claimed innocence and Bilbo had no real proof for conkers required quite a bit of rough play to begin with.

Sam of course was behaving wonderfully by extensively teaching Bofur the proper rules until Merry ended up goading him into getting more competitive, much to the surprise and enjoyment of the dwarves. Sam’s competitive spirit was a well kept secret and only came around during the most intensive of games, though Merry never failed to rile the other boy up and bring it out of him (in fact, Bilbo wholeheartedly suspected that he’d do it on purpose).

Needless to say, this game only continued to cause Bilbo problems.

“They could make effective weapons though.” Nori noted as he picked up one of the stringed chestnuts and studied it for a moment, having had apparently made his way over to the group of game-players. “Reminds me a bit of me brother’s bola.” he noted as he began to swing the nut around skillfully, making a weapon out of a simple object in a way that only a dwarf could. Bilbo said as much.

“Only a Dwarf would look at a conker and see a deadly device.” the hobbit commented with clear disdain as Nori continued to swing the chestnut around at imaginary enemies.

Bilbo then felt something from within in him become alert and without questioning the instinct, looked to Sam and Merry who were watching Nori closely and appeared to be preparing to mimic him.

“NO.” Bilbo quickly ordered, causing both boys to startle and look to him. Sam dropped the conker as if it had caught fire and Merry merely lowered his arms, looking annoyed at being stopped but complying nonetheless.

“It’s a handy trait to have, innit? You never know when you’ll have to fight.” Nori voiced in defense, finally putting a stop to his insistent weaponization of the poor conker.

“Uncle—” Frodo began but Bilbo quickly stopped him.

“No, Frodo.” he interrupted, sensing where the younger’s statement was going before he even finished voicing it. “Weapons training? Have you lost your mind?”

Frodo then looked offended, brows drawn together and mouth set in a deep frown. “No. In fact, I think it’s a wise idea and I think you’ll find that you’re the only one here who thinks that it isn’t.” he challenged.

Bilbo was taken aback by the boy’s boldness for a moment but soon scoffed, disbelieving. “No. No, no, no. I think you’ll find that I’m not the only—” he began as he looked to his companions for support but stopped in his tracks when he saw all of their expressions. They wouldn’t meet his gaze. The realization hit Bilbo like a club to the head. “Wait. You all think this is a good idea? Have you all lost your minds?”

“I would hope not.” Tauriel said as she finally made her presence known, having had apparently returned from her scouting with Beorn. “We have only been gone for an hour’s half, after all.” she jested.

“Miss Tauriel, please tell me you don’t agree with them.” Bilbo pleaded as he looked up to the elf. “They’re children! They can’t be expected to fight.”

“Yes, but they are children who are often in great peril, mellon nin.” Tauriel countered. “If there was ever an instance in which they were in danger and one of us were not there to protect them, wouldn’t you want them to defend themselves?”

“Of course I would but that won’t happen.” Bilbo said determinedly. “We won’t let that happen.”

“But it already has.” Sam then spoke up, brows furrowed. Everyone turned to him, surprised beyond belief at his gutsy words and even Sam looked startled by them, as if he didn’t mean to voice them. Seeing as it was too late to turn back, he cleared his throat and looked down to the ground before speaking up once more, looking nervous yet determined. “B-Begging your pardon, Mr. Bilbo, but we’ve already been in trouble more times than I can count and you’ve always kept us safe, no question. But when Mr. Pippin and Mr. Kíli were in trouble and Miss Tauriel needed a distraction, we were effective. Nobody else could act without risking the others harm and if Mr. Merry hadn’t thrown that stone we…

“Well I hope that what happened at that pond never has to happen again but if it did, wouldn’t you rather us be ready to help? As a last resort? If we were just taught the basics to defend ourselves properly, I think we’d have a greater chance of not getting hurt than if we just sat around and waited for others to do the saving for us. Wouldn’t you rather we at least have a chance to help ourselves and everyone else rather than no hope at all?” he finished, finally looking up from the ground.

After one more moment of stunned silence, the dwarves voiced their agreement, both Nori and Glóin lightly clamping Sam on the back in praise and Frodo, Merry, and Pippin gave him astonished looks.

Bilbo took a moment to regain his bearings until suddenly, he felt a laugh bubble up from his throat. And then another, and another until suddenly Bilbo was in a fit of laughter and everyone looked at him, utterly perplexed.

“Bilbo?” Balin questioned as he took a step forward, sounding somewhat concerned.

Bilbo waved him off as an insistence that he was fine, however he couldn’t quite quell his laughter so the gesture did not come across as effectively as he would have wished.

Merry then slapped Sam on the shoulder. “Nice going, Samwise. You broke him!” he accused.

Pippin looked aghast at the revelation that such a thing could even happen, looking between Sam and Bilbo with a stupefied expression.

“What? No I didn’t!” Sam quickly countered, looking to Bilbo, who’s laughter only grew at Merry’s claim. The confidence that was in his first statement was gone when he next spoke. “Did I?” Sam questioned, eyes widening in horror at the apparent result of his words. “M-Mr. Bilbo, I’m s-so sorry, I-I—”

“N-No, no...Sam...” Bilbo said between breaths, trying his hardest to quiet his chuckles as they at last died away. “It’s not that. It’s not that at all. It’s that you’re right. As usual.” he reassured as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“I am?” Sam questioned.

“He is?” Merry followed.

With one last mirth-filled breath, Bilbo looked to the sky and shook his head. “Oh, I’ve been a huge hypocrite and for that I am sorry, boys.”

“What do you mean?” Frodo then asked, earlier anger gone from his tone yet still he was hesitant of the apparent change in his uncle’s opinion.

“A long time ago, there were others who doubted my ability to be useful simply because of what I was.” Bilbo informed and suddenly, the dwarves all gained guilty looks. “I remember thinking it was terribly unfair to be judged so, but I knew in my heart that I agreed with them. I wasn’t much help because I didn’t know what to do and had no one to guide me. Do you know what I wanted more than anything during that time?”

“What?” Pippin queried, at last speaking up.

“A chance.” the oldest hobbit answered with a smile. “A chance to prove myself. A chance for others to see that I could do some good. No one gave the chance to me, I just happened upon it and suddenly I had found courage in the face of danger, just as you boys did down at that pond. However now I myself am robbing you of another chance to learn to better protect not only yourselves but one another. And that is unfair and, quite frankly, unwise.”

Frodo’s bright blue eyes seemed to sparkle with something very akin to hope, perhaps anticipation. “Does that mean you’ll let us learn how to fight?” he asked.

“Yes...” Bilbo sighed, long and full of dread but resignation also. “Despite my better judgement. Or rather, in spite of it.”

At this, all the boys let out triumphant, excited sounds. Even the dwarves voiced their eagerness in enthusiastic cheers and hurrahs.

“However,” Bilbo started in a loudened voice, gaining everyone’s attention once more. “There are to be some ground rules set and I expect them all to be followed to the letter, or else that’ll be the end of it. Is that understood?”

Everyone readily agreed and so the rest of the afternoon was dedicated to training the boys in self defense and Bilbo did indeed set some strict rules.

Firstly, the boys were to practice defensive maneuvers only and the primary goal of the training would be to distract, stall, or block an attacking enemy in order to make the quickest retreat possible. Their shirts and pants were to be stuffed full of straw and spare wool, which would make them quite itchy but made for some proper padding. They were also not permitted to use an actual weapon in the trainings since they’d never carry one on hand. If all went well with these primary trainings maybe - and only just maybe - would they be permitted a small knife, for emergencies only.

Second, Pippin was not permitted to partake in the trainings since he was primarily too small to be engaging in confrontations of any kind and secondly because he was still injured, his arm still safely tucked in a sling resting against his chest. Pippin was of course very upset about being excluded from the trainings and being made to sit and watch with a similarly recovering (and displeased) Kíli on the sidelines. Only when Beorn made his way over and lifted the boy onto his great lap, granting him the best vantage point of the action, did Pippin finally feel appeased enough to comply, albeit it with much pouting and whining.

Thirdly, Bilbo was to be able to call the training off at any point if he thought it was getting too out of hand and the others wouldn’t be able to argue it. The dwarves respected this decision and the hobbits could only agree if they wanted to learn anything at all.

And so, the trainings commenced. Bilbo, Balin, and Óin sat on the side to the right, the latter there in case anything went wrong and Balin there to calm the hobbit down, lest he have a panic attack and keel over.

Tauriel stood to the left, resting against a large tree, ready to offer an opinion or assistance if need be.

Bofur, Ori, and Glóin were to act as assailants, weapons all replaced with large, long repurposed branches (which still made Bilbo quite anxious).

Nori, since he was known as the most resourceful of the dwarves, was to act as the hobbits’ instructor on unconventional means of fighting (‘self defense’ he corrected upon Bilbo’s insistence).

“Now, the first thing you’ll want to do is find a proper…tool to fend off your attackers.” Nori began, looking quite pleased over his assigned role as he stood in front of a lined up Frodo, Sam, and Merry, who all looked eager and determined, like wee soldiers. “Despite stories you might hear of Dwarven-kings and oaken-shields, you won’t always be so lucky with naturally occurring resources like sticks or rocks. Your best option is to repurpose something that’s already been made into something else. If not an enemy’s dropped weapon, then another object you may think to be ordinary by definition of everyday use.”

Bilbo couldn’t help but agree with these wise words, somewhat surprised over Nori’s excellent opinions and his apparent teaching capabilities. It seemed he had learned much and done well serving in Erebor’s Army as a ‘specially skilled’ consultant in the years since the Battle. And if there were ever a place to do this type of training exercise, it was Beorn’s house for it was home to many a useful yet everyday object, from giant gardening tools to cleaning supplies to cooking utensils.

“We’ve already gone over how your greatest assets are your speed and size,” Nori continued. “you’ll want to use those to keep your distance from your attacker to give yourselves time to look for a proper tool. Not too much time, but enough to make an informed decision over what you should grab.

“Now, I’m going to send these nasty ‘Goblins’ after you,” Nori informed the hobbits with a thumb-jab in the direction of Bofur, Glóin, and Ori. “when they make their approach, I want you to evade the attack and gain some distance. They’ll strike again soon after and your job before that is to find an item, get to it, and use it to block the attack. Any questions?”

All the hobbits remained silent, looking determined and eager as ever. Nori smiled. “Good. Now, who’d like to go first?” he asked.

Before either of the other boys could even open their mouths to speak, Merry’s hand shot up to the sky and he insisted, “Me! Me, me, me!” with a wide, excited grin.

“Atta, boy.” Nori praised with a wide smile of his own. “Ori, why don’t you give our lad here an opponent worthy of his fightin’ spirit?” he requested with a look to his younger brother.

Ori stepped forward, gripping his thick branch tightly, looking quite nervous. “Are you sure about this, Nori? This seems a bit extreme for their first go...” he remarked in the direction of the other dwarf.

“This was the tamest of my ideas, little brother.” Nori informed. “If young Master Merry innit up for it, he can stop at any time. He just has to say the word.”

“I’m good to go.” Merry insisted as he took a firm stance. “Of course, if you’re feeling too chicken, Mr. Ori, I can always practice with somebody else.” he offered with a raised brow and cocksure grin that reminded everyone a little too much of a certain, not-present Dwarven-prince.

While the older hobbits looked unimpressed by Merry’s (over)confidence, Pippin giggled and looked quite awed and the dwarves all ‘oo’d at the lad’s fighting words.

Ori’s face scrunched up into a slight pout and his grip on the branch tightened. “Very well, Master Merry. I look forward to the fight.”

“Training!“ Bilbo called out.

“Oh, yes! Right. To the training.” Ori corrected, as if he had forgotten.

The other hobbits and Nori cleared the area as Merry and Ori faced one another in quite the stand off.

“Alright, everyone at the ready,” Nori started, lifting one arm into the air. He brought it down in a fist and called, “now, charge!”

Despite the instructions to wait to be attacked, Merry ended up charging at Ori upon Nori’s call. Not letting this development deter him, Ori widened his stance and lifted his arms above his head, making to bring the stick down on top of the hobbit with probably a little too much gusto but it appeared Bilbo had to worry not. Before Ori could even move his arms downwards, Merry had dove into a roll and went straight through Ori’s opened legs, landing on the other side in a crouch before he stood up and dashed to the side of the clearing.

“A skillful maneuver. It shows well practiced ease.” Tauriel observed to Bilbo as she stepped closer to the oldest hobbit. “He’s quite spirited.” she noted with a soft yet calculating look to the boy.

“Yes, well, Merry has always been maybe a little too enthusiastic when it comes to play.” Bilbo responded as he nervously chewed on a fingernail.

The dwarves all cheered over the spectacle, as surprised by the action as Ori himself was. By the time he had turned around to face Merry, the lad had already gotten ahold of his tool of choice.

“An interestin’ choice, Master Merry!” Nori noted as he looked to the lad’s makeshift weapon; a fishing pole. It was made to Beorn’s scale so it resembled a lance much more than a simple rod and wire. “You can keep a great deal of distance between you and the enemy with that.”

“Yes, or I could do this!” Merry said before he dropped to the ground and set to work. He had enough experience with a Hobbit-sized pole that he was familiar with all the bits and pieces. He undid the locking mechanism so he didn’t have to worry about trying to traditionally cast the over-sized object. With the line now free, he quickly unfurled it so that he had use of the hook and wire.

Ori had been so fascinated by what the lad was doing that he had completely forgotten he was supposed to be stopping the hobbit. By the time he had realized however, it was already too late. Just as Ori made to step forward, Merry twirled the line above his head in a fashion that reminded the dwarf of his brother’s bola before the young hobbit threw the line. It flew through the air with a startling accuracy and the hook caught onto the laces of Ori’s lifted boot. Merry then quickly returned to the pole and locked the line into place and then began to pull with all his might, causing the dwarf to lose his balance and topple over. He fell onto his back with a startled cry.

The dwarves all erupted into boisterous laughs and hearty cheers of praise, delightfully blown away by the action. Sam’s eyes widened comically and he held a hand to his mouth, as if to contain his laughter. Frodo however, acted with less restraint and his laugh left his throat before he could stop it. He worked quickly to muffle his chortles but it was too late to spare Ori the embarrassment. However no one had quite a reaction like Pippin, who erupted into a cacophony of cheers and laughter as he clapped rapidly in praise. The boy even got Beorn to clap along, the skin-changer looking quite amused at the downed dwarf.

“Yes, yes that’s all very good and impressive,” Bilbo started, causing his companions to quiet their raucous voices. “but last I checked, Goblins don’t wear laces.”

Merry rolled his eyes. “There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” he huffed out as he lazily leant on the fishing pole as if it were a walking stick.

“In any case, you’re very quick on your feet, Merry!” Nori complimented as he made his way over and helped his brother to his feet.

Ori looked rather embarrassed as he straightened up but couldn’t hide his own impressed look. “It was a rather good move. I wasn’t expecting it. For you to go between my legs or to cast the line.” he clarified as he pat the dirt off his clothes.

Merry gave a rather smug smirk. “Thank you.” he responded shortly but his pleased look betrayed his false indifference.

“Overall, excellent rapid thinkin’ and use of already known resources.” Nori noted. “It wasn’t your first time using such a device, was it?”

“No, siree.” Merry confirmed with a grin, smug look still in place. “I’ve spent a lot of time fishing on the Brandywine River. In fact, I grew up on it.”

“I’ve heard many tales of folk who live near the water being quite hardened and adapting.” Ori mentioned. “I think it clearly apparent in your skill.” he said with a smile.

Merry then beamed at him, a refreshing sight for everyone, and Bilbo felt his ire with the entire training situation lessen; it’s been ages since he’s seen Merry look this at ease, this happy and carefree as someone his age should be. It was a refreshing sight for the dwarves and other hobbits as well, for it was the most cheery they had seen Merry act on this journey. This cocky and overzealous attitude was much closer to that of the young future-Master of Buckland they all knew and loved.

“A tough act to follow but it must be done.” Nori announced with a few last pats of praise to Merry’s shoulder before he shouted out, “Master Sam! Bofur! You’re up.”

Sam startled when he was directed to and gave a gulp, yet he made his way to the center of the gathering. Merry clamped him on the back as he passed by. “Try not to trip over your own feet, hm?” he teased slyly. Sam then gained a comical expression, as if he had forgotten the fact that he was accident-prone under pressure and just remembered.

Merry snickered the whole time on his way over to where Bilbo, Frodo, Balin, and Óin sat. Once he joined them on the ground, Bilbo cuffed him over the head.

“Ow!” Merry cried out, rubbing the spot that was just hit even though it didn’t hurt much. “What was that for?”

“You know perfectly well what for.” Bilbo simply responded, not even paying the boy any attention as he worriedly fixed his eyes on Sam and Bofur as they readied for their bit of training.

From his spot close by, Frodo gave his cousin an amused look. “Nice try, Merry. But I don’t think that Sam will so easily fall for your tricks. Just look how competitive he is in games.” he reminded, before leaning back and looking to the young hobbit and dwarf in front of them. “Yes, I think our Sam will pleasantly surprise us all.”

And of course, Frodo ended up being correct in his assumption.

At Nori’s call to action, Sam remained stiff as a board, seemingly frightened in fear as Merry had expected. However, as Bofur approached closer, Sam seemed to finally snap out of his daze and hurriedly backed away just as Bofur’s stick thwacked against the ground his feet had previously been. Also as Merry had predicted, Sam did indeed trip over his own feet in his scramble backwards, landing on his back with a soft ‘oof’.

“Hah! I knew it!” Merry exclaimed in a laugh. Bilbo promptly tugged on the lad’s ear as punishment, much to Merry’s annoyance.

As Bofur readied to bring his stick down again, Sam’s eyes widened and he scrambled to back away. Just as the stick came down, Sam rolled to his left and quickly got to his feet.

As Bofur recovered from missing his mark - the lad was far quicker than he had anticipated - Sam looked all around himself for something to grab. Finally, he made his decision and dashed to the campfire. Bofur was in hot pursuit the entire time and just as he reached Sam, the boy had turned around and kept the dwarf’s stick from crashing down by using a frying pan to block the blow.

“A shield!” Nori called out, sounding impressed. “Excellent choice!”

“Would that make you ‘Samwise Fryingshield?’” Merry questioned, sounding contemplative, earning a laugh from the dwarves, especially Balin and Kíli.

“‘Panshield,’ perhaps?” Frodo suggested, a cheeky look gracing his own face. “Or maybe ‘Ironshield’ sounds more noble?”

“‘Baconshield!’” Pippin offered in an exclamation. From his side, Kíli nodded enthusiastically in approval.

“I like that one.“ Merry called in agreeance with a grin to his younger cousin.

“Sam made not a peep when it was your turn.” Bilbo pointed out to Merry, looking instantly wearied upon remembering that the lad’s good mood almost always lead to a headache for grown ups.

Sam seemed to be in quite a serious state of mind however, as he ignored everyone’s comments and solely focused on keeping Bofur at bay. Due to the fact that the dwarf was using significantly less force than he usually would and the fact that Sam was already quite strong, he was able to thwack Bofur’s swings away as wood noisily met iron.

Upon receiving cheers and words of encouragement from the dwarves and hobbits on the sidelines, Sam mustered up all his strength and gave a loud battle cry as he went out to meet Bofur’s swing with one of his own. Bofur didn’t expect for the lad to suddenly go on the offensive so he was unprepared for the counter-swing. The impact was significant enough that Bofur’s grip on his branch slackened just enough to be knocked from his grip entirely.

Everyone erupted into shocked, delighted cheers once more, except for Bofur and Sam, who both looked positively stunned at what just occurred.

Bofur looked to his empty hand, still feeling the after effects of their ‘weapons’ meeting blows. “By my beard, boyo.” the dwarf breathed out with a pleasantly surprised grin. “You deal blows that could match Mahal’s own hammer strikes!” he praised.

Sam blushed furiously. “T-Thank you, sir.” he stuttered out.

“That’s our Sam!” Frodo called out. “Always a hard worker.”

“It would seem so.” Nori agreed as he stepped forward once more and placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “All the hard work you do for our Burglar seems to be payin’ off. I look forward to seeing what your strength will one day become. You also did an excellent job in defendin’ yourself,” Nori continued. “but even more commendable is that you realized you couldn’t keep blockin’ Bofur’s blows forever so you switched to offensive tactics. Excellent dual use of a weapon and strategic thinkin’.” he finished.

Sam held his clammy hands to his face as if that could soothe the heat radiating from it. Despite his obvious embarrassment, he looked quite happy as he timidly met the dwarf’s gaze. “T-Thank you, sir.” he stuttered out.

“Don’t thank, m’lad. It’s earned.” Nori responded as he gave a firm pat to the lad’s shoulder before sending him on his way.

As a way to hide his growing, bashful smile, Sam lowered his head and shuffled over to the others, earning a fond look from Frodo and Bilbo as well as a few teasing compliments from Merry and loud clapping from Beorn and Pippin from their spot next to Kíli a few feet away.

Bilbo reached out and ran his hand through Sam’s straw-colored hair, causing the boy to embarrassingly hunched his shoulders but not pull away, enjoying the attention. Bilbo was just glad that they had reached the point in their relationship where Sam no longer shied away from his touch.

“Well done, Sam.” Bilbo complimented. “But please don’t go charging at any Goblins now thinking you can match strengths.”

Sam looked to Bilbo with a pointed look, as if appalled the older hobbit would even accuse him of such a thing. “I wouldn’t dare, Mr. Bilbo.” the boy assured.

“Yes, yes, of course you wouldn’t.” Bilbo laughed, giving the boy’s soft hair a ruffle. “It’s others I have to worry about...” he said flatly as he looked to his side.

“What?” Merry asked affrontedly, putting on an innocent facade. He crossed his arms over his chest, squaring his shoulders while he avoided Bilbo’s stare. “I have no idea what you mean.”

Bilbo hummed noncommittally and turned his attention to another one of his problems as Frodo stood in the center of the gathering of Dwarves, Hobbits, Elf, and Skin-changer.

“Now Master Frodo, I’m sure you know how this goes by now.” Nori started. “Glóin here will charge when I give the call.” he reminded as he gestured to the large dwarf.

It was then at that moment that Nori’s intentions became clear to Bilbo. Nori had saved Glóin, arguably the strongest dwarf amongst their present company, for Frodo because he was the only hobbit who was expected to utilize the skills learned in these trainings. Since Frodo was considered to be of age for Hobbits, his training needed to be a little more serious as he would be expected to keep the lads safe if ever Bilbo or the others weren’t around to do so. Glóin would still be using a thick branch as opposed to an actual weapon for this exercise but that was because this was only the start. Though the thought made Bilbo feel quite sick with worry, he knew it was a very real possibility that Frodo very well may end up being the only hobbit who is taught how to wield an actual weapon by the time their days of rest and training at Beorn’s came to an end.

Frodo gave a determined nod, looking excited but serious as he straightened his posture and widened his stance, preparing himself for whatever may come. “I’m ready at your call, Master Nori.” he announced before turning to his opponent. “And I would appreciate if you didn’t hold anything back, Master Glóin.”

“And I would appreciate it if you did!” Bilbo called out again.

“Of course, Master Baggins.” Glóin answered but no one could tell who he was actually answering until he turned back to Frodo and gave a wink.

Bilbo heaved a sigh and held his head in his hands, knowing that whatever was about to unfold would be stress enducing. And it was.

Frodo had chosen to start a few good paces away from Glóin, like Sam did when it was his turn, however like Merry, he also wasted no time in acting. The moment Glóin charged at him, Frodo began running towards him as well. When the time came to dodge Glóin’s strike, Frodo did so nimbly and quite elegantly, turning away from the blow before it could meet the air he had previously occupied, all while still keeping his feet about him.

Glóin was momentarily taken aback by just how quick a Hobbit could be, however he didn’t let this stall his attacks. As Frodo took off to the left, Glóin quickly followed him as fast as he could, surprised to discover he actually had to use some energy if he wanted to keep up with the boy.

Frodo had made his way over to the chestnut tree and used it as a barrier to keep Glóin away. The young hobbit had a wide grin on his face as he rapidly switched from one side of the tree trunk to the other, keeping out of reach of Glóin’s grabbing hand and thwacking stick, seemingly toying with the dwarf.

“Usin’ the landscape to keep the enemy at bay. Confusin’ them. Toyin’ with them. All good tactics.” Nori mused as he thoughtfully tugged on his beard with a grin at the young hobbit’s confidence and skill.

“Tag with Frodo is awful when you’re ‘it.’” Merry revealed. Though his comment was said with a tone of annoyance that could only be present from experience, he watched his cousin’s actions with a look of admiration.

“You know, Hobbit games have more practical use than you think, Bilbo.” Balin said as he watched the situation unfold with his own amused look to the scene in front of them. “They apparently teach you some useful skills that many Dwarves lack, I think. Stealth, dexterity, quickness…With a battalion of Hobbits, Erebor’s Army would be unmatched. All of Middle-earth would tremble in fear.” he jested with a look to Sam and Merry who couldn’t help their laughs.

Bilbo simply hummed in response, too engrossed in the action transpiring before them to give a proper reply to such nonsense.

He knew Frodo wouldn’t use evasive tactics forever. He was toying with Glóin, building up to something. What exactly, Bilbo didn’t know, but he just knew he wasn’t going to like it. And of course, Bilbo was right again.

Glóin had just about enough of Frodo’s antics and finally timed the boy’s movements enough to be able to reach a side of the tree before Frodo himself did. However, instead of running directly into Glóin’s reach as was planned, Glóin nearly jumped out of his boots when he had to block an incoming blow from a weapon Frodo now suddenly wielded. The dwarf reacted fast enough to just block the attack, Frodo’s sword embedding itself into his branch.

Bilbo’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “I-Is that… When did… What?” he spluttered as he looked to his side, only to notice that Sting was now missing from its sheath. He turned back to Frodo to confirm and indeed, that was Sting that the lad was currently yanking out of Glóin’s branch. “When did you nab Sting?!” Bilbo cried out, completely flabbergasted that the boy had even done such a thing and apparently, without his noticing.

At this point, Frodo had successfully removed the blade from the branch and backed away from Glóin, giving himself some distance as he held the sword out threateningly, looking elated over the praise the other dwarves were giving him as well as his uncle’s reaction.

“What?” Frodo asked as he turned to Bilbo with a cheeky look, managing to also block another strike from Glóin. “You didn’t think I sat by you after Master Nori’s briefing to keep you company, did you?”

Bilbo rubbed his eyes tiredly, giving a groan. “Of course. My mistake.” he droned sardonically.

“Hey! He can’t use an actual sword. That was against the rules.” Merry stated, looking quite crossed.

“No,” Frodo started as he backed away from Glóin once more, blocking another strike. “the rules were to use any tool that was in the area and that the children weren’t allowed to use weapons. If I properly recall, I’m thirty-three.” he reminded with smirk in his cousin’s direction who in return merely pouted, unable to argue.

“Then I really wish you’d start acting like it…” Bilbo lamented as he once again held his head in his hands.

Frodo simply laughed but returned his focus to fending off Glóin, who was now starting to use a little more force now that he knew what kind of opponent he was up against. However, the dwarf wasn’t the only one to notice Frodo’s skill with the weapon.

“Impressive form, Frodo.” Tauriel commented, an amused and impressed look upon her face. “Your movements are a bit unrefined but you hold the sword with such well-balanced ease. It shows practice and dedication.”

“Thank you, Miss Tauriel.” Frodo responded as he evaded another jab, smile somehow growing.

“When did you even practice using a sword?” Bilbo questioned, utterly baffled.

“I’d borrow Sting and practice in the cellar back at Bag End all the time.” the young hobbit revealed as he blocked another of Glóin’s attacks.

“That’s what you were doing in there?” Bilbo said incredulously.

Frodo laughed. “What did you think I was doing?”

“I don’t know, guzzling the wine? Like any normal tween would do? Not swordplay…” he sighed as he rubbed at his temples, as if to ease a headache.

It would seem Frodo let himself get a bit too distracted with teasing his uncle, as Glóin used the lad’s shifted focus to make a surprise change in his own tactics. His blows became much more powerful and relentless and Frodo struggled to block them all, ill-prepared for his opponent’s shift in strength.

“You do have some skill, young Master Baggins.” Glóin noted as he continued to advance on Frodo, the young hobbit backing away and blocking the attacks as best he could, but it was becoming quickly apparent that he was out-matched.

When Frodo next blocked a strike, Glóin used the opportunity to skillfully knock Sting out of his hands, causing the sword to go flying through the air and land a few feet away. Frodo barely had time to process the fact that he had lost his weapon since Glóin continued to send strikes toward the hobbit.

He backed away as best he could but Glóin was matching his pace and suddenly, Frodo tripped over something - a log or maybe his own feet - and fell onto his back, his breath knocked from his lungs. All he could do was stare up at the dwarf, astonished as the larger figure loomed over him.

“But for what you lack in skill,” Glóin continued as he stood over Frodo and prepared to bring his branch down in a jab. “you make up for in overconfidence.” he finished as he sent down his ‘killing’ blow. Frodo could only close his eyes and the other onlookers grimaced in sympathy.

However, Frodo waited for a blow that never came as instead of striking him, Glóin gave a shout of pain and jolted, dropping his stick in the process. The onlookers, as well as Frodo, were beyond confused for a moment, as clattering to the ground, along with Glóin’s fallen branch, was a large bucket. It was apparently still filled partially with a little rainwater, Frodo noted as he wiped a few droplets from his face, and when Glóin turned around to face the direction the attack had come from, his back was also dripping wet.

“A perfect shot!” Pippin exclaimed from a few paces away as he jumped up and down and spun around in excited victory, giggling madly as Kíli applauded him from his spot next to Beorn, where Pippin was, last anyone checked. If the lad’s exclamation didn’t lead them to the culprit, his soaked clothes were certainly incriminating evidence. It had to have been a momentous task for the lad to lift the bucket and throw it and it appeared he was unable to spare himself from getting a good soaking.

“Peregrin Took!” Bilbo shouted out. “You can’t just go throwing other people’s things! And especially at other people, for that matter.” he reprimanded, referring to Beorn’s poor bucket.

Pippin stopped his pep-filled dance of victory and looked to Bilbo, utterly confused. “But Mr. Bear said it was alright.” he informed, genuinely not understanding what he did wrong.

Despite his better judgement, Bilbo looked to Beorn for some sort of answer. When Bilbo faced him, the skin-changer was wearing a smile and nodded in confirmation, giving him a thumbs-up, a gesture the children had taught him, no doubt.

Bilbo rubbed at his temples once again. He supposed he knew where the vinegar for conkers came from now as well…

Before Glóin could comment on any of the actions, he felt a pressure in his lower back. He turned around to see Frodo wielding his forgotten branch, holding it up ‘threateningly.’ If it were an actual sword or spear, Glóin would be in quite the predicament.

“My confidence isn’t exactly placed in myself, Master Glóin,” Frodo started, gently applying pressure to Glóin’s belly with the branch. “but rather, I have confidence in my friends.” he finished and before Glóin knew it, he felt twin grips on his boots and the world went reeling as he fell onto his back. Before he regained his breath, he had the light weights of two young hobbit lads atop him, Sam and Merry ‘holding’ him down.

Frodo then got to his feet and soon joined the Hobbit pile that Sam and Merry had formed atop of the dwarf, and Glóin and the rest of the Company erupted into hearty laughter. The fallen dwarf’s laughs were momentarily interrupted as Pippin joined his kin with a ceremonious flop, causing the dwarf to voice an ‘oof’ as he joined the pile, but Glóin’s laughter soon continued and he ruffled the curly heads of the lads atop him as they ruthlessly ‘attacked’ him.

Bilbo shook his head, feeling unbidden laughter bubble up from his throat once more as the familiar feeling of fondness for these lads and dwarves within him grew.

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” Balin started, struggling to reign in his own laughter and amusement. “I shudder to think of the day when Hobbits turn to the path of evil.”

“Yes, may Mahal have mercy on us all when that day comes!” Óin agreed.

“Oh, but can’t you see? It has already happened.” Tauriel noted as she looked upon the young ones with unabashed fondness. “Though it’s so subtle an evil that one can hardly notice. I don’t believe your Company of Dwarves will ever be regaining their hearts back, Master Balin. They are already bewitched beyond redemption.”

Balin and the rest of the Company couldn’t help but agree with this observation and found themselves not being all that bothered by it.

Chapter Text

Erebor had changed. Thorin had come to accept that it would never again be like it once was when he was a child and for many reasons, that was for the better.

Their mighty kingdom was once one of greed and for too long their avarice had been what doomed his people. That is why when he woke from his healing and his gold sickness had ended, Thorin decided (at Balin’s insistence), that it was best to spend their gold, as opposed to hoarding it. This way, the halls of Erebor could be restored to their former glory and the Men they bought from would in turn have money to rebuild their own kingdom, simultaneously establishing strong trading partners and restoring their homeland. And the treasure halls still had more than plenty of wealth to spare by the end of it.

The second, related major change Thorin brought to Erebor upon his coronation was to the relations they kept with other races. Firstly, Thorin set to improve the bond with the Men of the similarly-restoring Dale. Bard had always been very reasonable and rational, even when Thorin was at his worst so he knew that the man would be more open to an alliance than another king would be. King Bard was reluctant to establish the partnership at first but in the end, he knew that the Dwarves of Erebor would be powerful allies (and a strongly worded opinion from Gandalf and a sense of loyalty to the Hobbit, who was so openly fond of the dwarves, didn’t hurt either).

And though Thorin still shudders at the thought, even their relations with the Elves of Mirkwood had been improving ever since the rest of those twinkly, dainty jewels had been returned to their king by none other than Bilbo (who had taken them from the Mountain as part of his 14th share, to Thorin’s irritation). The memory of Thranduil’s overly pleased and smug expression when he had revealed to Thorin that the only reason he was accepting the dwarf’s begrudging apology and offer of an alliance was because of his gratitude to ‘his’ Hobbit, still soured his mood like nothing else in this world.

Thorin didn’t mind Bilbo’s taking of the jewels from the Treasury so much as he was angered that he had apparently paid a full-on visit to the Elven-king on his journey homeward when Thorin didn’t so much as get the chance to say a proper goodbye… The jewels were also reportedly the only treasure that Bilbo had taken as his payment and he had of course given them away, just as he did the Arkenstone. (Confound that creature. What did Thranduil ever do for him? Thorin would never understand how Bilbo constantly gave loyalty to those he owed nothing to…)

In the end, despite all their differences and recent issues, the leaders of the Kingdom of Dale, the Kingdom of Erebor, and the Woodland Realm had all signed what became known as the Tri-Kingdom Treaty and formed the first pledged alliance of Men, Dwarves, and Elves this age had seen.

If his forefathers knew just how much change Thorin had brought to Erebor, they’d all be rolling in their graves. However, Thorin had come to realize that he was his own dwarf. It took a long time (and a certain hobbit) for him to realize he need not carry the weight of his grandfather or father’s expectations along with that of his people. His forebearers were long gone and it was up to Thorin to lead his people into prosperity.

He was living in a world his grandfather never knew. A world where Elves, Men, and Dwarves could get along, could hold yearly meetings to discuss relations and even celebrate a shared holiday with one another. A world where an Elf and Dwarf could court one another with the blessings of their kin. A world where the smallest of people could leave the longest lasting, most significant of impacts on peoples he should have held no loyalty to but did anyway. A world where Thorin had interests in fields he never had before; relations, both political and personal.

Yes, things had certainly changed, Thorin mused as he worked on - yet again - some more tedious paperwork. The Party’s arrival to the Mountain was approaching and it was during this time that the true gravity and realization of the situation finally settled on Thorin.

He would soon see his - the Company’s - Hobbit again. It had been a few good years since they last had any correspondence whatsoever and Thorin couldn’t help but wonder how much the hobbit had changed, and not just physically. Six and a half years could be substantially more time to a Hobbit than it was to a Dwarf.

Had Bilbo grown too far apart from the Company to repair the divide that Thorin had caused? Was Bilbo only coming to them now out of desperation? Did he feel pressured to leave Rivendell for Erebor? Did he prefer to stay with the Elves? It was no secret that the hobbit had a great sense of fondness and appreciation for their culture. Would he resent Thorin for forcing him onto the road again, for forcing him and his young kinsmen into open danger? Would he be angry at Thorin for his lack of contact, for seemingly forgetting and abandoning him?

As Thorin’s thoughts grew needlessly paranoid, he felt paranoia of another kind; the prickling sensation of another’s eyes on him, seemingly scuitinazing his very thoughts. They were not the eyes of an enemy however, not in the common meaning at least. Thorin was in no danger, physically. However, it seemed he was about to come under an attack of a different kind.

It seemed that he could still count on some things to remain unchanged…

“Sister,” Thorin spoke up in a gruff voice, more so gaining the attention of the dwarrowdam rather than startling her. It took much to startle Dís and it seemed that today would be no exception to this standard. There was little change in the dwarrowdam’s position, for her grey eyes had been fixed on him ever since she decided to sit down with him after Thorin had lunch in his chambers’ study, yet again.

“Hm?” Dís queried with a seemingly uninterested hum, as if she was not the one to prompt this conversation with her insistent gaze.

“Is there a reason for your staring?” Thorin asked, sounding minorly annoyed. It had been going on for nearly twenty minutes after all.

“No, not particularly.” Dís responded without a care as she leaned forward on the table and rested her chin against a weak fist, appearing very relaxed. However prior experience had taught Thorin that Dís being relaxed meant to grow weary and alert.

The elder of the two raised an eyebrow at her but received no answer so he cautiously returned back to his paperwork. Moments passed without so much as a sigh from his sister and Thorin thought that perhaps just this once, Dís truly meant nothing by her staring? Perhaps he wasn’t the only dwarf who had ch―

“Although,” the younger started and Thorin felt his tense shoulders sag and brows furrow in annoyance. “there are a few matters I would like to speak of.” Dís remarked, tone falsely off-handed.

Thorin heaved a sigh, resigning himself to his fate and turned his full attention back to Dís. She was now sitting up in her chair but looked very calm and authoritative, letting Thorin know that he was about to be interrogated.

“Such as...?” Thorin prompted as he shrugged his shoulders, working the stiffness out of them. He had been held up in his study for too long.

Dís shifted in her seat as well, getting into a more comfortable position. Thorin did not have to look under the table to know that she had crossed one leg over her lap.

“Master Hobbit will be arriving soon.” she stated, more so than asked. “I heard that the Party has just been safely escorted through Mirkwood. King Thranduil has just finished hosting them.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Thorin nearly growled. He was sure the only reason the Elven-king decided to host the party of Dwarves and Hobbits was to irk Thorin (he ignored the familiar, Hobbity voice in his head that argued that Bilbo and Thranduil were friends of a sort, if the Elven-king was even capable of having any).

“Fíli tells me you’ve been running him ragged.” Dís then mentioned, seemingly changing the subject. “Constantly sending him to Dale and back to gather information and supplies… Dori, Bifur, and I can handle matters such as that, you know.” she reminded reproachfully.

“Yes, I know. But overseeing supply runs are part of his duties, to not only Erebor but to Bilbo’s Party as well. He can handle it, no matter how mundane of a task he may find it.” Thorin noted as he turned his attention back to his papers once more.

His growing annoyance with his older nephew and heir’s blatant lack of interest in his assigned duties (that didn’t regard Hobbits) was a common discussion amongst the dwarves. Fíli often had issues with taking orders he found boring, for lack of a better word. Both of his sister-sons had always possessed the attention spans of sparrows but Thorin had always believed Fíli to be the most rational, more responsible of the two. That isn’t to say that he does not love his sister-sons. He does so dearly, as if they were his own, especially since they lost their father so young and he became the one that they looked to for the guidance that their mother alone simply couldn’t provide.

However it seemed that they were both running away from their duties to Erebor in recent years and it bothered Thorin to no end. They had risked their lives for this kingdom and they certainly loved it and wouldn’t change a thing about the journey or regret the risks they took, however the pressure was slowly waning on them. They were flippant with most of their duties - not all - but most, which was unacceptable.

Kíli, being the younger of the two, was under less pressure from Thorin to meet the expectations that were set for him, however there were some things that were demanded of a Prince of Erebor that simply couldn’t be ignored like diligently attending strategy and finance meetings, that the young dwarf just despised. As soon as Balin announced he was heading to Khazad-dûm along with any dwarf willing to spare their efforts (and quite possibly their lives), Kíli had jumped right aboard and Thorin had a large suspicion that it was a form of escape from him. He couldn’t keep his nephew from leaving, in fact, he begrudgingly approved of it. A year or two (mostly) alone would do Kíli some good and would maybe change his overall flippant attitude.

Sadly, Thorin couldn’t spare the same expense for his eldest sister-son. Fíli was the next-in-line for the throne and therefore had more of a responsibility to the kingdom. This of course put Fíli in a generally unmanageable mood more often than not and left somewhat of a rift in their relationship.

“Oh, yes I know.” Dís assured, drawing Thorin from his thoughts. Slowly she tilted her head ever so slightly, looking at her brother intensely, calculatingly. “Though I’m not quite sure why it’s the duty of the King’s Heir to learn more about Hobbits’ traditions and… habits.” she posed vaguely yet still strangely on point.

Thorin took a slight pause, but Dís’ keen eyes caught it and her lips twitched.

“Oh, but you’re only trying to be a gracious host.” she sustained. “Mustn’t let King Thranduil best us.”

Thorin shook his head, trying to return to his writing. “No, we mustn’t.”

“I heard some of our guests will be children?” she queried, though Thorin was sure she had to have known by now.

“Yes. That is what Gandalf said.” Thorin affirmed. He was still unsure of how he felt about that fact. For one, everyone at the Mountain was practically buzzing with excitement over the arrival of children (and Thorin himself had to admit, he was quite curious to see a hobbitling, for reasons he didn’t quite understand) but mostly it just made him more anxious for Bilbo’s arrival. The road is no place for children, especially when they have such dangerous enemies pursuing them. Not until they were all safe in Erebor could Thorin truly begin to relax.

“They should bring much merriment to the Mountain. I heard Hobbits are quite merry creatures.” Dís pondered with a smile. When she next spoke, she was not looking at Thorin, but carefully observing her nails, picking a few clumps of dirt out from underneath them. “I’ve also heard that they’re quite fond of life’s…pleasantries.” she added strangely.

Thorin’s eyebrows furrowed. He looked up from his papers once more. “What?” he all-but grunted.

“One of the boys’ names is Baggins, correct? Must be a relation there. A child perhaps?” Dís inquired, seeming to have not sensed her brother’s annoyance. “I did not know Master Hobbit had a spouse…”

“He does not.” Thorin supplied, probably a little too hastily.

Dís once more tilted her head ever so slightly. “Oh? But there must be a relation there. A love child perhaps?” she posed with a quirked lip.

“What? No.” Thorin quickly denied. Then he paused before continuing with, “At least, I do not think so. Bilbo never made any mention of a…” he paused as he searched for the word. He felt his face heat annoyingly when he thought of it. “a lover or anything of the sort.” he finished, tone probably a bit too testy.

Bilbo never discussed matters that personal with any of them, least of all Thorin. However, he’d like to think that at least one of the Company would have noticed or known if the hobbit had a companion of that sort. Bilbo lived in a large home and as far as he knew, alone. As for any signs of a visiting lover or a companion’s presence, Thorin and the others would’ve had no idea what to look for. Since the whole design of the house was odd to them, they wouldn’t have been able to determine if something was more feminine in make. Of course, this type of speculation was all moot anyway, considering that Bilbo was extremely neat and fussy on his own. What more narrow minded people would think to be the signs of a female’s presence - a clean house, a well decorated home, a filled pantry, and a well lived-in kitchen - where just a result of the hobbit’s quirks. Or Durin forbid, Bilbo had taken a male lover. The signs of his hypothetical presence would have been even less distinguishable from Bilbo’s own.

But of course, he and his sister were arguing if one of the hobbits was Bilbo’s son, so Thorin was confused as to why he was trying so hard to definitively say that Bilbo had no lover, male or female.

As Thorin contemplated this, Dís merely nodded her head and also said nothing for a moment. When she spoke up once more, she persisted in a casual timbre, “Perhaps he had relations once he returned home? It’s good that he was able to move on after so much—”

“He’s not Bilbo’s son.” Thorin interrupted.

The dwarrowdam feigned surprise once more. “Hmm?”

“The boy. He’s not the Hobbit’s son.” Thorin elaborated, mind finally clear enough to piece the information together to reach a conclusion. “Gandalf informed us that the youngest of the children is nine. The one who shares the name Baggins is the oldest at thirty-three.”

Dís stroked her beard. “Ah, I see. You’re certain that he had no relations before he accompanied you, then?”

“No, at least none that I know of.” he firmly stated. “Why are you so interested in his relations?” Thorin then pressed, highly suspicious and perhaps too defensive.

“Why are you so hostile about them?” Dís returned without hesitation, easily picking up on her brother’s thoughts. She leaned forward across the table, unflinchingly meeting Thorin’s hard stare. There was quite a great deal of distance between brother and sister, but Thorin still moved back in his seat as she leaned forward. She was one of the only beings alive who could make the King Beneath the Mountain feel confronted.

“What is this really about, sister?” Thorin huffed.

“I think you know, brother.” Dís huffed right back.

Before Thorin could respond, there came a great knocking on the chamber doors. Which was minorly annoying but mostly slightly alarming since he had given explicit instructions not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. In the days before Bilbo’s arrival, there was much to prepare and Thorin had admittedly been assigning maybe a little too much work to himself and others in order to push his worries to the back of his mind. The short respite that his sister forced him into had been welcomed. Not that he’d ever admit so.

Since she was sitting closer than he was, Dís got up and opened the door before Thorin could make an attempt, which was also annoying.

“Yes, what is it?” Dís asked once she had opened the door to a disheveled and sweaty looking messenger boy. “The King had given strict orders to not be disturbed.” she lightly scolded, knowing how much her brother needed to relax but mostly irritated at having their conversation interrupted.

“I-I know, your Highness.” the message boy stuttered out in a low bow. “But there are visitors awaiting your conference.”

“He has nothing scheduled for today.” Dís argued once more, knowing so because she was the one who had made certain of it.

“I-I know, my Lady. They have only just arrived. He says i-it’s...it’s urgent.” the messenger continued.

“Who said?” Thorin asked as he approached, the messenger giving another low bow upon the king’s arrival in the doorway.

“I-It’s King Bard, y-your Majesty.” the boy revealed, nervousness only worsening upon the king’s appearance. “He comes with few men. A-And one of his daughters, I believe. They request a private conference.”

“You can tell the Man-king that King Thorin shan’t be taking visitors, at present.” Dís ordered before Thorin could speak up once more. “And if he wants to have a conference, he best schedule one.”

“B-But he says it’s urgent, my Lady.” the messenger implored. “O-Of the highest importance.” he added.

“And I would say our good King’s health is of the highest importance as well, wouldn’t you agree?” Dís countered as she began to shoo the messenger out the door, ignoring her brother’s obvious ire at her meddling.

“Dís,” Thorin warned firmly, already shrugging into his cloak and placing his crown back onto his brow, needing to maintain a certain image in the presence of visitors. Dís huffed but placed her own robe back on. As he adjusted his collar, Thorin asked, “Did King Bard say what the emergency was?”

“N-No, your Majesty.” the messenger said before pausing. “Just that he requires your presence immediately. And Prince Fíli’s.”

“Fíli?” Dís repeated. She could only hope that her son hadn’t done anything too stupid. (She had heard a strange rumor when she was last in Dale that one of Erebor’s princes and one of Dale’s princesses were caught sneaking off to an alleyway together. If that was the case, King Bard would be the least of her son’s worries. He was in for a right thrashing if he had done anything truly foolish, fully grown adult or no).

“Yes, your Highness.” the messenger confirmed. Then he paused, as if remembering something. “Actually, he did say why. S-Sorry I had forgotten it for a moment… He had said it regarded visitors?” he informed. Thorin and Dís both froze momentarily but the messenger didn’t seem to notice. “I thought it was quite queer that he said that. I had no idea what visitors he’d be referring to...” the messenger noted with a small laugh before the sound died in his throat as the King and Lady had suddenly crowded him, frighteningly intense looks upon their faces.

“He said it was an emergency regarding visitors?” Thorin pressed, suddenly completely ready to leave the room and ushering the messenger and his sister out of the chambers speedily.

“Y-Y-Yes, your M-Majesty.” the poor young dwarf stammered out as he was all-but pushed from the doorway.

“Take us to King Bard.” Thorin ordered as he already began to outpace both the messenger and his sister.

“O-Of co-course, your Majesty.” the messenger agreed, struggling to keep up with the king as he strode away with intense purpose.

After catching up, the messenger had led Thorin and Dís to one of the private conference rooms and then left, the sound of the doors closing shut echoing behind him.

When Thorin and Dís entered the room, Fíli was already waiting for them inside along with Bard and who Thorin recognized to be his youngest daughter. The girl was sitting in one of the table’s chairs, looking a right mess, face distraught. She was clearly near tears for some reason. Upon Thorin’s entrance, she stood up, looking a little ill as she averted her eyes from the king. Fíli was at her side looking concerned and confused, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze either. Upon his mother and uncle’s arrival, he bowed his head to them in short greeting. Behind the two, Bard was pacing back and forth but upon the other dwarves’ arrival, he had ceased.

“King Bard,” Thorin greeted with a polite nod to the man before turning to the young girl standing stiffly, shoulders hunched and hands clenched tight in the fabric of her gown. “Princess Tilda.” he greeted once more, tone conveying surprise at the girl’s presence as well as her general disposition.

“King Thorin. Lady Dís.” Bard returned, giving his own nod in place of a bow. After Thorin made his way to the largest, most ornate chair intended for him, the others and Bard sat as well. The man then cut to the chase, “I apologize for the sudden visit and the obscurity regarding it but I figured you’d appreciate some secrecy and haste in this matter.”

“We do.” Dís confirmed for both her brother and herself. “What brings you here, King Bard?” she questioned without further delay.

“My daughter has something she would like to say to you, Thorin.” Bard revealed, looking to his daughter with a reproving frown, which was quite strange. The man was a loving father and had known to be firm when the time came for it, however Thorin had never seen him look at one of his children with such distinct harshness. Thorin and the other dwarves stared at the girl curiously but her gaze remained fixed to her lap. “Tilda,” Bard prompted tightly when the girl made no move or sound of her own.

Suddenly, the tears that were threatening to overwhelm the girl throughout this exchange finally did. Tilda then rushed to Thorin’s seat and got to her knees, keeping her head down as she gripped an arm of the king’s chair with white knuckles. The dwarves looked at her in bafflement.

“K-King T-Thorin,” Tilda uttered through tears, struggling and failing to keep them at bay. “a few weeks ago, Lady Dís and...P-Prince Fíli arrived in Dale on business.” she began, her tears still freely flowing but her voice doing a better job of keeping her words decipherable. “I-I had gathered t-that...that the Dwarves were preparing to host visitors at the Mountain. My father would neither confirm nor deny these suspicions and I-I...I was frustrated that he would not tell me what was happening. S-So when a group of your people arrived in the city for a supply run, I-I...I forced Fíli into telling me what was happening.”

At this, everyone looked to Fíli as realization slowly dawned on the young dwarf and he stiffened. Upon his mother and uncle’s shocked and disapproving stares, he looked away properly chastised, looking sheepish.

As if she could sense where their gazes laid, Tilda finally looked up to meet Thorin’s eyes. “O-Oh, but p-please do not blame him! He did not want to tell me, he knew he shouldn’t but I pressured him! I made him tell and it was wrong of me. I am truly, deeply sorry, King Thorin. I am sorry I forced him to tell your secrets.”

Thorin reached down and wiped a few dripping tears from the girl’s chin with his sleeve. “Come now, it’s alright. Do not spill tears over this matter.” Thorin said (in recent years, he had been working on his tact, as Balin liked to call it). Everything had made sense suddenly. Fíli had apparently told the girl about Bilbo’s arrival. “While I’m sure you made quite compelling points, Fíli should have known better to not have told you. You are not at fault. And I commend your father for showing his true trustworthiness by keeping this secret from even his blood. Maybe I should’ve done the same.” he added and Fíli flinched.

Tilda sensed the scathing remark and shook her head wildly. “Oh, but you mustn’t blame Fíli!” the girl cried. “I forced him to say and even so I guessed most on my own and he only confirmed what he felt comfortable with!”

“I understand. Please stop your tears. This matter isn’t worth them.” Thorin tried to kindly placate, offering a hand and leading the girl off of the ground once she had accepted the assistance.

“Thank you, King Thorin but Fíli did try to avoid telling me things!” she insisted. “He made sure we weren’t overheard… H-He...h-he tried to make sure we weren’t… It was my fault that we...that we…” she trailed, tears returning full force and stopping her words.

Thorin and the rest of the dwarves paled. “‘Tried to’?” he repeated, suddenly grave.

The girl nodded but couldn’t get herself to speak, covering her face with her hands. Thorin looked to Bard, expression severe.

“Apparently one of her guardsman overheard.” Bard revealed. “I thought him to be trustworthy and it is at this point where I must extend my own apologies to you. He was revealed to be traitorous, apparently selling the secrets he had learned whilst we employed him. To think that I let him near my—” he started but seemed to cut himself off, not allowing himself to finish the thought. “We planned an arrest but before we could act, he left town, but not before selling his stolen secrets, I’m afraid.” he informed gravely.

Thorin felt ill. He turned to Fíli, who looked equally as sickened at himself and the possible consequences of his actions. “What did you tell?” Thorin demanded in a scathing tone.

“I-I—“ Fíli began, looking more out of sorts than anyone had seen him in a long while.

“That a group of refugees are journeying to Erebor from the West and that they will be arriving near the month’s end.” Bard informed instead. “And that the King of the Lonely Mountain is indebted to the ‘small fellow’ leading the group.”

Thorin felt a mix of fury and panic build up inside him but before he could voice anything, Bard continued speaking and shared some disturbing news.

“And I have received word from my forces that they have spotted bands of Goblins in our lands.”

“Master Baggins is due any day now...” Dís voiced, Thorin’s own terror reflected in her voice and widened eyes as she realized how close to danger the Party was. So close to the end of their journey and their level of danger had just increased tenfold.

“I have my men on the lookout. If they spot Bilbo’s traveling party they are to safely escort them here.” Bard assured.

“With all due respect, King Bard,” Thorin spat. “your men have done enough damage.” he finished as he stood from his seat.

“Thorin,” Dís scolded but her brother ignored her.

Thorin strode to the grand sound-proof doors of the conference room and threw them opening, shouting for a guard. It was Dwalin who answered his call, as he had been lingering outside ever since he saw the party of humans arrive.

“Dwalin,” Thorin greeted his friend shortly. “gather the Company and any other forces ready to fight. We’re to leave at once and meet our visitors instead of waiting for them.” he briefed, face conveying his seriousness over the matter. Then more quietly, he added, “The Party’s in danger. Prepare for a fight.”

Dwalin could sense this matter was indeed serious and not just his friend and king being overprotective. “We’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” he assured.

“Make it ten.” Thorin ordered.

Dwalin nodded. “Aye.” he agreed, not arguing as he quickly left to do what was commanded of him, his own worry for the Party coming across in the severity and austerity of his shouted orders.

“Thank you for informing us of this matter, Bard.” Thorin thanked hastily in a flat tone from just outside the room. “But I’m afraid I must leave now.”

“Of course.” Bard returned. He by no means agreed with Thorin’s refusal of his help but would undoubtedly send his men to assist the Party anyway after Thorin had left. He would most likely go himself.

“Dís, you’re in charge of things until I return.” Thorin informed and Dís nodded. He then added, “Keep an eye on your son, would you?”

“What?” Fíli questioned indignantly as he made his way to Thorin and tried to exit the room and join his uncle. Thorin gestured to the guards at the door and they promptly blocked Fíli from leaving the doorway by crossing their weapons in front of it.

“See to it that he does not leave the Mountain.” Thorin simultaneously ordered his sister and guards.

“But Thorin—” Fíli began but his uncle promptly cut off his words with a harsh glare and a raised hand.

“I am parting with those that I trust. Seeing as I can’t trust you to keep simple secrets, I can’t very well trust you on the battlefield now, can I?”

“Thorin…” Dís trailed, clearly denouncing her brother’s attitude. Thorin stopped her as well.

“My decision is final.” he stated firmly. Then he turned to Fíli, anger plainly present. “Maybe when I return you’ll have learned to take your responsibilities more seriously. And I would use this time alone to seek guidance from Mahal, for if anything happens to Bilbo or his kin, you can be assured that the consequences will be more severe than they already are.” he said with finality. That accusation promptly silenced any and all protests Fíli would have thought to express.

Before Thorin could fully leave the room to the armory, a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like the person he was on the way to go assist made him turn around. “And Princess Tilda,” he started. Said girl raised her head up from the ground, guilt still present on her face. “do not blame yourself for any of this. It is not your fault that others cannot keep their mouths shut.” he finished and with that, Thorin finally left.

Tilda felt her tears renew. “F-Fíli…” she began, looking positively wretched and guilt ridden.

Fíli smiled at her but it was one that did not reach his eyes. “Think nothing of it. It’s not your fault.” he assured honestly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. He then strode to the other side of the room and practically fell back in his seat near his mother, shoulders hunched and fists clenched in anger at his uncle but namely himself.

The implication that Fíli blamed himself only caused Tilda to somehow feel worse. Bard briefly placed a comforting hand of his own on her shoulder and gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before he too left the room, trusting his daughter in the hands of these capable dwarves. He was undoubtedly going in search of his men to begin their own preparations to leave.

Dís simply shook her head, knowing that her son had done wrong but disagreeing with Thorin’s punitive orders. However she couldn’t help understanding where the outrage and worry was coming from.

She also felt a small sense of satisfaction underneath her own overwhelming panic. All questions she could possibly have about her brother’s feelings for the Hobbit were answered in these past few tense and nerve-wracking moments.

She only hoped that Master Hobbit reached the Mountain safely so that they could all see those feelings acted upon.

Chapter Text

Bilbo had feared this. Things had been going too well for them. Safety was too close in reach. It was right in sight.

And by that, he really does mean right in sight. The Lonely Mountain loomed over the landscape of the cold Wilderland, a beacon to the Party as they neared closer to their destination. It stood just as Bilbo remembered, solitary and intimidating and magnificent all at once, even though the not-quite-in-ruin-anymore Dale stood right across from it.

Bilbo was filled with a sort of melancholic nostalgia as he thought of his time previously spent in these lands, times filled with both great delight and great despair. And though the bad moments tended to be the majority of his memories of his time out East, the good moments were still significant enough to outshine those dark moments, even if just for a while.

Upon first sighting, the Mountain’s presence elicited a certain fear within Bilbo, one different from his usual weariness brought on by thoughts of past tribulations and battles. It was also different from the constant dread he always held in these days of wandering, this time of homelessness and lonesomeness (for though he was surrounded by friends and his young kinsfolk, Bilbo couldn’t help but feel he was a Hobbit alone).

On this journey back East, Bilbo had come to realize that all his thoughts of Erebor - namely, future-based ones - stirred up a certain apprehensiveness within him that nearly felt akin to hesitancy. He hadn’t any contact with his dwarves that still resided within the Mountain for many years now and he had no idea how they’d react to his arrival. Obviously, they were welcoming because though he was a cynic, Bilbo highly doubted that the dwarves had the patience for a ruse of this length. Still, he couldn’t help feeling nervous, especially when he thought of the Mountain’s king. No doubt Thorin would still be crossed with Bilbo, for sneaking off back home without a proper goodbye and for what occurred before their parting.

Back on Ravenhill when Thorin spoke what he thought would be his last words, they had each forgiven one another for betraying the other’s trust, Bilbo for stealing the Arkenstone and Thorin for the whole nearly-throwing-him-off-a-cliff business. Yes, Bilbo had earned forgiveness - a king’s pardon, maybe - born as a sort of payment for his help in the Quest and Battle. During times when his mind was in a truly dark place, Bilbo often worried that this was what the hobbits’ stay in Erebor would be - a simple repayment for past services.

Such suspicions made it hard for Bilbo to gauge how he should react to the Dwarven-king when they finally reunited. Were he and Thorin friends once more or was Bilbo simply an old traveling companion to whom Thorin owed a debt? Thoughts like these had lingered heavily on Bilbo’s mind ever since the Party had left the company of the Mirkwood Elves.

The obvious tension between the Dwarves and Elves aside, it was a strangely...pleasant visit. After their stay at Beorn’s, the Party had reunited with Tauriel’s elves who led them through Mirkwood and to the safety of the heart of the Elven kingdom. They had apparently arrived in the midst of the Elves’ celebrations for one of their holidays, Mereth Nuin Giliath (‘The Feast of Starlight’, Kíli helpfully supplied) and it seemed the whole kingdom was in a jovial mood.

Spirits were high as they were welcomed into the kingdom and the Elven-king himself was also strangely pleasant, for lack of a better term. While he’d always show clear contempt for the Dwarves and they the same to him, Bilbo was shocked to see that they both seemed to have let the past remain in the past. Many snide comments were made but not a single fight was had, which was a major improvement. Bilbo had to admit, it went much more smoothly than his last visit to the forest with the dwarves.

Thranduil was a gracious host and took to the children surprisingly well. He would never show clear surprise on his face, but Bilbo could tell that he and the other Elves were not expecting guests so young (which only made Bilbo wonder if anyone bothered to tell Thorin that the Mountain would soon be stormed by fauntlings).

The Elven kingdom also seemed to share the dwarves’ opinion on Hobbit fauntlings and were very accommodating to the little ones and surprisingly tolerant of their mischief-making. There was always someone in the children’s company - sometimes even the King himself - so Bilbo had a chance to explore the kingdom once more (this time without having to sneak around for fear of being caught and thrown into a dungeon).

Though their hosts were wonderful, the Party couldn’t stay too long if they wanted to make it to Erebor before the Winter became too much for them to bear and considering that they had already rested at Beorn’s for a good while, they were behind schedule. Thranduil had them restocked on supplies and then safely escorted to the other end of the forest by an armed guard, though the elves only took them to the mouth of the river since the Party needed to remain partially stealthy and a larger group than they were already traveling with would just draw unwanted attention. However, the Elven-king was kind enough to lend them his Captain for a while longer and so Tauriel was to accompany them all the way to the Mountain, which greatly pleased both the hobbits and Kíli.

They traveled in relative silence until the bewitching sight of the Mountain had renewed their spirits. The children’s fatigue from the long hours of walking and biting cold lessened and was soon replaced by excitement as they drew closer and closer. The dwarves were feeling a little homesick themselves and were also eager to reach Erebor, as they had been away from home for a long good while already. They told the children many tales of the Mountain and it’s on-goings in recent years and Bilbo listened in intently, learning secondhand of all that had transpired since he left them all behind and not for the first time, he wondered what it would’ve been like if he had stayed.

However, their high spirits were soon quashed when they ran into a group of Men from Dale. At first the meeting appeared to be a happy reunion as within the group of humans was one of Bard’s children, his eldest Sigrid, who had grown up quite quickly and strong-looking, in Bilbo’s eyes. Instead of the young girl he remembered, this was a young woman and a fighter by the well-traveled and hardened look about her. Then, Sigrid shared grave news that packs of Goblins were on the prowl in these lands and searching for Bilbo and his party and had even been informed of their arrival.

The group of humans would escort them to the safety of Dale and send word to Erebor and the Party would then wait to plan their next move, since quietly sneaking through the land would no longer be an option.

As it so happened, they were soon out of all options as they were overrun and attacked by a troop of Goblins. And it didn’t just seem to be any old troop, this was the largest the Party had ever encountered since the start of their journey back East; this was a group more akin to a horde under Azog’s command. However, the Pale Orc was long dead - the Company saw to that - which meant that this group was under Fumbul’s command which made it all the more terrifying. Where did all these beasts come from and how was a dullard such as Fumbul possibly their leader?

As he lamented how often his mind wandered during a fight, Bilbo ducked down as he heard a familiar sound. He then felt an arrow whoosh above his head, embedding itself in a goblin to his left. He quickly noted that it was one of Tauriel’s, distinguishable by the Elven tail-end sticking out of the creature’s face. He didn’t have time to thank her for the quick save as he was busy with problems of his own.

With two hands so as to use as much force as possible, Bilbo swung Sting to his right, slicing the goblin who made a lunge at him in the leg, causing it to let out a hideous screech as it fell. Just as it had hit the ground, another goblin soon took it’s fallen kin’s place and reared on Bilbo’s left. He quickly repeated the maneuver, slicing into the muscle of the creature’s left leg.

As usual, Bilbo’s skills were effective but lacked grace, as he was no swordsman. Bilbo's attacks have always been acts of desperation, born of a primal need to keep alive, himself and his companions.

When this battle began, Bilbo quickly realized that he didn’t have time to deal killing blows even if he could somehow manage them. There were too many hostiles surrounding them, a number too great to handle even with the added aid of Tauriel and the small group of Men from Dale. The hobbit only had enough time to incapacitate the goblins with swift strikes to their legs and hope that when they fell, the wretched creatures stayed down.

He stumbled backwards out of the grasp of another lunging goblin, nearly losing his footing but finding himself being righted by one of his companions knocking into him. He hadn’t the time to confirm who it was as he was soon lunged at once more but he said his thanks, nevertheless.

The goblins all seemed to be making grabbing motions for him and not killing strikes, which was both comforting and distressing. They aimed to capture him, probably to deliver him to their leader who rode atop a warg on the hilltop, looking down on the scene quite smugly. That’s how prepared Fumbul seemed to be for this fight. He had not only increased his number of goblins but had also obtained Wargs. The sheer amount of them and the level of preparedness led Bilbo to believe that this was no chance confrontation unlike their last encounter and the prideful, foul grin Fumbul gave him when they locked eyes only confirmed it.

Fumbul gave his warg a rough kick and it jumped down from the hilltop and started making its way across the plain towards Bilbo though it was slow-going since the Men were set on holding the goblins back. The hobbit had every intention of forgoing this useless counter barrage on his attackers and heading straight to their leader to end this once and for before his ears picked up on a heartbreaking sound; the startled screams of terrified lads.

He quickly turned away from the vendetta-fueled goblin only to see the four boys huddled closely together, being cornered by three approaching goblins as they were backed into one of the large rocky outcroppings that littered the landscape. Balin, Kíli, and Sigrid had formed a protective circle around the young hobbits but were being swarmed by more of the foul creatures than anyone else.

At this instance, Fumbul’s intention for this fight was clear; get to the children and guarantee the adult. Bilbo couldn’t believe what a step up this was from their previous encounter. Fumbul had actually strategized.

Merry was white faced and shaky as he and Sam huddled close together with looks of horror as they tried their best to keep out of reach of the creatures that drew too close. Bilbo could not see Pippin but he could hear the boy’s muffled sobs and squalls emitting from underneath Merry’s cloak, which was draped over him as he clung to Merry’s front. From in front of them, Frodo himself looked quite petrified but remained protectively in front of the younger hobbits. Despite their strong desire to train and learn to defend themselves, the young hobbits’ overwhelming fear in this situation was more than justifiable as they had never been attacked by a number this great before. The ambush at the pond was nothing compared to this horde of Goblins.

Tauriel released another arrow, an approaching goblin giving a hideous screech as it was shot through the throat. “Lady Sigrid!” she called in a commanding tone, startling the young human woman who promptly looked to her. The elf hastily shouldered her bow and unsheathed a dagger, using it to fatally cut through a goblin that foolishly tried to attack her. It fell to the ground at her feet and she effortlessly stepped over it’s twitching form as she approached. “We cannot hold them off. Their numbers are too great. Get the children and escort them to Dale. Our only chance of winning this fight is to get them within the city’s walls. Take some Dwarves with you.” she ordered in a steady tone that didn’t convey her true panic.

“Right! Come along, little ones.” the woman tried to usher calmly, but her vice-like grip on her sword betrayed her facade. She raised her shield as a goblin’s crude hammer came crashing down on her. She deflected the blow and reached around to give the offending creature a good stab. “Kíli, Mister Balin, you’re with me?” she requested as she removed her sword from the creature’s shoulder. However her request sounded more like an order.

“Of course!” Kíli assured as he shot down a goblin that made to jump down on top of the hobbits from the top of the rock formation. The arrow pierced it’s chest and it fell backwards, taking out more of it’s kin with it.

“Lead the way, your Highness.” Balin agreed as he skewered two goblins on his sword and quickly brought the weapon and it’s catch toward himself. He gave the goblin closest to him a powerful headbutt that knocked the creature from off of his weapon, taking the second goblin off along with it.

“W-What about Mr. Bilbo?” Sam asked shakily as he remained firmly in place. He looked cowed and frightened but had since moved to stand by Frodo’s side and remained protectively in front of his younger kinsmen.

“We won’t leave without him.” Merry declared, though his own voice was laced with underlying alarm. The young hobbit then gave a startled noise as a goblin lunged for him before it was swiftly smacked out of the way with the heavy end of a staff.

“Your Uncle will be fine.” Nori informed as he positioned himself in front of the hobbits in a protective stance, knocking away any enemies who tried getting too close. Merry flinched away, his grip on his young cousin tightening as a particularly hard blow from Nori sent black blood splattering his way. The dwarf then turned an eye towards the young hobbit. “Or would you prefer to see more?” he proposed in a rather biting tone.

As if to answer the question himself, Pippin pitifully whined from underneath Merry’s cloak. “M-Merry...” he cried with a muffled whimper, gaining Merry’s attention immediately. Pippin’s eyes remained firmly shut as he continued to press his face into his cousin’s shirt, clinging tightly. “I want to go, I want to leave, please...” he pleaded in a desperate jumble of words.

The boy’s trembling only increased when Glóin arrived and cleaved another bold goblin in two with his axe. The sound was gruesome and the visual was even more so, Merry couldn’t help but note.

Barely a moment later, Merry turned his head away and merely nodded his head in agreement, his grip on his younger cousin tightening as he closed his eyes and tried to cast the frightening images from his mind.

“Watch yourself, Master Nori.” Glóin reprimanded, taking a similarly protective stance in front of the group. He looked quite guilty for showing the hobbits such a dreadful sight but he knew there was no other way around it. He also knew that Nori was only trying to urge the children away to safety but they couldn’t be blamed for wanting to remain with their caretaker. “However, it would be best if we got a move on, little masters.” Glóin urged with what he hoped was a kind yet firm look.

Frodo, though his eyes were filled with fear and looked equally as appalled at the bloodshed as the rest of his kin, still seemed firmly opposed. In an uncharacteristically nervous voice, he began to object, “B-But I―”

“Frodo!” Bilbo cut off in a yell, just nearly missing being impaled by a jagged spear. He swiftly dodged but couldn’t spare his right side from the harsh scratches the goblin gave him in a desperate attempt to latch onto him. Bilbo bit back a curse and Bofur saw to it that the goblin paid for it’s bold move by striking it through with his axe.

“Get the others out of here.” Bilbo ordered through gritted teeth. He felt blood well up from the marks on his arm and thigh but was thankfully able to ignore the pain for the most part due to the adrenaline coursing through him. He thrust Sting into the leg of another goblin, just to give himself something else to focus on. “Now.” he demanded again with a severe tone and glower when Frodo still made no move.

The young hobbit looked both mesmerized and terrified at the reminder of his uncle’s capabilities. The fight was quickly draining from Frodo but he looked as if he were at an impasse; abandon his uncle or doom his kin? He seemed to be searching for his words and opened his mouth to respond but he stopped when suddenly, Tauriel was at his side.

“Av-'osto, mellon nin.” she said softly as she knelt besides him. She held his shaking hands within her own and to Frodo, it seemed that all the noise of the battle had melted away. The elf unsheathed her other dagger and pressed it into the young hobbit’s hands and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. “When the time comes, you will find your courage. Until then, you know what you must do.” Tauriel reminded with a kind look despite the chaos surrounding them. She then pulled her hands away and when Frodo looked up once more, she was gone and had returned to the fight, for there was no time to spare.

Frodo looked at the dagger, which was more of a sword in his hands, with a conflicted expression. For a moment, that was all he did. He simply stared at it.

“Mr. Frodo…?” Sam questioned hesitantly from his side, giving the older hobbit a concerned look.

Finally, Frodo seemed to come back to himself. He shook his head and tried to steel his expression. “Y-Yes…” he inevitably agreed, his tone sounding as if his own response had surprised him. “Yes, please lead the way, Miss Sigrid.” he requested, raising up the blade and re-wrapping his fingers around it firmly.

“Of course.” the young lady answered, straightening from the crouched position she took to protect the smaller beings. She blocked another attack and pushed back the goblin that charged at her, the dwarves nearest to her doing a good job of sparing her the brunt of the attacks.

Sigrid then quickly looked around herself and began to weigh her options. Her brother and the group of Men he led were still not present, most likely occupied facing off more of the Warg-riding Goblins to the right of the plains. Luckily there were few of the wolf-like creatures, fewer than she knew there were at the Battle of Five Armies, however they were still a powerful and a (nearly) indomitable force.

She then spotted her group of scouts who were preoccupied with fighting against the Goblin leader and his group of beasts from over the hill. Sadly, she saw that her scouts were being bested and the leader seemed to have set his sights on Bilbo and was slowly advancing. The hobbit was not paying him much mind as he couldn’t spare the energy required to fully watch the leader as he, Bofur, Ori, and Óin worked together to stop the goblins from advancing any closer to the ring of Dwarf and Human already formed around the children.

She knew that her father was informed of the Party’s arrival and the added danger. After all, he was the one who sent word to her patrol party and informed them of the likely ambush. She had also heard the city’s horn sound not too long ago, the call that only sounded when there were hostiles spotted within their borders. Bain and his patrol had no doubt heard the horn call and also had word sent to them and would come to aid them any moment now, along with another group from the city which would be made of more qualified warriors. Though the groups led by her brother and her were strictly used for patrols and scouting, they were trained in basic defense and would hold these beasts off for as long as possible.

As she reminded herself of this and scanned the landscape, Sigrid’s eyes finally landed on a possible answer to their troubles. The majority of their horses had been spooked long ago but a few brave and loyal beasts still remained, just a few leagues away. Growing up, her father had told her stories of cultures who revered horses but she could never understand why, for as noble and magnificent as they seemed, they were only just horses. However, those people’s admiration was suddenly clear to her in this moment. She turned back to those fighting at her side.

“Master Dwarves,” she called, gaining Balin, Nori, Glóin, and Kíli’s attention as they continued in their defense. “I have found a possible solution but think it best to be swift.” she suggested with a pointed look to the small hobbits.

Kíli gave her an understanding nod before he shouldered his bow and bent down to the ground, Balin taking on the foes in his stead. The young dwarf then looked to Merry.

“We need to be quick.” Kíli said evenly. Merry merely gave him a confused look so Kíli elaborated as best he could without giving anything away to the surrounding enemy. He looked pointedly to the trembling form wrapped up in Merry’s arms and cloak. “It’d be the most precious cargo I’ve ever carried.” the dwarf assured and Merry followed the other’s gaze only to gain a horrified expression as realization dawned on him. Merry looked about to protest, but Kíli hushed him. “I promise.” he reaffirmed, being sure to flash the young hobbit a charming smile.

Merry looked unconvinced but a brief glance to the battlefield and back to his cousin again seemed to drain all the fight out of him. He let out an angered, overwhelmed huff and schooled his expression and directed his attention to the smallest hobbit.

“Pip, go with Kíli.” Merry instructed with a gentle shake. He released his hold on the younger boy and drew the cloak away but Pippin held firm.

“No, no…” the young hobbit halfheartedly refused, shaking his head back and forth as if to further bury his face into the fabric of Merry’s shirt to hide.

“Pippin, go.” Merry repeated more firmly, giving his cousin a gentle push before trying to pry the boy’s arms off from around his middle with his own when that proved fruitless.

“It’s alright, Pip-lad.” Frodo reassured as he stepped forward and placed a comforting hand atop the boy’s chestnut curls.

“Mr. Kíli’s got you, Mr. Pippin.” Sam concurred, voice so full of confidence that it made Kíli feel absolutely flattered, if not a little nervous.

Pippin finally removed his tear-stained face from Merry’s shirt and spared a quick peek at Kíli, who beamed at him in return reassuringly. The boy then shut his eyes again and turned his face back into Merry’s chest but he released his hold on the other and stepped away slightly, his shoulders hunching in on himself and one hand still grasping onto Merry’s cloak.

“Good lad.” Frodo praised with a quick ruffle to the boy’s hair. The dark haired hobbit then looked up to Kíli and gave him a determined nod, giving the dwarf the go-ahead.

“Come on then, Pip-squeak.” Kíli gently prodded as he gently but hastily lifted the boy and spun him around to safely cradle him to his chest, Merry’s cloak slowly being pulled from Pippin’s hand until it eventually fell out of his grasp when he was too far away to reach. His hand remained outstretched for a moment more before dropping forlornly. “You can keep your eyes closed and just hold on tight, alright? It’ll be over before you know it.” Kíli assured.

“I don’t squeak…” came Pippin’s weak protest as he further buried his face into Kíli neck, holding tight and keeping his eyes squeezed firmly shut, as instructed.

Kíli let out a quick laugh in the form of a heavy breath. “No, no. Of course not, brave lad.” he agreed wholeheartedly as he quickly pat the boy’s back soothingly.

The rest of the dwarves then made quick work of doing the same for Sam and Merry, Glóin and Nori carrying the boys respectfully. Frodo was left on his own feet as he was larger and more swift and armed.

Sigrid then led the way for the group and they made their way to the remaining horses as speedily as possible.

Though they did their best to reach their destination, it seemed that the goblins were ready for this move and had plans of their own. They were able to almost effortlessly separate the would-be escapees into groups.

Soon, Kíli and Pippin were corralled to another outcropping on the far left, Balin thankfully able to remain with them and provide protection. Kíli had then placed Pippin between himself and the rock face, giving the hobbit strict instructions to not turn around as he began firing his arrows off one by one. Pippin easily complied and remained behind the dwarf, his face pressed into the black of the other’s legs, hands clinging to his sides. Kíli didn’t seem to mind as the boy’s barely noticeable weight didn’t impede in his firing at all. They were the closest to the horses.

The farthest group was Glóin, Sam, and Frodo who were close enough to the original rock outcropping when the Goblins turned the fight that they just redoubled back to their starting point. Glóin had placed Sam and Frodo against the wall and trusted them to remain in place as he fought back the oncoming goblins with both his axes. Sam stayed pressed against the wall, throwing a stone every chance he got and Frodo remained with him, swiping and stabbing his newly gifted blade at any goblin that got too close.

In the middle of the two groups were Nori and Merry, aided by Sigrid. They unfortunately lacked a rock formation to use as a barrier but Sigrid doubled her efforts, deflecting blows and countering with her sword and shield. After placing Merry down, Nori was right there with her, standing across from the human, making sure to keep the hobbit in between the two of them. They were set on not providing any openings to the goblins.

However, it seemed the goblins decided that Sigrid would be the weakest point in the defense and they focused their efforts and attacks on her. She met them blow for blow but eventually it became too much and she felt her strength failing her. At last, her shield was knocked away but she wasted no time in chasing after it as it rolled away from her reach and turned to using solely her sword. Eventually, that too was knocked from her hands. As it clattered to the ground, she cursed her lack of strength and endurance. After all these years, she still seemed to be a novice. Though she wouldn’t let her lack of experience stop her from completing her duty and as a last-ditch effort, she threw herself over Merry, providing what little, momentary protection she could before the goblins began blaring down on them both.

Though it seemed fate had other plans as Bofur was nearby and refused to let the action occur. The dwarf let out a fierce yell as he rushed out in front of the two young ones, fully expecting to be ripped into by deadly claws and knives as he closed his eye but instead, he heard a familiar, maniac battle cry and felt nothing. He opened his eyes and turned them towards his savior and gave a surprised noise when he recognized the figure.

Sigrid pulled away slightly from Merry and both she and the young hobbit looked up to see what had transpired. Merry then voiced an involuntary sound of his own, sounding absolutely startled.

“Bifur!” Bofur cheered in elated surprise.

However, the other dwarf didn’t answer seeing as he was too busy removing his spear from Bofur’s would-be killer, but not without cursing up a storm of insults in Khuzdul. The salt-and-pepper haired dwarf then reared on the other approaching goblins, startling them back with his growling commands and crazed look in his eyes.

“Îmî, îmî, kabâru drekh!” Bifur spat, the goblins letting out startled shrieks as he stabbed at them with abandon.

The dwarves all cheered in surprise and the young hobbits all stared in stunned amazement.

“Boy, am I glad to see you, cousin!” Bofur laughed in a relieved sigh.

“Iraknadad!” Bifur exclaimed in return, turning his attention away from the shrieking goblins momentarily to beam back at the other dwarf. As he faced the others, a goblin behind him went to strike and Merry nearly called out in warning but it seemed there was no need. Seemingly effortlessly, Bifur quickly twirled his spear around so the point was facing behind him and thrust the weapon backwards, the goblin’s screech dying along with it’s breath as it was impaled. Merry blinked in surprise.

The intense-looking dwarf grinned politely back at his cousin, as if he didn’t just do something truly remarkable. “Birashagammi buduzrukmi.” he said, sounding somewhat remorseful as he removed his spear from the beast’s stomach without turning around, it’s body dropping to the ground with a loud thud.

“Ahh, think nothing of it! Better late than never, right?” Bofur responded conversationally as he swung his axe at another goblin with renewed vigor.

“Bifur?” Bilbo questioned, tone conveying surprise and slight hope. If Bifur was here then did that mean…

Suddenly, Bilbo ducked away as a chariot pulled by rams came rushing passed him, taking down at least nine goblins as it was expertly steered through the chaos and missed their allies. Bilbo righted himself and looked in the direction of the Mountain and the city of Men, seeing three distinct groups of fighters make their way to the scene, all different distances away.

Soon, a group of Men were upon the Goblins and Bilbo briefly recognized Bard’s son, Bain, as he rode a horse and lead the Men across the landscape and directed them to drive the Goblins back. Over the hilltop was another group, this one seemingly a battalion of Men from Dale. And in front of them, another battalion! This one of Dwarves all shouting loud orders to arms.

Bilbo’s momentary relief was interrupted however when he heard a dwarf give a pained shout. He turned just as Ori cried out, “Nori!” and said dwarf fell to the ground, clutching his leg in pain as a dagger stuck out from his calf.

Sigrid had once again brandished her sword but she was too late to stop a goblin from making a successful grab at the now exposed hobbit. Merry gave a cry as he was painfully gripped around the arm and yanked. He was thrown away from the protection of Nori and Sigrid but was able to have the foresight to turn his fall into a roll. When the roll came to an end, he was left on his back, breathless, with the nasty creature standing over him threateningly, sneering.

“Took blood take. Take Took blood!” the goblin snarled in hissy Westron.

“Merry!” came the simultaneous calls of his kin.

Bilbo felt powerless as he was continually assaulted by goblins and couldn’t reach his young kinsman. Frodo and Sam looked as they were trying to reach Merry to somehow stop the goblin but Glóin and relentless attackers of their own kept them at bay. Pippin cried out Merry’s name and made to dash over but Kíli swiftly caught him around the middle and placed him back within his arms. The little hobbit then stared at Merry with a terrified expression as he repeated his cousin’s name over and over, uselessly reaching out and fighting Kíli as the dwarf forced the hobbit’s face back to his neck and away from the scene and held firmly, feeling rather useless himself as he was out of arrows and surrounded by too many enemies between them.

Merry stared in plain horror as the goblin from atop him unsheathed a dagger and pulled it back and made to bring it down through the hobbit’s stomach. The boy made a panicked sound as he closed his eyes and turned his head away, unable to face his own doom.

Was Bilbo wrong? Did Fumbul have no cunning plan? He sought to have his goons kill them all no matter who did it? Bilbo was just about to throw away all reason and sprint to the boy no matter the cost, though it would have surly resulted in his own death. However, he found that he didn’t have to act so recklessly as a large mass came barreling into the scene surprisingly fast.

With a thrust of his massive gut, a ginger dwarf had knocked the goblin off from atop Merry and launched the creature right into the end of Bifur’s awaiting spear.

Merry opened his eyes once more and looked up with a bewildered expression. Suddenly, a meaty hand reached out and grabbed on to the fabric of Merry’s shirt and forcefully lifted him into the air. He was airborne for a moment but was quickly caught by the massive dwarf and cradled in his arms like a faunt. Merry, as well as the other young hobbits, looked absolutely flabbergasted and it would have been comical if not for their dire situation.

“Bombur!” Bofur exclaimed, his tone filled with pure surprise and joy as he quickly rushed to his brother’s side.

Bombur merely smiled at the other dwarf before switching to holding the hobbit with one arm around his middle - Merry voicing some indignant noises of protest at the fact of his being handled - and with his other free arm used a massive ladle to split open the skulls of goblins who drew near.

And there was another of his Dwarves, Bilbo’s mind thought elatedly. Could that mean...

Then a throaty battle cry was heard as a giant war-hammer came crashing down upon four goblins that surround Balin, Kíli, and Pippin, and sent them into the nearby rock formation, Kíli ducking down over Pippin as the goblins just missed crashing into them. Any goblins that remained standing against Dwalin’s oversized weapon were then acquainted with his twin axes. When the beasts soon fell dead, the hulking dwarf turned to the two dwarves and small hobbit who were staring at him, the young ones with expressions of surprise while the white haired dwarf seemed rather expectant.

“Brother.” Dwalin grunted to appease him, removing his axe from the goblin’s chest, flicking the blood off. “I see you’re still alive.”

“Aye,” Balin said with a surprised laugh. However he soon frowned as he remembered himself. “but you mind yourself! There are wee ones present.” he admonished with a look behind him.

Dwalin then turned to the wee hobbit in Kíli’s arms who was looking at him in unabashed fascination, startled enough that his tears had come to a stop. The dwarf then looked back to his dripping, bloodied axe.

“Shame, shame, Mister Dwalin…” Kíli reprimanded with a chortle.

Dwalin groaned but nevertheless turned himself and his bloodied weapons away from the curious young eyes. “Well, I didn’t miss this, your Highness.” the hulking dwarf emphasized. Kíli frowned and Dwalin grinned, knowing how much the young prince hated the title.

And another Dwarf, Bilbo noted once more, feeling lighter as their enemy now began to become disheartened by the sheer number of opponents that were coming to the Party’s rescue. Fumbul gave an enraged wail, much to Bilbo’s delight.

As more and more Dwarves and Men from the two kingdoms came to their aide, Ori had made his way to his fallen brother’s side and was putting pressure on Nori’s wound. Luckily, the dagger didn’t seem to have hit anything important and wasn’t poisoned. The young dwarf then smiled dreamily, despite the situation. “These are actually quite touching reunions...” he sighed.

From his spot on the ground, Nori then spoke up, sounding alarmed but not quite for the right reasons. “You do know what this means, don’t you?” he asked his younger brother gravely.

Suddenly, a look of sudden realization and dread crossed Ori’s face but before he could so much as open his mouth to respond, a familiar battle cry could be heard.

Over the hill, screaming like a mad-dwarf, riding a ram chariot and swinging his bola with deadly precision and taking goblins out two by two, was a silver haired dwarf with intricate braids and eyes only for them. His brow seemed to furrow in worry when he spotted the two dwarves on the ground but was soon replaced by a look of pure rage and he gave the reigns of the chariot a sharp SNAP, the rams moving faster somehow.

“You stay away from my precious baby brothers!” Dori bellowed as he now knocked goblins down in groups of four and continued on his path towards the other Brothers Ri. Both Nori and Ori gave weary groans.

And more, Bilbo’s mind exclaimed. Nearly the whole Company was now present and that meant that...

“Uncle!” Kíli said from somewhere behind Bilbo. Feeling a sense of relief and exaltation that caused his heart to nearly burst, the hobbit turned to try and spot the familiar figure of the Dwarven-king, only to be met with the end of a dagger striking his stomach and causing all the breath to leave his lungs.

“NO!” Frodo screeched, making a move to run over to his uncle who was slumped over the weapon but was grabbed by Glóin and hoisted away. “N-No, no, NO. Bilbo! Uncle Bilbo!” he wailed as he futilely reached for his uncle, his blade clattering to the ground along with Sting as it fell from Bilbo’s open hand.

“Easy, lad. Easy.” Glóin soothed, trying to keep his own voice even and he and the rest of the dwarves were filled with anger and dread. They voiced sounds of rage as they somehow fought with more strength than they had ever, the Goblins now struggling to advance.

But it was too late.

Bilbo took a moment to decipher all that was being said because briefly, it sounded as if someone had stuffed cotton into his ears. Still not quite able to find his breath, Bilbo looked up to the owner of the arm he was currently slumped over. He was met with the sleazy grin of Fumbul.

“Well, Traveler,” the Goblin Chief began as he gave his knife a twist and another jab, causing Bilbo to sputter and spit his own red blood onto his attacker’s arm. The foul creature didn’t seem to mind. ”I won.” the goblin sneered, painfully grabbing the hobbit by his hair and forcing his face in the direction of the other hobbits, who along with the dwarves stared at Bilbo looking utterly wretched. “This is the last of your bloodline in this realm. And soon it will be no more. Once I’m rid of you, the others will be easy. I think I will save Tiny for last. Or maybe I should gut him first and make the others watch? Or I could start with Timid, he seems nice and juicy and would make for a nice tasty snack. Or should it be Testy or Troublesome first? They have strong spirits. It would be nice to crush them.” he pondered sickeningly.

“Y-You―” Bilbo began to protest but was cut off by his own grunt of pain as the goblin jerked his arm and gripped his hair tighter. Despite this, he continued again. “You’re wrong. They’re not the last. Y-You never reached the o-others.”

“Oh?” Fumbul questioned as he tightened his hold further. “And what makes you so certain, Traveler?”

“Y-You...You would have left their bodies with the rest that you slaughtered.” he spat, another glob of blood and spit landing at the goblin’s feet.

Fumbul barely batted an eye at the action and gave a sharp-toothed grin. “No. No, they are dead. I killed every last one! Every one! You are alone!” the goblin insisted vehemently and Bilbo knew by his urgency what the truth was.

“Liar.” Bilbo hissed with a bloodied grin, causing the goblin to let out an unhappy roar.

“Think what you wish, Traveler! Who am I to deny one’s dying fantasies?” Fumbul asked mockingly as he further exposed Bilbo’s neck and brought his other dagger up to it.

“When...When will you learn, Fumbul?” Bilbo asked with a mirthful laugh, giving the goblin an amused look despite his pain.

Fumbul narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. “Do not get so familiar with me, Traveler.” he hissed with another sharp tug to Bilbo’s scalp. “And learn what?” he asked, sounding inscrutable, curiosity being piqued just as Bilbo expected.

“It’s j-just as it was at the pond.” Bilbo started, grimacing at the pain furiously making itself known. “Just as it’s always been,” he continued, feeling as though he needn’t lie, not to himself or any other. “I’m not alone.”

As if to answer his declaration, the cries of Fumbul’s own kin began to shriek and yowl something that sent ice through every Goblin’s veins and sent their Scents spiking with fear.

“It’s the Pale Orc Slayer! The Pale Orc Slayer!” they yowled.

Both Fumbul and Bilbo turned their heads to the direction in which the cries were sounding and were met with a sight to behold.

There, from over the hill, was Thorin Oakenshield. He was covered in foul Goblin blood, rushing at the beasts in a fury, slaying goblin after goblin, warg after warg, the ground between himself and the Company rapidly dwindling. His expression was one of calm fury and he paid no mind to whatever tried to distract him, he only spared enough time to drive his sword through their bodies and send them falling dead. He had one destination in mind and there were no doubts that he would reach it.

So shocked and fear-stricken was Fumbul that he had released his hold on the hobbit entirely and shrieked, “Retreat! Retreat!”

Bilbo felt a true smile grace his face before he went crashing to the ground and hit hard stone without mercy. And then the sky and the rest of the earth went dark and he saw no more.

Thorin had arrived just to see Bilbo slump over a bony goblin’s arm and the feelings that coursed through him were indescribable.

Primarily, there was the pause caused by the sudden realization that this was his Hobbit, alive and in person and it made him hesitate. For an instance, he didn’t trust his eyes or his mind but he soon realized that this being of unfathomable resolve and personality was here in the flesh, not just another one of Thorin’s re-imagined daydreams. Very quickly however, those feelings were replaced by shock and overwhelming dismay and outrage as he saw Bilbo’s bloodied and limp form.

That wasn’t right. His Hobbit was always moving, either shuffling and fidgeting nervously when he was overwhelmed, or pacing and muttering in quiet fury, or animatedly moving his hands around in excitement. He was never so still and so…lifeless.

Late. Too late. He was too late…

They left the Mountain with great urgency but Thorin was still not one of the firsts to depart. Apparently, as soon as they heard what was happening, the remaining Company members still in Erebor wasted no time in going to the Party’s rescue. From Thorin’s understanding, Bifur left straight away and Bombur was hot on his heels whether in pursuit of his reckless cousin or following his own hasty instincts, Thorin did not know. Dori stuck around just long enough to quickly consult with Thorin and Dwalin before he demanded a chariot and was off without sparing another word, speeding to the rescue of his younger brothers and the Hobbits. Thorin and Dwalin had to stick around the Mountain a little longer to prepare and command the battalion.

To his immense pleasure, many dwarves who were not even a part of the Quest or familiar with their Burglar had readily offered their assistance and were all ready to depart in no time. Dwarves were always up for a fight but they also must’ve reasoned that this had to have been a great incursion indeed if the King himself was going on a ‘simple’ rescue mission that seemingly had nothing to do with their kingdom.

On their way across the quarry, they encountered many goblins, though they weren’t very difficult to contend with. Though there were a great number of them - at least over 100 - they seemed to be pitiful creatures who had never before seen the light of day, all incredibly pale and far too eager with a weapon. They had clearly never seen battle and were acting without a strategy. It made them all the more dangerous and unpredictable. Their greatest skill was at providing substantial stalling to the Dwarves’ advancement, which is why the Ereborian forces were not among the first to arrive on the scene.

That pleasure would go to Bard’s oldest daughter and son. It seemed that despite his denial, Bard had sent his own forces to go and assist the Party as well as going himself since he and a group of soldiers from Dale were not too far behind the Dwarves of Erebor.

Thorin cursed all the factors that kept him from arriving as quickly as he would have wished as he madly covered the distance between himself and his fallen, former Company member, barely batting an eye at the goblins who stood in his way before running them through with Orcrist.

As he drew closer, he could make out his other friends and companions, those from the Mountain and those he hadn’t seen in many, many months. They were all shouting their wrath and putting up a fight most fearsome to reach their fallen comrade. The enemy seemed to be trying to make a retreat but the Company would not let them. The courtesy of allowing a retreating enemy the remains of their dignity by sparring them their lives was not granted. Those goblins that weren’t swift or skillful enough to evade the opposing forces’ weapons paid for their heinous actions with their lives.

“Retreat!” repeated the goblin that had dared lay his disgusting hands on his Hobbit. Thorin narrowed his eyes at the beast, unadulterated fury flowing through his veins and the goblin’s own blackened eyes widened in carnal terror. “Retreat! We take last of Took-blood not now! RETREAT!” it wailed before madly scrambling off, not even minding the body of the hobbit it trampled over in its haste.

At their apparent leader’s cry, the remaining goblins started to fall back, rushing away as they were quickly outnumbered as more and more Dwarves and Men entered the fight. As they scampered away, Dwarves hacked away at any they could reach until no live Goblin or Warg remained in the area. Alas, many escaped and the Men and Thorin’s forces pursued but the Goblins’ leader seemed to be one of the ones to escape.

When Thorin had finally made it over to his fallen friend, he was again not the first to reach him. Óin was there, trying to rouse Bilbo but without success. Balin was there also, comforting a figure Thorin had not seen before. He was covering his face with his hands, openly weeping, so Thorin couldn’t make out his face but the king could tell with certainty that this was a Hobbit based upon his curly hair and slightly pointed ears, features so much like their Hobbit’s.

Upon his arrival, Balin looked up from the hobbit at his side and gave Thorin the most wretched of looks that made Thorin’s blood run icy and afire all at once.

He looked around them, searching for Bilbo’s other kinsmen. A few paces behind Balin and the dark haired hobbit was Glóin, standing with his arm around a hobbit much younger than the first with sandstone hair. He was rubbing at his cheeks, breath softly hitching as he looked upon the unmoving form of Bilbo rather pitifully.

Further from them was another hobbit of a similar age, standing with Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur with an unreadable expression. He was holding onto one of his arms as if to ease a hurt and looked dirtied and worn, tear tracks evident on his cheeks.

And finally Thorin noticed Kíli and Dwalin standing close by, his sister-son holding a small form in his arms that was emitting quiet, pain-filled sobs. Kíli was gently rocking back and forth and making soothing noises, patting the bundle of cloth on the back but the soft sounds of grief continued.

These must’ve been all the remaining Hobbits, Bilbo’s young kinsmen. They were so very young, too young to be dealing with such trauma...

He looked around more and spotted his remaining Company members, all looking positively sorrowed and a little worse for wear but alive and moving, unlike...

“Uncle Bilbo,” the dark haired hobbit at Balin’s side said in a grieved tone. Thorin looked to him once more. The hobbit had removed his hands from his eyes and sniffled as he looked up and Thorin met stunningly bright aquamarines overflowing with tears. The boy - for he was older than his other kin but still just a lad - studied Thorin in open surprise for a moment before his expression seemed to crumple even more upon making eye contact with the Dwarven-king and he looked to the figure on the ground once more. “Oh, Uncle Bilbo…” he wept again, slumping over the older hobbit on the ground. “He’s here. We’re here. We were so close…”

The rest of the Company gathered around the small group, their grief and sorrow plainly visible on their faces. The others present, both Men and Dwarves alike, stood back to give the heartbroken and mourning Company members their space.

Thorin fell to his knees as he looked upon the slain form of his dear friend. Blood dripped from Bilbo’s right arm and thigh, darkening the fabric of the clothing he was always so fussy over. He was on his back but his head was turned to the side, the blood that spilled from his mouth already drying upon his lips and cheek where it dribbled down.

“Oh, Master Baggins,” Thorin lamented as his hand moved to touch the figure but he stopped himself from doing so. “this is all my fault...” he trailed off as he closed his eyes and hung his head in shame. They were so close. So very close and he was too late...

“O-Oh, sod off, you c-conceited dwarf.” came the unexpected reply. Unexpected, because it was Bilbo’s.

All the bowed heads then shot up to look at the speaker, who turned his head and winced as he gave a pained groan upon completing the action.

“Uncle Bilbo?” the dark haired hobbit asked, teary eyes wide in astonishment.

“Yes, it’s me.” Bilbo huffed, sitting up with another groan of pain. “Honestly, Frodo, who else―” he started, only to be knocked back to the ground when he was engulfed in a hug, wincing in pain but otherwise showing no further signs of...of death.

Thorin stood in silence, astounded.

“Oh, Uncle Bilbo.” the hobbit revealed to be Frodo cried, unable to stop his relieved tears as all the dwarves burst into shocked and relieved exclamations around them. “Uncle Bilbo…” the young hobbit repeated as he nuzzled his face into the elder’s shoulder, clinging to the fabric of his shirt for dear life.

“Shh...Hush now. Honestly, what an overgrown faunt you are…” Bilbo chided, though his tone was teasing and he brought up a hand to card through the younger hobbit’s dark curls.

Frodo shook his head, gathering his composure but still in disbelief. “How can it be? I thought you dead!” he asked in a rush, finally pulling back from the hug to inspect the elder’s wound.

At this moment, an elf maiden - Thorin’s youngest nephew’s intended, Tauriel - arrived and hurriedly made her way to the hobbit. “Bilbo,” she said in a breathy tone as she got to her knees beside him, Balin making way for her but Frodo barely budging an inch. Tauriel didn’t seem to mind however as she focused on scanning over all of Bilbo’s injuries, confused when she didn’t find many or any that were life-threatening. “I heard you were stabbed yet I see no evidence of this…” she trailed.

“Honestly, Tauriel, I’m fine.” Bilbo sighed, sounding quite put out. “A few bumps and scratches here and there but otherwise fine.” he said, using his non-bloodied arm to rub at his head, as if to smooth a bump. “Also, I think I might’ve bit my tongue but that’s no cause for worry…” he pondered as he quickly wiped at his bloodied mouth.

As the gathering stared at Bilbo in utter bafflement and the hobbit rubbed at his head, his shirt had been made askew and something sparkling underneath the material caught Thorin’s eye. Needing to confirm an increasing suspicion, the dwarf reached his hand forward and displaced the hobbit’s shirt buttons. Before Bilbo could offer protest at the mistreatment of his poor buttons, Thorin’s eyes grew wide in recognition and he spoke.

“Mithril…” he said in wonder, causing the other dwarves to look upon the hobbit’s garment in similar amazement.

Underneath Bilbo’s over-shirt, as radiant and brilliant as the day Thorin had gifted it to him, was a corslet made of the world’s most precious silver; Mithril.

“You mean you were wearing that this entire time?” Kíli groaned before Dwalin cuffed him upside the head. “Ow! What? Do you know how less stressful this whole journey would’ve been had we known he was wearing Mithril?”

“Not the time, laddie...” Balin softly reprimanded as Kíli sorely rubbed his head with one hand, mindful of the tiny bundle still within his arms.

However, Thorin was too lost in his thoughts to pay his nephew any heed. He had thought Bilbo would have rid himself of the Mithril shirt the moment Thorin dared to lay his hands on him with deadly intent. The Hobbit was never one to care for worldly possessions so he would not have sold it to the highest payer. Thorin had always thought he would have given it away or discarded it without regard. It seems he had been wrong.

“You still have it?” Thorin asked, finally looking up from the glittering garment to meet the eyes of his friend for the first time in many years.

“Of course I still have it.” Bilbo huffed, sounding affronted. Then he paused for a moment, simply staring at the Dwarven-king with an unreadable expression before he did something that caused Thorin’s heart to feel lighter than it had in years; Bilbo smiled at him as he added, “It was a gift, after all. From a very dear friend.”

Thorin then paused a moment, absolutely taken aback by the answer and the matter-of-fact tone in which it was spoken. Finally, he shook his head in disbelief and fondness and voiced a laugh, feeling a wave of emotion surge through him.

“And this friend has never been more glad to have gifted in all his life” Thorin honestly stated, surprising the hobbit by pulling him into a tight embrace, which Bilbo soon returned after only a moment’s hesitation. His hands fiercely gripped the luxurious fur of the king’s cloak, and Thorin reveled in the feeling of warmth both engulfing his body and his heart.

After many months and six long years, the Hobbit had finally made it back to the Lonely Mountain and it’s King.

Chapter Text

Thorin paced back and forth, his limited amount of armor feeling like an incredibly heavy burden. He had been wearing it for nearly two days, after all.

After the fight on the plains outside of Dale, Thorin and a number of other Dwarves and Men chased after the fleeing Goblins. The terrified, ashen look on Bilbo’s face when Glóin’s lad had informed them that the Goblin Chief was of the ones to escape was enough cause for Thorin to chase after the wretched creature himself, despite the strong pull he felt to keep his new guests constantly within his sights.

The Goblin Chief - Fumbul, Thorin learned his name to be - was the driving force behind every attack against the Hobbits and had apparently led the invasion of the Shire, slaying many of Bilbo’s kin in the process and possibly contributing to the disappearance of the rest of his people. He also had a vendetta against Bilbo himself and his bloodline that - based on the accounts of the Party members - reminded Thorin uncomfortably of Azog’s burning hatred for Durin’s Sons. The notion that a peaceful creature such as a Hobbit, such as Bilbo, had such a nemesis made Thorin feel sick to his stomach.

The Party members were all exhausted from the long journey to safety and it was agreed that they would all go back to the Mountain with a large escort and those who did not accompany them would set out in search of Fumbul and clear the surrounding areas of Goblins and secure the borders.

Dori insisted he go back to Erebor to be sure the Hobbits’ rooms were all readied for their arrival (however, their chambers had been ready for weeks now and everyone knew that the fussy dwarf was simply worried for his wounded brother, despite Nori’s loud and brazen assurances that he did not need looking after). And Bombur also returned to the Mountain, seeing as he wasn’t really supposed to have left in the first place, the knowledge that his friends and family were in danger being the only thing that drew him away. He was supposed to be assisting his wife in overseeing the Kitchens. Though she was more than capable of doing so herself, Winter was an especially busy time of year for the Dwarves of Erebor. She needed all the managerial help she could get, and not only because of their special guests.

Firstly, there was their annual celebration of Durin’s Day, which was just a few days ago. Though the Company members and those closest to them didn’t quite feel up to celebrating while their dear friends and family members were away and in a constant danger, the rest of the kingdom had celebrated as they should and so there needed to be substantial care given to the Kitchens. They couldn’t afford to go lax with care not only because of their special guests seeing as Winter also brought along the annual celebration of the end of the Battle of Five Armies.

Though it was never explicitly agreed upon by the Three Kings themselves, the Kingdoms of Erebor, Dale, and the Woodland Realm had taken to celebrating the anniversary of the end of the Battle, together. Though the Kings - namely Thranduil and Thorin - took great pain in the fact, the joint-celebration was greatly enjoyed by the three peoples and it promoted the healthy alliance between the Three Kingdoms - or at least, that is what Bard kept claiming. After all, what good was an alliance if it wasn’t celebrated and only utilized in times of war?

(Perfectly fine, Thorin thought, though Dís and Balin would say otherwise).

This year, it so happened to be Erebor’s turn to host the festivities and Bombur had reasoned that surely the return of one of the Battle’s most prominent figures was cause for an extra special feast?

(Now that, Thorin wholeheartedly agreed with).

As the decided upon group returned home with the Hobbits, Thorin, Dwalin, Bifur, and a number of other Dwarves and Men set off in their pursuit of Fumbul and his forces.

Alas, they had returned to the Mountain not but an hour ago after having found no sign of Fumbul. They were able to find lingering members of his pack but they saw to it that they were swiftly dealt with. Though even as the sun began to set, Thorin wanted to continue the search. However, as the hours began to pass, the more the others thought it best to return home. After Thorin resisted the idea, Dwalin reminded him that the Mountain itself was fortified so there was no way their guests could be harmed and that they still had said guests’ healths to check in on.

The She-elf - Tauriel, a voice in his mind that sounded like a strange combination of both his sister and Kíli hissed - had also accompanied Thorin and the others in the hunt. She had deemed that the hobbits were not in need of her healing services and that Óin’s capable hands were more than enough to keep them healthy both to and inside of Erebor. She set to return home but reminded a pouty Kíli that she would be back in a few days for the celebrations. She also assured Thorin that she’d continue the search for Fumbul and any others of his kin, which was what finally made Thorin reluctantly agree to return home. If the goblin traveled through the Mirkwood, the Elves would know.

They had made it back to Erebor just as night fell and since he entered the Grand Chamber Halls, Thorin had been pacing. He was bloodied, dirtied, and rank from the fight and subsequent chase but unlike Dwalin, Bifur, and the rest, he had yet to return to his own chambers, just a ways down the hall. No, the door that Thorin paced outside of was not his own.

According to Balin, just as Thorin had ordered, Bilbo and the rest of the Hobbits were rushed to their private chambers as soon as they entered the Mountain. For the past night and a day, they’ve been under the strict observance of Óin. Balin informed him that Óin’s assessments from the day previous were more than encouraging, but that didn’t keep the strange pull that Thorin always felt when the Hobbit was involved from dragging him to outside his chamber door, as Óin did his final examination of the night.

As he paced, Thorin was left alone with his restless thoughts and worries.

Though Bilbo had worn the Mithril he had gifted him - he still had it after all this time - the hobbit wasn’t without other hurts; there had been blood dripping from his side and mouth. Bilbo claimed he bit his tongue when he fell after Fumbul had carelessly thrown him to the ground but what if it was something else, something internal that had caused him to bleed? Or what if an infection had set in? Or what of the bump on his head that rendered him unconscious for those frightful few moments? What if it was more serious than they thought? And what of his young kinsmen? Thorin didn’t remember any of the Hobbitlings looking too harmed - dirtied, but no blood that he could see - but that didn’t mean that they were alright…

Thorin’s thoughts were then interrupted by a barely-concealed groan and he remembered that he wasn’t quite as alone as he felt. For some reason, his sister was yet again with him.

“Oh, relax, won’t you. My neck is getting sore from following you around.” Dís heaved in a sigh with an annoyed look, dramatically rubbing at her neck as if to ease a physical ache. “Master Hobbit is fine, I’m sure.”

“You don’t know that.” Thorin quickly countered, not ceasing in his pacing.

Dís huffed from where she leant against the wall opposite of the peculiarly, out-of-place wooden door her brother had been pacing outside of for the last quarter hour. She paused for a moment, sucking on her teeth as she thought something over. She then asked, “You said he was stabbed by a dagger?”

“Yes.” Thorin bit out in a reply, the memory causing him to grimace and glower all at once.

Dís lifted her head and brought a heavily ringed hand up under her chin, gently stroking against the dark, bristly hairs there, an action she often did when she was at her most contemplative. “And he wore a shirt of Mithril?” she furthered.

“Yes.” Thorin answered again, stopping his pacing and turning to face the dwarrowdam with a curious look. By now, he had long recognized his sister’s cues. She was about to make a point. As expected, she had come to some sort of conclusion. She brought her arm down and crossed it over her other in front of her chest, looking very sure of herself.

“Then I do know.” Dís proclaimed with finality as a smug grin crossed her face. She seemed to feel that she didn’t need to elaborate further on her point and Thorin was annoyed that she indeed did not have to, for he easily picked up on what she was implying. He denied it anyway.

“You cannot know―” he began but was interrupted as the door to the chamber they were outside of opened and out walked Óin with his medicinal box. Thorin forgot all about what pointless counter-argument he was going to make and rushed over to the healer.

“How is he?” he demanded. Though Thorin could not see her, he knew without turning around, from the shift in the air, that Dís had risen from her relaxed position ever so slightly and was preparing to listen to Óin’s verdict just as intently.

Óin was quiet for a few moments and stared at the King with an unreadable expression that caused Thorin to feel as though his heart plummeted into his stomach; doctors with straight faces were always an ill omen. Then, Óin broke the tense silence and startled the two dwarves with what he said next;

“WHAT?” he barked in a raised tone that caused the other two dwarves to start at the sheer volume of it, raising the end of his ear trumpet up to Thorin.

Thorin felt himself deflate with an exasperated sigh, minor relief flooding him along with annoyance, chiefly at himself for momentarily forgetting the older dwarf’s difficulties with hearing. “How is he?” he repeated, louder this time and his tone conveying his impatience.

Óin gave an annoyed huffed, obviously not pleased with being rushed upon by a worried Dwarven-king, but answered nevertheless. “Bilbo is fine. Bruised and scratched up, but fine.” he informed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’s still feeling the pain of the dagger’s impact and he will be for some time, I imagine. But his ribs are all intact. His side’s been patched, no sign of infection either. And his head is causing him no further trouble. The bump’s already disappearing.” he quickly listed.

“I told you.” Dís said smugly, causing Thorin to - quite loudly - sigh irritably.

Ignoring Thorin’s obvious displeasure, Óin looked past the King to the dwarrowdam standing behind him. “Lady Dís.” he greeted with a polite nod in place of a bow (which was more than Thorin himself received).

“Master Óin.” the dwarrowdam greeted back. “How are the children faring today?” she asked, voice level but still containing concern.

“They are doing well. They were only a little scratched up and bruised, after all. The worst injury is to the lad who was grabbed, but tis only a bruise and a few deeper scratch marks than most. Seems to be healing nicely.” the healer informed.

Thorin felt the tensity in his shoulders ease slightly with the knowledge.

“And how is the state of their minds?” Dís furthered, a worried look upon her face. “Have the night-terrors followed them into the day?”

Then the momentary relief was gone and Thorin tensed once more. “Night-terrors?” he repeated, the thought causing a yet-unknown dread to settle in his stomach. He then paused for the briefest of moments as another thought occurred. He turned to his sister. “Wait, you’ve spoken with them?” he asked in disbelief.

Now Dís rolled her eyes. “No, this is my first time here. I simply asked Master Óin the state of our guests once they arrived here yesterday, the same as you’re now doing. Now hush.” she hissed, directing her full attention back to the older dwarf in front of them.

Thorin barely had the chance to look affronted before Óin spoke again;

“As far as I can tell, my Lady, no. They’re still frightened, believe you me, but I believe all the trouble happens at night, right before they go to bed. Bilbo has informed me that the youngest is having the most trouble falling asleep, but that’s been the case throughout this journey. He’s clingy and makes a big fuss at bedtime but the others claim he’s getting better.

“The older lads are a bit more difficult to read.” Óin sighed before he paused to take out his pipe, quickly lighting it and taking a puff before he continued, “They seem tired and I can’t imagine they’re getting much peaceful sleep but they insist they’re fine and there’s only so much I can do for stubborn patients. If they seem to get worse, I’ll step in, maybe prescribe a stronger sleep aid, but lack of sleep is a fickle ailment.

“And who knows of Frodo. That lad’s a mystery. He seems the same as always, rather springy and lively, but every now and then he sombers. I have only known him for a short while, but Bilbo has informed me that the lad’s always been a bit difficult to read. If he wants to keep something from you, you’ll be none the wiser.” he informed with a frown before taking a long drag from his pipe. The smoke had barely left his lips before he continued in a weary tone, “They are quite young to have gone through such an ordeal. I’m afraid these last few days, not to mention these past few months, will leave a lasting mark on their minds.” he revealed before taking another drag.

“However,” Óin started once more, his tone a fair bit lighter, “I believe in time, the general fear they feel will pass. In the meantime, I’ve given them something to help them sleep at night. It shouldn’t cure them of their night-terrors but it should tucker them out enough to fall asleep since their fear of ill-dreams have been keeping them from doing just that.” he finished.

Dís nodded solemnly, seemingly handling the information better than Thorin himself was. “That’s disheartening to hear but to be expected.” the dwarrowdam concurred honestly as she rubbed beneath her chin once more. “But it is wonderful that they are recovering so well. Who knew Hobbits were such stony creatures?” she remarked with an impressed look.

“You’ll do well to expect the unexpected of them, my Lady.” Óin said and for a moment, it was as if his tone was filled with fondness and there was the nearest of smiles on his face. But then as quickly as it had appeared, the soft look was gone and his usual dour look returned. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must be getting to my own chambers. I recommend you do as well, your Majesty.” he offered as a goodbye.

“Goodnight, Master Óin.” Dís called.

“Goodnight, my Lady.” the healer returned as he left, pushing past Thorin on his way out the hall, since the younger dwarf stood in his way.

Dís then chuckled as she watched the older dwarf leave and Thorin glowered. “I’ve always liked him.” she remarked. She then turned back to her brother, only to see him standing directly in front of the door to the chamber.

And that was it. Thorin was simply standing in front of the door. Staring at it.

Dís barely resisted groaning. “You know, I find the method of using one’s arms to open doors works quite well. Or perhaps you could try knocking?” she pondered as she stepped closer to her brother. Then she paused, as if she had realized something. “Alas, that does require the use of your hands, as well… Maybe you should try knocking with your head? Mahal knows it’s thick enough. The sound would be deafening, I’m sure.”

“Dís,” Thorin growled, though it was lacking the usual bite his true anger would bring to his words, so Dís knew he was fine and the teasing had helped ease his nerves, if only for a moment.

“I only jest.” she calmed with a laugh. “Just knock and enter. Master Hobbit will be glad to see you’ve returned, I’m sure.” the dwarrowdam said, sounding exasperated. She then turned her attention to one of her hands and inspected the nails there before she continued in a falsely innocent timber, “Kíli told me you two embraced already.”

At her tone, Thorin turned to see the strange look upon her face. His brows furrowed further, sensing she was making an accusation of…something. “And what does that mean, exactly?” he questioned.

Dís sighed heavily, as if spelling out her point was painstaking. “It means that he forgives you for your thick-headedness and would probably appreciate the visit.” she reasoned. “He even kept the Mithril you gave him. If he were truly upset at you, he would have rid himself of it by now.”

Thorin remained silent, thinking over his sister’s words. As always, they rang true since he had come to the same conclusion as she had; Hobbits - at least their Hobbit - did not care for material items of high value. Thorin’s come to learn that a Hobbit is actually quite a sentimental creature. Bilbo did not view the Mithril corslet as a sign of wealth or the deep appreciation of a king. Bilbo had said it himself;

‘It was a gift. From a very dear friend.’

“You're right.” Thorin finally agreed, his brow finally relaxing along with his tense shoulders as he recalled the hobbit’s words.

“I always am.” Dís answered with another complacent grin.

Thorin ignored his sister’s assertive tone and instead lifted a fist up to the door to finally knock upon it, but he was mildly startled when it was then opened and he was met with dark curly hair, a fair face, and icy blue eyes.

“Oh, hello.” a young hobbit greeted in surprise. Thorin recognized him as the one who had been at Bilbo’s side when those of Erebor had arrived at the plains. This was the eldest Hobbit lad, Frodo, Bilbo’s nephew by name.

Frodo then quickly stepped out into the hall and promptly closed the door behind him, too quick for either of the dwarves to see inside and catch a glimpse of who they both desired to see most. It was clear the lad was quite curious and cautious of the two dwarves lingering outside the door, as he was eyeing them slightly suspiciously. But ever the polite creature, he asked, “May I help you with something?”

“Oh, with many things…” Dís muttered under her breath. However to the dwarrowdam’s surprise, the hobbit’s ears seemed to twitch and an amused smile appeared on his face as he looked to her. As expected, he must have heard her (Thorin barely resisted the urge to grin at the thought of his sister becoming acquainted with the keen ears of Hobbits just as he had; the hard way).

“You must be Lady Dís! I can see the resemblance.” the young hobbit observed with a smile as he gestured between the two siblings. He then gave a low bow and offered, “Frodo Baggins, at your service, my Lady.”

A pleased smile stretched across Dís’ face almost on its own accord. It seemed not even she was immune to the charm of Hobbits. “Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror, at yours.” she bowed back.

Frodo smiled broadly before he then turned to look at the dwarf directly in front of him. “And you must be King Thorin!” he deduced in a happy tone before he bowed low to the King. “It’s an honor to finally meet you proper, your Majesty. I apologize for not doing it right the first time.” he lamented.

“Please, you need not bow. The honor is all mine.” Thorin returned, the lad’s propriety - along with Dís’ sudden strickenness - causing him momentary pause.

Frodo Baggins did not resemble his so-called uncle. Appearance-wise, Frodo’s curls were such a deep brown that they appeared almost black, whereas Bilbo’s were of a bronzed-hue. And the boy’s eyes were a stark, striking blue. When he first saw them, Thorin couldn’t help but compare them to aquamarines. It was more difficult for Thorin to settle on an exact color for Bilbo’s eyes, let alone a gem or mineral, as they seemed to be ever changing from a hazel green to a cool grey to a steely blue.

However, fretting over a lack of manners in a dire situation was so very Hobbity, so very Bilbo, that the resemblance nearly caused Thorin to laugh. Instead, he kept his expression and tone even as he answered back, “And think nothing of what happened before. You were...preoccupied.”

Frodo righted himself, giving the dwarf a curious look before it morphed once more into his surprisingly easy smile. “You flatter me, sir. That’s more privilege than any Baggins deserves.” he said with earnest, causing a feeling of nostalgia to wash over Thorin once again at the familiarity of it all.

“What are you doing out in the halls on your own, young Master Hobbit?” Dís questioned, finally making her way closer to her brother and the young hobbit.

“Ah, I go in search of food for my kin.” Frodo informed as he turned to her. “You see, the bribe of a snack was the only way I could get them into the bath. Though I may be away for months if I wish to find a snack sweet enough to appease my youngest cousin. Or try to traverse these great halls all on my own...” he said, looking around himself and marveling at the structures all around him. “I've never been in so grand a place.” he added, tone filled with awe.

Thorin raised an eyebrow at the previous bit of information. “Is your kitchen not stocked? I believe that I ordered for enough food to last for at least a week.”

“Oh, they were stocked, your Majesty. But when you have five hungry Hobbits who’ve had nearly nothing but cram for months on end, a week's supply of food quickly becomes a day’s supply. Especially when three of those Hobbits are still growing lads.” Frodo informed gravely, though his smile remained which let the dwarves know he was partially jesting.

Thorin was a little astonished. He recalled Hobbits having big appetites but this was remarkable. They would be eaten out of a kingdom in no time. He had a feeling that a Hobbit in the Kitchens was about to become a common sight in Erebor… Bombur’s wife would be besides herself with joy, no doubt.

Thorin’s sister seemed quite amused at this reveal as well. “I do believe I like you.” Dís remarked in a laugh, seeming to have settled on an opinion of the lad rather quickly. “I’d be happy to guide you to the Kitchens, my young sir.” she offered, and that was high praise indeed. A personal escort from the princess herself? Very few received such an honor.

Frodo however shook his head slightly and held a somewhat remorseful expression. “I mean no offense, my Lady, but I was hoping King Thorin could lead me there?” he requested - and much to the dwarves’ surprise - met the King’s stare. “Afterall, who better to lead than a king?” Frodo asked with a smile. He then looked behind him, glancing to the wooden door to the chambers before he faced Dís once more and added conspiringly, “And if you don’t mind my saying, I do believe that those young cousins of mine could use the guiding hand of a mother right about now. They’ve been in naught but the presence of rugged men for far too long. And Miss Tauriel I’m afraid is a rather free spirit, if you take my meaning. She usually encourages and indulges them, which is dandy and all when one’s on the road, but not so much when one’s at home and needs some rest.”

Dís was eerily still and silent for a moment before finally, she took a step closer to the young hobbit and placed both of her hands upon his shoulders. Frodo took Dís’ strong hold rather well, but he still buckled slightly under the weight of it. The dwarrowdam stared at him intensely, a look that sent many a Dwarf cowering. However, the lad appeared to have a resolve stronger than most as he merely raised his brows in anticipation of what the dwarrowdam would do next. This seemed to be the final straw for the Lady.

“Oh, I definitely like you!” Dís announced jollily, patting Frodo’s shoulders in praise and discretely easing the fabric of any wrinkles at the same time. It seemed Frodo had earned Dís’ favor, which in and of itself was rather shocking. As quick as Dís usually made her opinions on others’ known - she had an intuition for character, she claimed - she had never reached a positive one so swiftly before. Once again, Thorin noted that Hobbits were truly remarkable creatures.

Thorin was then drawn from his minut shock when his sister then turned her head back to him, keeping her body facing towards the door. “Farewell, brother. I expect you to go to your chambers and clean up after you're done escorting young Master Baggins.” she commanded as she walked the short distance to the door, calling a farewell to Frodo which he returned. She then gave a firm knock to the door.

The door opened, but Thorin could not see who answered as Frodo had begun to walk down the corridor and already made a wrong turn. The King quickly caught up to the young hobbit and corrected him.

“My thanks, your Majesty.” Frodo thanked sheepishly as they now started on the right path. “I'm afraid I'm more of a wanderer than a traveler, if you take my meaning? Horrible sense of direction.” he laughed.

“It may not seem so, but I know the feeling all too well.” Thorin reassured with his own soft smile, earning a disbelieving chuckle from Frodo. The two continued along until there was something on the dwarf’s mind that was rather pressing. He deemed now to be the right time to inquire. “Master Baggins—” he began.

Though the hobbit interrupted him before he could finish. “Please, Frodo is fine.” he insisted with a smile.

“Yes, Mast—”

“No, no. Just Frodo is fine.” the lad cut in once more, this time with emphasis.

Thorin gave an amused hum. “Alright.” he agreed with a charmed look. He pondered Hobbits and their endearing insistence with familiarity before he finally voiced his pressing question, “Frodo, how do you fare? After all that has happened?”

“Oh, I’m quite fine, sir.” Frodo affirmed, maybe a little too hastily. The hobbit seemed to have caught his suspicious answer as he paused and looked a bit contemplative. “Well, I was admittedly rather rattled before, but it was nothing that a change of clothes or a hot bath couldn't fix. Which were both lovely surprises, by the way.” he added, gesturing to said clothing by running his thumbs under his suspenders and pulling on them in a fashion Thorin had once seen Bilbo do years before.

“Dori worked tirelessly on the garments and the other fine textile work you’ll find in your rooms. He claims to have tried to stick to a ‘Hobbity style’ as much as possible, but his Dwarven-touch may have left its mark. I hope they’re still to your liking, all the same. And we mustn’t forget to thank the Wizard for your measurements and design suggestions.”

“Oh, but they’re all exquisite!” Frodo assured, beaming in a winsome smile. “The others and I were all quite impressed and flattered when we made the discovery of the clothes. I must remember to thank Master Dori when I next see him! And the information about Gandalf is surprising, but at the same time, not so. Because if there’s one thing you can count on Gandalf for, it's surprises!” he laughed.

“Aye.” Thorin agreed with a small chuckle of his own, knowing from experience how right the statement was. “Though I must say, you clean up very nicely. The clothes seem to fit well. I’m glad.” he said as he looked over the lad’s appearance. He looked much better than he had when they first met, from the appearance of his clothing right to the color in his cheeks.

Frodo looked a little taken aback for a moment, as if the compliment was the last thing he expected to hear. Thorin was worried if he somehow caused offense and was about to try and apologize for speaking out of turn until the hobbit’s face lit up with a wide smile.

“Why thank you very much, your Majesty!” Frodo exclaimed. He then gained a very cheeky-looking expression as he glanced up at Thorin from the corner of his eye. “I must admit, my uncle did you rather dirty in his retellings of your adventures.” he said, sounding falsely off-handed.

“Oh?” Thorin questioned with a raised brow.

“Yes.” Frodo confirmed with a grin that showed barely concealed mirth. “You’re much more pleasant than he made you out to be.” he revealed.

“Bilbo said I was unpleasant?” Thorin questioned, surprise and amusement lacing his tone.

“Well, not explicitly.” Frodo laughed along. “Though he did say you could be rather unbearable at times. And stubborn and reckless, things like that.” he informed with a twinkle in his eye.

“I see, though ‘unpleasant’ is a rather nice way of putting it.” Thorin scoffed. “I was admittedly quite…intense when we knew one another.” he finished lamely, for lack of a better explanation.

The Quest was a strange time in Thorin’s life. These past few years of relative peace in Erebor had somewhat returned him to the disposition of his youth. He’d never be the self-assured, plucky young dwarf he once was before Smaug’s coming all those years ago, but he was now closer to his old, easy-going personality than he had been in years. And he had many to thank for that, one of the primary being the relation to the very hobbit he was presently conversing with. He’s had many years to make up for his rather unfavorable behavior to the rest of his fellow dwarves and others he may have wronged with his bad attitude, but there was one creature who he had wronged beyond comprehension, beyond forgiveness. Thorin had no idea if he’d ever make it up to Bilbo, nor did he ever think Bilbo should forgive him.

“Of course, of course. I can’t blame you nor do I.” Frodo readily nodded. He paused for a moment as he then looked to Thorin and - as if he could read the dwarf’s thoughts - hesitantly added, “Neither does Bilbo, you know?”

Thorin merely hummed, knowing that what came out of his mouth next would only be a dispute and he didn’t quite want to begin an argument with the young hobbit that he seemed to be getting along rather well with. Despite what others constantly reminded him, he couldn’t quite get himself to believe that Bilbo was left unbothered by the way Thorin had treated him.

The unlikely pair then continued on down the corridor in silence for a few moments more until Frodo broke it once more, voice quieter than it had been throughout this conversation, as if he were hesitant to share these next thoughts;

“I really must thank you, your Majesty.” the young hobbit said out of the blue.

It took nearly all of Thorin’s willpower to not stop walking in utter bafflement. Instead he kept walking and asked in genuine curiosity, “And for what reason may that be?”

“Well, for your kindness and hospitality, of course!” the youth responded with a tone that suggested surprise over Thorin’s unawareness. “When I wrote to Mr. Balin hoping he’d say hello to ole Bilbo, I never imagined he’d write to the King of Erebor himself! Or even that the King would be so gracious as to grant us stay in his Kingdom.” he admitted, glancing to his woolly feet with a strangely guilty expression.

“You and your kin will always be welcomed here. Have always been welcomed here.” Thorin quickly assured. “The circumstances are not...ideal, but I am gladdened by your presence, nevertheless.”

Frodo cast him an appreciative but forlorn look, so Thorin decided not to continue the subject and the two continued on in silence. They had finally made it into the main part of the Mountain where most of the central sights were held. As they walked, they passed many dwarves and needless to say, Thorin and his companion received many odd looks. One, because the King was simply strolling through the halls at night, two, because Thorin was still quite grimy-looking from the battle, and three, because his companion was a young Hobbit, a creature never before seen by most of Thorin’s people. Frodo would meet all their looks with wide smiles that led to the dwarves to grin back out of lack of anything else to do, the baffled expressions never leaving their faces, even as they returned the polite greetings he offered them. It was quite amusing, Thorin couldn’t help but note.

“Though I must confess,” Frodo began after much time had passed, his eyes remaining cast to the floor, the easy smile he gave to the decreasing number of dwarves they passed now waning. “When I wrote to Balin, I suppose a part of me - a rather large part of me - was secretly hoping you’d extend an invitation.”

Thorin could not fault him for that. However, he - and the other Dwarves for that matter - did not view the letter that Frodo sent to Balin as a plea for assistance but rather as a request to rekindle a torn relationship. It was sickeningly endearing but also downright heartbreaking that the Hobbits didn’t think that they had the right to ask the Dwarves for help in their time of need. “And what part of you might that have been?” Thorin asked of Frodo, instead of voicing these concerns.

“I suppose the part of me that looks out for Bilbo.” Frodo answered honestly with a shrug and for some reason, Thorin felt as if his heart had been gripped. The young hobbit did not wait for a response to continue speaking. “Before I went to live with him, his personality had always been a bit...off.” he informed with the barest of laughs. “He’s always been stuffy and a bit too mistrusting for his own good, but after he went on that adventure… When he came back… Well, it was the first time he seemed…sad. Lonely, even.

“Bilbo’s great-grandfather is my twice great-grandfather, making us cousins, of a sort. When my parents died, I never expected that he’d take me in.” Frodo revealed, seeming very subdued and wistful. Thorin couldn’t help but note that it felt plain wrong to see the boy look so. Frodo gave a humorless laugh as he continued, “No, I fully expected to just live out the rest of my youth in Brandy Hall, relying on the odd relation or two to get by before I’d be old enough to be considered fully independent but Bilbo… Well, he returned from that Quest of yours and it was as if he were suddenly more open to the idea of company, albeit of a younger kind. He’s always been a rather reserved hobbit but he saw the worth in taking in a nearly random tweenager who’d have probably managed just fine on his own and took the time to care, to shape him into somebody. He saw a worth in taking me in that no one else seemed to see, including myself.” he admitted, voice finally hitching. Frodo took a steadying breath before he continued again. “He’s...He’s very important to me. I call him Uncle but in these few short years, he’s become as much of a parental figure to me as my own were.

“When he would tell of your Quest and he’d speak about you and your Company, I’ve never seen him more happy. Or sad, for that matter. It was as if he were missing something he could never get back. And then the Shire was invaded and we lost so much and Bilbo he...he felt as though he needed to handle everything on his own, despite I and others’ assurance that he needn't. He’s never been one to reach out for help when he truly needs it so I knew I had to be the one to do it, even if it meant going behind his back to write that letter. I knew it was what he wanted, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Or maybe I was just being selfish? Maybe I just wanted to see everything I’ve only ever heard of in stories with my own eyes? In the end, I don’t know the answer but I can’t say I regret my decision.” he finally finished, expression looking as if he were surprised by all the information he had just divulged to a near stranger. He looked to Thorin hesitantly before he quickly diverted his eyes once more in embarrassment.

Thorin swallowed thickly, letting a heavy silence fall as he processed all the information he had just learned.

“My,” a voice began before Thorin could make sense of his thoughts. He looked to Frodo, though the young hobbit wasn’t looking at him. His head was tilted in the air as he breathed in the heavenly aroma emitting from the Kitchens, still a ways away but filling the hall with enticing scents as they approached. “what a wonderful smell! If I didn’t know any better, with the cozy lodgings and clothes and the scent, I’d think I was back home.” he said with a melancholic smile, his eyes suspiciously sparkling, as if there were tears threatening to come forth. As Thorin suspected, Frodo sniffed and cleared his throat, looking away as he discretely wiped under his eye. “Though I know it’s a silly thing. With home being...lost, and all. And that merely the scent of bread baking is enough to get me nostalgic, it’s…” he trailed, as if unsure of what he wanted to say. “Well, it’s rather laughable.” he finished in a humorless laugh.

Thorin frowned, Frodo still not meeting his gaze. Once, Thorin might have agreed with the young hobbit in his opinions of his behavior and comforts. He knew what it was like to lose a home and a Hobbit’s definition of home was undoubtedly different than that of a Dwarf’s. Some people might even call it a naive or foolish one, as Thorin once did. But Thorin is changed. He’s learned to appreciate life’s little blessings.

“The Shire…” Thorin began, knowing without looking that he had gained Frodo’s attention by mentioning his homeland. Confident that he had his desired audience, he continued, “it seemed a peaceful place. I had once thought peace to be a farce. That it was just a time of waiting for trouble so I never really truly learned to appreciate it.” he confessed. “But getting to know Bilbo, I learned that peace isn’t so bad a thing. Being a peaceful person isn’t either and that relying on others isn’t a sign of weakness. Bilbo, however, is more reserved, though it’s through no fault of his own. He has a number of valid reasons to mistrust others and I’m ashamed to admit that I am one of them. I hurt him gravely, not too long ago. I’m sure he’s mentioned—”

“He hasn’t.” Frodo quickly chimed in and Thorin turned to see the hobbit watching him with an inscrutable expression.

Now Thorin laughed without mirth. “Well, that’s very like him, to not assign any blame, but I’m afraid the majority of it lies with me. My reasons for inviting you here, Frodo, were also selfish. I… I hope to use this time of misfortune for you and your kin to make up for my past transgressions against your uncle. I hope to rekindle our relationship, to show him that I’m… Well, that I’m sorry. It’s deplorable that it took such a tragedy for me to finally make an attempt but I intend to not waste any more time on holding guilt. I’ve come to learn that time is too precious of a thing to waste. Your uncle taught me that.” he finished, feeling indescribably odd. He’s never voiced his intentions before, not to himself and least of all to another.

“I…” Frodo began but stopped himself and turned his head to the ground and furrowed his brows. He seemed astonished over the other’s words and was taking some time to process all he had heard. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Well, I can’t describe how...gladdened I am to hear you say so, your Majesty. But,” he started, looking up to meet Thorin’s gaze. “I can think of someone else who needs to hear all that more than I do.”

“You…” Thorin started, surprised over the lad’s boldness and the brutal truth to his words. “You’re very wise for one so young…” he eventually settled on.

Much to Thorin’s delight, Frodo gave an honest laugh once more and the dwarf’s heart felt all the more lighter from it.

“Well, of course. I am a proper adult, you know?” Frodo asked indignantly, once again giving his suspenders a tug as he straightened his posture and gained a self-assured look.

Thorin felt a smile grace his own face as well, despite the recently acquired knowledge that weighed heavily on his mind. “Yes, of course.” he easily concurred.

The two continued along in amiable silence, both no doubt going over the information they learned from the conversation in their heads until they had finally arrived at their destination.

“Here we are,” Thorin announced as they reached the doors of the Kitchens, the hustle and bustle behind the large marble still audible and present, even as they neared a later hour.

Frodo turned to the King and gave a low bow. “My thanks, your Majesty.” he said before he straightened back to his full height and met the eyes of the King. “For the escort and so much more.”

“Think nothing of it, lad. I also must thank you for the pleasant chat. It was...incredibly informative.” Thorin concluded. His look then softened somewhat as he gestured for Frodo to leave. “Now go and get some snackage for your kin. I will wait here to escort you back.”

Frodo looked startled and sheepish as he began to protest, “Oh, but you really don't have to bother—”

Thorin placed his hand up in front of himself in a placating manner. “It is not a bother, but a privilege to walk with one so young yet so enlightened. Besides, I will be heading in that direction, regardless. I think I would like to have a wash and change of clothes myself.” he said with a grimace as he finally truly observed the horrid state of his clothes. The blood had crusted and made everything far too stiff. He really needed a nice long soak to rinse away the stink and filth. Bathing would also be a good time to contemplate his next actions, in regards to the Hobbits.

“Oh, it works wonders, your Majesty.” Frodo said as he stepped to enter the Kitchens, apparently accepting the dwarf’s offer of accompaniment.

“I do not doubt.” Thorin agreed with a grin. “And Frodo,” he started, stopping the boy from crossing the threshold.

The young hobbit instantly halted and turned his full attention to the King. “Yes?” he requested, looking utterly curious.

“No more of this ‘your Majesty’ nonsense. Just Thorin is fine.” he insisted.

Frodo blinked at the King, as if unsure what to make of the offer. Thorin was extremely pleased when Frodo’s face then lit up into the brightest grin the dwarf had yet to see him bare.

“Well, then.” Frodo started, looking away with a happy expression. “Thank you, Thorin.” he nodded before he finally stepped into the Kitchens.

Thorin offered a soft smile of his own before he turned from the doorway, his mind still racing from the conversation. Two bits of learned information stood out amongst the others;

‘He seemed sad. Lonely, even.’

‘He felt as though he needed to handle everything on his own.’

Well, Thorin and the others would just have to prove to Bilbo that he was no longer alone. That he was never alone.

So set was Thorin on working out just how he and the others would accomplish this seemingly nearly impossible feat, he had missed Frodo lingering in the doorway to the Kitchens and the soft smile that the hobbit had shot him before he finally disappeared through the doors.

Chapter Text

Dís’ experience of meeting her first official Hobbit was an interesting one.

She had never seen one before, not even when she had lived in the Blue Mountains, close to the land known as the Shire, where all the Hobbits of Middle-earth had once resided. Apparently, they typically did not wander far from their homestead, which made Dís’ chances of ever meeting one in everyday life slim to none. This left all of her knowledge on the people to stem from mostly word of mouth and rumor.

She had of course heard much in regards to their general sense as a people of Middle-earth; a stature even shorter than that of a Dwarf’s, a susceptibility to bouts of strong emotion, and a softness to both their nature and appearance were all staples of their race.

However, these were all things that she had heard prior to the Quest to Reclaim Erebor, where on a special occasion, one of these mysterious creatures had wandered from his homeland to assist a group of strangers with a deadly task. Upon the Quest’s completion and Dís’ return to the Mountain, the Company had given her a revised definition of a Hobbit.

There was of course the verification of their physical features - though she had to admit, the vaguely Elvish ears were intriguing and the large, hairy feet were a marvel in and of themselves to see. However, she had also been given many an account of a Hobbit’s character traits, which were what confused Dís the most at first.

They seemed a simple people but the stories she had heard regarding one Bilbo Baggins confounded her. The entire Company was practically in love with him (some - or rather one - more romantically than platonically, she couldn’t help but jest to herself).

And now having met her own Hobbit, she felt even more confused and oddly angered because she was beginning to understand the infatuation.

Young Frodo Baggins was an incredibly charming fellow.

He appeared simple enough, all easy smiles and though some of his features were more sharp than soft, he still had a look of a sort of…comfort to him that Dwarves simply did not possess.

However, it was the lad’s eyes that struck her most. Not for their light color, though they were indeed a beautiful blue, it was the intelligence within them that won her over. When she met the lad’s gaze, he easily returned it and within the diamond-like orbs, she had seen a cold fire. It was a look that spoke of a cleverness and wit that Dís had rarely come across in her long life. Though it wasn’t just the dazzling color or the deep depth to his gleaming gems that fascinated her. It was the way in which he had held her gaze that let Dís know that Frodo Baggins, though he seemed small and ordinary, had a mighty spirit.

Speaking of, she wondered just what her brother and young Master Baggins would be conversing about during their little jaunt over to the Kitchens? Just as she’s been told, Hobbits were quite stealthy, as she didn’t hear Frodo as he walked off down the hall. However, her brother’s heavy, hurried steps as he undoubtedly tried to catch up to the quick little creature, she did hear. As she knocked upon the wooden door to the Hobbits’ Chambers, she couldn’t help her smirk.

Dís believed that she was an excellent judge of character. Even if he hadn’t requested Thorin’s company specifically, one look into Frodo’s captivating eyes was enough to tell her that the young hobbit was after something, apparently something that only the King could provide him. What exactly, Dís could only guess, but she knew with certainty that Frodo would learn all that he desired from Thorin. Her brother stood no chance against a sharp mind such as the one young Frodo seemed to possess.

She’d be sure to somehow find out the details of their little chat some way or another, but for now, Dís thought it was high time that she made herself acquainted with the one whom she wished to see most of all.

After years of countless tales and stories, Dís would finally meet none other than the infamous Bilbo Baggins himself.

Yes - Dís thought as she straightened out her gowns and made certain that the sparkling gems adorning her beard and hair were on perfect display - it was finally time to see what all the fuss was about.

As the door opened, Dís was ready to come face to face with the hobbit who had someone managed to save the Kingdom of Erebor and, at the same time, make the mightiest of Dwarven warriors sick with worry.

Only she did not come face to face with anyone when the magnificent, stone-thick wooden door had finally opened, seemingly on it’s own. The door had only opened partially and though she looked right and left, Dís saw no one.

Finally, she had enough sense to look down and was met with a round, youthful face and wide brown eyes the same color as water-enriched soil. The eyes blinked at her owlishly before the gaze quickly diverted to the ground, which they didn’t have to travel very far to do, seeing as the head they were attached to was very close to their destination.

This, clearly, was not the Hobbit she was looking for. This was one of the wee ones.

This was the second time Dís had seen what the Men call Halflings with her own eyes and much like the first time, she was befuddled, yet frustratingly captured.

The creature still timidly, openly staring at her, seemed fairly ordinary by what she knew a Hobbit to be. This particular hobbit - that appeared to be using the door as a short of shield between himself and Dís - had a similar hairstyle to the previous one she had just met. It was short by Dwarven standards, but not as short as she’s seen on some Men. However, this hobbit was far younger than Frodo Baggins and had tanned skin that suggested time frequently spent in the sun. His hair was also lighter and straighter as well and reminded Dís of sandstone.

During her entire evaluation, the hobbit continued to stare at her with a timid hesitancy. After a few more moments of silence spent in observation, he seemed to finally catch that he was doing so and - much to Dís’ surprise - though he was still visibly weary of the stranger, was the first to break the silence that had stretched on since the door had opened.

“Hello?” he started, looking as curious as he did wary. “May I help you...” he continued before he cut himself off and stared at Dís for a moment, looking her up and down, as if he were pondering something. “...ma’am?” he finished, though he sounded a fair bit uncertain.

Dís held back an amused snort. Instead, she asked, “Good evening, little master. Is Master Bilbo Baggins in?” giving the lad a friendly look.

“Yes, ma’am...” the little hobbit answered with a nod, the door creaking slightly as his hands appeared to tighten on the wood and he gained a slightly suspicious expression at the name’s mention. Dís was then fairly surprised when the seemingly meek boy gave her a fearsome stare down, as if scrutinizing her very character.

There was still a hesitancy in his eyes but also a look of fierce loyalty. She could tell that this young one was a being who gave his whole self to those he cared for and would do anything to keep them from harm, including facing off against foes he seemingly had no chance of besting. However, Dís did not doubt that this little hobbit would indeed be the victor of whatever battle he faced. His loyalty was a weapon in and of itself. Though there was still a sort of trepidation as she had first noted, which was a good thing because it meant that the lad still had a healthy amount of fear; he wouldn’t do anything too reckless. Though that analysis applied more to the battlefield than it did in this situation. No, in this instance, this little hobbit doing whatever it took to protect his kin would be little more than shutting the door in the dwarrowdam’s face.

Not wishing to startle him off, Dís decided that a more careful approach would be in order, as opposed to the more direct one she used with Frodo.

She linked her hands and rested them in front of her pelvis, being sure to give the lad her friendliest of smiles. “Do you think it would be alright if I were to speak with him?” she inquired in a soft timbre. She was sure to give natural breaks in their eye contact, doing so by acting as though she were searching for her next words.

The hobbit studied her more and seemed indecisive. His eyes finally trailed up to the top of her head and his suspicious look then disappeared, replaced by one of open shock (and a slightly open mouth). He had undoubtedly seen her circlet of silver, marking her as a member of the Royal Family.

Though his suspicion was gone, when he next spoke he still sounded quite uncertain. “Oh...” the hobbit trailed.

Dís gave a soft frown. “Would it not be alright? Is he resting? I heard some of your group were hurt and wished to check up on you.” she stated. And then, an idea came to her. It wasn’t manipulation, per se, as it was the truth, but it was still fairly underhanded of her. “I have already checked upon Master Nori and he’s doing well, however he, along with the rest of my kin, say they simply cannot rest well without knowing the state of you all. And I think it’ll ease them all to hear an honest opinion from me rather than Mr. Óin, as a friend’s opinion usually differs from that of a doctor’s.”

“Oh.” the hobbit simply breathed in response, his face easing into a more open look, seeming rather touched by her apparent concern. “Well, no, Mr. Bilbo’s not resting, though he probably should be. He’s just giving Mr. Pippin his bath, is all. And that’s usually quite the task...” he said more quietly.

“Had you not all been scrubbed down yesterday when you arrived?” Dís inquired with a raised brow. She knew so because she was the one who Óin had come to to discuss the proper oils and salts for their bathwater.

“Oh, no, ma’am. We did.” the little hobbit answered back. “There was just...an incident in the kitchen. It left some of us needin’ another washing up.” he explained, though it did little to clarify Dís’ confusion. Nevertheless, she pressed on in her set task.

“Well, I don’t mind waiting.” she assured with an amused smile. “That is, of course, if you don’t mind me doing so, little master.”

“Oh, well, no I don’t mind. I think it’d be alright…” the sandstone haired hobbit trailed once more. “Mr. Bilbo said he wasn’t opposed to visitors. I can go fetch him for you, if you’d like, ma’am?”

“Thank you very much, young sir.” Dís smiled kindly at him. “But let’s not disturb Master Baggins just yet. As I said, I’m not opposed to waiting.” she reminded.

“Sounds fine, ma’am.” sandstone, Dís had dubbed him, agreed. “I won’t rush him, but I’ll just let him know that a guest’s awaiting. He’d prefer that.” he stated, already turning to go and do just that.

“Alright. But, little master,” Dís called, stopping the hobbit in his tracks. He instantly turned to her, all ears. Dís kept the amused smile off her face as she asked, “Do you think it’d be alright if I waited inside?”, looking behind the hobbit and into the chambers as an indication.

The dumbfounded look on sandstone’s face was rather comical and - based on his severe expression - Dís imagined that if he were a being with less control, he would have slapped a hand upside his own head. Instead, he mumbled out an embarrassed “C-Course…”, his slightly reddened face to the ground as he used all of his body to push the door the rest of the way open.

Dís entered the small foyer that only their private rooms offered, with hooks along the wall to hang cloaks and a nice large rug for one’s dirtied boots. Though she supposed the Hobbits weren’t quite in need of such a thing considering they went barefooted and all. But then again, she reasoned a mat to wipe their dirtied soles upon would be all the more useful for that same reason.

After the grand door was pushed closed by sandstone - Dís decided to hide the fact that she helped in the endeavor - the youthful face turned to her once more.

Sandstone stared at her and it took Dís a moment to realize he was holding out both his hands expectantly. It took her another moment to realize that he wanted her cloak to hang. She mutely unclasped the heavy cloak she wore - for even the Mountain’s warm halls could get quite chilly in Winter, especially at night - and passed it into the young hobbit’s awaiting arms. The dense material was probably a little too heavy as he seemed to struggle wielding it for a moment - even hanging it up seemed to be quite the endeavor. But in the end, sandstone managed to very carefully and delicately hang her cloak upon the top-most hook, only having to just slightly shift his weight to the balls of his large feet to reach.

“Thank you.” Dís said with a kind smile that had the young hobbit looking bashful.

“You’re welcome, ma’am.” sandstone said quietly, starting to lead the way into the apartment, stopping at the threshold of the foyer and the common area to allow Dís to enter ahead of him. So chivalrous, she noted. Once again, she had found herself strangely taken with a ‘mere’ Hobbit. She had never met such a well mannered youth! Not even dear Ori was this courteous, which in and of itself was a blasphemous thing to think. Dís was pulled from her musings when the hobbit then vaguely gestured to the area around them.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just go and let Mr. Bilbo know that you’re here, ma’am.” he informed.

She thanked him once again and then he was off into one of the other compartments, no doubt making his way to the bath. After she watched him go, Dís took a seat at the table near the kitchen area and took a moment to admire the fine craftsmanship of her fellow Dwarves.

Most rooms of housing in Erebor were built as apartments, functioning as their own houses and typically containing more than one room. These chambers however, were one of their grander - and was especially commissioned.

From her understanding, this room had been given to the Hobbit when he stayed here after the weeks following the Battle of Five Armies. However, when he had resided here, it was far more humble. The dwarves kept trying to give him nicer rooms or at least improve upon his chambers’ living conditions but the Hobbit was insistent that they spend their efforts focusing on the rest of the Mountain’s restoration, which Dís had to admit, was rather admirable. And even after the Hobbit had left Erebor, the rooms remained assigned to him and kept in working order, less the Hobbit decided to pay a visit. Upon learning that the Hobbit would be staying here with his kin for an indefinite amount of time, the dwarves had worked tirelessly on the renovations to accommodate four more woolly-footed guests.

These rooms had a common living space with a large fireplace with comfy-looking armchairs and a plush rug, a study, a large bedroom with other sleeping rooms attached, and a fully working bathroom with running water and heat. It even had a stocked kitchen, courtesy of Bombur, for smaller scale cooking, as well as a large wooden table fit for mealtime, which was a gift from Bifur. Dís also had the sneaking suspicion that the unwieldy-looking wooden chest tucked away in the corner by the small plush rug was filled to the brim with handmade toys. They weren’t the only of the Company to add their personal touch however and no dwarf did this better than Dori, who had been working furiously in the months leading to their guests’ arrival. He adorned all the beds with hand-knitted blankets for the especially cold nights, as well as hand-sewn coverings for the sofa and chairs, which looked very foreign to Dís. The entire room was styled by Dori in a way that Dís had never seen before. It must have been Shire style.

As Dís was musing all this over, she failed to notice that the young hobbit had re-entered the room. Only after he spoke up did she realize.

“He’ll be out in a minute, ma’am.” sandstone informed as Dís turned to him with a mildly astonished expression.

Durin, their feet were rather silent, weren’t they? It was still rather ridiculous to think that Master Hobbit had snuck around a bunch of Elves and a dragon without notice, but if there was ever a moment in which Dís was close to believing so, it was now.

“There’s a dreadful mess in the bathrooms now…” sandstone added as if to himself as he walked over to the hearth and cautiously removed a pot from the fire with a cloth-covered hand. He carefully made his way over to the table, so as to not spill any hot water, and then poured most of the pot’s contents into a teapot on the tabletop. “Tea, ma’am?” he then inquired, removing the thick cloth covering from the handle and neatly folding it.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Dís accepted. She had never been one for the leafy drink, but she had heard that Hobbits enjoyed it dearly - for they had a whole mealtime dedicated to it - and she was not about to be rude to such a polite young lad.

“What would you like?” sandstone queried.

“Oh, just whatever you have in the pot already would be fine. You needn’t bother with something special.” Dís quickly offered.

“Normally, ma’am, I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing, but that there’s a special brew.” sandstone indicated with a nod to the pot of brewing tea upon the table. “A special one from Mr. Óin, that is.”

“Ah,” Dís breathed in understanding. That must’ve been what the Healer said he had given the children to help with sleeping. “Well in that case, whatever’s easiest, then. I’m not picky.”

Sandstone gave her a nod before he soundlessly made his way into the kitchen, to fetch some cups, presumably. As a little experiment, Dís strained her ears to try to pick up the sound from the boy’s feet hitting the stone as he left the area. Even whilst watching them and therefore knowing the exact moment the soles hit the ground, she amazingly still couldn’t discern a noticeable sound louder than a soft plap.

Her ears did however, pick up on something else; singing. The echo - and what sounded curiously like splashing - cueing her into the fact that it was coming from the bath. She could pick out two voices singing in tandem, filled with mirth as they sang the words, sometimes ceasing in the melody when a laugh became too overpowering but they wouldn’t hesitate to start back up again. After listening especially carefully, she was able make out the words;

“O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain,
And the brook that leaps from hill to plain
But better than rain or rippling streams
Is Water Hot that smokes and steams.”

Listening more carefully, she was able to discern that one of the voices sounded extremely young, if the higher pitch and insistent giggles were any indication. Though it was a very lovely voice, despite its youthful pitch and constant replacing of words with giggles. And the one leading the song - who seemed to know the words best - was decidedly older and his voice was equally as pleasant to listen to. This singer had a calmer energy and it helped to balance out the younger voice’s excitement. She couldn’t help but note that the two complimented each other quite well and she wouldn’t be surprised to learn that this wasn’t their first time singing together, or even this exact song together. As the song went on, each line seemed more rehearsed;

“O! Water is fair that leaps on high,”
sang the older voice.

“In a fountain white beneath the sky,”
sing-songed younging.

“But never did fountain sound so sweet—”

“As splashing Hot Water with my feet!” grandly proclaimed the young voice, accompanied by a great SPLASH, followed by an indiscernible indignant reply from the elder.

Dís couldn’t help the amused snort from escaping her throat nor the smile that she felt stretch her face. However, it was then she heard another noise - the sound of someone clearing their throat rather pointedly - and she then realized that in her preoccupation with listening to the song, she had failed to notice that another figure had entered the room and now sat at the table right across from her. She cursed herself for letting her guard down - even in such a safe place - and kept her honest surprise from her face as she turned to see just who she had failed to notice.

It was then Dís met her third Hobbit ever.

This hobbit was currently giving her a harsh glare with a gaze as strong as steel. He looked to be either the same age as sandstone or just about. His hair was more golden than the other’s - like her Fíli - and he had more defined curls than sandstone but they were all matted down with water. It was clear he just had a bath himself not too long ago. He was also wearing sleeping garments, a long nightshirt with buttons and a patterned, untied robe over it.

“Good evening, young sir.” Dís greeted with a polite nod.

However, instead of receiving a greeting in return, the boy only furthered to narrow his eyes at her. Eyes which, Dís noted, were also remarkably captivating. Like Frodo, the steely-eyed Hobbit was meeting her gaze head on, but while Frodo’s look was one of calm calculation and evaluation, this young hobbit’s eyes seemed to be almost issuing a challenge; whereas Frodo’s eyes spoke of a cunning nature, this boy’s warned of a defiant one. He too had a strong spirit and Dís did not doubt that if he were a little older, he’d also make a fine opponent in combat, like sandstone. As of now however, she didn’t have to worry of an attack of a physical kind but she sensed that she still needed to remain on guard, so she easily returned the look.

At this point, sandstone had returned with a tray full of teacups as well as various other jars filled with substances Dís couldn’t quite make out (she had never been skilled in the arts of the kitchen).

“Oh, Mr. Merry.” sandstone said in mild surprise. He set the tray down and placed a teacup in front of Dís and didn’t hesitate to also put one in front of Merry, his name happened to be. A bit of an odd name, Dís mused. Especially when it’s owner didn’t seem to match the description, what with his harsh gaze and all.

Sandstone poured some of the contents of the original teapot into the cup in front of Merry, a lightly colored, brownish-green liquid filling it up. Sandstone also poured something else into the cup that Dís couldn’t quite identify and stirred it in; she thought it might be honey. He then turned to the dwarrowdam. “How do you take it, ma’am?” the boy asked of her as he served the tea from the second teapot he fetched from the kitchen, the color of this liquid a deep brown, almost black.

“Take what?” she returned in honest confusion, breaking the amusing staring competition she was having with the un-merry lad across from her to make polite eye contact with the courteous one standing to her side.

However, before sandstone had a chance to respond, Merry answered instead.

“Your tea.” he supplied, gaining Dís’ attention. His expression remained ever suspicious of her as he returned the dwarrowdam’s stare. His accent, Dís noticed, was different from Frodo’s and sandstone’s, but still similar. All the lads were from different regions perhaps? Another curious detail.

“You can put sweeteners in it, ma’am.” sandstone clarified. “Or milk or cream, and there’s honey or sugar too, if you like.”

“I’m afraid I’m not a very big tea drinker, so I’m uninformed of the proper ways in which to drink it.” she informed, turning back to the boy. “What would you recommend?”

The boy stared at her for a moment, as if surprised she was asking for his opinion. Then a blush appeared on his round cheeks and he smiled in such a way that made it seem as if he were trying to hide his happiness. Dís once again felt something within her become...soft.

“I think you’d enjoy just proper black tea, with a splash of milk and a bit of cinnamon, to add a bit of spice.” sandstone said as he expertly prepared the drink, adding a few itty spoon-taps of a brown, powdery substance and then taking a small pitcher and adding the smallest amount of milk into it, turning the previously black liquid into a dark grey-brown. The boy pushed the teacup closer to Dís and placed his hands behind his back, waiting patiently for her to take a sip. Dís happily obliged and lifted the dainty cup to her lips and took a slurp.

The boy in front of her looked genuinely taken aback and Merry from across the table raised an eyebrow at her and looked as if he were trying his best to keep a grin off his face as he soundlessly sipped his own concoction. The reason for their stares, Dís did not know, but her heart felt gladdened to see the youths looking entertained.

She placed the cup down back onto the miniature plate it came on as gently as possible and gave a smile to the boy who had served her. “It’s excellent! I haven’t had much experience with tea, but this is by far the best tasting one I’ve ever had.” she honestly complimented.

The lad’s face positively lit up, but he once again looked as if he were trying to keep his joy contained as he shuffled slightly. “T-Thank you very much, ma’am.” he muttered bashfully.

“Who is she?” Merry then asked from across the table with a jerk of his head in Dís’ direction, apparently having had enough of their pleasantries.

“She’s…” sandstone started but paused, his eyes widening with a sudden realization. “Oh, bother. I forgot to ask for your name! I’m so, so sorry, ma’am!” he apologized almost frantically.

“You let a stranger inside?” Merry questioned in a tone that suggested much judgement. “Very wise, Samwise.” he jeered.

“Oi, now.” the lad - Samwise - started, sounding rather affronted as he turned to the other hobbit. “I don’t think I like your tone there, Mr. Merry.” he chastised with a rather pronounced frown.

Merry rolled his eyes in a grand fashion. “You can like and not like whatever you want, Sam.” the golden haired lad rebutted. “For instance, I for one don’t like that you let in a random stranger!”

“I figured she was just one of Mr. Bilbo’s Dwarves!” Samwise said in defense of himself and it was an entertaining thought, indeed; ‘one of Bilbo’s Dwarves’! In life, Dís often found that the most amusing things rang true.

“No need for arguing, lads. I have no qualms in sharing my name.” Dís quickly intervened in a tone she had long practiced with her own lads. Both hobbits turned away from each other and looked to her as she stood from her seat. She was about to offer her introduction before she was cut of by the hurried pitter-patter of bare feet hitting marble. All three of the room’s occupants turned to the noise’s source and spotted the small hobbit just as he entered the room.

“Is Frodo back yet?” the tiny hobbit questioned with a look of excited anticipation, looking to and fro to locate said boy even as he asked of him. He had the thickest accent Dís had heard yet. It had the telltale quickened pace of early childhood and a strange airy drawl to it, though he was not incomprehensible. She could also tell this was the young singing voice from the baths.

And this hobbit was young, indeed, for he was nearly the smallest thing Dís had ever seen; he barely came up to her knee! Though before this meeting she knew how small the lad must’ve been based on the garments she had seen made for him - for she had overseen most of Dori’s needlework as she had often kept him company whilst he was doing it - it was still startling to see just how small the lad actually was. Even in the misbuttoned nightshirt he was currently wearing that was made especially for him, he was practically swimming in it. And, Dís noted with a fair amount of amusement, he did appear to be swimming in another sense as his chestnut curls were dripping all over the place, apparently not dried well enough from his bath.

“Not yet, Mr. Pippin.” answered Sam, he and Merry seemingly unaffected by the lad’s overzealous entrance and frantic questioning.

“Oh.” the wee hobbit - Pippin - simply breathed, his voice and expression conveying his clear disappointment.

“Though he shouldn’t be too much longer.” Sam reassured. “Why don’t you sit and have your tea in the meantime?” he suggested, patting one of the table’s chairs before he already began to pour the lad a steaming cup.

“Oh.” was Pippin’s response once again, though instead of disappointment, his tone and face now conveyed his clear desire to not do such a thing. The lad was a rather open book, Dís noticed. And she wasn’t the only one.

“Now don’t be like that, Mr. Pippin.” Sam remarked in a gently admonishing tone as he placed the teapot back upon the table. “Remember what Mr. Óin said? It should help you sleep.” he reminded in a soft voice as he continued to prepare the drink.

“Yes…” Pippin affirmed in a trailing voice, though his feet remained planted in place. He looked rather forlorn at the reminder of the medicine’s purpose. This earned him a concerned look from not only Dís but another occupant of the room.

Merry simply sat in silence and watched the young lad with a vigilant gaze as he continued to nurse his own tea. As soon as the smallest hobbit had entered the room, Dís noticed that Merry’s hostile energy had relaxed some and something in his look had softened. However, upon the younger lad's down put look, Merry had seemed to grow tense once more and he looked unsure of how to ease his young kinsman. Well, it was good to confirm that even the fiercest of warriors had their weaknesses.

“Fret not, little master.” Dís said to the smallest boy, gaining his interested attention, as well as the politely curious look of Sam and the suspicious gaze of Merry. “I just spoke with young Master Frodo not too long ago. He’s on his way to fetch you your treats and should be back in due time.” she guaranteed.

“Oh, great!” Pippin exclaimed, sounding far more cheery now. “Thank you.” he added, as if he knew that if he forgot his manners, he’d be chided. Then he simply forgot all about being polite and openly stared at Dís in unabashed curiosity. After a long moment, he broke his silence and asked with a tilt of his head, “Who’re you?”

She opened her mouth to answer once more but it seemed fate was against Dís revealing her name, as she was interrupted when another being entered the room.

“Peregrin, those clothes are brand new, they do not need a wash,” a voice with an accent very similar to Frodo’s spoke up and in walked who could only be Bilbo Baggins, with honey-hued curls and a well put-together appearance. “I thought I made it clear that I wanted you dry before—” he continued before he cut off his reprimand at the sight of Dís. He stopped in his tracks and stared at her with a confused expression. “Oh. Good evening.” he simply said, sounding slightly surprised.

“Good evening.” Dís returned with a dip of her head and an even stare.

The grown Hobbit blinked at her for a moment until he did a weird twitch of his nose, a bit like a rabbit, and adjusted his stance. After a heavy silence lingered, he eventually broke it when it became clear Dís herself would not. “This is...unexpected…” the hobbit trailed while he looked away and began to fiddle with the bath towel he was holding.

“And what were you expecting me to be like?” Dís questioned, sounding miffed.

The hobbit seemed to sense her tone and turned to her with wide eyes and hastily replied, “O-Oh, no, no, no. It’s nothing like that!” he insisted. “It’s just, Sam said a Dwarf was here, and I just figured that it’d be—”

“A different Dwarf?” Dís posed with a raised brow as she approached the hobbit. Bilbo looked as though he wanted to instinctively take a step back but refrained from doing so. All this time, Dís had been giving the hobbit a hard stare and though he looked a rather skittish fellow, Bilbo hadn’t averted his eyes yet, not since the dwarrowdam had started this stare down in full force. “One more kingly, perhaps?” she asked severely.

The hobbit’s face then turned an amusing shade of pink. “W-What? No, no!” Bilbo continued to insist. He then paused and looked rather conflicted as he amended, “Well, y-yes, I suppose. Or another of the Company or—” he continued to ramble until Dís interrupted him with her boisterous laughter, causing Bilbo and the other hobbits to look to her with slightly alarmed expressions.

“Oh, peace, Master Baggins! I am only jesting!” Dís exclaimed as she wiped tears from her eyes before she placed her hands upon the hobbit’s shoulders in a sign of good faith. Like Frodo, Bilbo seemed to buckle slightly with the weight of her firm hold but he seemed otherwise unaffected by it - Dís reasoned she could thank his prolonged exposure to the touchy-feely, heavy-handed Company members for that. “I know that this meeting is unexpected. Especially considering that there’s a growing list of individuals in Erebor who have wished to see you since you’ve arrived here yesterday.”

Bilbo’s tension seemed to dissipate as his shoulders sagged and his brows unfurrowed, giving Dís a nice good look at his laugh line-framed, blue-grey eyes. He let out a breath and finally looked away, the nervous air about him rapidly receding. “I suppose I have you to thank for Fíli and Kíli’s harrowing sense of humor...” he said flatly, causing Dís’ laughter to start again on its own accord.

“Who is she?” Merry then repeated with a groan, drawing the dwarrowdam and hobbit away from one another. The lad sounded and looked quite testy, his teacup set back down upon the tabletop and his fingers drumming on the wood peevishly. The other hobbits were also looking at the two with open interest.

“Merry, mind your manners.” Bilbo admonished, giving the lad a disapproving look that had the young hobbit casting his eyes upwards in annoyance. Seemingly ignoring said look for the meantime, Bilbo then gestured to the dwarrowdam at his side. “Lads, this is,” he began before Dís decided she more than deserved to cut somebody off again.

“Dís, daughter of Thrain, son of Thror, at your service.” she finally introduced herself, giving a low bow.

Merry merely raised a brow and Pippin tilted his head again, looking like he were still piecing everything together. Sam, on the other hand, already had his suspicions and just had them confirmed. He seemed distraught over his ‘lack’ of manners and swiftly sought to correct this.

“Y-Your Highness!” the fair-haired hobbit greeted a little frantically with a low bow of his own, fumbling a little in the action, nearly tripping over his own feet. “S-Samwise Gamgee, at your’s.” he quickly offered, sounding a little unsure of the proper Dwarven way to greet a royal.

“It’s a pleasure, Master Samwise.” Dís returned honestly with an amused look. “Thank you for being such a gracious host. I apologize for not introducing myself proper in the first place.” she lamented with a hand to her chest to convey her sincerity.

Sam then turned positively red. “N-No, ma’am! I should’ve asked in the first place.” he insisted.

“Right you are.” Merry answered rather indignantly with crossed arms. Dís then turned to the testy golden haired lad.

“And you must be Master Merry, if I’m not mistaken.” Dís reasoned, placing her hands upon her hips.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck.” the lad corrected, insisting on formality in way that Dís found quite comical. It reminded her of her brother’s irritated responses to the Elven-king when the elf spoke in a familiar sense with the Dwarven-king. Once again, she was stricken with the lad’s stubborn spirit.

“Master Brandybuck,” Dís amended. “I apologize for intruding upon you. I know how wary you must be of strangers, and rightly so. You have been through much, but you have made it through. That and your resolve speaks to your strength and character.”

The lad’s mouth promptly fell open in a look of surprise before he looked away, his brows now furrowed in confusion rather than suspicion. “Y-Yes...Well…Hmph.” he simply finished, cheeks dusting pink as he now refused to even look in the dwarrowdam’s direction, causing Dís to flash a victorious grin.

Satisfied with her current resolution to that predicament, she casted her gaze downwards to give her final greeting. “And that must mean that—” she began before she was interrupted by an excited exclamation.

“I’m Pippin!” the wee hobbit proclaimed as he practically bounced over to Dís.

“Indeed you are!” Dís returned with a wide smile of her own as she knelt down to meet him. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Pippin.” she said as she offered out her hand to the lad, which the tiny hobbit gladly accepted, voicing just how chuffed he was to be offered such a grown-up greeting through his poorly-contained giggles. Pippin shook her hand with as much vigor and enthusiasm as a fauntling possessed, his whole hand just barely wrapping around three of her fingers. It made Dís feel something akin to nostalgic, reminding her of when her lads were as young and boisterous. Following the thought, she brought up something that had been on her mind, “If I’m not mistaken, I have you to thank for looking after my son whilst you journeyed here. He’s a rather reckless lad, but it’s eases my heart and mind to know that he had someone to keep an eye on him for me.”

Pippin tilted his head once more, an action he seemed to do when he was confused. “Your son?” he parroted in a question.

“She’s Kíli’s mother.” Dís heard Bilbo helpfully supply from over her shoulder.

“You are?!” Pippin gasped with bright green eyes as wide as saucers.

“I am.” Dís confirmed with a nod.

Then, without prompting, Pippin unexpectedly threw himself at Dís, startling the dwarrowdam as he wrapped his arms around her neck in a hug. She wasn’t the only one surprised by the action as Sam looked absolutely flabbergasted, Merry merely seemed minorly miffed, and she heard Bilbo heave a little exasperated sigh.

“Nice to meet you!” Pippin said as he still held tight. Dís had finally broken out of her shock enough to wrap her own arms around the lad, engulfing him with her limbs. She brought up a hand to rest in the wee hobbit’s still damp curls and noted that she could literally fit his entire head in her palm.

As they embraced, Dís recalled one of the first things she had spoken with her youngest son about upon his return to the Mountain; a cheery wee hobbit who Kíli had grown very fond of. According to Kíli, the lad had saved his life. Though she knew her son to frequently over exaggerate and her head reasoned that a creature as small as the one currently in her lap couldn’t possibly down a goblin with a stone, she knew in her heart - based upon this present interaction and the starry look in her son’s eyes - that it must be true. That look in Kíli’s eyes, it was one she had never seen him bare before. It was a sort of protectiveness and fondness that was similar to but differed from the usual gazes he reserved for his loved-ones. It seemed almost paternal, something Dís had never imagined her childish son to ever feel.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Master Pippin.” Dís returned once more, her shock finally receding into a fondness of her own.

Was that it then? Were all Hobbits charmed with some sort of ancient spell that made them overwhelmingly endearing? To an admittedly greedy creature such as a Dwarf, a Hobbit was the ultimate prize; they were quite appeasing to a Dwarf’s desire for open affection. Her people were often brought up in a way that taught them to reserve such blatant displays of endearment for loved ones, but it seemed Hobbits had no such reservations. She imagined that in another world, where Hobbits and Dwarves lived side-by-side, that these small and seemingly ordinary creatures would have been more coveted than gold or jewels.

Well, all these sickeningly warm feelings were clearly melting her mind; that last thought had proved it. But, she could now see why the Company had grown so attached to Master Baggins after only knowing him for a short while.

“Alright, that’s enough now, Pippin.” said hobbit reprimanded as Bilbo stepped forward. “You know better than to throw yourself at others.”

Pippin finally unwound his arms from around Dís’ neck but remained in her lap since the dwarrowdam’s arms were still wrapped around him. The lad gave Dís and Bilbo a sheepish look. “Sorry.” he said softly, not sounding very remorseful.

“I do not mind.” Dís assured. To prove this, she stood up from the ground and brought Pippin with her, cradling him with an arm. Pippin made no sound of protest and automatically grabbed onto the fabric of the dwarrowdam’s dress to remain steady. In fact, he let out an awed, excited noise over being so high up. Dís turned to the older hobbit who was casting her a calculating, inscrutable look. “You were preparing for bed, were you not? I’ll help.” she offered in a tone that would take no protest. “I have my fair share of experience in caring for little rascals.” she added with a grin and pointed look to her passenger, earning a giggle from the lad as she jostled him playfully.

Bilbo still seemed slightly perplexed and uncertain of the dwarrowdam, but he let Dís know that she had earned his agreement when he gave her a grateful look. “Thank you. Sam and Frodo are usually more than enough help but I appreciate the extra set of hands, truly.” he said, tone conveying a tiredness that he had undoubtedly been trying to conceal up until this point. “Speaking of, where’s that boy run off to now? He’s always suspiciously absent when a certain kind of trouble rolls in…” Bilbo trailed as he looked around him, tone rather flat and cryptic as he searched for the oldest hobbit lad.

“He went for a walk, Mr. Bilbo.” Sam answered as he returned to the fire with the original pot of water, to reheat it, no doubt.

“To get me treats!” Pippin helpfully added.

“Treats?” Bilbo queried as he stepped closer to the lad and Dís, promptly dropping the towel he had been holding onto the boy’s head. “Are you deserving of such a thing? After what you did to that poor sack of flour?” he furthered with a pointed look towards Merry.

Merry gave a loud groan. “How many times do I have to say sorry?”

“Until the powder leaves my lungs.” Bilbo responded, tone frank as he began to rub Pippin’s curls dry. “And Frodo went all by himself? That sounds like a fine way to get lost...” and though his voice sounded rather irritated, Dís detected the underlying worry the hobbit was trying to conceal.

“Do not fret, Master Baggins. Master Frodo and I crossed paths just as I arrived.” Dís informed as she took the towel from Bilbo’s hands and brought it along with Pippin to one of the table’s chairs. She sat him down in the seat - noting that they’d have to commission a boost of some kind since his head barely reached the tabletop - and began to gently rub the lad’s hair dry. In a calm tone, she continued, “I saw to it that he was escorted to the Kitchens by a trusted individual. He’s in good hands, I can assure you. All of the lads are so long as they reside in this Mountain.” she furthered, her tone containing an honest confidence.

Bilbo flashed her another appreciative look once he got over the surprise of his job being taken from him. “I do not doubt that, my Lady.” he said softly as he too made his way over to the table just as Sam returned with the steaming water. He took over the task of preparing everyone’s tea - despite Sam’s protests that he could do it.

Upon hearing the clinking, Pippin then peaked his head out from underneath the towel. “Can I have sugar in mine?” he requested.

“‘Can’ you?” Bilbo repeated as he poured the lad a new cup.

Pippin huffed but complied. “May I have sugar in mine?” he corrected.

“No.” Bilbo answered without hesitation, placing the teapot back upon the table.

“What?! Why not?” the boy cried, looking positively betrayed.

“Because the whole point of the tea is to get you to sleep and sugar would just reverse that effect.” Bilbo reminded in a tone that would take no argument. “And don’t think for a moment that I don’t know you’ve been dumping your other cups out all day long when you think I’m not looking, Peregrin Took.” the hobbit accused, which caused the lad to readily shut his mouth and cease whatever protests he would have made. With a guilty expression, he wordlessly went back underneath the towel. “Honestly, what a waste of perfectly good Valerian…” the hobbit muttered to himself as he continued to prepare the next cup, apparently still not over it.

“Well, maybe he wouldn’t have to dump it if it didn’t taste so bad.” Merry said in the young lad’s defense, making a face at his own tea as an indication, causing Dís to laugh.

“Things that are good for you aren’t supposed to taste good. That’s why they’re good for you.” the dwarrowdam informed as she continued to dry Pippin’s hair.

“You sound just like Bilbo.” Merry said with clear distaste, causing said hobbit to shoot the lad an unimpressed look.

Dís laughed once more. “That must mean he’s very wise.” she jested. She then removed the towel from Pippin’s head and inspected her drying job. She was satisfied and spared a look to Bilbo, who took a moment to inspect her work as well. He eventually gave a nod, seemingly finding it acceptable. Dís resisted the urge to snigger and instead began to fold up the towel, but was quickly relieved of the task by an insistent Samwise.

Bilbo had continued to observe the small hobbit in the chair in front of Dís and, after a moment, he finally said with a sigh, “You can have honey and that’s all.” before he started to gather said golden substance and stirred it into Pippin’s tea. He pushed the cup over to the lad

“Thank you!” Pippin cheered, his drooped shoulders instantly perking up.

“You have to drink it all though, or else it’s all for naught.” Bilbo ordered firmly, earning a cooperative nod from the lad as he began to carefully sip upon his hot beverage. Bilbo then prepared another cup and passed it over to Sam, who gratefully accepted it.

From across the table, Merry pushed his now emptied cup away from himself and said, “I don’t see how drinking all this tea all day and all night is supposed to help us sleep. It just makes me have to w—” he began but was promptly shut up when a towel was thrown into his face. He yanked it from his head and glared in the direction it was thrown.

“Best get that hair of yours dry, Mr. Merry.” Sam said, the epitome of innocence as he sipped his own tea. “It wouldn’t do anyone any good if you caught a cold now. We’ve a big day ahead of us tomorrow, I hear.”

Merry sent the other boy a scathing look and Pippin giggled into his cup. Despite his obvious ire, Merry began to vigorously scrub at his head with the towel to appease Bilbo and Pippin showed his gratitude of the sweetener by finishing his tea without further complaint.

Soon, all cups were drained and most of the lads were showing visible signs of tiredness. Merry himself had given a grand yawn, having finished his tea before any of the others and therefore feeling the medicinal effects sooner. He promptly dropped from his chair, slinging the towel along its back. “I’m going to bed.” he announced, already retreating to the bedrooms. “Come on, Pip.” he called in the smaller boy’s direction.

“But Frodo isn’t back with my treats yet...” Pippin pointed out, looking rather conflicted between waiting for his snack and accompanying the other.

Sam had started to gather all the emptied cups and began to place them all upon the tray until Bilbo took up the task once more. Now feeling as though he were officially relieved from his ‘duties’, he turned to his youngest companion. “Even if Mr. Frodo isn’t back by the time you fall asleep, your treats will still be waiting for you in the morning, Mr. Pippin.” Sam reasoned as he helped the smaller boy down from the chair, with some assistance from Dís.

“Alright...” Pippin agreed, though he still sounding fairly weary of going off to bed and Dís had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t just because of his lack of a sweet. Once again, she wasn’t the only one to notice, it seemed.

“How about I get you all tuckered in?” Bilbo offered, placing his own still unfilled teacup upon the table as he began to make his way over to the boys before he was stopped.

“Don’t you worry about that, Mr. Bilbo. I can handle it.” Sam quickly offered, however his tone suggested he’d do so anyway, with or without Bilbo’s acceptance of the offer.

Bilbo gave him an appreciative but rather guilt-filled smile. “Thank you, Sam, but you know you don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” Sam readily responded. “I want to.” he guaranteed before he grabbed Pippin’s hand and gently led him to the doorway to the bedrooms, where Merry was patiently waiting, despite how tired he seemed before.

“Goodnight, lads.” the older hobbit called with a small smile and wave, still seeming rather reluctant to leave them on their own. As if to confirm this, he added, “If you need anything, I’ll be right here.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Bilbo.” Sam returned. He turned back to the other hobbit and gave him his apparent version of a firm look. “Don’t stay up too much longer, now, sir.”

Bilbo’s soft smile grew. “I won’t.” he assured.

Seemingly satisfied, Samwise gave a short nod before he lead the other lads into the bedrooms. The young hobbits called their goodnights to their caretaker, and even the dwarrowdam, much to her pleasure. Sam gave a proper, polite ‘goodnight’, Pippin offered quite an enthusiastic farewell, and Merry even spared her one last suspicious glance before they fully entered the bedrooms and were out of sight.

Soon, it was just Dís and the Hobbit left in the room.

For a few moments, Dís simply watched Bilbo. He had one hand up to his chin, still left up from when he waved his goodbyes, the arm resting on his other as it was crossed over his torso in a self-comforting manner. The hobbit stared off after the lads, a worried yet fond expression on his face as he noticed the door to the bedrooms was left open just a crack.

“I meant what I said, Master Baggins.” Dís began, causing Bilbo to finally turn away from the door and face her. “They’ll be well looked after here. You needn’t worry so.” she reassured. The hobbit still seemed doubtful if his uncertain expression was anything to go by, so she furthered with, “Ah, but younglings usually cause one’s common sense to falter to worry, don’t they?”

Bilbo gave her a soft smile before he looked away from her once more, seemingly a little bashful. Dís had to admit, it was nice to see a smile upon his face, even if it was quite a wistful one.

“Yes, they do indeed.” the hobbit agreed. He then lifted the lid to the teapot from which Dís was served. He seemed to inspect the pot’s contents before he placed the lid back upon it and poured himself a cup of the darker brew. As he prepared it, he started to speak once more, despite Dís’ earlier belief that she’d have to work harder to get him to open up. “Like I said, Frodo and even Sam are quite trustworthy and helpful, but they seem to forget that I worry for them as well. Frodo’s barely an adult and Samwise seems to think that he has the responsibilities of one.” Bilbo mused before he brought his cup up to his mouth and began to sip upon the undoubtedly lukewarm beverage.

“Frodo’s in that independent stage.” Dís reasoned in a tone that spoke of her experience with raising children. “And Samwise seems as though he’s unfamiliar with receiving such dotage. You’ll get through to him though, I’m sure. Don’t you worry.”

Bilbo glanced at her once more, looking appreciative as his gaze lingered. “Thank you.” he began softly. “In regards to your sound advice and the help you’ve kindly offered.” he elaborated, sounding more sure of himself. He seemed to finally be allowing himself to relax, lightly leaning against the table as he finished off the rest of his tea. Once he had finished, he inquired, “By the way, who did you say you got to accompany Frodo to the Kitchens? I hope he’s not bothering the poor soul too long...”

“Oh, no. He won’t mind. He’s more than happy to do it.” Dís quickly assured.

“He?” Bilbo questioned curiously with a raised brow.

Dís couldn’t keep the playful grin from her face. She looked to her hand, as if she were inspecting her nails and replied offhandedly, “My brother.”

She looked up just in time to see Bilbo fumble with his empty teacup, nearly dropping it to the floor. Luckily, his reflexes were sharp enough that he avoided shattering the glass and he seemed thankful that there was no longer any liquid within it. Once sure the minor disaster was averted and the cup was placed back safely upon the table, he looked to Dís with an expression similar to that of a frightened deer. “H-He’s back?” the hobbit spluttered in such a way that revealed he was trying - and failing - to keep his voice calm.

“Oh, yes.” Dís responded, doing her best to appear aloof to the hobbit’s clear acute distress. “He returned only a few hours ago. He tried to see you, but I ordered him to rest after he was done escorting Frodo and I believe that in this instance, he will listen to me.” she stated, sure that Frodo would see to it if not. “But my brother isn’t any of my concern now. Right now, you are my top priority, Master Baggins.” she informed with rather frank determination.

“I am?” Bilbo queried, looking completely flummoxed.

“Yes, you are.” Dís confirmed with an admittedly mischievous grin. She then made her way over to the armchairs in front of the fireplace and turned back to the confused hobbit. “Have a seat, Master Baggins.” she said, gesturing to the chair opposite of the one she had stopped in front of. “We have much to discuss.”

Chapter Text

“Have a seat, Master Baggins.” Dís offered as she gestured to one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace. “We have much to discuss.” she said cryptically with an enchanting, inveigling smile, and Bilbo resisted the urge to gulp.

Really, Bilbo thought this meeting was going quite well, up until this moment.

Though the Lady Dís was a rather intimidating individual - and honestly, Bilbo didn’t know what else he would have expected from the sister of Thorin Oakenshield - she was still incredibly pleasant to be around. Bilbo wondered if this was because she was a woman and they all just had more manners and sense than men, no matter their different cultural upbringings or if it was more of a personal characteristic of the dark haired dwarrowdam?

She was the first Dwarven woman Bilbo had ever met and though he had of course seen pictures of others of the gender - courtesy of Glóin and Bombur and their lovely wives - she had more sharp features than that of the other beautifully rounded woman he’s seen pictures of. Glóin and Bombur’s wives seemed quite pretty from their portraits, but Bilbo found himself unable to fully appreciate their Dwarvish beauty as much as his Dwarven companions seemed to. But Dís seemed...different, and not just because Bilbo had a personality to match to the face.

For one, she was magnificently stunning to look at, dressed in fine gowns of blue hues that ranged from deep to vibrant. Blue must’ve been the Family Color, Bilbo reasoned, as Thorin himself had worn it more often than naught. Well, their family had certainly settled upon a good color, as both Dís and Thorin were practically made to wear it. It went quite well with their silver jewelry, which the dwarrowdam was covered in from head to toe. The shining metal accented her features quite nicely, from her circlet upon her brow to the many beads woven into her dark hair, which was long and flowing except for the braids at her temples. The plaits tied back to keep her dark, intelligent eyes on full display and her well-kept sideburns turned into an intricately braided mustache and beard. Bilbo couldn’t help but notice that the style reminded him quite a bit of Fíli’s.

Following the thought, the beard was definitely out of the ordinary, by Hobbit standards of beauty, at least. Their lads couldn’t grow beards, let alone their lasses. But, Bilbo had long ago figured out that he wasn’t very attracted to Hobbits in the first place.

Now don’t get him wrong, as a youth he more than enjoyed a good tumble with the sweet-voiced, soft-bodied lasses and the beguiling, out-spoken lads in the Shire. However, there was a reason he had been a confirmed bachelor at his age. He had never been truly interested in long-term relationships; or romance, if you will. He enjoyed a good romantic tale of true love as much as the next hobbit, but he had never thought such things would apply to him.

He eventually grew out of his round-heeled stage and for many years, Bilbo had tried to convince himself into settling down with a respectable lad or lass, for respectability’s sake. However, the more he tried to do this the more he realized that he would be doing just that; settling. He had enough respect for his mother to never sacrifice his feelings for the sake of respectability and he imagined that even his ever propriety-conscious father would feel the same way.

So, Bilbo had resigned himself into accepting that he simply must’ve been one of those hobbits who’d just never take a lifelong partner, which was a little rare and considered quite odd, but when hadn’t that been thought of Bilbo himself?

At least, that is what he thought until he went on that confounded Quest and had to rough it with a bunch of huge, rough-and-tumblin’, muscular and rotund, rugged dwarves. If his previous ponderings never confirmed his sexual-preference in a partner, then that last thought undoubtedly did. And it was also interesting to note that his attraction to Dwarves didn’t just apply to the men of their race; Lady Dís was quite an attractive being.

That’s not to say he’ll be trying to bed her and every other blooming Dwarf in this Mountain, thank you very much. He’s not as promiscuous as his cousin Lobelia had liked to claim in her rumors. Bilbo’s perfectly capable of appreciating someone’s good looks without wanting to ravish them and be ravished by them in return. He’s only ever allowed himself to dream those kind of fantasies about a very specific dark haired, light eyed Dwarf. And that’s all they were, really. Fantasies.

Thinking back, he’s always enjoyed the old tales of star-crossed lovers most, which should have been rather telling of his future, ever-pinning heart, he now realized. Bilbo’s always been destined to be a hopeless romantic, it seems.

These thoughts and other nervous ramblings ran through his mind as Bilbo made his way over to the fireplace and took a seat in the admittedly Hobbity-looking armchair, doing his best to hide his wince as his side screamed in protest upon the action.

He wasn’t as good at hiding his pain as he had thought however, as Dís cast him a frown. Or maybe, Bilbo had hid the pain perfectly well but the dwarrowdam was particularly good at noticing things? He couldn’t be certain.

“Your side is still bothering you?” Dís probed as she sat down in the chair opposite of Bilbo. Her tone sounded even but her expression was still quite severe. She spoke in a very matter-of-fact manner and her eyes held a very knowing gaze, Bilbo noticed. In fact, she spoke in a way that made it seem as though she already knew the answers to questions that hadn’t even been voiced. All vocal inquiries she did make seemed as though they were simply confirmations of her own spot-on observations, as if she wanted the other to admit that she were right; she made statements, she didn’t pose questions and Bilbo couldn’t help but feel as though he were utterly transparent to her.

“Yes, but only every now and again. It’s just a bruise, after all. I’ll be fine.” Bilbo assured in an attempt to brush off her concerns. That’s not to say that the dagger to the side didn’t hurt. It most definitely did. Very much so, as it was quite painful to take the full brunt of a Goblin’s hateful force. But luckily he was spared from the knife actually piercing his skin and doing some irreversible damage to his insides, thanks to that handy Mithril corslet. He was just left deeply bruised and achy, but it was nothing that a few salves and time couldn’t fix. “I’m quite lucky.” he added in a light tone, following the thought. He gave the dwarrowdam a small smile to show how little of a bother the injury was in hindsight, but it seemed that the dwarrowdam across from him didn’t quite agree.

“Luck had little to do with it, Master Baggins.” Dís stated, her tone and face just as stone-ish as ever, if not more so. It seemed Bilbo would not be given the sweet and kindly looks that she had spared for the children, not during this conversation, at least. Dís leaned back in her seat and crossed one leg over the other, looking very relaxed. Bilbo couldn’t help but feel as though he were about to be interrogated. “Tell me, Master Baggins, what do you know of Mithril?” she then questioned.

“Mithril?” Bilbo repeated, a fair bit perplexed. Did Dís somehow already know the specifics regarding the fight on the plains? Had the news of his miraculous save thanks to the silver-steeled vest already reach her? “Not much, if I’m being honest…” he trailed, just a tad wary as to where this line of questioning would be going.

“Then share what little you do know.” Dís implored with an indifferent tone that betrayed her pressing words. “I assure you, I’m interested to hear whatever it may be.”

“Well, alright…” Bilbo trailed once more, still fairly unsure. As if unconsciously, a hand trailed up to his shirt collar to meet the textured material of the corslet, though Bilbo very well knew that he had already taken it off when he arrived in the Mountain yesterday and had carefully stored it away. He looked off to the fire as a means of avoiding seeing Dís’ knowing expression as she undoubtedly caught him doing the pointless action. “It’s a kind of metal, if I’m not mistaken? Silver-steel, Thorin had called it.”

“Indeed it is. You have a shirt made of it, do you not?” Dís confirmed before she brought up an arm and lazily lent her head upon a curled fist. “Given to you by my brother?” she furthered. As Bilbo had suspected, she had more details than her questioning would suggest.

“Yes.” Bilbo answered to both questions, feeling a flood of emotions rush through him.

Primarily, there was the tightly knotted sensation in his stomach he had always felt in those days before the Battle, when Thorin’s sickness was at its worse and Bilbo had an arduous decision to make regarding a certain jewel. However, there were also the lighter, nearly sweeter feelings that came over Bilbo when he thought of those moments; those moments just between he and Thorin. The way that Thorin had spoken to Bilbo, the way that he had looked at him, with such open trust and friendship when he didn’t trust the others of his kin and family, it did things to Bilbo that he fully didn’t understand. It was the most kind and open Thorin had treated the hobbit, but it was at the peek of his illness and little did the dwarf know that during those very moments, Bilbo was plotting a betrayal. A betrayal done in an attempt to stop a senseless war, done in good faith for the betterment of his friend, companions, and all others involved, but a betrayal all the same.

“Do you know why he gave it to you?” Dís inquired, breaking Bilbo from his thoughts. The dwarrowdam wasn’t the only observant one in this room however, as Bilbo could detect that in this matter, she was genuinely uncertain as to the reason why Thorin had done such a thing.

“He said that it was particularly strong, that no blade could pierce it.” Bilbo informed. He then swallowed a bit thickly as he recalled darker thoughts before he continued with, “He also said that it’d keep me safe. During the Battle.”

“Is that all?” was the dwarrowdam’s response, along with a raised brow. She seemed rather disappointed with the answer. “What else did he say regarding it?”

“Well, he said that it was made by his ancestors.” Bilbo continued, still rather confused as to where Dís was going with this line of questioning. She seemed oddly interested and bored all at the same time, which was a rather preposterous thing to be, but she was. Though this questioning seemed to be stirring up memories within Bilbo, making him recall things that he had tried to forget for the feeling of overwhelming shame they often brought, there was another thing Thorin had mentioned when he bestowed him the Mithril vest that had long lingered on Bilbo’s mind. “He...He also said that it was a gift. A token of our friendship.”

“Friendship?” Dís quoted as she finally raised her head from her hand, the word nearly a scoff. She sounded oddly skeptical. “Is that right?”

“...Yes?” Bilbo responded, his brows furrowed in confusion and mild offense.

Dís merely hummed and looked off in thought for a few moments, expression inscrutable. She then turned back to Bilbo and seemed to straighten in her seat a bit, coming out of her relaxed position, ever so slightly. “Tell me, Master Baggins, what is the most expensive thing you owned in the Shire?”

“Pardon?” Bilbo halted, sounding confused and a fair bit taken aback by such an audacious question.

“Humor me.” Dís shrugged as she continued to stare at the hobbit with an even, unreadable look. As Bilbo had previously noted, the dwarrowdam was rather intimidating so he thought it best to answer her honestly, despite how rude an inquiry such as hers would have been considered in the Shire. And he had to admit, he was rather curious as to where she was going with this.

“Well…” Bilbo started, still not sure where to even begin. “My mother owned some silver spoons and dinner plates that were considered quite valuable…? Both of my parents were quite keen on antiques and queer rarities, actually. My smial was filled with them. Though now having said that, I suppose my home would out-weight those, in terms of price… It was custom built by my father for my mother as an engagement present, you know? It’s considered one of the nicer smials in the Shire, owned by the average Hobbit, that is. Well, probably even for the slightly more wealthier Hobbit, as well.” he finished, feeling oddly dirtied from all his bragging. His father would’ve had his head for such bad manners.

“Alright…” Dís finally let out in an amused breath, looking off and shaking her head. Bilbo figured that it was quite a bit of information in one go, but he was surprised when the dwarrowdam next continued in a rather detailed recount. “Well, consider the price of all your precious silvers spoons and antiques in your ‘smial’, and the price of your home, and the price of the land your home sits on. Durin, even the price of your homeland, Master Hobbit, and that would be nearly comparable to the price of that Mithril corslet my brother had gifted to you in ‘friendship’, as you say.”

Bilbo’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. “P-P-Pardon?” he spluttered, too dumbfounded to care about how foolish he must now look and sound.

“Mithril is one of the most precious, rarest materials in all of Middle-earth, Master Baggins. In all the world.” Dís answered in a factual tone, seemingly unbothered by the staggered state Bilbo was currently in. “It is only found naturally in one place and mining operations for it have all ceased, since the loss of Khazad-dûm. Today, a single sliver of it is sold at a considerably high price. But a whole shirt of it? Now that is truly something.” she remarked and Bilbo believed he could now detect a fair bit of awe in her voice. “I’m having a hard time even estimating the starting price of something like that. And it’d have to be offered to a market of royals too, for no ordinary citizen - even the most wealthiest of lords - would be able to afford even a single earring made of the stuff.”

“W-What?!” Bilbo stammered, trying to make sense of all his thoughts. He felt as though there had been a glass wall built somewhere within him and it had just shattered entirely, into a million little pieces, into dust.

“Believe me, I was as astonished as you are now when I first heard Thorin had gifted you such a thing.” Dís reassured, though her calm tone and appearance did little to fool Bilbo into thinking she was ever as completely rattled - no, bewildered, astounded, stupefied - as he now felt.

To think, Bilbo had been traversing through the Wilds whilst wearing such a pricey object! He had always figured the vest was worth something, for nothing cheap ever glittered quite like that, but never would he have ever imagined just how much it was worth!

“But it makes no sense!” Bilbo cried. “Thorin gave it to me when he was in the height of his sickness. Why, in the very same moment he gave it to me, he spoke of not parting with a single piece of coin! W-Why would he...Why would he gift something so valuable to someone like me? Especially as far along in his sickness as he was?”

“You said Thorin gave it to you as a token of friendship.” Dís shrugged, now leaning back into her chair, back to her relaxed position.

“No friend would ever gift something so valuable to someone!” Bilbo exclaimed. “No matter how deep their friendship is. Something like that...A gift like that…” he trailed, not sure if he could even finish the thought.

If Bilbo had been looking to the dwarrowdam instead of away, he would have seen the smirk on Dís’ face. Instead, he heard it in her voice when she asked, “Master Baggins, what were your relations like in the Shire?”

Bilbo’s head snapped up to her, his face hot and voice riled. “I beg your pardon?”

Though Dís was not looking at Bilbo when he looked up to her, she was instead inspecting the nails of the hand she had previously been leaning against. “I’m curious as to Hobbit courting customs.” she simply remarked dismissively to his clear umbrage. “Have you ever been in a long term relationship? Someone at home who you had to leave behind?”

“I left many behind, my Lady, but I had no spouse or lover if that is what you are implying.” Bilbo responded tightly, though the dwarrowdam seemed unfazed by his clear displeasure with the subject. If anything, she only looked amused and a tad regretful.

“I apologize for my poor phrasing.” Dís replied evenly with a hand to her chest in a sign of her sincerity. “I am simply curious of Hobbit courting customs and was wondering if you could share some information regarding them with me.” she intoned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You said your father gifted your mother a luxurious home as an engagement present. Is it Hobbit custom to bestow a romantic interest such extravagant gifts?”

“What? No.” Bilbo quickly answered before he thought on it for a moment. He came up with a quick revision. “Well, if you have the money for it, I suppose you do. Usually the right flower is enough to get the message across but my mother was the daughter of one of the richest Hobbits in the Shire, the Thain, and my father saw that such a gift was the only way to prove his feelings and intentions to my mother’s notable family. He borrowed quite a bit of money from his parents and my maternal grandfather to complete the project and my mother was insistent that it wasn’t necessary to gift her such a grand home, but my father did it, nevertheless.”

“Flowers?” Dís repeated, that strangely being the thing that she had lingered on. She now looked more interested by this bit of information than she had seemed throughout this entire conversation thus far. “Gifting green things are a sign of courtship amongst Hobbits?”

“Well, the right kind of green things.” Bilbo answered. He was still rather shaken by the reveal of the Mithril corslet’s price, but the talk of his family and his people’s customs was helping to calm him down. His rather rattled mind appreciated the shift in topic. “Different flowers mean different things. You can gift them to anybody but give someone you fancy a specific kind and pair it with late evening walks, or a song, or a dance? One’s intentions are quite clear.”

“Interesting…” Dís noted as she looked off with a curious expression. She then returned her gaze to the hobbit across from her and started speaking once more, “Dwarves are similar. Not so much with the singing and dancing, but we enjoy bestowing our partners - potential or confirmed - with gifts to show our affections. This can range from simple hand-crafted gifts such as beads, weaponry, or furniture to items of wealth such as clothes made from precious materials and glittering gems.

“My son had gifted his One a talisman. I had given it to him as a good-luck charm, but Kíli gifting it to Tauriel told of his intentions for their relationship. It told of his affections for her, though the meaning had gone over her head at the time considering she was unfamiliar with Dwarven customs, but she eventually came to understand once it was explained to her.” she finished and Bilbo realized with startling clarity that their conversation hadn’t gone off-topic. He still pretended to not understand her implication however, for the sake of what little remained of his mental resolve.

“E-Excuse me?” he stumbled.

However, Dís ignored him and simply continued speaking, “And that talisman, Master Baggins, was a rock. A nice carved stone with a meaning behind it, but a stone all the same. Mithril, however - a whole shirt of it - now that is a dazzling gift…”

“L-Lady Dís,” Bilbo began, leaning back into the chair as if he could disappear into the cushioning. His face felt hotter than it had ever in all his life. “I-It sounds as if...You sound as if...W-Well, you sound as if you believe that T-Tho—” he choked on his words. He cleared his throat and tried again, “You sound as though you believe that your brother’s feelings for me are e-even…comparable to those that Kíli feels for Tauriel. They’re courting!” he finished in a rather loud shout.

Realizing what he had done, he quickly looked to the door to the bedroom where three young hobbits were currently sleeping and sent a quick prayer to Lórien for their much needed rest to remain undisturbed.

“I know very well that they’re courting, Master Baggins.” Dís nearly laughed, drawing Bilbo’s attention back to her. “And I’m also not implying anything. I’ll admit that I don’t know Thorin’s exact intentions for you, but I would be truly blind and dimwitted indeed if I thought that his actions were purely out of friendship.”

“B-But Thorin...He can’t...The thought that he…” Bilbo floundered but it seemed he wouldn’t have to search for his words much longer as he was instead interrupted.

“Cousin Bilbo…” trailed a quiet voice, but it was so unexpected that both Bilbo and Dís startled ever so slightly upon its call (though Bilbo more so than the dwarrowdam considering how shaken he currently was). Peering at Bilbo over the arm of his chair was Pippin, bleary-eyed and curls a right mess from a fitful slumber.

“Pippin, what are you doing awake, dear-heart?” Bilbo questioned as he turned to the lad, grateful for the distraction. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked, feeling guilty.

“No. Couldn’t sleep...” the little hobbit simply supplied in a mumble as he shuffled out from behind the barrier of the armchair ever so slightly, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Merry and Sam are already asleep and Sam’s snorin’ som’thin’ fierce...” he explained, his slurred speech telling of just how tired he was.

Bilbo knew that the lad not drinking his tea would come back to bite him in the behind. Pippin was always difficult to get to bed, especially since they’ve been on the road. Ever since the night-terrors had started, Pippin never wanted to be the last awake, which would lead to him either waking another up to spend time with him - typically Merry or Frodo - until he himself drifted off to sleep or he’d just stay up all night long and be in a sorry state in the morning. He must’ve been unable to rouse Merry or even Sam in this instance, and Bilbo figured he had the medicine to thank for that.

“Well, you wouldn’t have to be the last awake or listen to Sam’s snores if you had been a good lad and drank your tea throughout the day, like they did.” Bilbo chided in a reminder to Sam and Merry’s good behavior. Merry’s dreams must’ve been troubling indeed if he had so readily complied to Óin’s orders.

“I know...Sorry…” Pippin apologized half-heartedly, shuffling further.

“No use in sorrys now.” Bilbo sighed as he reached a hand down to run through the boy’s hair. He then drew his hand down and held Pippin’s face, studying the lad’s features for a moment. The little hobbit was nearly swaying on his feet and there looked to be the beginnings of dark circles under his uncharacteristically droopy eyes. “Have you fallen asleep yet?” Bilbo inquired, voice full of concern.

“No.” Pippin answered shortly as he slowly blinked, lolling his head to the side so that his cheek was resting comfortingly in Bilbo’s palm.

“Well, then there’s still a good chance that the medicine will soon kick in.” Dís spoke up, the twinkle Bilbo had noticed in her eyes when they first encountered one another now present once more. As Bilbo expected, such a kind look was reserved for the lads and not Bilbo himself. “Why don’t you sit with us until you feel readied enough for bed, Master Pippin?” the dwarrowdam offered with a kind look and inviting smile to the sleepy lad.

Pippin’s droopy eyes opened ever so slightly in eager excitement, but he seemed to be cautiously aware of his actions, keeping any excited celebrations to himself. Instead, he sent Bilbo a pleading and truly heart-wrenching look as he sought confirmation.

Bilbo sighed once more and cast his eyes towards the ceiling in a moment of fond exasperation. “Come here.” the older hobbit said in an exhale as he lent down and picked the lad up under his arms. He situated Pippin in his lap to rest comfortably and masked his groan of pain that stemmed from his side as simple exertion. He sensed Dís give him a rather steely look but Pippin was none the wiser. The boy was soon safely cradled within his arms like a babe.

“I find a song quite effective when one cannot find sleep.” Dís mentioned offhandedly with a rather mischievous look upon her face. “Perhaps one for our guest would help, Master Baggins? I’m afraid it will have to be you though, as I’m unfamiliar with proper Hobbit lullabies.” she reasoned. Pippin simply turned his head up to Bilbo and gave him a beseeching look.

Bilbo resisted heaving another sigh. He expected for a song to be requested, as it was not the first time Pippin had cajoled him into song, nor did he imagine it would be the last. However, Bilbo was curious and a fair deal suspicious as to why Dís would try and pry one from him. He wondered what the dwarrowdam was planning, for he now knew that nothing she did was random. Every word and action of hers were all perfectly planned so as to give her the most satisfying results. He decided he’d worry about it later and returned his attention to his most pressing matter.

“Very well.” Bilbo agreed, looking down to the fauntling curled up in his lap. “What will it be then? Something old or something new?”

Pippin took a moment to properly settle himself into Bilbo’s arms and think over his choice, giving a grand yawn in the meantime. “New.” he finally decided as he closed his eyes and readied his ears, entirely expectant. Bilbo huffed an amused breath.

“Something new, it is.” the older hobbit confirmed with a smile. He took a moment to think over his own choices. He had been working on some new songs over the years and there was one that he hadn’t yet shared with the lad who so often requested songs. This particular tune was something Bilbo had been working on for quite some time but never had the courage to share with any of the others yet. It was rather melancholic and he often liked to keep things light when he sang to the lads, but he had fleshed out the words a bit more recently and could think of a verse or two that would be fitting in this setting. As he finally settled upon his choice, he took a moment to clear his throat before he began in a soft voice;

“Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.

“Tree and flower and leaf and grass,
Let them pass, let them pass.”

Pippin’s breathing had already evened out, Bilbo’s singing combined with his gentle rocking motions easing the boy into sleep like a charm. The lad was definitely spoiled, that was for sure, but Bilbo and the rest of the hobbits had learned that they feel much better indulging Pippin in his little wants then they did denying him of them. As he sang, Bilbo could feel Dís fixing him with a long, unbreaking stare. Despite the knowledge that he ways rapidly losing his intended audience and holding the rapt attention of another, Bilbo continued his tune and was sure to keep his voice light and soft to lull the lad to sleep;

“Though round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
The world’s behind and home’s ahead,
So we'll wander back to home and bed
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.

“Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
All shall fade, all shall fade.”

By the time Bilbo’s song had finished, Pippin was sleeping soundly and Dís was looking upon the two hobbits with a steady expression. Bilbo himself was feeling surprisingly relaxed despite his earlier nerves in sharing the silly lay.

“That was quite the lullaby, Master Baggins.” Dís complimented in a soft whisper of her own, her face still a tad difficult to read but she seemed calm and quiet, as if listening to Bilbo sing had caused her to ponder something. What exactly, Bilbo did not know. “A tune from the Shire?” she inquired.

“Ah, well, yes and no.” Bilbo answered in a voice equally as quiet. He looked down to Pippin and gently brushed some of the lad’s unruly curls from his face. Bilbo was happy to note that he had succeeded in easing Pippin of his fears as the lad’s face was free of any troubled expression. He was the picture of content. “The tune is as old as the hills but the words are my own.”

“Though it’s not as new as he claims.” chimed in Frodo as he walked in from the shadows of the entryway. Dís turned in her seat to fix the young hobbit with a surprised look at his sudden arrival but Bilbo merely shot him an unamused glance.

“And where have you been all night long?” Bilbo questioned in an admonishing tone.

“The Kitchen is quite a ways away, I’ll have you know.” Frodo responded rather indignantly without missing a beat as he walked further into the room and placed the cloth-covered basket he was carrying upon the table.

“I can vouch for him on that.” Dís grinned, mood suddenly lighter with the young hobbit’s appearance. “Though I must extend my sympathies, Master Frodo, as your admirable efforts have all been in vain. Young Master Pippin has already succumbed to sleep, I’m afraid.” the dwarrowdam lamented in a jesting tone as she looked to said sleeping lad.

“I can see that.” Frodo observed as he walked across the room to stand at Bilbo’s chair-side, casting a fond gaze to the lad clinging onto the older hobbit’s shirt. “Though I wouldn’t say my outing was without it’s rewards.” the dark haired hobbit stated rather aloofly as he turned his fond gaze from his sleeping cousin over to Dís and gave her a look as strange as his tone. Bilbo narrowed his eyes, entirely suspicious.

“But all the same,” Frodo continued. “the treats will still be waiting for him and the others when they wake. Master Bombur sends his regards, by the by.” he added in Bilbo’s direction as he lent against his chair’s back. He then lazily rested his head upon his arms which were folded along the back of the headrest. “You two must’ve had an interesting chat.” he commented, surely with that blasted knowing twinkle in his eyes. Having gained more experience, Bilbo was now able to identify ‘the look’ as something that Balin, Frodo, and now Dís all shared. And that look usually meant embarrassment for Bilbo.

“No more interesting than the chat you had on your way to the Kitchens, I wager.” Dís assured as she smirked at the boy, with the same accursed look.

“No.” Frodo agreed and though he could not see him, Bilbo was confident that the look on the boy’s face was as utterly complacent as his tone when he added, “Thorin also says hullo, by the way.”

“‘Thorin’?!” Bilbo parroted in disbelief, feeling worked up once more. The boy was gone for no more than thirty minutes and yet he was now somehow on a first-name basis with the ruddy King Under the Mountain? Eru, spare a little pity for this poor old Hobbit, Bilbo thought tragically. He wasn’t sure he could take many more of these surprises. Or these alliances formed seemingly against him.

“Shhh,” Frodo hushed pointedly with a finger to his lips as he came around from the back of the chair. “We wouldn’t want to wake him.” he chastised cheekily with a look to Pippin, who was still slumbering soundly. “You’re lucky he even fell asleep at all. He hasn’t been drinking his tea, you know?”

“Yes, I know. Thank you for doing something about it.” Bilbo responded dryly. Dís gave a chuckle at that.

“I figured that was the chief adult’s duty so you’d handle it, considering you don’t seek my help in any other matters of the kind.” Frodo answered without hesitation and quite a fair amount of resentment in his tone. He sniffed, as if to compose himself. “But in any case, I can take him off your hands as I’m heading to bed myself. That walk tuckered me out quite a bit.” he admitted as he bent down and lifted Pippin from Bilbo’s lap. The smallest lad slumbered on without complaint. It seemed that the tea was finally doing it’s job, as low of a dose as it was.

“Thank you.” Bilbo honestly called as the two younger hobbits retreated further into the chambers and over to the door to the bedrooms. “Goodnight, lad.”

“Goodnight, Master Frodo.” Dís called as well.

“G’night, Uncle. Lady Dís.” Frodo softly returned before he quietly opened the door to the bedrooms, fully closing the door behind him with a faint CLICK, giving it a gentle nudge with his foot.

Bilbo leaned back in his seat, head still turned to the now-closed door. He made a mental note that he’d probably have to have a talk with Frodo regarding his so-called ‘adult duties’ at a later date. The lad always became rather peevish when it came to Bilbo trusting responsibilities to him, or rather, his lack thereof. The older hobbit wasn’t afraid to admit that he had trust issues (at least, he wasn’t afraid to admit so to himself). He needed to work on that, it was no good that his flaws were negatively affecting others.

“It may not be my place,” Dís began, earning Bilbo’s attention once more. “But you do not give that lad enough credit. He’s smarter than you know. What information that you do not share with him, he will discover on his own, whether you like it or not.” she warned, as if she could sense Bilbo’s previous thoughts.

“And if you don’t mind my saying so, my good Lady,” Bilbo started in a sigh. “but you have not spoken in turn all night long. I think we’re both well past offering warnings of not doing so.”

Dís raised her brows and gave Bilbo a severe look. The hobbit merely met her stare-down, his tiredness admittedly making him a bit bolder than usual.

Then without warning, Dís’ look lightened and she grinned broadly at the hobbit.

“I like you, Master Baggins. You have spirit.” the dwarrowdam laughed with a distinct decisiveness. “It will be amusing to see my brother attempt to romance someone like you, if that is something that he does so choose to do.”

Bilbo felt his face heat up once more before he looked away. To his surprise, rather than making an attempt to disprove the dwarrowdam’s belief in Thorin’s feelings for him or even attempt to claim that he didn’t feel the same way for the dwarf - which they both knew would’ve been a lie - Bilbo instead asked in a quiet, admittedly self-conscious voice, “Do you think that he’d even have such interests? In me, no less?”

Though Bilbo would not meet her eyes, he could hear the sigh in Dís’ voice when she next spoke. “I cannot say for certain, as I have never seen my brother attempt to romance another. For a long time, I thought him incapable of having such relationships.” she confessed and Bilbo felt his frown deepen.

It was something Bilbo had often pondered but it was disheartening to hear it confirmed. Though he should have expected it, he thought as he scratched at the cushioning of the chair’s arm, fiddling. After all, he once had the same thoughts regarding himself and love. He had only quite recently allowed himself fantasies of the Dwarven-king as a potential lover and partner, but what if Thorin was the same as Bilbo had once thought of himself? What if Thorin didn’t desire a relationship with anyone, least of all Bilbo?

The hobbit then startled slightly when he sensed movement from the person across from him. Dís had risen from her seat and made her way over to Bilbo. He watched her curiously and his brows nearly shot up into his hairline when the dwarrowdam knelt upon the ground and settled her large hand atop his smaller, fidgeting one. The weight wasn’t crushing, but it was heavy and solid in a strangely reassuring way.

“Do not misunderstand me, Master Baggins.” Dís began, her voice consoling as she fixed Bilbo with the most captivating and comforting of gazes hence. “I may have never seen my brother attempt to pursue another in courtship, but I have also never seen him act the way he does when you are concerned.” she revealed, much to Bilbo’s confusion. “Whether you know it or not, you have a certain hold over him. Even the simple mention of your name is enough to get him to behave in ways I’ve never seen. Fíli had once informed me that it was because the thought of you, Master Baggins, makes my brother nervous and utterly conscious of the ways in which he acts, and that is most definitely something to note. And very favorable to the chances of having your feelings returned, if you ask me.” she added, sounding rather sure of herself.

Bilbo swallowed around the strange lump that had formed in his throat upon hearing the other’s words. At this point, he didn’t see much sense in bothering to try and deny the claim the dwarrowdam made regarding his more-than-platonic feelings for Thorin, but it was unquestionably strange to know someone else was privy to the feelings he kept so closely guarded. “I—” he began, but was cut off by the sound of rapid, rather demanding knocking.

“Now who could that be?” Dís questioned shortly, turning her face to the door where the noise had sounded, seeming rather affront over the interruption and the threat of waking the children from their much needed rest. “And at this late hour, no less…” she grumbled, already rising from the floor and nearly stomping her way over to answer it. Bilbo swiftly followed after her. It was his door, after all.

Dís had yanked the wooden door open with little effort and both of the chambers’ current inhabitants were surprised to see who was awaiting behind it. One’s surprise however was quickly replaced with disapproval.

“Fíli.” Dís simply stated, her tone clearly unhappy.

“Fíli?” Bilbo parroted in delighted surprise as he peered around the large dwarrowdam standing in front of him to confirm if it was indeed the young Dwarven-prince.

And Bilbo’s ears did not deceive him, for standing behind the door, looking very much like he was caught in the act whilst doing something forbidden, was Fíli.

The blonde dwarf looked the same as he had whilst on their Quest, if not with features more squared out. His beard may also now be a little longer, but his garb is what struck Bilbo. Fíli looked well-put together, very princely, the hobbit thought and it brought a smile to his face, along with a few unbidden tears. He figured it was warranted however, considering that the lad had almost died along with his brother and uncle.

There was an awful point in time after the Battle where no one thought the young princes would live to have their young lives fully realized and it made Bilbo more than a little emotional to see Fíli looking as though he had been making the most of his spared life.

He looked so healthy, so strapping, so alive.

It seemed Fíli had yet to notice the hobbit however as he was still staring at Dís with a comically wide-eyed expression. He had clearly been caught off-guard by the dwarrowdam’s appearance. “Amad?” he questioned in return, sounding bewildered and hilariously wary. Bilbo didn’t blame him; mothers were inherently fierce, but a mother like Dís? Well, let’s just say Bilbo now had a better understanding of Fíli and Kíli’s reckless - and admittedly childish at times - behavior whilst on their Quest. It must’ve been the first time they were able to cut loose, so to speak, without fear of their mother’s wrath in who knows how long.

Suddenly, without warning, Bilbo felt a happy laugh bubble up from his throat and a tear or two trickle from his eyes. “Fíli.” he said again, his tone filled with quite a great deal of relief and elation.

Fíli’s eyes were immediately drawn from his mother to the hobbit. “Bilbo!” he happily returned but as soon as the word had left his lips, the dwarf’s eyes were widening further upon seeing Bilbo’s current, teary state. “Bilbo?” he repeated again, tone now filled with clear worry. With a great swiftness, Fíli pushed past his mother - who stumbled into the wall - and practically cornered the hobbit. “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” Fíli pressed, causing Bilbo’s delighted chuckles and happy tears to continue. The dwarf was practically hovering over him, arms outstretched as if he wanted to reach out and grasp him, to prove if the hobbit was indeed there, but for some reason, Fíli was holding himself back. Bilbo sought to correct this.

“Oh, it’s wonderful to see you again!” Bilbo exclaimed as he threw his arms around the dwarf before him in an embrace, his blasted bruised side be damned. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

For a moment, Fíli did nothing. He just stood there seeming stunned, but he eventually, hesitantly wrapped his arms around Bilbo in return. The dwarf’s hold was (painfully) obviously gentle and Bilbo was a little confused.

Fíli was being oddly hesitant and cautious around him and for the life of him, Bilbo couldn’t figure out why. While he hadn’t seen Fíli for a few years, he was acting nothing like the self-assured, plucky young princeling that the hobbit had once known. This was the first time Bilbo had seen his old friend in what felt like ages, as the young dwarf was oddly absent on the plains outside of Dale when the Dwarves of Erebor came to the Party’s rescue. Thinking of it now, that was probably what drove Bilbo to tears upon seeing the dwarf.

He didn’t have much time to talk with the Company members who came from the Mountain yesterday. Thorin and the rest had rushed after Fumbul and his forces the first chance they got and Bilbo admittedly might’ve lost consciousness a few times in the wagon ride back to Erebor. After all, he had been on the road for days and had just been stabbed, despite the injury being from only the impact of the weapon and not an actual cut. He felt he was entitled to a nap or two. However, Bilbo had been awake long enough to notice Fíli’s absence and frantically inquired after him the first chance he got. For a fear-filled moment, he thought one of his dreams had followed him into the waking world; one of his dreams in which the dwarves who they were so very close to losing after the Battle did indeed perish. Those dreams always left Bilbo very frazzled and it usually took him some time to come down from them. Thankfully, Óin was soon able to dissuade Bilbo of his (slightly) irrational fears and relay to him that Fíli had remained at the Mountain, which confused the hobbit. He would’ve imagined that the young dwarf would’ve been one of the firsts to rush to the assistance of the Party, especially if he knew his brother and friends were in danger. He wondered what could’ve kept him?

“I’m alright?” Fíli quoted incredulously. “I’m not the one who was stabbed by a Goblin!” he exclaimed and though he said this with a rather taunt laugh, Bilbo felt Fíli’s arms tighten around him ever so slightly. However, just as soon as it had happened, the hold was gone and Fíli was soon crying out in mild pain and pulling away from him, much to Bilbo’s mild alarm.

It wasn’t until Bilbo was fully free from the other’s grasp did he realize that Fíli didn’t pull away from him, but rather the dwarf was pulled away from him by the ear, quite painfully if his dramatic hisses were anything to go by.

“He most certainly was, so stop crushing him!” Dís chastised as she gave another sharp tug to Fíli’s ear, earning another pain-filled shout from the blonde. It wasn’t until the young dwarf was a respectable distance from Bilbo did the dwarrowdam finally release her son. “Just sitting in a chair causes him pain but here you are, throwing yourself at him!”

Bilbo began to protest with a fair amount of embarrassment, “W-Well, I was the one who—”

“But he’s too stubborn to admit it, so it’s my job to keep the lot of you from smothering him.” Dís continued without any mind to what Bilbo had said. “I can already imagine the throbbing headache that the reunion with the rest of the Company will bring...” she lamented with a weary tone, bringing a hand up to her head as if to already nurse said headache.

“I’m quite fine, thank you, Lady Dís.” Bilbo assured rather pointedly, which earned him a doubtful look from the dwarrowdam and an amused breath from the Dwarven-prince.

“You haven’t changed a bit, Bilbo.” Fíli lightly laughed, tone filled with relief.

“I should hope not.” Bilbo replied sharply as he turned to the dwarf. “It hasn’t been so long that you should forget how I am, has it? I for one haven’t forgotten your meddlesome ways.” he tutted with a wag of his finger.

Fíli’s smile had widened ever so slightly and turned unquestionably fond. However, it had yet to reach his eyes, which also caused Bilbo to worry. The dwarf also had a suspiciously glittering look in his eyes as he uttered in a near whisper, “Forget you? Never. Not our dear Burglar.”

Bilbo returned the fond look and discreetly cleared his throat to keep his emotions from overwhelming him once more. “Well, in any case, I’m glad to see you. When I didn’t see you during the fight, I figured something truly awful must’ve happened to keep you from coming to meet us.” he admitted. “I’m glad I was wrong.”

“Oh, make no mistake, Master Baggins, something truly awful did indeed happen to him.” Dís cryptically offered. Upon Bilbo’s curious look, she furthered, “My brother’s ire.”

At Bilbo’s behest, mother and son then went on to explain the situation to him. Apparently, Fíli had told one of Bard’s curious daughters about Bilbo’s arrival and one of her guardsmen happened to overhear and sold the information, which Fumbul somehow ended up being privy to. Upon hearing the full story and some of Fíli’s guilt-filled apologies, Bilbo rolled his eyes so hard that he feared they might fall out of his head. Suddenly, everything made sense.

“Fíli, don’t tell me Thorin was able to convince you that you were at fault for the actions of an entire band of Goblins?” Bilbo groaned.

The look that Fíli had given him in return was utterly bashful. “W-Well, when you put it like that…” he trailed in a nervous laugh.

“The Goblins would’ve caught up to us no matter what. Their leader’s a rat of a creature and has been a constant thorn in my side since the start of our journey. And I’m not just saying that because that’s where he stabbed me.” Bilbo jested, earning a half-hearted laugh from Fíli and a begrudging quirk of the lip from Dís (along with a strong eye roll). “It’s not the first time we’ve run into him and I… Well, I don’t think it will be the last time either.” he finished grimly.

Fíli was still fixing him with a rather guilty stare so Bilbo then stepped closer and reached up to cup the dwarf’s warm cheek in his palm, the dwarf looking positively bewildered when the hobbit gave his cheek a gentle pat. “What happened out there wasn’t your fault, Fíli.” he reassured, tone steady and honest. “And Thorin’s an idiot to make it seem so. It’s good to know that hasn’t changed, either.” he added in a grumble.

At this, Fíli finally let out a truly happy laugh, his smile finally reaching his eyes. “You really haven’t changed.” he chuckled with a shake of his head. The look he sent Bilbo as he placed his hands upon the hobbit’s shoulders was unashamedly sentimental. “It’s good to have you back, Bilbo.”

“It’s good to be back.” the hobbit readily returned as he drew his hand down from
the dwarf’s face. “And don’t you worry about Thorin. I’ll give him a proper talking to. We’re overdue for a chat, anyway.” he assured, with a sidelong glance to Dís and rosy cheeks.

Fíli let out another cheery laugh, clearly looking forward to said situation. “I’ll be holding you to that, Master Baggins.”

“As will I.” Dís chimed in with a rather intrigued and amused look.

Bilbo smiled at the two, satisfied with how he had resolved the situation with these two particular Durins. Fíli was alive and healthy, so Bilbo need not worry so senselessly anymore and the lad was no longer looking so guilty. Dís seemed a bit more approving of him after their little eye-opening chat, as well as impressed with the way in which he had handled her son.

In a sign of sincerity, Bilbo placed a hand upon his heart and promised the two, “Oh, you have my word.”

Chapter Text

For the next few days, the hobbits remained in their chambers and the whole of the Mountain was under the strictest of orders from Óin to leave them undisturbed while they took the time to recover.

Spending many months on the road was taxing for anyone, but for children it was especially worrisome for it was quite a vigorous venture - and that’s not even considering the extra trauma the lads had already been put through since leaving the Shire. Thankfully, no one had any truly terrible hurts from the ambush, just many bruises and scratches that had all been seen to and were healing wonderfully, but that’s not taking into account their dispositions; Bilbo could clearly tell that the children were all incredibly tired, practically drained from their troubles and travels. One didn’t need keen eyes to see so.

And so, it was decided that all of the hobbits were to remain inside their chambers and others were kept away so as to spare them all any more unneeded excitement. The only ones permitted to even enter the rooms were Óin himself and the Lady Dís.

Óin seemed to prefer Dís’ aid over anyone else’s and Bilbo had to admit, she was quite adept at handling the children. She always appeared to be more than happy to lend her assistance and time; even when Óin himself was not present, Dís would stop by and spend quite a while entertaining them all and seeing to whatever they may need. And though she still intimidated Bilbo a great deal and she knew far too much about him than he would’ve ever cared to willingly share, he couldn’t help but find that despite these factors, Dís made for pleasant company.

When Dís would visit, the Hobbit and the Lady spent most of their time together conversing over tea, a proper Hobbit activity that Bilbo hadn’t done in what felt like ages.

Much to Bilbo’s surprise, Dís was quite the engaging conversation partner and the two could spend hours just shooting the breeze. Topics of discussion ranged from preferences in food and drink to weaponry and clothing design to Dís’ information on the current going-ons of the Mountain. In fact, the dwarrowdam gave off the impression that if Bilbo was ever lacking in information, all he’d have to do was go to Dís and she would provide all answers to whatever questions he may have. Pertaining to the Mountain, at least (but Bilbo couldn’t confidently say that he could rule out the possibility of the incredibly informed Lady being all-knowing).

According to Dís, the Company was in disarray. They were divided into those who, at any given moment, could be found trying to enter Bilbo’s chambers despite the strict orders to leave him to rest and those who had dedicated their time to stopping said rulebreakers.

Those amongst the previously mentioned former group of dwarves would be Kíli, Bofur, Bifur, Nori, Glóin surprisingly, and of course Fíli, the exception since he acted swifter than the others and was thusly successful in his attempt. Kíli, Bofur, Bifur, Nori, and Glóin were less fortunate and never even made it to the door.

This was because there was another group of dwarves formed of those amongst the Company who felt a similar need to see their former Burglar but could better control themselves and wait for the proper time to reunite. Instead, they focused their efforts on keeping the others from storming the Hobbits’ Chambers. These dwarves included Óin of course, as well as Dori and Ori who had to keep their still-wounded-but-recovering brother from sneaking off from his own rest, poor busy Bombur who had to try and reign in not only his brother but his wild cousin as well, and Dwalin and Balin who were making themselves busy by keeping a clingy Kíli at bay.

Thorin, to Bilbo’s understanding, was neutral. According to information provided by Dís, he was enforcing Óin’s orders to leave the hobbits undisturbed but both Balin and Dís herself had caught him lingering outside of the Hobbits’ Chambers more times than it could be called happenstance. (Upon sharing this information, Dís gave him a wink and Bilbo felt his stomach give a nervous flutter).

Really, Bilbo was flattered that his friends felt so strongly about him that they were acting so, but he wished that they’d find better things to do with their time than fret over him.

Despite the rational assumption one would make to the contrary, Dís wasn’t the only one who spent most of the time speaking when she and Bilbo had their little discussions. Upon her request, Bilbo would give Dís recounts of the Quest from his perspective. Though she did seem to be using him as a source to confirm some of the things she had heard secondhand, they were not the questions Bilbo typically received when he told his stories. ‘Did you really ride giant eagles?’, ‘Did the trolls really want to eat you?’, and ‘Did you really face a dragon?’ were some examples of popular questions posed by Shire-folk.

Dís, however, asked more specific questions, questions Bilbo wasn’t sure he even had the answers to. ‘What made you decide to accompany the others?’, ‘When did the signs of the Gold Sickness start to show?’, and ‘Why did you leave after everything was said and done?’ were just some of the difficult questions Dís had asked of him and Bilbo, though he felt he could trust her, had declined to answer, something that neither he nor Dís were expecting.

Though it may have been a little rude, Bilbo felt that there were some things that he was entitled to keep to himself; he felt as though no matter how long he thought on the questions, he would never be able to tell Dís a truly honest answer, so why try to answer at all? There were others Bilbo had to provide these sort of answers to before he even considered giving her an honest response and Dís seemed to not only understand this decision, but respected it as well, seeing as she hadn’t brought up the subjects again.

Instead the conversation drifted into lighter topics, since Dís wasn’t solely interested in the Quest. She had in many an instance asked Bilbo to share some more information regarding his personal life and Shire customs - whatever he was willing to share, of course. However, Bilbo noticed that she was particularly interested in topics that had to do with relations, namely, his relations.

He was hesitant to share more at first; of course he was, for he had never shared so much about himself with another before. Though after a while, he learned that he actually came to like sharing such things with another, at least with Dís for she made very keen observations and had riveting stories of her own to tell. Bilbo felt very much like a gossiping tween when they had their little chats and for some reason, it didn’t really bother him all that much.

However, Bilbo wasn’t the only one enjoying Dís’ company. As he’s stated previously, the dwarrowdam was very good at handling the children and they all seemed to be enjoying her visits.

Dís gave the impression that she liked Sam a good deal and vice-versa. She’d engage in polite conversation with him, always very respectful and never patronizing. Sam was hesitant to engage with her at first, but once she got the lad started, Sam was quite the chatterbox and Bilbo could see Sam’s confidence growing ever so slightly with each conversation the two had. She even let the lad experiment on her by offering her different types of tea mixtures. Each of Dís’ visits brought along a new cup of Sam’s concoctions and every single time, Dís would readily drink it and offer her honest critique. It was something Sam appreciated a great deal since none of the others liked to branch out from their preferred flavors of tea and he liked to experiment in the kitchen every now and again (with Bilbo’s supervision, of course).

Pippin also enjoyed Dís’ visits a great deal because he liked to (quite literally) hang off of her but the dwarrowdam didn’t seem to mind and was far more indulgent to the rambunctious lad’s play than Bilbo would’ve ever expected. She even offered Pippin a song or story or two when he would ask. Honestly, Bilbo was beginning to suspect that the old tales of fairy blood in the Took Clan as true, for surely there was something magical about the boy that got intimidating individuals such as Dís catering to his every whim like so.

At first, if his lingering looks were anything to go by, Merry was still very suspicious of Dís. He had warmed up to her considerably from their first meeting, but he’d always pay careful attention to her whenever she was in the room, particularly when she was interacting with another hobbit one-on-one. Though once again, Dís didn’t seem to mind the boy’s open glares and would go so far as to engage Merry in friendly conversation, getting the lad to open up to her without him even realizing it.

Upon learning that he enjoyed reading up on other cultures, Dís had procured Merry a book in Westron that told of some Dwarven history. It looked a little above his reading level and Bilbo thought that Dís giving the lad such a thing would be very taboo considering how secretive Dwarves are supposed to be, but she claimed that her particular choice of tales were harmless and Merry appeared to be enjoying them seeing as he hardly ever put the book down.

In fact, Merry had been quite agreeable ever since he had gained his little reading material. Instead of constantly hovering over everyone, he spent most of his time reading and on some occasions, he’d even question Dís directly on certain entries. Bilbo was more than impressed that the dwarrowdam had so quickly devised a plan to get Merry to open up to her but he was more so surprised that it had actually worked, on Merry of all people.

And finally, the most interesting (and concerning) development of all was Dís’ budding relationship with Frodo. The two spent almost as much time chatting with one another as Bilbo and Dís did. And most suspicious of all was that when Bilbo would enter the room, their chatting would suddenly stop. They’d both glance at him, giving him a knowing look and then start back up again at a lower volume (and of course, Frodo was smart enough to lower his voice to a tone that he knew even Bilbo’s keen Hobbit ears wouldn’t be able to detect). Let’s just say, it was more than a little disconcerting, but it was mostly infuriating since they weren’t even trying to pretend that they weren’t talking about him.

Slightly startling developments aside, the first couple of nights the hobbits spent in their chambers were welcomed. When Dís was not around, the time was mostly passed by taking many, much needed naps. Bilbo especially found himself sleeping longer and better than he had in months (that is of course because Dís had ratted on him to Óin and revealed that he also wasn’t drinking the prescribed sleep aid, which the Healer positively berated him for). A cup or two of the herbal tea a day and the warm, comforting weight of a Hobbit pile were enough to bring Bilbo’s spirits soaring. He was still rather rattled by the revelations brought forth from his conversations with Dís, however these last few days had given him some time to really think some things over and come down from his nervous energy.

Soon enough though, the lads were all feeling a bit stir crazy from being cooped up inside for too long, and even Bilbo had to admit that he himself was itching to leave the chambers by the time the moment actually arrived. Hobbits need their fresh air and sunlight, after all.

And so, the day came when the hobbits were finally given the all-clear from Óin and just in time too. Not only were all the hobbits becoming increasingly antsy, but the Mountain was preparing for a celebration. Tomorrow would bring the Feast to celebrate the end of the Battle of the Five Armies (Bilbo still couldn’t believe that the Dwarves, Elves, and Men actually all celebrated together). Early morning tomorrow, the Mountain would be welcoming their fellow survivors of the Battle and the dead would be honored.

Bilbo had never gotten a proper chance to celebrate with everyone the first time around since he was held up in a certain someone’s healing chambers the whole time, but to know that the joint celebrations between the Men, Elves, and Dwarves had continued after all these years was a pleasant surprise and Bilbo had to admit that he was actually rather excited to see what the following day would hold.

Today however, there would be festivities to celebrate the Hobbits’ arrival to Erebor, which was where Bilbo’s current anxiety was stemming from. They’d be brought before the kingdom where the Dwarves would officially decree to the people that their guests would now be residing within the Mountain for an indefinite amount of time, which made Bilbo’s stomach do somersaults. He was never particularly good with crowds...

Any moment now, Lady Dís would be arriving to escort the hobbits to the Main Hall where they’d meet with the Company members before the official welcoming ceremony would commence. After which, they’d then be lead on a tour throughout the kingdom by none other than the esteemed Company of Thorin Oakenshield, including the King himself.

For many rather obvious reasons, Bilbo was increasingly nervous. He cursed Dwarves and their flair for the dramatic as he glowered at his reflection in the full-body mirror in his bedroom.

He looked as prim and proper as ever, if not nicer. The hobbits’ wardrobes were jam-packed with clothes for all occasions and Bilbo was particularly pleased to note that their tailor was kind and meticulous enough to be sure that there were proper party clothes for them all, even with fine detailing sewed into the bright yellow, red, and green fabric, giving it a very authentic feel. Soon, all the hobbits were dressed to the nines in the finest Hobbit garb this side of Bree-land.

Despite the wonderful outfitting however, Bilbo still wasn’t pleased with the image he saw reflecting back at him. He always got in a tizzy when it came to entertaining crowds. The ceremony they were about to attend was by no means one of his Hobbit parties but Bilbo would still be the center of attention and he felt a nervous need to please and impress. Dís also informed him that he could even expect to be given the chance to say a few words which made him feel rather queasy. What was he supposed to do in that situation if it arose, say ‘no’?

It would be rude of Bilbo if the Dwarves made the offer and he refused to say anything. He owed these people a great debt, seeing as they were dedicating so much of their time and resources to help him. No, Bilbo would speak, no question about it but that of course left him with the question of what he was actually going to say if the offer to speak was indeed made. ‘Thank you’ didn’t seem suffice but what else could he possibly offer? Bilbo had enough confidence to admit that he was quite good at thinking on his toes, but he’d much prefer a situation where he had a little more time to plan what to say, least he make himself look foolish.

In regards to looking foolish, Bilbo glanced up to the mirror and noticed that he had made his hanker-tie crooked whilst distracted by his thoughts. He scowled at his reflection and undid the loose knotting once more, letting out a frustrated groan as he began again, for the third time.

“Bebother and confusticate these Dwarves…” the hobbit grumbled, giving voice to his frustrations. “Of course they had to plan a welcoming ceremony, those overdramatic, flashy, sentimental…” he continued, the rest of his words indistinguishable through his muttering. He wasn’t really sure where he was going with the complaint, but he felt the need to voice it, nevertheless.

Frodo, who currently stood behind a fidgeting Pippin as he brushed through the lad’s curls, voiced his amusement at Bilbo’s obvious frustrations. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Uncle. I quite like the thought of a grand gathering. Wouldn’t you agree, Pippin?” he asked of the lad seated in the stool below him.

“Yes!” Pippin readily agreed, as expected, only more than happy to be getting out of the stuffy chambers. “But do we really need to be so fancy?” he all-but whined as he tugged on his buttoned-up shirt sleeves, not used to wearing such well-fitting clothing after so many months of sporting haphazardly collected hand-me-downs. The little Took was never one for wearing such nice ‘stuffy’ outfitting and so it had taken a fair amount of compromising to get him into them (instead of a tie, Pippin was allowed to wear one of the nice scarves Ori had knitted for him, seeing as his old favorite from the Shire had been lost ever since the pond incident).

Still, it was far too much of an effort to get Pippin looking so nice, so when the lad made to tug at his shirt collar to undo a button, Frodo was quick to stop him. The older hobbit knocked the lad’s hand away with the arm that wasn’t combing through the curls, causing Pippin to give a mighty pout and issue a sound of complaint in return.

“Nuh-uh-uh.” Frodo tutted in reply. “We’re being brought before a King. It’s only right that we look our best.” he reminded practically as he continued to card through Pippin’s hair with pointed vigor, the lad merely hunching his shoulders in silent complaint, for once knowing when to pick his battles; Frodo was quite finicky when it came to appearances. All the hobbits were really, besides Pippin of course.

“Though I don’t understand why the rest of the kingdom has to be there...” Bilbo groused, finally deciding to just leave his blasted tie alone after his last attempt. It was perfectly fine.

“I don’t know about that, Mr. Bilbo,” Sam then said from his spot at the foot of the bed. He too had fussed with his appearance for a long while, as it was the first time he had worn clothing made of such fine material. However, after many assurances from Frodo that he looked quite dashing in his elegant green garb, he had finally stopped his fussing and joined a ready and still-reading Merry on the cushioned bench at the foot of Bilbo’s bed. “I think that a little - erm - display isn’t entirely out of the question. It’s the first time you’ve been back here in a long while. I think that’s good cause for celebratin’.” he reasoned, tone still hesitant over sharing such an honest, somewhat critical remark, though he sounded far more confident than he had before, at the start of this whole journey. Bilbo only wished that the lad wouldn’t use his newfound confidence to justifiably call him out all the time.

“It’s about time you started getting a little recognition, if you ask me.” Frodo stated, tone very matter-of-fact. “I think you’ve done a great deal to warrant a little pomp and circumstance.”

“Here, here, sir.” Sam concurred.

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, boys, but I’m hardly worth all the trouble.” Bilbo replied as he straightened out his sleeves, making sure that his vest wouldn’t be pressing them down too much. Though an overcoat and cloak would pretty much conceal the fabric’s volume, it was a step he never shirked when dressing in his best. “I was hardly involved in the predicament...”

“Now you sound like Gandalf!” Frodo barked in a laugh. “And you know better than anyone how involved he was in ‘the predicament’.” he quoted, sounding entirely unconvinced.

“Besides,” Merry finally spoke up, gaining everyone’s attention, though he didn’t meet their gazes since his nose was still stuck in his book. “it’s not really going to be a whole ceremony celebrating you, you know?” he stated rather pointedly, much to Bilbo’s slight chagrin. The golden haired lad then flipped the page to his book before he finished in a very pragmatic tone, “It’s a political stunt.”

“How do you even know what that is?” Bilbo questioned incredulously.

Merry’s eyes continued to scan through the contents of his book, seemingly not paying attention, but he replied in a tone that suggested the answer was entirely obvious, “My Da. He says first impressions are key when you want to gain people’s support and that’s exactly what King Thorin’s doing, I suspect.” he reasoned with a shrug.

As if he could sense the others’ blank stares, Merry finally lifted his head and then proceeded to give them all a grand roll of his eyes when he realized they were completely confused. He sighed and shut his book with a resounding sound before he continued;

“By this point, I reckon that the other Dwarves in this Mountain already know that we’re here and what’s going on back West, but they probably want an explanation as to why exactly they’re helping a bunch of random Hobbits whose home is miles away. I bet you that King Thorin is using today’s gathering as a chance to explain himself without really doing so. He wants to introduce us to people, have us charm them, and then they’d get a better understanding as to why all this fuss is being made and be a little more ready to lend their help, I should think.” he concluded.

The hobbits continued to fix Merry with awed and slightly stupefied expressions; Bilbo’s eyes were as wide as saucers, Sam looked baffled, Pippin completely lost, and Frodo was so surprised that he had even stopped his combing.

“Goodness gracious, what has Saradoc been teaching you?” Bilbo asked, mostly surprised by how much sense the not-even-a-tween was making in regards to political acts. It seemed all the lads were turning out to be much wiser than Bilbo, which was simply unfair. Wonderful, but unfair.

“That’s very impressive reasoning, Merry.” Frodo honestly complimented, quite a bit of pride present on his face.

However, Merry looked unaffected by the praise, unusual for when someone complimented him. “It’s simple stuff, really.” he shrugged once more, turning his attention back to his book. It appeared that the days he spent shadowing his father were really paying off. Though he was still much too young for any definitive predictions to be made, Bilbo couldn’t help but feel that Merry would make his father very proud when the time came for him to inherit the title of Master of Buckland.

And with that thought, Bilbo’s mood plummeted drastically.

Had Merry already inherited the title of Master - and Pippin the Thainship - now that their fathers were...gone? Such titles were rather pointless now, all things considered, but didn’t Bilbo owe it to his people to continue the traditions they had upheld? Goodness gracious, the lads were far too young if so. Granted, the titles were just a formality on any other occasion, but wouldn’t his people need representation now, more than ever?

Heavens, Bilbo now felt even more ill than he had before, not to mention how tight his throat was becoming. He needed to compose himself and quickly, Frodo was already giving him a concerned look.

Suddenly, as if to spare Bilbo any more unpleasant thoughts, there came a powerful knocking on the door to their chambers, still audible though they were a room away. All curly heads turned in the direction of the sound.

Bilbo cleared his throat and then began in a purposefully steady voice, “That must be—”

“Ms. Dís!” Pippin finished for him in exalted excitement before he shot out of the room as quick as a flash. He was gone before any of the other hobbits even realized it.

“Pippin!” Frodo called after him, tone indignant as he tucked the comb away into his coat pocket (for he’d surely be in need of it later). “You don’t even have your overcoat!” he scolded as he grabbed said article of clothing from where it was laid out on the bed and hurried out of the room after the lad.

Sam quickly rose to his feet and after one final glance in the mirror and subsequent tug to his own overcoat collar, he rushed after the others, never one to leave visitors waiting.

Bilbo ran a hand over his face, already knowing that the lads’ pent up energy would make today quite a hassle on top of all the other worries the day would already bring. He took one more steadying breath, finally buttoning up his vest. He turned to grab his blue overcoat from the bed where he had left it but was slightly startled to find Merry there waiting for him, book in hand. The lad had yet to run after the others, which again, was odd. He obviously wished to discuss something.

Just as Bilbo suspected, Merry did indeed have something to say, though Bilbo would’ve never have guessed just what the lad ended up saying.

“Da also says that it’s really important to make good first impressions when people you’ve never met already have an opinion of you.” Merry stressed in a tone that sounded utterly serious. Bilbo fixed him with a curious stare but Merry merely opened his book up to the back cover and removed a folded piece of paper. He held it out to Bilbo. “This was an interesting read.” he simply offered after Bilbo had taken the paper from his grasp, the hint of a cheeky smile on his face. Bilbo narrowed his eyes suspiciously before he turned them down to the item in his grasp.

Upon handling it, Bilbo realized that it was actually a few sheets of parchment folded together. He unfolded the documents and gave them a cursory glance. His eyes were naturally drawn to the top of the first page where the document appeared to be titled.

“‘The King’s Thief’?” he read aloud but when he next looked up, Merry was gone, already having joined the rest of his kin in the main room. His book was left on the bench, the first time the lad had left it away from his person since receiving it.

As he heard the lads’ greetings to Dís as she entered the main room of their chambers, Bilbo continued to read the document in his hands. After a slightly more thorough reading, his eyes widened and his mouth promptly dropped open. “W-What in the name of Eru…” he stammered, face aflame.

He and the dwarves would certainly be having a chat about this…

Chapter Text

Within the confines of the mostly empty room, Thorin was pacing, something that he only ever allowed himself to do whilst in the presence of either only himself or the Company (who were the ones who made the aforementioned mostly empty room mostly empty).

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield - minus a Wizard and a Hobbit - were all gathered in a small private chamber attached to the Main Hall. This room was used as a waiting area of sorts. It was where the royal family and-or their guests would wait as the people filed in the Main Hall in preparation of events or announcements that involved the whole Kingdom. While it was built with the purpose of providing privacy, Thorin could still hear the growing masses of the Mountain’s people making their presence known by the volume of their excited chatter. Soon, the people would be greeted by their King, who had a reportedly important announcement to make.

In fact, said important, impending announcement was the cause of Thorin’s pacing.

He would be making a proclamation soon, which always risked split opinions with the people. In his short time as king, Thorin’s learned that he’ll never please everyone, but so long as the majority of his Board of Advisers were in agreement and he knew within his heart that whatever he had decided upon was for the best, Thorin wasn’t afraid to make decisions that the public were opposed to, even if it meant that their favor in him waned. He was King, and a rather progressive one at that, but he too had his own opinions, and the full right to act upon them.

That is not to say that he usually acts unjustly. No, he’s typically all for getting others’ opinions on matters of state before he made anything official.

For one, he has his Board, made up of thirty or so trusted figures he turns to when it comes to big decision-making. There were dwarves from all realms making up the King’s Board of Advisors. Not just his Company, but also those from Ered Luin and the Iron Hills, and some even from as far as the Grey Mountains and the Far East. Though such a diverse group often lead to disagreements amongst members.

In fact, Thorin was lucky that this last decision even passed through the Board’s vote. While it was true that Erebor was evolving, most Dwarves were still old fashioned and untrusting of outsiders, even of one as well renowned as the infamous Halfling of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if the Company hadn’t convinced the majority of the Board to vote in favor of granting the hobbits sanctuary, not to mention the decision to lend military aid.

Well, actually, if it was a choice between listening to his Board or forgoing them in the name of helping Bilbo, Thorin’s almost certain he would have exercised his authority as King and bypassed their vote. After all, they were only just advisers and as king, Thorin still held the highest authority in the land.

Thankfully, however, it did not have to come to that, once again in fhanks to the Company. The fact that the King’s most trusted members had spoken so strongly in favor of their new guests had helped greatly in winning the majority of the Board’s vote.

Thorin could always count on his Company to stay loyal to not only him but to one another, which is why they joined him now in the waiting room and would stand with him during the announcement. There were no other dwarves who Thorin trusted more, and if he had the heroes of the Quest standing with him in solidarity as he declared Erebor’s new alliance, Thorin knew he could gain the people’s favor as well.

Thorin pondered all of this whilst he paced before his present Company, made up of not only those who had remained at the Mountain but his formerly departed companions as well, who had set out on a noble quest of their own for the better part of two years.

And that, Thorin thought, gave him more cause than usual to feel rather at ease. For not only was this the first time in a long while that all of his Dwarves were back home, together, safe and sound, but his Hobbit as well.

All of his Company was accounted for, in a place where he could keep an eye on them all and be directly responsible for their safety.

As he aged, Thorin had come to not only learn of but accept his overprotective nature. He’s always been possessive, he pondered grimly, but he couldn’t say that he minded the behavior being directed to a more positive outlet. If gaining his peace of mind by keeping a close eye on his Company members meant gaining a reputation of a smotherer, then Thorin thought that must be a low price to pay indeed.

Though despite seeing his Company before him, Thorin still felt unnerved. By all appearances he should be ecstatic, but as always, the Hobbit was making him unsure of himself. Or rather, the Hobbits and matters concerning them were more so to blame...

Just one of Middle-earth’s most mysterious people was a handful, but a whole group of them - younglings, no less - were sure to be a handful. And soon Thorin would have to convince his kingdom that involving themselves in physical conflict with a Goblin force for the sake of a foreign friend was a noble cause.

It would not do to have the people take badly to the hobbits. These were a strange, foreign people and chances were that unless any of these Dwarves had ever wandered to Bree, then they had never even seen a Hobbit before. The people of Erebor had become more open to dealings with creatures of other races in recent years, but they tended to favor the Men and that was usually only for trade or in the case of particularly harsh winters. Dwarves were a stubborn race. They may need a little convincing in the matter of opening up their home long-term and sparing their resources to a people that they may have never even knew existed before now...

“Oh, I know that look.” commented a familiar voice, drawing Thorin from his thoughts. The King turned to look into the kind, crinkled face of Balin. His Chief Adviser stood before him, dressed in some of his best garments, looking much better than the last time he and Thorin had seen one another. A few days of relative rest seemed to have done everyone good, Thorin thought - if Balin was already back to giving him his knowing looks.

“No need to fret over our Burglar now.” Balin reassured with a wide grin and knowing twinkle in his eyes. He, along with Dwalin and his sister-sons were standing closest to Thorin and therefore most privy to his rather obvious restlessness. The rest of the Company were making themselves sparse throughout the room.

“It is not Master Baggins who worries me.” Thorin responded after a moment as he looked away from the infuriating glint in the older dwarf’s coal colored eyes. A response which was only a half truth. He didn’t bother to deny the fact that he was indeed fretting, as it was useless to voice such protests to Balin. The old dwarf had a knack for reading people, especially Thorin in particular.

“If not our Burglar, then the wee ones, is it?” Balin guessed, right on the mark, as usual. As a response, Thorin merely ceased his pacing and eyed the other dwarf, the others around him now taking notice as well. Balin’s wide smile somehow stretched further at having his suspicion confirmed. “You have nothing to worry about, laddie. The lads are all splendid and Bilbo’s been very kind in his retellings of our tales. They all think very highly of you, I’m certain.”

“He’s right!” Kíli exclaimed enthusiastically, unashamed of the fact he had been eavesdropping. “They’re an absolute delight to be around, Uncle.” he reassured, giving Thorin a playful nudge with his shoulder. The older dwarf scowled, but it didn’t deter his youngest nephew's cheery disposition in the slightest. “And Amad says they’re all doing much better!” he added, his expression one of elation mixed with the smallest tellings of relief. Which was no surprise, because for the last few days, Kíli had established himself as the chief advocate for the hobbits they were now housing (not that he needed to do so in the first place).

The recently returned prince couldn’t go a quarter hour without mentioning something that had to do with the lads and he had been nearly unbearable with his clear excitement and impatience to see them once more. In fact, the other Party members had joined in on the storytelling on many an occasion and voiced their own excitement, even Óin, of all dwarves had joined in. All of the Party seemed vexed over their lack of contact with the hobbits they had grown so fond of these past few months and were impatient to reunite (much to Dís’ annoyance, since it was she they bombarded with inquiries into the hobbits’ health).

However, as usual, Kíli was the most vocal in his impatience. Even now, moments away from reuniting, he couldn’t silence himself;

“Frodo’s an absolute riot, Sam’s the toughest and sweetest lad I’ve ever met, Merry’s a cheeky little wild one, and of course, my dear Pip is simply a marvel.” Kíli rattled off, as if this was new information he had yet to share (which it was not).

At his brother’s side, Fíli had remained queerly silent since they had began their wait, no different than he had usually been whilst in Thorin’s presence since the Dale Incident, as it was so called. However - fear of Thorin’s ire or no - he seemed unable to keep silent no longer;

“‘My’?” Fíli quoted, clear disbelief and amusement at such a statement present in his voice.

“Oh, indeed, brother. ‘My’.” Kíli replied, tone utterly pragmatic. “I have already staked my claim on my Hobbit. A claim which will remain unrefuted.” he stated firmly as he cast warning glances to not only his brother but Thorin and Dwalin as well, as if dissuading them of any ideas to try and challenge this notion. “In fact, you’ll find that I’m not the only Dwarrow who’s placed a claim.”

Finally, Dwalin voiced his amusement in the form of a scoff. “Only you’d get so clingy as to do such a thing, little Prince.”

“Now I wouldn’t be so hasty, Mister Dwalin.” Kíli mockingly scolded with a mischievous grin. “After all, last I checked, the Sons of Fundin aren’t without their own Hobbit…” he trailed.

At this actually shocking reveal, Thorin, Fíli, and Dwalin made the only logical assumption and quickly turned to Balin, who had on quite the sheepish look.

“Ahem. Yes, well...” the white haired dwarf began in a mumble, more color than usual dusting his cheeks, highly out of character.

“Balin?” Fíli questioned in disbelief.

“Tell me you’re joking.” Dwalin deadpanned.

“I-It was entirely accidental, I assure you.” Balin said instead as he looked away and scratched his cheek. “But as is usually the case when one is in the company of Hobbits, these things tend to just...happen.” he weakly defended with a shrug.

Thorin raised his brow to Balin, who merely shrugged once more, looking more flustered than Thorin had ever remembered seeing him.

“But you Balin?” Fíli questioned once more, still astonished.

“Of course you would.” Dwalin groaned, once he was over his surprise. “Which one?” he asked in a drawn out sigh, understandably curious as to just who his elder brother had unofficially welcomed into their family without his knowledge.

“Frodo, of course.” Kíli answered for the eldest dwarf, tone suggesting it was entirely obvious.

“‘Of course’.” Dwalin repeated in a drone with another sigh and roll of his eyes. “Well, I could only hope you chose well, brother.”

“Now, there’ll be none of that, now. They’re all fine lads.” Balin quickly admonished, sounding personally offended at the implication that one lad was preferable to another. “It’s just that...Well, Frodo and I got on incredibly well.” he explained. “Sharp as a tack, that one.”

“Aye…” Thorin agreed, recalling his conversation with the lad a few nights ago. Now that he thought of it, Balin growing so fond of Frodo was inevitable; he and the dark haired hobbit were so alike, after all. Why, they could both pry information out of Thorin and charm strangers like it was nobody's business. Thorin banishes the horrifying idea of the two teaming up from his mind and continued, “Regardless, you can’t just…claim the lads.”

“But it’s already done.” Kíli answered, looking appalled at the suggestion of revoking said claims. “Like I said, Frodo’s with the Fundinsons and I’ve my dear little Pippin,” he explained with a hand to his chest, looking and sounding every bit the proud parent, which was just ridiculous. “Bofur is presently battling it out with Óin and Glóin for our young Sam. And if you’re opposed to sharing with me, Fee, you’d have to bring up your grievances with the Brothers Ri, as Nori and Ori seem quite keen on bringing Merry into their little troop.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Dwalin huffed.

“Really? I think it a perfect fit.” Kíli answered, sounding confused. “All they’d have to do is drop the second ‘r’ and change the ‘y’ to an ‘i’ and he’d fit right in!”

“I don’t think that’s what he meant.” Fíli dryly noted. “And besides, are you sure it’s not you who’s opposed to sharing your Hobbit with me, Kee?”

“I’m offended.” Kíli sniffed in a falsely irked tone. “But I do honestly think that you and Merry would get on rather well.” he added sincerely.

Before Fíli could respond, Dwalin sardonically jested, “What a shame. At this rate, none will be left for our King.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dwalin.” Kíli said plainly, face serious. “Thorin’s already got Bilbo.”

In spite of his murderous scowl, Thorin’s felt his cheeks flush and he heard Fíli choke back a helpless laugh. Balin and Dwalin weren’t so self-preserving however and their mirth was fully audible, and Kíli looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Aye!” Dwalin laughed as he clamped Thorin on the back, much to the King’s annoyance. “But you were wrong when you said it was the anklebiters who were making ‘im nervous.” he directed to his other kin before him, as if Thorin wasn’t there and he wasn’t leaning against said dwarf’s shoulder. “It’s the fact that your mother’s the one who’s been spending all her time with our Burglar, as opposed to our dear leader.”

“Oh, good point!” Kíli noted. Even Fíli looked like he was in agreeance.

“The Lady has been rather…proactive in her self-assigned duties to the Hobbits.” Balin observed. “I could see how that could be a fair deal disconcerting...”

“Because she’s most definitely up to something.” Dwalin continued for him.

“Oh, most definitely.” Balin concurred.

Thorin gave a long and loud groan and finally, he’d had enough. “Begone! The lot of you!” he barked as he roughly knocked Dwalin from his shoulder and started to physically shoo his kin away, Kíli laughing unashamedly and Fíli at his side with enough sense to keep quiet and begin to shuffle away without a fuss.

However, as if on cue, the sound of shouting interrupted any further progress of Thorin freeing himself from his insufferable kin;

“Akdâmuthrab!” Thorin heard someone cry, which had him and the room’s other occupants whipping their heads in the direction of the shout. They all knew that word all too well…

Feeling queerly anxious, Thorin turned just in time to have his hopes answered and to see Bilbo’s eyes go comically wide before Bifur quite literally swept the hobbit up off his feet and into a mighty hug, causing the startled creature to let out quite the noise of surprise.

“Galikh d' asukhzu gagin!” Bifur greeted cheerily, oblivious to the protests of the room’s occupants as he rocked Bilbo back and forth in his hold, looking very much like a child reunited with a lost, beloved toy.

Strangely enough though, once he got over his initial fright, Bilbo didn’t seem to mind much. As he was coddled, he merely laughed and for some reason, the sound made Thorin feel as though his breath had been stolen. It had been a long time since he heard such a sound from his Hobbit, and he realized that he had missed it dearly.

“Goodness gracious!” Bilbo tittered in a lilting tone filled with amusement. “Hullo again, Bifur.” he greeted in return in such a way that gave Thorin the impression that the hobbit would be affentionactly patting Bifur on the head, if only he had the use of his arms.

“Bifur!” Bofur scolded as he made his way over to the doorway where the newcomers had gathered and where Bifur had rushed upon them. For once, the mischief-loving dwarf looked genuinely affront over his cousin’s jubilant behavior. “Alright, you’ve had your fill. Let ‘im down now.”

“Itdin darami. Jalânati nihimir…” Bifur protested in a sigh as he continued his nuzzling, earning a few traitorous giggles from Bilbo (no doubt such an untamed beard on such smooth skin tickled).

“I don’t think so! I think you’ve given everyone enough of a fright.” Bofur said firmly and it was at that moment that Thorin and the others of the Company took notice of not just the Hobbit, but everyone else who had entered the room with him.

The first to be noticed was Dís since she was hardly one to miss (her whole essence just seemed to command attention, after all). Standing at her side, Thorin recognized Frodo next. Both he and Dís seemed to be wearing similar expressions of clear bemusement over Bilbo’s rough-handling courtesy of Bifur, but they were also directing their attention elsewhere.

Thorin followed their gazes down and that’s when he took notice of the others. Bofur’s out of character sternness suddenly made sense for huddled rather close together, as if to keep a sense of safety in numbers, were the hobbits that Thorin had not yet had the pleasure of formally meeting.

He first looked for the one young Hobbit he believed he could confidently identify by sight. It took him a moment, but Thorin eventually placed a name to who he knew to be the youngest lad, Peregrin - or Pippin, as Kíli and the others had called him - peeking out from behind Dís’ skirts. He looked as though the initial fright of Bifur’s greeting caused him to seek shelter behind the dwarrowdam but curiosity lead him to fully stick his head back out from behind the shielding fabrics of her dress. (And if that was truly where the lad’s head rested upon his shoulders, then Mahal, was the lad tiny! Thorin had seen newborn tups that were bigger).

The next two, Samwise and Meriadoc, were a bit harder for Thorin to distinguish, for they were of a similar age and - to Thorin’s understanding - both fair-haired. Thankfully, he had the many tales from the Company to use as another frame of reference and not just the Wizard’s initial descriptions. Thorin deduced that the larger and fairer haired lad was Samwise and that the more golden haired one was Meriadoc, based upon their proximity to Frodo and Peregrin, respectfully.

“Oh, mercy! Mercy!” Bilbo laughed helplessly, drawing Thorin’s attention back to the scene before him.

“Now, that’s enough of that, cousin.” Bombur spoke up after he had shuffled over. And if soft-spoken Bombur was stepping in, then it was truly enough. It was only then that Bifur finally consented and deposited Bilbo back upon the ground.

“It’s good to see you too, Bifur.” Bilbo said with a few more dying laughs, rubbing underneath his undoubtedly sensitive chin. “And you, Bombur! You both look well.” he said cheerily, wrapping an arm around the portly dwarf as best he could in a friendly greeting, the dwarf doing the same.

“You flatter us.” Bombur laughed bashfully. “We should be the ones to say that to you! You’re looking wonderful, Bilbo.” he praised and Thorin couldn’t help but agree.

In the time that Thorin had known him, he had only ever seen Bilbo in ‘proper’ Hobbit attire a handful of times. When they had first met in his homeland, Bilbo had worn just a plain shirt and trousers. However, upon getting to know the hobbit, Thorin learned that this was only because that the dwarves had caught him off guard. Bilbo - to Thorin’s understanding - was a creature that cared about his physical appearance in the company of others almost as much as a Dwarf cared about his beard.

As the Quest wore on, it became noticeably more difficult for the hobbit to keep up his cleanly appearance, but he’d always try to make the best out of his wardrobe situation. He’d attempt to make his clothes not only functional but flattering, even if they were not specifically made for someone of his size and stature.

But seeing Bilbo in proper Hobbit apparel was something to behold since as mentioned, Thorin had only seen the hobbit styled in an outfitting of his personal choice only once. His ‘traveling clothes’ from the beginning days of the Quest, while mayhaps a bit impractical, were undeniably of a nice quality and make and - compared to all the other outfits Thorin had seen him in - had suited Bilbo quite well. The clothes were not tight, but flatteringly form-fitting, a clear sign that they had been tailored. But they were nothing compared to what he now wore.

They were Hobbity, from what Thorin knew a Hobbit-style to be; vividly bright colors and many layers not for the sake of warmth (not primarily) but for the sake of appearance. The trousers were plain and black, but they shone in the light in such a way that gave Thorin the impression that they would be velvety to the touch. Of what he could see of the undershirt, it was crisp and white but what drew his eye was what Bilbo wore over it. For one, he had on his silly style of vest he always wore - a weskit, Thorin believed he had once called it - and it was a bright, shiny yellow; it too shone in the light but appeared more silky than the pants. And his jacket appeared to be made of a similar material to his trousers, only it was a rich blue color. Thorin couldn’t help but note that the hobbit looked quite lovely in such a hue. Dori had done an excellent job.

And then as if he could somehow sense Thorin’s previous thoughts, Dori had stepped forward and was the next to greet the hobbit.

“Yes, yes, I agree.” Dori said as he stepped forward and placed his hands upon Bilbo’s shoulders in a sign of familiar fondness, but not before brushing off some indistinguishable imperfection on his jacket. “You look marvelous.” the dwarf complimented.

“From my understanding, that’s in no small part thanks to you.” Bilbo smiled as he lifted himself onto his tiptoes to give Dori a quick, thankful hug, which the dwarf happily returned. “It’s good to see you again, Dori. Thank you for everything. The clothes and the room, it’s all just so wonderful it’s...Why, it’s more than I could’ve ever imagined being done. Some would even say too much. Thank you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Mister Bilbo. And I can assure you that all the work was nothing more than you deserved.” Dori replied earnestly.

“Well, it was still so unexpected, but deeply appreciated!” Bilbo said slightly more bashfully this time. But then, as if a thought had struck him, he turned his attention away from the dwarves. “That reminds me. Lads, this is Master Dori. It’s he we have to thank for the wonderful rooms and wardrobe.”

The room’s attention then turned to the young hobbits, still huddled close. As expected, it was Frodo who made the first move. He stepped forward and gave a proper bow.

“Frodo Baggins, at your service, Master Dori.” he greeted. “The lads and I thank you for all you’ve done to make us feel at home. Isn’t that right, lads?” he questioned in the direction of the others.

“Oh!” Samwise exclaimed. He seemed to break out of whatever trance he was in and stepped forward as well before he mimicked Frodo and gave a bow of his own. “S-Samwise Gamgee, at your service, sir! These are the finest threads I’ve ever wore. Thank you for your hard work.”

Then before Dori could even respond, Meriadoc was stepping forward and bowing as well, a slightly confused Peregrin only taking a moment longer before he stepped out from behind Dís and mimicked the older boy, nearly toppling over as he gave perhaps a too enthusiastic bow.

“Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took.” the older boy introduced for the two of them. “The clothes are very nice. For Dwarven make.” he added, and if Bilbo’s perturbed look was anything to go by, the remark was slightly tongue-in-cheek. Then, as if to make up for it, he looked to Peregrin and gave him a nudge, as if to cue him.

Peregrin seemed to have easily understood the meaning of the gesture, as if this was something that had happened often. He readily responded, “Thank you!”

Dori looked so happy that he was practically radiating light. “Why, you’re all very, very welcome, lads!” he exclaimed.

“It was a very kind thing to do.” Frodo furthered, the utter embodiment of politeness. “Though I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, lads.” Nori suddenly spoke up as he hobbled over on his crutch, a slightly hovering Ori at his side. “Me older brother has a habit of going overboard. He doesn’t mind, I assure you.”

Dori shot him an unimpressed look.

“Nori!” Bilbo exclaimed. “How’s the leg?” he inquired worriedly.

“Just fine.” Nori easily assured with a smile. “How’s the stabbed side?” he joked, but Dori didn’t seem to find it very funny as he shot his brother a glare. Even Ori gave the older dwarf a disapproving frown.

Bilbo, however merely laughed. “Fine.” he answered with a smile, the response just vague enough to cause Thorin some suspicion.

“He’s still bruised and more achy than he lets on, so mind yourselves.” Dís warned as she quite literally pushed her fellow dwarves away from the bemused hobbit.

“Yes, thank you, Dís.” Bilbo sighed in a tone that wasn’t very thankful at all, earning a few snickers from those around.

Well, it was good to know that Thorin’s sister was not only keeping an eye on Bilbo, but that not even the stubborn hobbit could oppose her will.

“That’s our amad!” Kíli laughed from Fíli’s side. “Always the practical one.” he noted, voicing Thorin’s sentiments exactly.

There was then a dramatic gasp and everyone turned their head just in time to see a small blur take off across the room.

“Kee, Kee, Kee!” the youngest hobbit chanted excitedly as he moved as quick as a flash, unconcerned with the startled dwarves who hastily moved to just barely make it out of his path.

“Pip-squeak!” Kíli cheered equally as enthusiastically as he crouched to the ground and held open his arms. Peregrin then practically launched himself at the prince, but Kíli seemed prepared and caught him, soon righting himself and lifting the lad into the air along with him, earning some excited giggles from the wee one as he dangled his furry feet. Kíli then quickly maneuvered the boy and had him held snugly in his arms.

“I missed you!” Peregrin sighed as he snuggled into the dwarf’s shoulder.

“I missed you too, Pip.” Kíli answered, looking the picture of content as he embraced the boy in return.

“It’s been four days…” Thorin heard Meriadoc mutter in quite the put-out tone. Thorin couldn’t help but agree. He knew his youngest nephew had grown close with the lad but this was truly something…

“I’m afraid he’s grown attached.” Frodo laughed from across the way, as if to back Thorin’s thoughts.

“Who?” Fíli finally spoke up. “Kíli or the lad?” he posed, looking quite amused.

“Both, I should think.” Bilbo answered, sounding equally as tickled. Thorin was proud to admit that he was only mildly rattled by the other’s sudden proximity.

“Master Baggins.” Thorin greeted, being sure to keep his tone even, so as to mask his nerves (which he himself didn’t quite understand).

Bilbo then turned to him and smiled and Thorin felt his breath catch, despite himself.

“Thorin.” the hobbit greeted back, and though the exchange may have sounded quite curt to some, it was given in such tones that spoke of a long-missed familiarity.

Thorin felt himself smiling as well. “It’s good to see you again. Looking so well.” he furthered.

“It’s good to feel well. And to be a bit more put together than last we met.” Bilbo added, giving a tug to his jacket as if to indicate his suiting attire.

“Indeed.” Thorin agreed. “Though you were hardly at fault the last time.” he pointed out.

“Oh, but still.” Bilbo argued back in exasperation. He was still as stubborn as ever, it seemed. “I’m sorry if it wasn’t much of a reunion.” he apologized, sounding earnest.

“Once again, hardly your fault.” Thorin countered, though he stuck out his hand to the hobbit. “But I suppose we can make up for it now.” he offered.

Bilbo looked to his outstretched hand and then up to Thorin’s face, expression unreadable. He looked as though he were pondering something. What, Thorin did not know, but eventually the thoughtful expression on the hobbit’s face changed into one more endearing and - dare Thorin think - fond.

Bilbo then reached for Thorin’s hand and held onto it, giving him a sincere but playful smile. “You were always fond of second chances.” he teased.

“You were always deserving of them.” Thorin returned, though truthfully what he initially thought was more along the lines of ‘I was always fond of you’.

“I suppose...” Bilbo huffed, sounding amused. He looked thoughtful once more as he turned his head away, looking down to their hands - which, Thorin realized, they still had clasped together - and gave Thorin’s a gentle, hesitant squeeze.

Thorin was so surprised by the action that he nearly jumped. Though instead of doing this, he shot his head up and looked to Bilbo’s face, but the hobbit still had his head cast down, as if refusing to meet Thorin’s stare.

“Actually, I may have misspoken.” Thorin began, voice strangely dry.

That got Bilbo to look up at him, utterly perplexed. “Oh?” he uttered, sounding slightly dejected as he looked away once more.

Without looking down, Thorin knew just by touch that Bilbo was making to pull his hand away. So rather than let Bilbo free, Thorin kept his hand in place by returning the gentle squeeze, causing Bilbo to shoot his head up and stare at Thorin questioningly.

“It was you who always gave me second chances.” Thorin said earnestly.

“And third.” Kíli offered up. “And fourth, and—”

“Yes, I get the point.” Thorin growled out with a glare to his nephew, who just looked away innocently as the other dwarves laughed along. Ignoring them, Thorin turned back to Bilbo, who looked slightly amused but no less interested in what Thorin had to say next. So, he continued, “But my point, Master Baggins, is that you were the one who was always helping me, always granting me more chances to prove my true make. No matter if I was deserving of them or not.”

For what seemed like many long moments, Bilbo merely stared at Thorin, looking puzzled. Then, his eyebrows shot up minutely, as if he recalled something. “Oh! That reminds me,” he started before he truly pulled his hand away this time and gave Thorin his harshest glare as he announced, “I’m cross with you.”

“W-What?” Thorin blanched. That was unexpected. While he figured Bilbo would’ve held some grudges over the way he had treated him in the past, he didn’t expect for—

“You owe Fíli an apology.” Bilbo commanded, interrupting Thorin’s thoughts.

“What?” Fíli now voiced and Thorin looked over just in time to see a slightly horrified expression dawn across his nephew’s face. “W-W-Wait just a moment, Bilbo. I don’t think that now’s—”

“He had no control over, nor is he responsible for what happened outside of Dale.” Bilbo continued despite Fili’s protests, getting into Thorin’s personal space as he stuck an accusing finger to the other’s chest. Thorin looked back to the enraged hobbit in utter bafflement. “I had hoped that years serving as King had maybe made you a little better at seeing things from others’ perspective, Mr. Oakenshield, but it seems that is not the case. Miss Tilda had a right to be curious and Fíli sharing the information with her regarding my coming was no different than you sharing it with King Bard! The fact that there was a deceitful spy in their mist was no fault of theirs. And from my understanding, you went pretty easy on Miss Tilda and the other humans involved, which is quite commendable of you, but if that is indeed so, I don’t see why you should be so harsh to your own flesh and blood! It was no fault of Fíli’s. Just the crooked guardsman and those nasty Goblins, who’ve already had it out for me and were on our tails anyway. Lighten up.” he finished in an order with one last pointed jab to Thorin’s chest.

Everyone stared at Bilbo in stunned silence, including Thorin himself. Then, Thorin proceeded to laugh in earnest before he pulled Bilbo into a hug. He heard the hobbit let out a surprised breath in his ear just as their chests met and much like the other very few times they had embraced, Bilbo’s hands were hesitant to return the gesture but once they did, he held on so tightly that Thorin swore he could feel the hobbit’s touch even through all the fabric on his back. “It’s good to have you back, Bilbo.” he said softly into the hobbit’s own ear.

“This isn’t what I said to do.” Bilbo huffed crossly, yet his hold on Thorin somehow tightened and the embrace became even more tender.

“No. No it is not.” Thorin laughed. He held onto Bilbo for a few moments longer before he pulled away and turned to his nephew. “Fíli, I overreacted and for that I apologize.”

Fíli merely stared at his uncle, doing quite the impression of a gasping fish. After a moment, instead of an answer, the young dwarf merely turned to Bilbo and said “Oh, I’ve really missed you.”

Bilbo smiled at the oldest prince in return and gave him a wink before he turned away. “Well then,” he started as he looked to those gathered around. “That’s Bifur, Bombur, Dori, Thorin, and Fíli. By my count, I’m one Dwarf short.” he noted as he turned his head and met the missing dwarf with a smile.

“Don’t be expecting any hugs.” Dwalin intoned flatly once their gazes met, his arms crossed in front of his wide chest in quite the intimidating manner.

“No,” Bilbo agreed with a falsely hurt look before he then stuck out his hand. “but I should think I’m deserving of a handshake at the very least. After all, you were the first to arrive at my home all those years ago. It only makes sense that you’re then the last I greet when I arrive at yours, wouldn’t you say?”

Dwalin simply stared at Bilbo for a moment, openly at a loss for what he was suppose to say to that. He looked down to the hobbit’s outstretched arm before he then heaved a great sigh as he took Bilbo’s hand and instead of shaking it, pulled the surprised hobbit into quite the tender hug, to everyone’s shock. Yet still he grumbled, “Stupid, soft, sentimental creature you are…”

“What does that make you then,” Bilbo started in a laugh as he returned the embrace. “as the one who’s indulging him?”

“Pathetic.” Dwalin simply answered before he pulled away just in time to see Bilbo try and fail to suppress his laugh once more.

Bilbo took a moment to gather his composure before he said with a sincere look and soft smile, “It’s good to see you again, Dwalin.”

“Aye.” Dwalin sighed. “It’s good to see you too, laddie.” he replied, tone and expression just as honest as the other.

“Once again, you impress me, Master Baggins.” Dís said from across the room, gaining everyone’s attention as she moved closer. “Within the span of fifteen minutes, I’ve seen you reduce Erebor’s so-called finest into blushing, bumbling maids.”

“Coming from the one who grew so attached to some wee Hobbits that she spent the next three straight days in their midst.” Dwalin countered.

“Now, now.” Balin interjected, apparently not in the mood for another one of Dís and Dwalin’s rows. Thorin concurred. “Don’t get started now, you two. We’re to leave any moment now.”

“Which reminds me,” Bilbo began before he turned around, back to the hobbits that were still standing where he had left them. “lads, come and greet the others.” he beckoned with a come-hither motion of his hand.

Samwise and Meriadoc both seemed to show some hesitation at first, however after Frodo took the lead, they soon followed and stepped forward with him. Soon they were at Bilbo’s side and he placed an arm each around both Samwise and Meriadoc’s shoulders, hoping to ease the tenseness out of them.

“Good lads.” Bilbo praised. “Everyone, this is—”

“Which one of you is Frodo?” Dwalin interjected imposingly as he stepped forward and loomed over the two small hobbits, probably not meaning to look as intimidating as he did.

Samwise audibly gulped and even Meriadoc seemed to waver, as Thorin saw him back up slightly, further into Bilbo’s hold.

“That would be me.” Frodo soon answered as he stepped forward and placed himself between the lads and the large dwarf, a polite smile on his face.

“Tch.” Dwalin scoffed as he clearly looked Frodo up and down, assessing him. “You’re quite lanky and scrappy looking, aren’t ye?”

Balin looked visibly irritated with the other and even Thorin was quite irked at his friend’s tone. Balin started with a warning, “Now, brother—”

“And you’re quite burly and brutish looking but I’ve heard things regarding you quite to the contrary, Master Dwalin.” Frodo said, smile still stretched across his face as he didn’t even waver in the face Dwalin in the slightest. “Hopefully you’ve heard the same things regarding I, though if not, mayhaps we can spend some more time together and I can work to change that?”

The room was once again stunned into silence, for not many dared to speak to Dwalin so. Even Balin, Thorin, and Dís, who knew the dwarf best suddenly felt great concern for the young hobbit they had grown so fond of.

However, their concern seemed for naught as Dwalin burst into deep, hearty laughs and he gave the young hobbit a good friendly smack on the back, which had Frodo buckling slightly under the force of it but otherwise unaffected.

“Aye, that’ll do, laddie. That’ll do.” Dwalin agreed once his mirth had died down, and Thorin knew that it wasn’t just a truce Dwalin was offering, but an acceptance. It was unclear if Frodo knew the true meaning behind the words, but he smiled and laughed along all the same.

“Hullo!” then piped up a small yet mighty voice, drawing Thorin and Fíli’s attention, whom the call was directed to.

It was the young halfling within Kíli’s arms, who at this point was all but slung over his nephew’s shoulder, Kíli keeping the lad in place with a single hand wrapped around both his ankles. Peregrin’s arms dangled down Kíli’s back, but the lad didn’t seem to mind as it gave him the ability to gesture.

“Are you Kee’s big brother?” Peregrin asked as he pointed straight at Fíli.

“Pippin, it’s rude to point.” Bilbo reminded in the voice of a chiding parent, but he went unacknowledged.

“I am.” Fíli answered stoically, as if this was an inquiry that required the utmost of tact.

“Oh.” Peregrin merely answered curiously. Thorin couldn’t quite tell, but it sounded as though the lad were accepting of the fact and also strangely fascinated. Peregrin then turned around as best he could, a dangerous and difficult thing to do when slung over another’s shoulder, though Kíli held tight and Thorin was certain that the lad was never in any danger of falling. Peregrin looked behind him and seemed to have found what he needed to for he turned back to Fíli and pointed in the opposite direction, down to the ground, to a small figure standing strangely close below, with arms crossed. “That’s my Merry.” Peregrin informed, as if that were explanation enough.

“Ah.” Fíli answered, as if he understood. Though Thorin was uncertain if his nephew truly did understand whatever it was that the hobbit meant or if he were just indulging the lad.

‘The guardsman.’ Kíli mouthed discreetly, and this time Fíli did truly look like he understood.

“Ah.” he said again before he knelt to the ground. “Merry, was it? I’m Fíli.” he introduced, holding a hand out to the lad.

Meriadoc eyed him a bit critically before he took the offered hand, his whole one just about taking up the width of Fíli’s palm. “Hullo.” he said, sounding quite friendly, yet with a strange underlying tone of caution. And if Thorin’s eyes weren’t deceiving him, he could’ve swore he saw a hint of admiration within the young hobbit’s eyes.

“Oh, Merry,” Nori then suddenly called from behind the lad before Fíli had a chance to say anything more. Nori placed his free hand upon Meriadoc’s shoulder and turned him in the dwarf’s direction, quite literally stealing the lad’s attention away, like the thief he was.

“You’ve met our brother Dori, haven’t you?” Ori questioned innocently as he gestured to his eldest brother, who stood eyeing his younger brothers suspiciously.

“Yes?” Meriadoc began, looking more than a little confused. He was quiet for a moment longer before something seemed to come to his mind. “I have to thank you again for the clothes and the room, Mister Dori. It was quite a nice thing to do. And they are. The clothes and the rooms, I mean. Nice.” he finished, somewhat awkwardly.

Dori didn’t seem to mind however as he was glowing again, a delighted and endeared smile splitting his face in two as he answered, “Oh, you are quite welcome, Master Merry! Quite welcomed, indeed!”

Over Dori’s shoulder, Nori and Ori grinned at one another and much to Thorin’s shock, both of the younger Brothers Ri turned to Fíli with quite the smug and triumphant looks, as if issuing a challenge. Fíli was understandably taken aback but soon his eyes narrowed and a determined expression came over his features, as if he were accepting of whatever the two brothers were proposing.

Sensing a trend, Thorin turned in the direction of the next voice he could hear loudest and jumped into the middle of Bofur’s conversation with his brother and cousin;

“—and boy does he know how to season a stew! And give him a frying pan and he’ll give you a what for! In more ways than one.” the cheery dwarf rattled on, his hands on the Samwise’s shoulders as he continued to share his high opinions, Bifur and Bombur listening attentively and offering their own praise and compliments when they learned something particularly interesting or commendable. And poor Samwise...he looked so flustered, blushing to the tip of his pointed ears as he buried his face in his hands.

Recalling what Kíli had said earlier, Thorin looked away and found just what he intended to; an unhappy Óin and glaring Glóin standing not too far away from the Ur’s, giving them clearly displeased looks. Thorin chuckled.

“Should I be worried?” Bilbo questioned from Thorin’s side and the king looked down to see the cautious yet hesitant expression on his face as he observed the Company’s interactions with his young kinsmen.

“Worried? No.” Thorin answered. “In fact, I think you have quite the opposite problem.”

“Oh?” Bilbo replied with a raised brow as he turned his head up to now look at Thorin. “How so?”

“I believe there will never be a question of whether or not the lads are safe here. The Company wouldn’t allow for anything but. They will be valued. Some may even say coddled.” Thorin added in a jesting tone, though he meant it all the same.

“Safe.” Bilbo parroted as he turned his head away, a far-off look in his eyes. “You can’t promise that, Thorin.” he said quietly, expression quite grim. “I had made that promise before and look at the perils I’ve brought them to.”

“But they are here now, Bilbo, safe and physically unharmed. You got them here and now I make a promise to you,” Thorin quickly interjected, grasping the hobbit’s hand and holding it within both of his own. “Bilbo Baggins, by granting you and your kin sanctuary here, I was entrusted with your safekeeping and safe is how I intend to keep you.”

“Keep me?” Bilbo repeated once more, but there was now a whisper of a smile on his face. “And for how long do you think you can manage that?”

When Thorin answered, his voice was just as playful as the hobbit’s, but he was utterly serious as he looked Bilbo straight in the eyes and promised, “Till the end of days, if I have any say.”

Bilbo’s tense hand then seemed to suddenly relax as he smiled tiredly and sighed, “Is that right?”

Thorin smiled in return and gave the most honest reply had had ever given in all his life, “You have my word, Bilbo. I know that may not mean much to you now, not after the things I have done in our past, but I mean it all the same. I will keep you and the lads safe, till my dying breath.”

Bilbo made a sound that sounded like a tired, smothered laugh. “Alright, no need to be so dramatic, now…”

“I mean it, Bilbo.” Thorin said more firmly, tightening his hold on the hobbit’s hand, just enough to get his message across. “I don’t mean to fail you - I won’t fail you. Not a second time.”

Bilbo stared at him, wide eyed for a long moment before his face crinkled up as it became flooded by emotion. He brought his free hand up on top of Thorin’s and squeezed his back with what must’ve been all his might. He then answered in a quiet, somewhat unsteady voice, “I know.”

Good, Thorin thought. He did not mean to fail Bilbo. Not this time and not ever again. Countless times Bilbo had saved him, in more ways than one.

It was high time that Thorin returned the favor.

Chapter Text

Dinner was a lively affair. The day had been long and tiring and tomorrow - when even more company was expected to arrive - was looking to be perhaps even more so. And so, when the long day of touring the kingdom had come to an end and the time to enjoy a well-deserved meal came, everyone was quite enthusiastic. There was much to celebrate, after all.

As Thorin and the other dwarrows suspected, the kingdom took quite well to Bilbo and the hobbitlings. After all, over the years the Company had made sure that the most infamous of halflings had quite the favorable reputation. And it seemed as though Bilbo had utilized whatever strange magic it was that halflings possessed and worked his charm to what seemed it’s fullest extent.

When Thorin had first announced Erebor’s intentions to not only provide the Hobbits sanctuary but military aid as well, he could tell that there was some strong confusion and apprehension within his people. However, it seemed that Bilbo had also picked up on this, for when Thorin had provided the opening for the hobbit to speak, Bilbo - unsurprisingly - stepped forward.

In a voice that was captivating yet gentile, unwavering yet polite, Bilbo thanked the kingdom for their hospitality, offered whatever services he could supply, and expressed his gratitude for their assistance. And he swore that he would make it up to them, in whatever ways that he could.

The more emotionally-tuned men and women were charmed. However, Thorin noticed a few stoic and doubtful expressions from some of the more hardened of their folk. But once again, Bilbo had picked up on this as well.

After the announcement, the Company took to the floor where a procession of people lined up to greet their king and welcome their new guests while simultaneously getting a better look at the foreign creatures. The children stuck rather close to the Company, but Bilbo stood at Thorin’s side with a brilliant smile, ready to greet anyone and everyone who so much as glanced at him.

And Durin, did the hobbit know not only how to work a room, but individuals as well. As Thorin had noted previously, Hobbits - especially their Hobbit - had heapings of charm.

Every dwarrow that came to greet Bilbo - skeptical or welcoming - left with an undoubtedly favorable, or at least more accepting opinion of the curious creature. From shopkeepers and merchants with whom Bilbo talked shop to battle-hardened warriors whose armor and physique he complimented in shocking detail, Bilbo had won their attention. He may yet not have earned their respect, but to even be considered by the admittedly close-minded dwarrow was something of remark.

The exact moment that Thorin knew Bilbo would have no trouble connecting with and earning the favor of his people was when the hobbit had recognized by sight alone not only Glóin’s wife but his son Gimli as well. Thorin was quite sure that Bilbo had only ever seen just the one portrait of the two - the one that Glóin carried around with him - and Gimli had been a wee lad at the time of its make, so the fact that Bilbo was able to recognize the two was quite astounding. The hobbit then proceeded to chat with them as if he had known them personally and he might as well have. For though Glóin told endless stories of his beloved family to the whole of the Company at any given moment, Bilbo was arguably the only one who really, truly listened.

Glóin’s wife was beautiful but famously surly and Gimli had the disposition of a dwarrow thrice his age, yet when Bilbo greeted them in familiarity and what seemed to be honest fondness their countenance turned. From the Lady, Bilbo had earned a pleased smile and from the lad a full on beard-blush as the young dwarrow bowed as low as physically possible without getting to his knees. He relayed how much of an honor it was to meet one of Erebor’s victors (which seemed quite the thing to say, especially when one considered that Gimli was related to a handful of them). Bilbo had been bashful and pretty visibly taken aback at this gesture, but Fíli and Kíli were truly the better ones to observe in the moment, for they struggled to pick their jaws up from off the floor.

Yes, Thorin feared not the Mountain’s opinion of Bilbo and the hobbits. While he knew that the entirety of the populations’ favor would not be earned, the majority of it was well within reach.

After the assembly was completed and the hours of socializing came to an end, the Company and the hobbits retreated to the Company Commons where they had their supper. When Bilbo had seen the room, a wistful expression crossed his face, but the smile never left it. He looked around the room in what Thorin identified as a mix between amazement and exasperation. When the hobbit saw the dinning chair that had been carved just for him and the little alcove with shelves of books and a lone armchair, he let out a happy little laugh.

To make up for the lighter meals they had during the day, dinner was extravagant. Due to the fact that the young hobbits should be eating two evening meals, the main dinner was two courses with plenty left over for seconds (and, startlingly, thirds) as well as a seemingly unending supply of side dishes. It was quite impressive and mildly harrowing to see that the hobbitlings were easily outpacing and out-eating the fully grown dwarrows.

It was a very merry gathering. However, soon it became clear that someone of most importance was missing.

After a helpful tip from Frodo, Thorin went off in search of the hobbit of the hour. Thorin had an idea as to where the hobbit would’ve gone, so he checked there first. As it happened, he was right and found him straightaway. He only wished that he had been wrong about the location, as it wasn’t a spot that conjured good memories.

He greeted the guard standing in the archway with an appreciative nod and soon dismissed him. As the guard walked off to a post just a little further away to give his king and his guest his requested privacy, Thorin softly called out to the figure leaning against the ramparts, “I thought I might find you here.”

Bilbo turned away from the landscape of Dale. The expression he had on his face was inarguably guilty.

“I’m sorry.” Bilbo apologized, the early winter winds that had previously been blowing his curls away from his face now causing them to fly around in all directions. He brought a hand up to free his eyesight as he looked to Thorin and said, “I didn’t mean to sneak off.”

“I find that hard to believe, since it is your nature, my dear thief.” Thorin jested, which earned him an unimpressed look from the halfling. “But regardless, you are not under watch. You’re free to come and go as you please.” he assured as he moved closer to stand at the hobbit’s side.

“See, you say that, but your expression tells me that it pains you to do so.” Bilbo said dryly before he turned his face back in the direction of the landscape, the breeze righting his hair once more.

Bilbo was right and there was no point in denying it. The halfling had keen eyes after all. Instead, Thorin reasoned, “Well, you have only just arrived and this is my kingdom, yet I’ve hardly seen any of you during your stay here thus far. If spending some time with you to myself requires me cornering you, so be it.”

Bilbo then turned back to him, a stunned look on his face. It was hard to tell where the color on his face originated from; the biting wind or something else? Even Thorin had to admit, that last comment was quite teasing.

However, instead of answering Thorin’s remark, Bilbo asked “Goodness gracious, when did you get a sense of humor?” sounding absolutely flabbergasted. Thorin had a sneaking suspicion that the hobbit was only partially jesting with the grave tone of voice.

Thorin merely chuckled, “Much has changed since you were last here, Master Hobbit.”

“I can see that.” Bilbo noted as he smiled warmly at Thorin and turned back to the landscape. A particularly biting breeze then blew past them, ruffling their hair and clothes. As Bilbo suppressed a shudder, Thorin realized that in his discrete exit from the Commons, Bilbo had forgotten his cloak.

“O-Oh, but not everything has changed.” Bilbo continued. “I’d forgotten how dreadfully cold the winters here are...” the hobbit muttered as he wrapped his arms around himself as best he could.

Thorin hummed a laugh. “I don’t believe you should blame all of Arda for your lack of cloak.” he chided as he shrugged out of his own furs and draped it over the hobbit, deaf to Bilbo’s embarrassed protests. The hobbit eventually got over it.

“Well, I had forgotten that when you leave a room in Erebor, you might as well have stepped outside.” Bilbo defended. And then, just as the breeze seemed to come and go, so did Bilbo’s good mood. He suddenly became somber as he looked back out to the rocky landscape and leant against the rampart. “I suppose I’ll stop forgetting in time.” he sighed, as if resigned.

Thorin frowned. “You sound upset?” he noted, a touch of concern lacing his voice.

Bilbo turned to him, expression one of confusion and alarm. “What? No, I’m not upset.” he quickly assured.

“It seems you’ve somehow gotten worse at lying,” Thorin started in an accusatory tone. “because your true feelings are as plain as day. Not just in your eyes, but within your voice and posture.”

Bilbo stared at Thorin wide-eyed until he finally scoffed, “When did you get so good at reading people?”

“The same time I grew a sense of humor, I suppose.” Thorin shrugged, unable to keep the teasing grin off his face. “Besides,” he began a bit more seriously, “a king who can't read others isn’t a very good king at all, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose that’s true…” Bilbo conceded with a huff. “And for your information, I believe the record would show that I was a pretty decent liar.” he boasted and then frowned, as if he realized that was a rather odd thing to boast of.

Thorin hummed in a mixture of amusement and agreement as he too now looked over the landscape. His eyes naturally traveled to the blackened, mostly submerged speck that had once been Lake-town. He felt the familiar feeling of guilt he always had when observing the ruins, but looking to the light of Dale always seemed to boost his spirits slightly. Much like the Dwarves of Erebor, the Men of Lake-town had rebuilt their home upon old ruins. To not only replace what they had lost, but to improve upon it. To make something new. The same went for the kingdoms’ relationship with one another.

And now, standing here on the ramparts, Thorin hoped to rebuild a relationship that he personally had helped drive to ruin, right in the very spot it crumbled.

Both Thorin and Bilbo were quiet for a long while before the latter spoke up once more in soft voice, “But you’re right I...I am upset. I’m…ugh.” he huffed in frustration, a wisp of vapor condensing in front of his mouth as his warm breath met the chill air. After taking another breath, Bilbo seemed ready to try again. “Erebor, Thorin...It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Thorin answered. “But that is not what I asked you.”

“No,” Bilbo replied, voice more than a little frustrated. “No, it’s not but it’s...related. Just, give me a moment to think. How exactly do I want to say this…” he added, as if he didn’t mean to say it aloud. Thorin conceded and remained silent as the hobbit gathered his thoughts.

Another moment passed before Bilbo started again;

“Erebor is beautiful.” he repeated. “You’ve restored it and then some. Obviously, I have no idea what it looked like in its hay day but I’d say it’s close to what I’ve always pictured. It’s magnificent. It’s so full of life. It’s...as it should be. As it should have always been.”

When the silence stretched on longer than it had previously and Bilbo seemed to be picking at a loose stone as a means of avoiding finishing, Thorin pressed, “Yet...?”

Bilbo heaved a long sigh, as if resigned. “Yet…seeing Erebor so full of life, as I said, it…it just reminds me that...that the Shire isn’t.” he finished, flicking the loose pebble down the rampart.

As if a wave, realization crashed over Thorin. Suddenly, Bilbo’s reserved behavior finally made sense.

“Ah.” he breathed out in understanding.

Bilbo merely hummed in return.

“That’s understandable.” Thorin spoke, with as much assurance lacing his tone as possible.

“Well, I feel awful. Selfish.” Bilbo confessed in a mutter, hunching his shoulders, Thorin’s words seemingly ineffective.

Well, then. Time for a different tactic.

“May I confess something to you?” Thorin requested as he leant down on the ramparts, matching the hobbit’s position.

Bilbo did not look to him but hummed once again, this one sounding minorly curious.

“I thought the same when I first walked through the Shire.” Thorin informed. “Worse, even.”

That got Bilbo’s attention. He turned to Thorin, looking intrigued. “How do you mean?”

“I saw what I thought to be a simple society, untouched by war and other horrors, oblivious to the rest of the world and its many troubles. And I thought it was unfair. I thought…” Thorin trailed, stopping in thought. He didn’t know if this was right to say and it was something that brought him much shame, but he decided to confess, “For a moment, I wished it was the Shire that Smaug had scorched. I egotistically thought that Erebor was a civilization in its prime, cut down too soon. I thought it still had much to offer the world. So I was angry that our advancement was halted. I was hurt, and when I passed through the Shire and saw whom I thought to be oblivious, naive people in passing, I thought it seemed a society that had nothing to offer.”

The silence that then filled the night air was palpable until Bilbo finally spoke;

“My…” he began. “And I thought that what I said was selfish. What an awful thing to say!” Bilbo exclaimed as he fully turned to the dwarrow, horror and offense clear in his face and voice. “If you were trying to cheer me up, Thorin, you did a right ruddy job of it!” Bilbo practically harrumphed as he turned away with a sort of finality, shoulders hunching underneath Thorin’s cloak.

“Obviously, I know that now.” Thorin replied dryly in defense of himself, though his strong sense of guilt caused him to reach out and place a placating hand upon the riled hobbit’s shoulder. To his credit, the halfling didn’t shove him away. So Thorin continued, “I was wrong about many things back then. Time and time again, you yourself have proven it so.”

“Trying to butter me up now, are we?” Bilbo questioned skeptically with a raised brow. The hobbit was clearly offended, but not as much as he appeared to be, if Thorin was correct in sensing that that was indeed sarcasm lacing his tone.

“I know you jest, but I am utterly serious, Bilbo.” Thorin began gravely. “The part you played in the Quest, in my life, it was most paramount.”

Bilbo continued to cast Thorin a scrutinizing stare before recognition seemed to flash in his eyes. “Ah, that reminds me.” he started as he shrugged Thorin’s hand away from his shoulder, rustling around underneath his cloak as he searched for something. He reached into the inside of his coat pocket and pulled something out. “Care to explain this?” he requested and he held it out.

Thorin took the folded stack of parchment from the hobbit and opened them up. He read the title and recognition as well as secondhand embarrassment flashed across his features. “Ah.” he simply voiced, tone understanding. Bilbo had gotten his hands on a copy of The King's Thief. “Where did you get this?” he queried as a means of avoiding answering the hobbit’s original question.

“Dís had gathered some reading material for Merry. He saw fit to pass it on to me and I can take a guess as to why.” Bilbo explained, tone nonchalant as he leant back against the stone, still facing Thorin. “It’s about me, isn’t it?” he asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer.

Thorin saw no reason to lie to him. “Yes.”

Bilbo let out what Thorin guessed to be an amused breath and looked back out to somewhere in the distance. “A bit of an over exaggeration, if you ask me. And quite dramatic, though I don’t know what else I expected from you lot.” he joked with a roll of his eyes.

“You can blame Bofur for making it so...theatrical.” Thorin explained with some of his own mirth. “He’s quite the storyteller, as you know, so he and Ori have been collaborating for the written accounts of our tales. What you have here is a draft of what is supposed to be a companion piece to the main story of the Quest. Admittedly, it’s a bit more...embellished than the main tale, but it’s quite popular. So popular in fact, Bofur was working on a ballad for it, last I heard.”

“The Ballad of Bilbo Baggins.” the hobbit mused. “That’ll be the day.” he added as he stared off somewhere ahead of him, back into the hall where they had come.

Thorin’s smile was gone. “You should not jest.” he said, tone utterly serious.

“And why not? It is quite laughable.” Bilbo answered plainly with a small smile that Thorin now identified as self-scathing.

“Because these gestures were not done in...in jest, Bilbo.” Thorin began, his surprise over Bilbo’s rather blunt self-opinion causing him to fumble with his words in his anger. “They were all sincere, each and every one of them and you would upset the friends who had tailored them for you by thinking of them so.” he stated, all the authority lacing his voice as he dared.

That had sobered the hobbit up. He came out of his relaxed position, now standing at attention with the alertness of a startled rabbit. “You...You all really think that highly of me?” he trailed, his voice sounding mildly astounded, looking to Thorin with such genuine surprise over the fact that Thorin was taking this so seriously that it made the king’s heart pang in pity.

“Yes, you insufferable creature.” Thorin heaved in exasperation. “Why else would we have done all this to you?” he questioned as he gestured back to the doorway and inside to where the festivities no doubt continued in their absence.

Bilbo was plainly feeling guilty and perhaps a bit shameful, as he would not meet Thorin’s scrutinizing gaze. “I-I don’t know...Compensation, I suppose? A repayment for when I assisted you?” the hobbit theorized defensively, but even he sounded unconvinced by himself.

Realization once again dawned on Thorin. He felt shaken as he accused, “You doubt our companionship?”

“No!” Bilbo quickly assured as he once again met Thorin’s gaze. With his haste, Thorin believed the hobbit. But there was more that Bilbo was keeping from him and in the direct path of Thorin formidable stare, Bilbo for once wavered. “Well...I suppose that sometimes...I felt as though I was apart from the rest of the Company. Even after everything was said and done.” he confessed.

Thorin was floored. Perhaps a little too accusingly, he began, “We’ve done all that we have…I’ve done all that I have because you are my friend, Bilbo. I know I have been a sorry excuse for one in the past but I mean to make amends for that.”

Bilbo once again looked confused and angered. But not at how Thorin was treating him, but rather with how he was treating himself. “Again with this ‘making amends’? Thorin, I forgave you for all that nonsense a long time ago. Long before Ravenhill. You weren’t in your right mind. The Arkenstone it was...Well, I’m not sure what exactly it was, but it certainly wasn’t good. I don’t know, maybe Smaug had something to do with it, but anything regarding the Arkenstone it...it’s not forgotten. I don’t think that what happened should be forgotten, but it should be forgiven, at the very least.” he finished, his own confusion not dissuading his honesty.

It was reassuring to hear how Bilbo truly felt about the moment. Forgiveness, Thorin supposed, was better than forgetting.

“Then we are in agreement.” Thorin began. “All should be forgiven, even what you believe to be your own transgressions.”

It took him a moment to fully register what Thorin had said but once it did, Bilbo gaped at him. Eventually, the hobbit huffed and rolled his eyes, a reluctant smile gracing his face. “I heard that you were quite skilled at playing the harp, Thorin, yet I had no idea that your skill applied to playing Hobbits as well…”

Thorin’s own smug smirk was unpreventable as he evenly replied, “If you think that now, just wait until I have that aforementioned free time with you.” he teased, perhaps a bit too suggestively.

Bilbo laughed, admittedly a bit nervously and as Thorin turned to the hobbit and noticed his flushed features, he realized that perhaps that last comment might have been a bit much…

Bilbo looked to him with what could only be identified as disbelief, but Thorin averted his eyes and looked back to the horizon, taking a moment to compose himself. The horizon line typically calmed him down. Specifically, the stillness of it did. It was well past dusk and the skyline had taken on a nice deep blue hue, acting as a fitting backdrop for the winter sky’s plethora of stars. It was on clear nights like these that Thorin could understand the Elves infatuation with the twinkling dainty little lights.

The momentary lull was disturbed when Thorin felt Bilbo brush up against his side as he shifted, the two companions now facing the same direction. With a pleased sort of clarity, Thorin noted to himself that their close proximity had increased.

Thorin cleared his throat and started with something from earlier in their conversation that interested him, “Where did you hear I play the harp?” he asked, though he had a pretty good idea.

“Dís.” Bilbo confirmed and when Thorin met his gaze, he flashed him a smile. After a moment, it turned a bit sheepish. “She...She also said something else rather interesting…” he began.

“I’m sure that she did.” Thorin said dryly.

Bilbo made an amused sound, a bit noncommittal. He seemed to gather his thoughts before he began. “Well, we might’ve spoke of courtship…” he trailed again.

At these words, Thorin truly looked at Bilbo and noticed that the hobbit was discreetly fiddling with the buttons of his undershirt. Then, a flash of a brilliant sparkle caught Thorin’s eye. His throat went dry.

“A-Ah.” he all but choked out.

A hesitant yet mischievous smile pulled at Bilbo’s lips as he looked up at the other. “I know you were…unwell when you gifted it but...That is, if provided the opportunity...Whilst we get to know one another I would…Well...I...” he seemed to struggle, trailing off in self-inflicted confusion.

With a bit of trepidation, Thorin helpfully prodded, “Bilbo…?”

That seemed to had done the trick, as Bilbo broke out of whatever nervous stupor he was in. He cleared his throat and started again, “Well, when we spend that time alone - as you suggested - I’d like to gift you with something too.” he stated. “Of course, there aren’t many things in season right now, but—”

“Bilbo,” Thorin interrupted once more, an excited grin stretching across his face as he grabbed onto the hand that Bilbo was still using to fiddle with his button. Thorin held on to it and Bilbo looked away from whatever he was using as an excuse to avoid Thorin’s gaze and matched his look. Whatever nerves the hobbit had seemed to dissipate.

Bilbo sighed for what seemed the umpteenth time that night and continued, “A mainstay of Hobbit courtship are flowers and while I won’t have anything truly splendid to gift you until the weather turns, there are other things we can do.” he shrugged.

Unable to keep the excitement from his voice as something that he thought long about - something he thought could never be returned was, Thorin tugged on the hobbit’s hand, pulling him closer to him, the two bodies now flush against one another. “What other things?” he asked, expression admittedly impish.

“You mind your manners, Oakenshield.” Bilbo groused, sounding unimpressed with the dwarrow’s implications. “Decent things. Like picnics and walks and dances and songs and baked goods. They may not be as dazzling as gems but…”

“But,” Thorin interjected as he wrapped his free arm around the hobbit’s waist, as if preparing for one of those intimate dances now. “From you - with you,” he punctuated with a gentle yet firm squeeze to both Bilbo’s hand and hip, “it all sounds wonderful. Greater than anything I could hope to ask for.”

“Not too simple, for you?” Bilbo questioned pointedly, with his own sharp squeeze to let Thorin know the comment didn’t have too much bite to it.

“If I think it to be, you’ll soon prove me wrong. You always do.” Thorin reminded.

Bilbo hummed, a bit pleased. “Now, just out of curiosity, what’s the Dwarvish courtship policy on snogging?” he asked, falsely innocent.

Thorin had to learn to stop being surprised by the hobbit’s boldness. “Mhm. I would say it is pretty lenient...”

“That’s good to hear.” Bilbo hummed in return before he leant up against Thorin and the dwarrow bent down to reach him, their lips meeting in an admittedly chaste yet no less thrilling kiss. Though the moment seemed to stretch on for an age and last only a breath, they both pulled away at the same time. The kiss had ended almost as soon as it had begun, but that’s how their relationship seemed to be thus far. Quick and passionate and tactful. Such a first kiss seemed only fitting. With that single brief kiss, they were simple testing the waters, so to speak. It would take time to build to something more. And for what seemed like the first time in his life, Thorin was in no rush.

Besides, that brilliant, beaming smile that Bilbo graced him with as he pulled away from that decorous kiss was more thrilling than anything could ever hope to be.

Bilbo exhaled, as if relieved, the warm breath ghosting over Thorin’s dark, kempt beard pleasantly. “I can’t believe I worried about this…” he mumbled.

“I can.” Thorin said bluntly. “As I did the same. We were both foolish.” he settled. Bilbo looked ready to retort at the remark against his intelligence, but Thorin began again before he could, “Yet what we should truly worry about is our current absence from the Commons. Everyone is no doubt suspicious by now.”

“Oh, I think we’re well past suspicious.” Bilbo started. “I wager that they’ve already began placing bets. Of the indecent kind, which I’d really they rather not do in front of the children. Or Frodo, for that matter. For entirely different reasons…” he grumbled to himself as he began to disentangle himself from the dwarrow’s hold. He shrugged out of Thorin’s cloak and returned it to the dwarrow’s shoulders as best he could, Thorin righting what he could not.

Yet even after he pulled away, Bilbo looped his arm through the other’s, so they could now walk side by side unhindered and easily detach themselves when need be. Thorin smiled at the hardy yet soft touch he was excited to grow familiar to.

A bit of hesitation once again laced Bilbo’s tone as spoke once more, “Could we keep this,” he gestured between the two of them with a waving free hand, “between us? Not for always. Just for now. I think the lads need time to adjust and admittedly...so do I.” he confessed, glancing at Thorin from the side of his eye.

“Not everything has to change at a quickfire pace. Or even at all.” Thorin reassured as he grabbed onto Bilbo’s hand once more, bringing it up to his lips. “We may take things as slow as you wish. And no one has to know anything has changed.” he assured as he placed a kiss to the other’s knuckles, minorly alarmed by just how cold they were.

Bilbo yanked his hand away, unable to hide the amused and slightly flattered look from his face as he looked away. Deciding that the hobbit had finally had enough of the cold, Thorin began leading them both inside, back to their awaiting companions.

“Although,” Thorin began, gaining Bilbo’s curious stare once more. “I can make no promises in regards to others noticing something between us on their own. In fact, I think my sister and Balin may somehow already know.”

Though Thorin’s comment was as equally a joke as it was a serious, alarming feeling from his gut, the sound of Bilbo’s barked laughter reverberating off the Mountain’s stone walls was more delightfully overpowering than any worry he held.

“I think that’s inevitable.” Bilbo mused. “As most things are.”

Thorin couldn’t help but agree.

Chapter Text

“Hurry up, Bilbo.” Merry grounded out impatiently for the umpteenth time as he waited for his guardian to catch up, which was quite unfair because Bilbo wasn’t the only one who was lagging behind.

They were quite the sight, the lot of them. Twelve dwarves and five hobbits, trekking up the quarryside of Ravenhill on a clear, sunny day, one of the warmest they’ve had in months.

“Ease up, Merry.” Frodo chided jovially from his cousin’s side, a ways further up the incline than a number of the dwarves and Bilbo himself. “You can’t expect a poor old hobbit to keep pace with us younglings.” he added cheekily, earning some dwarven snorts and hobbitish snickers.

“Oh, so you’re only young when you’re telling me how old I am in comparison, is that it?” Bilbo groused, keeping his same steady pace because despite the lads’ impatience - which had been voiced multiple times this afternoon - they had yet to leave Bilbo out of their sights for more than a few moments at a time, probably due to their uneasiness with being outside in the open like this, which was just fine by him. Never hurt to be too cautious. “I seem to remember you being very adamant about just how old you were not too long ago…” he added in a mutter.

“Mr. Bilbo’s not that old.” Sam defended - with good intentions, no doubt - but it only spurred the rest of their odd troop into more laughter.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, Sam, it’s not needed. I’ve had more than my fair share of walks, thank you very much.” Bilbo continued to grumble, his tiredness perhaps causing a little more bite to sneak into his tone than usual.

Poor Sam blanched, “Of-Of course, Mr. Bilbo. I-I didn’t mean to—”

“But that was ages ago.” Pippin cut in, which was an entirely unfair comment, especially so since Bilbo wasn’t the one who was currently piggybacking off of Kíli.

“More like a few months, lad.” Fíli laughed from his brother’s side as the two princes - with Pippin onboard - waited ahead, acting as leads for the little gaggle of hobbitlings.

“Goodness gracious,” Dori huffed breathily from somewhere to Bilbo’s back left. “were they this swift on the journey here? I can’t imagine having to keep pace with such a spry lot.” he mused, and Bilbo had a suspicion that the lads wouldn’t have tired the old dwarf out physically but with worry as well (a nigh impossible feat for the effortlessly fussy dwarf).

“Well, it has been a long Winter.” Ori reminded. “They’re no doubt a touch stir crazy...” he theorized and wasn’t that the truth.

It had been as peaceable as a time spent in a forgein land with young, energetic, restless children could be, however it had been the longest stretch of time that the hobbits had been in a place other than their home in the Shire. It was a milestone, in that sense, but it wasn’t without its hitches.

Due to the fact that Winters in this region are particularity unforgiving and that Fumbul was still unaccounted for, the hobbits had remained inside the Mountain for the duration of the season, which lead for the lads to develop what Bilbo had dubbed Mountain Fever. So needless to say, when the weather warmed and there had been no sightings of Fumbul in their region for months and Thorin suggested a Company-lead hike to help everyone unwind, Bilbo was all for it.

It was no easy task to have everyone’s busy schedules cleared to mark off such a day, so despite the early start time and the unease Bilbo now felt whenever outside the Mountain for long stretches of time, it was a day that was much appreciated and for that matter, needed.

After all, it was hard to feel unsafe when surrounded by those of the Company, despite the danger they tended to attract in times previous. And with the addition of the young hobbits, it felt almost like their strange little group - their family - was complete.

Apparently, Bilbo was turning into a sap in his old age.

But it was hard not to have a warm, pleasant ache in your chest when you were surrounded by this merry lot. This afternoon felt like old times (minus the sense of impending attack). Even Thorin himself had cleared his schedule, leaving the kingdom in Dís’ more than capable hands for the day. Which was surprising, as Thorin was typically quite the over-dutiful king.

In fact, there were many things about Thorin these past few months that had surprised Bilbo. After their heart to heart all those months ago, he and Bilbo had begun a tentative courtship. It wasn’t anything quite astounding. After all, they weren’t fumbling tweens with all the time in the world on their hands. They were grown adults with different responsibilities of their own, Thorin’s lying with his kingdom and Bilbo’s with the lads. However, that wasn’t to say that their courtship was all that uninspired.

Thorin himself was quite an attentive partner, yet subtly so. His love came in the form of quiet moments spent alone. It came in the form of weekly strolls through the Mountain. Of meal times spent together in one another’s chambers whenever time allowed, discussing their pasts, both the good and the bad histories they had to share. It came in the form of small, handcrafted gifts ranging from waistcoat buttons to furniture to pottery.

In fact, it was this last act of love that had Bilbo frustrated. Not with his dwarf, no, but with himself. Bilbo had been courting Thorin as best he could these past few months, but with limited access to the outside and an unfamiliarity with the surrounding landscape, Bilbo hadn’t been able to gift Thorin with some of the most important gifts of Hobbit courtship; flowers.

As they continued their walk up Ravenhill, Bilbo kept an eye out for any flora that might serve him well. He had already given Thorin some heather during the Winter whenever he could find it and young Princess Tilda of Dale was more than helpful in his pursuit of wider variations, but flower gifting just wasn’t quite the same when you were not the one to pick it for your loved one.

On this walk, he had hoped to find something other than heather - maybe some dusty millers - but so far, no such luck. Perhaps it was still a bit too early for anything to bloom quite yet...?

Bilbo was then broken out of his musing when suddenly he heard his name being called by the very dwarf that was on his mind.

“Bilbo?” Thorin said once more, the number of times he had called his name unknown to Bilbo himself. But apparently, the span of time was enough for Thorin to forsake his lead at the front of the party and now stand directly in front of the hobbit.

“Oh, sorry. Yes?” Bilbo answered, a bit embarrassed at himself.

“Dozing off in the middle of the day?” Merry observed from his place at the hill’s top. “Are you sure you’re not old?” he queried cheekily, earning a few snickers from his cousins and dwarven companions alike.

“What I am sure of, Meriadoc, is that you’re not too old for a good thrashing.” Bilbo replied easily, earning his own bought of laughter from his companions. Merry only looked unperturbed and made a big show of rolling his eyes, like the moody tweenager he was swiftly becoming. Bilbo then turned his attention back to his patiently awaiting dwarrow. “I’m sorry, what is it you said, Thorin?”

“I requested for you to cover your eyes.” Thorin repeated, subtle amusement present in his voice and eyes. “And the lads.” he added.

Bilbo’s eyes instantly narrowed in suspicion.

“What for?” he asked, weary tone not because of the request itself, but only because the last time he went to this specific destination, he took a club to the head and watched not one but three of his dear friends nearly lose their lives.

“What else for?” Thorin returned in his quiet version of a breathy laugh. “It’s a surprise.”

“I thought the surprise was the walk?” Bilbo questioned, honest confusion quickly becoming his chieftest of emotions.

“It’s part of it.” Thorin shrugged, looking away falsely innocent and Bilbo finally took the chance to really take in his companions.

The lads looked equally as confused as Bilbo felt but noticeably eager as to what surprise they weren’t clued in on. The dwarves however, looked as if they knew exactly what lay in store for their group and it only made Bilbo all the more suspicious.

“What’s this? A conspiracy…?” Bilbo trailed wearily as he looked back and forth between his so-called friends.

“No. A surprise.” Kíli sighed overdramatically. “Mahal, keep up, Bilbo.”

“Sullu iglukhul, sullu iglukhul!” Bifur chimed in, appearing quite giddy.

“It’s really nothing to worry too much about, laddie.” Balin assured. Finally, someone Bilbo could trust.

“Alright…” Bilbo agreed, already beginning to cover his eyes. “But I hope you know that I already know what lies up here.” he pointed out. The structure was hard to miss, after all. Plopped right on top of the old ruins of Ravenhill, gleaming in the sun. It was some sort of joint outpost, to Bilbo’s understanding, run by the Dwarves and the Men of Dale.

“I’m aware…” Thorin trailed, sounding like he somehow - for some reason - very much doubted that as he interlocked Bilbo’s arm with his own and began to lead him the remainder of the way to their destination.

With the loss of his sight, Bilbo’s other senses picked up. First, he heard the sound of his noisy companions, never ones to travel discreetly, especially if they didn’t necessarily wish to. The second sound he noticed was running water, which was only slightly curious. He knew there was a lake or a pond of some kind located up here, but he’s never actually seen it not frozen over. The third sound was of other beings besides his companions, those of the Company greeting those they passed (both human and dwarf from the sound of the names called in greeting). Supposedly, there was more activity up here than Bilbo initially thought. But, that was to be expected of an outpost, wasn’t it?

“Alright,” Thorin spoke once again, easily speaking over the excited sounds of their companions. “open your eyes in three...two...one.”

The last thing Bilbo sensed before he opened his eyes was the feeling of warm air wafting in his face as a door was slid open and suddenly, Bilbo’s vision was enveloped with green.

But not just green. But egg shell, and lavender, and crimson, and violet, and so much more…

And the smell. Floral scents wafted over him as he finally processed just what he was seeing.

A garden. Some sort of indoor garden, sitting atop of the seemingly barren Ravenhill, filled with...with green. With life.

Bilbo vaguely registered some familiar weights pushing against him as they curiously peered around him and into the building whilst he stood stock still.

“Sweet Lady Yavanna…” a voice breathed out and it took Bilbo a moment to realize that it wasn’t himself that said it, but Sam. But those were Bilbo’s sentiments exactly.

The structure of the building was made of what Bilbo guessed to be some kind of crystal paneling, based on the way it glittered in the sun, but the crystal seemed fogged as the weather inside in no way matched the weather from the outside. It was warm in here. Not just like the beginning of spring, but the height of spring. But Bilbo never knew this part of Middle-earth to ever become this warm...

“What…What is this…?” Frodo trailed, sounding and appearing astonished as he looked around with wide eyes, taking in the shrubbery and the flower beds and the winding dirt paths and the small fruit trees. It was all so familiar, but impossibly so.

“A ‘greenhouse’, according to Gandalf.” answered Balin with a beaming grin stretching his face, he and the rest of the dwarves having apparently made their way into the ‘greenhouse’. The door sliding softly shut behind them (which in and of itself was odd, as Bilbo’s never known Dwarven doors to be quiet).

“It’s warm…” Merry observed, strangely quiet as his eyes roved over their surroundings.

“That would be the insulating factor.” Bombur began with a pleased look on his face. “I’m sure there’s a bit of ol’ Wizard’s magic involved, but this beauty is mostly just another impressive feat of Dwarven engineering, if I do say so myself.” he furthered as he rested his hands on his belly, something Bilbo knew he did when he felt very satisfied with something. “There are heated ducts running along the walls as well as a separate irrigation system and a—”

“Ahem.” Bofur ‘discreetly’ coughed, interrupting his brother mid-spiel.

“Ah, well, I won’t bore you with the details.” Bombur blushed with a sheepish look. “But it’s fully operational, I assure you.”

“Fully operational?” Frodo repeated, a stupefied look on his face that Bilbo couldn’t even appreciate right now since it mirrored his own. “You mean…?”

“It’s a fully functioning garden!” Dori clarified, excited smile stretching his features. “Of course, some work has already been done to it, but there’s still plenty of room for additions.”

“What kind of things can you even grow out East?” Merry questioned skeptically, eyeing the familiar-looking fruit in suspicion.

Unsurprisingly, none of the dwarves had to answer as there was already someone who knew for certain.

“Anything.” Sam answered, eyes wide as he looked around the room in bafflement, a hand raised out in front of him, as if to feel the air. “These are Shire conditions.” he noted, voice filled with wonder.

“Shire?” Pippin parroted, looking more than a little confused.

Merry’s brows furrowed. “So you’re telling me that this is…It’s...”

Frodo’s astonished look then increased tenfold as he came to a realization. “Our very own piece of the Shire, way out East.”

“It is indeed!” Dori confirmed enthusiastically, practically clapping his hands together in excitement. “We did our best to stick to the details, from the type of soil and weather conditions right down to the last rock and seed - Gandalf was a right good help with that.”

“Unsurprisingly, he has a very good knowledge of Shire farming.” Ori added. “It only required a little bit more extra research on our part.”

“You mean my part.” Fíli corrected.

“Partially Fíli’s part.” Ori amended, and though he didn’t roll his eyes, you could tell by his tone that he’d very much would’ve liked to. “But your lists were hardly worth an almanac...”

“So those are actually pears?!” Merry gasped, ignoring the two dwarves bickering, wild excitement alight in his eyes.

“Indeed!” Dori answered again, enthusiasm not having died down one bit.

That seemed to be all that Merry needed to hear because he looked just about ready to run off before Sam grabbed onto his shoulder, grip strangely tight.

The older boy then turned his head to Thorin. “Can...Can we…?” he muttered quietly, eyes suspiciously bright. Four sets of young hobbit eyes were then glued to the king, unsure if what they were being shown was not just for that; show.

Thorin made quick work of easing them of their worries. “Of course. It’s all yo—” he began before he was interrupted by Merry’s loud WHOOP and Kíli’s startled noise when Pippin dropped off his back and sprinted between his knees to join his cousin in their mad dash for the fruit trees, a few dwarves gaping as they expertly climbed the trees with ease to reach their bounty.

Sam made more of a slow, cautious approach to one of the flower beds and shakily reached out a finger to one of the blossoms, giving it a tentative stroke.

Just as Frodo knelt to the ground, knees hitting the queerly familiar soil a little more heavily than normal, Sam’s whole body jerked before he gasped, “These are really daisies, Mr. Frodo!”

And just as Sam had, Frodo reached out a finger and gave one of the petals a soft stroke, giving a disbelieving laugh upon contact. “You’re right, Sam.” he smiled, looking at the flower as if it was more than just that.

From across the way, Pippin noted around a mouthful of juicy flesh, “Th’se tathe ‘ike ‘ears!”

“They are pears, Pip!” Merry laughed before he took another huge bite of his own.

Bilbo just blinked at the scene unfolding in front of him in astonishment. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that such a thing could exist. He felt his eyes begin to sting - which was silly, because it was just a garden - but really, it was so much more than that. As Frodo said, it was like a little piece of the Shire. Stepping into this greenhouse felt as if he were stepping outside his front door back at Bag End. It lacked the rolling hills and the blue skies with pillowy clouds, but it was still a marvel. After staring at grey walls all Winter long, all the green was such an appreciated sight that Bilbo wanted to cry.

Bilbo was interrupted from his thoughts when he heard someone softly clear their throat. He wiped at his eyes and then turned to see Thorin staring at him from a respectful distance. He gave Bilbo a tight smile before he started, “Well, there are of course some things in here that aren’t from the Shire, but that’s not always a bad thing.” he explained vaguely before he took a confused Bilbo’s arm and led him further into the structure, down a winding path that led to a stone circle and within that circle lied a small sapling. By the size of it, no more than 10 years old, if that. And with startling clarity, Bilbo realized it was oak. He gaped.

“You...The acorn…” Bilbo recalled in strangled, vocalized thoughts. “You still have it. You kept it.”

“Of course I did.” Thorin responded easily, a twinkle of something sparkling in his eyes. Bilbo identified it as cheekiness a moment later, when the dwarf added, “It was a gift, after all. From a very dear friend.”

Bilbo chuckled, wiping at his eyes. “You rat. That was my line.”

He then heard the sound of the others’ approach and looked to his friends, disbelief and gratitude plain on his features.

“You all, you all did all this?” Bilbo asked, gesturing around them in bafflement. “You did all this for me?”

“Well, as we said, it was a joint project.” Dori recalled as he began to list off on his fingers, “With Mister Gandalf, and those of Dale, and who could forget the Elves—”

“I could.” Dwalin added.

“Oi.” Kíli grunted pointedly.

“It’s an idea we’ve had for years now.” Fíli furthered, ignoring Dwalin and his brother. “But those of us that stayed behind while the Party journeyed back here put a rush on its completion. We - ah - we figured you’d need it now more than ever.” he shrugged.

“Oh, you all...” Bilbo trailed, throat becoming tight as he looked at the green all around. “This is...This is…” he verbally fumbled, unsure if he could even voice all his current feelings.

“Do you like it?” Thorin asked, pleased smile revealing that he already very well knew how Bilbo felt.

“Like it?” Bilbo answered despite. “Thorin, it’s...This is all so wonderful. I could kiss you.” he chuckled in an overwhelmed, slightly hysterical laugh. A bit of a slip of the tongue, but it was nothing compared to the one that would immediately follow.

“Well, you’ll have plenty of time for that later.” Thorin easily bantered back, as if they were alone, which they weren’t. A fact that Bilbo was quite aware of but apparently Thorin had forgotten. Bilbo didn’t realize how noisy it had been until the quiet of their companions became deafening.

By then, it was too late for Thorin to realize his mistake, as a dwarf who was known to always grab onto an opportunity whenever he saw one - a dwarf who had been strangely quiet this afternoon, not doubt highly observant - latched onto his slip;

“Wait a moment. Don’t tell me…” Balin begun, tell-tale, knowing sparkle agleam in his dark eyes.

Thorin’s eyes then widened comically and in the few short moments that followed, Bilbo could literally see the acceptance wash over his partner. Thorin closed his eyes and turned his head to the ground, hanging it like a condemned man as he let out the heaviest of sighs. He refused to grace Balin with a verbal response, but Bilbo smiled at the other with begrudging amusement and that was all the confirmation that the Company needed.

The reaction was instantaneous and absolutely raucous.

“Uncle, you scoundrel.” Kíli drawled in feigned shock.

“Well, it’s about time.” Dwalin proclaimed, sounding entirely too irritated for the current topic at hand.

“What’s going on here?” Frodo inquired in a droll, a shifty smirk on his face as the other lads surrounded him and took in the scene before them curiously. His sharp eyes roved over to Thorin and Bilbo and in a furiatingly steady tone he noted, “Oh. Don’t tell me. You’ve eloped?” he ‘guessed’.

The dwarves did their best (and failed) to contain their guffawing while Bilbo seethed and Thorin frowned. But they kept they kept any further comments at bay, not for the sake of their friends, but so that they didn’t miss the other lads’ reactions to the reveal.

It seemed to take them all a moment before Sam’s eyes widened and Merry’s brows furrowed. At the same time, in entirely different tones, they said, “Oh.”

Poor Pippin however, still looked lost. “What? What’s happened?” he questioned curiously, looking back and forth between his companions, wondering what he was missing.

“Something wonderful, my lad.” Glóin informed vaguely with a gleam of wonder in his eyes as he looked to the eldest hobbit and the king, before he graciously accepted the two pouches of coins that were thrown his way by Nori and Dwalin. Bilbo didn’t even want to know the specifics of their bet.

Merry scrunched up his face, as though he had tasted something foul. “How do you make that? A Hobbit and a Dwarf doesn’t make much sense, if you ask me. How’d it even work?” he posed and poor Sam - who seemed quite jovial at the initial reveal - went red.

Fíli barked an amused, incredulous laugh before he countered with, “Do you even know how a Hobbit and a Hobbit work?”

“How what works?” Pippin chimed in once more, desperate to catch onto even a thread of understanding as to what the conversation was even about.

He went unnoticed however as Merry’s face scrunched up even more, if at all possible. As though he had taken great insult, he puffed out his chest, opened his mouth and began, “I— ”

But Bilbo interrupted before the boy could offer up his rebuttal. “Fíli, if you even try to have that type of conversation with him, I’ll throttle you.” he threatened, setting the dwarves off into a cacophony of laughter once again.

“What kind of conversation?” Pippin insisted irritatedly, sounding to be quite miffed at being out of the know.

“Just a boring adult one, laddie. Don’t you worry.” Bofur clarified as he ruffled the wee hobbit’s curls, much to the latter’s pique.

From Bofur’s left, Nori assured, “You’re not missing much.”

“Speak for yourself!” bristled Dori as he forcefully shoved past his brother and to Bilbo and Thorin. “This is momentous news! Oh, I’m so happy for you, my dear friend! Your majesty!” he congratulated, beaming wide and he shook both their hands vigorously, at the same time.

Thorin looked as awkward as seemingly possible, but Bilbo merely smiled and politely returned, “Ah, thank you, Dori...”

“I still don’t understand!” Pippin exclaimed, apparently at the end of his patience. He turned to Merry and with all the honest curiosity of a child his age and all the tonal authority of beyond that, he questioned, “Are they having a baby?”

That got everyone to quiet in pure surprise for all of three moments before they proceeded to burst into the loudest bought of laughter yet. Notable reactions included Balin red in the face as he tried (and failed) to contain his mirth, Dwalin bellowing enough hearty laughs for himself and his brother all on his own, Sam’s eyes becoming as wide as dinner plates (over such a notion or Pippin’s bluntness, Bilbo did not know), Ori choking on what had to have been his own spit or just plain air, and Fíli and Kíli, who had all but collapsed to the ground as their hilarity wracked their bodies.

“Now where did you get an idea like that?” Frodo inquired of Pippin with the easy calmness that he always exuded, even as his own amusement over the situation was plainly evident by his alight eyes and upturned lips.

“This isn’t about Cousin Reggie, is it?” Merry then questioned, an amused yet skeptical look on his face as he seemed to know exactly what Pippin meant, having more context than anyone else ever seemed to have, as usual.

“Yes!” Pippin confirmed, looking delighted that someone had finally validated something he had said.

“What about Reginald?” Bilbo asked, still confused as to how Pippin had reached such a spectacularly wrong conclusion and how Merry seemed to know exactly how he reached it.

Pippin then turned to Bilbo and Thorin and with a grand roll of his eyes (Bilbo knew Merry would turn out to be a bad influence) and a tone that suggested the answer was entirely too obvious, he elaborated, “Because when him and Daisy—”

“‘He and Daisy,’” Frodo corrected.

“He and Daisy visited the Smials and everybody was congrad’lating them— ”

“’Congra-tu-lating them,” Frodo assisted once more.

“Congrad-U-lating them,” Pippin amended, with emphasis, “Pimmie said it was because they enveloped and Pearl said they were having a baby.”

Sam looked puzzled as he asked, “Miss Pimpernel said what?”

“It’s—” Frodo began before he cut himself off, thinking better of it, for once. “Oh, nevermind.”

Pippin’s earlier query then made sense (and it was also clear to Bilbo that he’d have to arrange for the lads to go into lessons soon, somehow, lest they forget all the rules of proper speech...).

“No, no, they’re not having a baby, lad.” Óin assured as he placed his palm upon the lad’s head, Pippin looking up curiously at him as a result. “As their physician, this, I assure you.” he furthered with a wink. And the assurance seemed to hold a lot of weight.

“Oh.” Pippin merely said in confused acceptance.

“Ah, but Mr. Pippin’s not too far off with comparing you two to Mr. Reginald and the missus, is he, Mr. Bilbo?” Sam noticed and coming from anyone else but sweet ole Sam, Bilbo would’ve been insulted. Instead, he just felt exposed, as Samwise typically got him feeling.

Albeit a little hesitantly, Bilbo looked to Thorin, who seemed to have already had enough of this conversation if his ticked off expression was any indicator, but at Bilbo’s genuinely inquisitive stare as the hobbit wordlessly asked him a question, the dwarf merely sighed, the lines easing away from his face as his expression relaxed somewhat.

“No, lad, he’s not far off…” Thorin admitted as he placed an arm around Bilbo’s shoulders and drew him in, Bilbo’s arm coming up to wrap around Thorin’s back with an ease that both somewhat frightened and delighted him.

If he were anyone other than himself, Samwise would have looked smug, instead, the look he graced Bilbo and Thorin upon the latter’s admittance was akin to the one he’d have after a successful harvest. Like a pleasing, but hoped for turn of events.

“So if they’re not enveloped,” Pippin began, still haven’t had pieced it together quite yet. “and they’re not having a baby, then what’s going on?”

Thorin gave a sigh before he removed his arm from around Bilbo and - surprisingly - dropped to the ground with a low grunt, now at somewhat of a more even eye level with the smallest lad.

“Do you know what courting is, lad?” Thorin began a bit uncertainly, all the dwarves and hobbits alike gaping at the king.

Pippin had an unimpressed expression. “I’m not stupid, Mr. King.” he said, appearing as though he’d taken much offense.

“No, no, of course not. My apologies.” Thorin huffed in amusement before he cleared his throat, looking as if he struggled to find the right words to voice next. He eventually settled on, “We’re courting. Your uncle and I.” which he stated quite plainly and Bilbo was so stunned by Thorin’s honesty that he didn’t even bother to correct him when he misspoke. Honestly, Bilbo would’ve imagined he’d have skirted around the subject a bit more.

Pippin’s brow furrowed in clear confusion. “But you’re a Dwarf.”

For a moment, something like concern flashed across Thorin’s features, but as quickly as it had appeared, it had vanished and was replaced with Thorin’s usual stoneface calm. “Is that a problem?” he asked with a raised brow.

“No.” Pippin immediately answered which such honesty that whatever small part of Bilbo that had been worried quickly died away. “No, it’s just different, s’all.” he clarified and Bilbo chided himself for being worried at all.

Of course the lads would be a little confused at first - Bilbo himself had been quite unsure of himself these past few weeks as he and Thorin worked out exactly what this new development meant for them. But of course they were understanding.

Frodo just looked pleased with himself, Sam quite happy, Merry - despite his earlier sentiments - looked like he found the situation quite scandalous which he absolutely approved of for the sheer chaos it could cause, and Pippin looked like he was at ease, radiating an easy happiness as if someone had announced they’d be going on a picnic instead of a new relationship that had the potential to change existing dynamics.

“And different is not bad?” Thorin probed, seemingly wanting further clarification.

Pippin then paused as he looked over at Kíli, who shot him a ready smile. “No.” the lad shrugged before he turned back to Thorin and Bilbo with a smile “Because I suppose it’s a bit like an Elf and a Dwarf courting, isn’t it?”

Thorin’s brow then furrowed as he glowered at the lad. “Bilbo’s nothing like an Elf.” he deadpanned a bit too defensively, which sent the previously stunned group off into a roar of hollering once more and for the first time in a long while - though his annoyance and amazement over the dwarf’s continuous biased ways would seemingly never lessen - Bilbo felt at ease as he let the laughter wash over him.

He still missed his home in the Shire. He missed his people. He missed greeting folks to and from the market, complimenting gardens and having his complimented in return. He missed his armchair, and his books, and cozying by the fire in the den.

But now he had another den. Another armchair. Another fire to cozy up to. Another home in a lonely mountain far from the Shire.

Years after Bilbo thought his life story to be over, he found a home in four young hobbits, who after months of weary travel and bleak dispositions finally seemed able to laugh and play as they once did; he refound a home in a band of smelly, noisy dwarves, who once they had learned that he was in trouble, dropped everything at the drop of a hat to come to his aid and take him and the lads into their fold, as though it was where they had always belonged; and most surprisingly of all, Bilbo had found a home with a Mountain King who, even after all these years, never gave up on him.

Bilbo once thought that his time for creating new life stories was over, but in this moment, surrounded by friends - by family - he knew that he had been wrong. But at the same time, he had always been right.

Because after all, the road goes ever on, doesn’t it?

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He stumbled through the thicket, the limbs of the trees and the barbed bramble reaching out to tear at his skin. Though some tore him open and exposed his insides, he paid it all no mind. He had to keep moving, least his pursuers catch up to him. Yet still, his confliction continued.

gObACK.FLEE.fiNDthEM.LEAVEIT.kILLthEM.SAVEYOURSELF.

He was all alone now. His followers - if not slaughtered - were scattered across the continent. He didn’t know how long he had been alone, on the run. Many nights. Maybe months.

He had succeeded in ridding himself of Traveler but his runts, they still lived and were now being harbored by those filthy dwarves.

And wasn’t that a surprise when it had first been revealed all those months ago. Traveler had aligned himself with dwarves. He had of course known that there were also dwarves in the Tunnels when Traveler had trespassed, yet he had no idea that they were still linked, let alone linked so…closely to the Pale Orc Slayer. It was fitting, really, that the stinking creatures had aligned themselves with the pathetic halflings.

It was an annoying development, but it needn’t cause him any more strife. He had bested Traveler and now his runts were orphaned. He had succeeded in his goals. He should be happy.

So then why did he feel so…hollow? As if he were missing something? Was it the runts? It would’ve been satisfying to gut Tiny and hear his little cries one more time, and Tubby was sure to be a pleasantly meaty mouthful, but Traveler had always been his primary concern and now he was no more.

He supposed he could always gather more followers, if he wanted to finish the job. He could travel once more to the Dragon's Den. The runts couldn’t stay cooped up in there forever, after all. It was only a matter of time before they exposed themselves and when they did...Fumbul would be ready.

As he was musing his next course of action, a disturbance in the brush had him whipping around, daggers at the ready and growl in his throat before a blinding white light had him screeching in pain and dropping his knives reflexively.

“You’d do well to not point such dastardly devices in my direction, wretch.” the Bright One bellowed as the brightness dimmed. “Especially so since I offer you council.” he added, voice somehow quieting as he spoke.

Though his tolerance for light had increased in his days of pursuit, the Bright One was still too bright for Fumbul to bare or stare at directly. Yet he needn’t look at the Bright One to know what it was. He knew enough tales.

“I wish no council from you, you plague.” Fumbul hissed out. “Begone!”

“Well, then at least be privy to this news I desire to share.” the Bright One said, false hurt and diplomacy dripping from his voice. “Truly, it is a privilege that I even extend this kindness to you.”

But Fumbul was no fool. “Seek other ears to spread your sickness to.” he snarled as he fully turned his back to the figure. “I know all that I desire to.”

“You know nothing.” the Bright One spat and with all his self-importance, he revealed haughtily, “The Halfling called Bilbo Baggins still lives.”

As if all the life had been drained from him, Fumbul paused. If he were more concerned with appearances right now, he’d have been disgusted at himself for the clear emotion he conveyed. But as it was, he was not. “What did you say?” he demanded breathily as he slowly turned to the Bright One, unconcerned with the stinging in his eyes and upon his skin at the light’s contact.

“I believe you very well heard me. Your scourge against the ones named Took was all for naught.” the Bright One furthered despite his words. He then reiterated once more, “The one called Bilbo Baggins lives.” with just a hint of what Fumbul guessed to be amusement leaking into his voice.

“Impossible.” Fumbul snarled, attempting to sound indifferent. “I gutted him myself.”

“That would be all well and done,” the Bright One began, knowledge of Fumbul’s false front clearly present. “if he did not wear a shirt of mithril when you had done it.”

“Mithril? Mithril, mithril, MITHRIL?” Fumbul howled. “How? How did that miserable, pathetic, lowly—”

“A gift from the Dwarven-king.” the Bright One interrupted, seemingly uninterested in listening to the rest of Fumbul’s curses. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Of course. Of course that menace had been to blame. Ever since he and the rest of his kin had become involved, Fumul’s mission had become increasingly more difficult and nigh impossible. Fumbul and his forces were able to kill dozens of Halflings long before they intervened.

“It seems that Durin’s Heir continues to be quite the stubborn thorn in the side of many in Middle-earth.” the Bright One continued. “So long as the Halflings are in his domain, there can be no glory for the Spawns of Golfimbul.” he sighed, pity clear in his tone.

And furratingly, the Bright One was right. So long as that cursed Dwarven-king still breathed, Fumbul would never win. But Fumbul was no fool. If the Pale Orc had not succeeded in ridding the world of that dwarf-scum, then what chance did he have?

...Unless he were able to seperate the halflings from the dwarves? At the pond all those cycles ago, Fumbul and his forces had been victorious, even if it were only for a few moments. If he could get the halflings away from the Dragon’s Den, out in the open, away from the dwarves...then maybe...just maybe…

“Of course, as the record would show, you have no hope of besting the Dwarves or even the Halflings on your own.” the Bright One continued, as if he knew of Fumbul’s thoughts. “Which is where I come in.” he added, what Fumbul guessed was supposed to be a beseeching smile gracing his wrinkled features.

But as he’s stated before, Fumbul was no fool. It was suspicious, this encounter. Why would a being such as the Bright One wish to assist Fumbul, a Goblin? Assist him seemingly of his own free will? He had never known the Bright One’s kind to be so…generous to Fumbul’s kind before. Especially the Bright One himself.

“Why? Why tell me all this? It is helpful, but what could a leech like you have to gain from telling me? Or offering your…help?” Fumbul hissed the word.

“Because believe it or not, worm, our interests presently align.” the Bright One explained. “Baggins has something I seek. You assist me in retrieving it from him, then you may do whatever you wish with him.”

“And the runts?” Fumbul questioned, despite himself. He couldn’t help it. As much as he (futilely) wished to refuse the Bright One’s assistance, the power this one held...Fumbul knew, deep down, that this alliance could be…promising…

“The juvenile Halflings, I presume?” the Bright One began before he waved a dismissive hand and continued without prompting, “I’ve no need for them. But I suggest we use them to keep Baggins…cooperative. It’d be much easier if he came to us of his own free will, wouldn’t you say?”

“I have no forces.” Fumbul continued, ignoring the Bright One’s question. Fumbul believed it needed no answer. His curiosity over the Bright One’s potential response allowed himself to admit the unfortunate truth of his current, lessened power. “How do you plan to best the whole kingdom of Dwarves who protect them?”

He knew of the Bright One’s power, but he had never known his kind to intervene at such a level. And he didn’t trust them. But then...the grin that the Bright One cast Fumbul was reminiscent of ones Fumbul had seen from himself and his own kind. Wide. Proud. Hungry.

“Because you will have a new army. One that is fit for a Goblin King.” the Bright One revealed flatteringly and Fumbul, despite himself once again, was flattered.

At the thought of what was to come, Fumbul felt a twin grin split his face in two. Though he detested the thought of gaining outside assistance, the Bright One’s promises were too delightful to refuse. Suddenly, the Bright One’s light didn’t inflict pain but inspired…promise.

Soon. Soon Fumbul would be able to rip out the throats of those pathetic little runts as he forced Traveler to watch before he finally, finally made things right by gutting Traveler with his bare hands. Properly this time. He wouldn’t rest until he saw Traveler’s last breath leave his body. See the last ounce of light leave his eyes. See his very soul drain away...

As if he could sense Fumbul’s decision to accept his offer, the Bright One’s expression gleamed wickedly and with a crooked smile he said, “This will be a rewarding venture for the both of us, I assure you.” and for the first time, Fumbul will not only believe in someone else, but hold them to it.

After all, a Wizard never disappoints with his promises...

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The end...