Chapter Text
There was a dwarf in front of the door. Taller than a hobbit and a beard longer than any man’s. No doubt, this was a dwarf. But why?
It was unusual for there to be any visitor so late at night, since no respectable hobbit would encroach on someone else’s dinnertime- much less miss their own. The fact that it was a dwarf, though, just took the situation from strange to impossible.
Bilbo looked past the figure in the doorway, finding nothing there that would explain this circumstance.
“It will be very good for you, and most amusing for me.”
All of a sudden the words which had confused him that morning rang loudly in Bilbo's ears again. The wizard must have something to do with this.
“I’m sorry, do we know each other?” He wrapped his coat more tightly around himself, waiting for any kind of clarification.
“No,” the bald dwarf pushed himself through the door and past him, looking stern. “Which way, laddie? Is it down here?”
“What is down where now?” Bilbo furrowed his brows, and his uninvited guest did the same. “I’m not sure you have the right house, mister… dwarf.”
“Dwalin.”
“Right, yes, of course.” Bilbo stopped short at that. He'd been so perplexed he had forgotten the man's name.
After his momentary lapse, one thing led to another, and before he knew it Bilbo was watching someone else eat his dinner. Unbelievable.
When the bell rang a second time he hoped it’d be Gandalf, or anyone else who could clear up this ridiculous situation. Well, he did end up opening the door to the sight of an old bearded fellow- but not one he knew and not the one he wanted to see.
A mister Balin- at his service, whatever that was worth- brushed past him just as the other had done and greeted what Bilbo then realised was his brother.
Two dwarves, closely related to each other, both ending up in his home on the same night, for no discernible reason? Definitely a wizard's work.
The third time Bilbo half expected elves or maybe a couple of goblins, since anything was possible now.
But once again he was greeted by smiling, bearded faces. Younger in appearance this time, but their mere being there still made him whimper in helpless confusion.
And the fourth time… at least it was Gandalf that had arrived. Along with seven more uninvited guests.
'It will be good for you,' the wizard had said, and now there was a horde of dwarves in his dining room.
Bilbo could feel his chest tightening; anger, confusion and indignation making his head hammer. This much stress couldn’t be good for him. Or anyone else for that matter.
He tried to vent out some of these intense feelings in a well mannered way, but every bit of concern and upset fell on a dozen pairs of deaf ears.
When one of them, the biggest one by far, came through carrying three whole cheese wheels he wanted nothing more but to scream. To his credit, Bilbo managed to cling to the proper rules of conduct, so he just pointedly asked if he even had a cheese knife- only to be shut down instantly by the fellow in the curious hat.
‘By the block! Who eats cheese by the block?’
He attempted to collect himself by taking a couple of deep breaths and fixing his hair. Total despair wouldn’t become a man of his standing. He had worked hard to be the most Baggins people wanted him to be and the least Took he could be. He would not see that work go to waste. Not for this.
Once he'd mustered up sufficient strength of mind, he opened his eyes and saw empty halls. That was a start.
His guests had all settled down in the dining room. Good. There he could properly address them, and explain that they were not wanted here, thank you very-
He could not finish his thought, for what he saw in that room when he got close enough to look inside was just too baffling.
They were tossing the food. Tossing it! Prized tomatoes, his favorite cauliflower, the good ham he got delivered all the way from Frogmorton!
No hobbit, not even the youngest of faunts, would throw food across the room like this. Never.
The sight of it merely irritated him, but when he turned to check his pantry- he didn’t know why he thought that would be a good idea- irritation was replaced by pure disbelief.
Everything. They had taken everything at all edible. Candles and jars were knocked over, shelves emptied out and plates cleaned off completely.
He leaned slightly to the left, trying to get a better view of the room in this bare state. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, he was promptly proven incorrect.
All the barrels of ale and wine he’d collected over the years- gone with the wind.
He was sure now that he’d fainted and passed out when the first dwarf had arrived at his doorstep. No, earlier than that even. Maybe the fish had gone bad and he was suffering from a case of food-poisoning-induced delirium. That must've been it, because there was simply no other explanation why this was happening to him. To him.
The thought that it might all be a hysterical nightmare was comforting. There had been no dwarf at the door, not the first time and not the dozen times afterwards. His pantry was full, his home quiet and empty, his manners and reputation still unshaken.
That rosy, optimistic thought only lasted for a second though, as the clamoring of his guests pulled him back to reality.
The dwarves were only silent when they threw back their bearded heads to take large gulps of his ale. They looked to be having a jolly good time of it, too, as plate by plate and bowl by bowl the contents of his food storage were devoured.
His despair at the situation continued to grow until finally he got a hold of Gandalf- the head conspirator of it all. Bilbo had made up his mind to give the so-called wizard a piece of it and let out all his frustration on him. But before he could get started, he was once more interrupted by some new dwarven insanity.
Playing with the food was one thing but ruining his mothers dishes? Unforgivable.
“Excuse me, can you not do that? You’ll blunt them!”
Bilbo rushed to the dining room, trying to stop whatever was happening before the images of shattered pottery and broken glass he saw in his mind became reality.
“Oh! You hear that lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!”
The rhythmic thumping on the table and the chipper tune they were singing could have impressed him. Maybe. If it hadn’t been for the utter disregard of his wishes...or the safety of his pottery.
Seeing it all fly through the air, being thrown and caught back and forth was nerve racking, but when he looked closer all the dishes were getting progressively cleaner. By their final verse- no matter how disrespectful the lyrics- every plate and piece of cutlery was neat and spotless.
Now that was impressive.
Bilbo found himself mouth agape, eyebrows raised, glancing up from the stacks of dishes to the dwarves.
To his surprise, he saw that they were neither jeering nor mocking him. Not at all.
He only saw delight and satisfaction on their faces, and they seemed altogether friendlier now that he stopped thinking of them as intruders. He’d let them into his home, after all, and given them food- albeit reluctantly.
They had even cleaned up after themselves, which was more than he could say of any Sackville-Baggins that ever came to visit.
He puzzled over that, but was unable to really dwell on his thoughts before they were disrupted- again. This time not by the soft chime of his doorbell, but by heavy, resounding knocks.
“He is here,” Gandalf puffed, smoke from his pipe obstructing the uncomfortable expression on his face.
“Who- who is here?” While his guests straightened up and began to scurry out of the dining room, Bilbo looked to the wizard in confusion. “I’m afraid I don’t have enough to provide dinner for another...dwarf?”
He figured he should have gotten used to being ignored after the events of this evening, but it still upset him when Gandalf left the room without a word in response. He blinked, took a breath and hurried after him. A glimpse of raven hair in the doorway caught him off guard, and he finally raised his voice.
“Gandalf! I’ve put up with enough for one day. I demand you tell me who else I’ll be expected to-” Bilbo pushed through the rows of dwarves blocking the hallway, finally ending up on the other side. Face to face with him. “-have. To...to have as a- guest.”
He furrowed his brows, looking to Gandalf for help. Because he needed it, even if he couldn’t say why.
“Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company.”
A name. Any name.
“Thorin Oakenshield.”
“So this is the hobbit…”
He almost blurted out a ‘good morning’ when Thorin stopped to look at him. The scrutiny brought warmth to his cheeks, and despite the fact that it was far past sundown, the entrance to Bag End suddenly seemed brighter than a minute ago.
How he managed not to fumble his words when spoken to he didn't know.
“He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”
And the warmth was gone.
Bilbo ended up leaving the dwarves to their business. He thought he deserved a break; after providing his latest guest with a poor excuse for supper, arguing about a contract, and passing out.
The bit where he fainted was quite embarrassing, but he found it easy to forgive himself for not offering the dwarf a better meal. Mainly because his food stores were depleted, but he also couldn’t forgive him for wounding his pride.
Thorin Oakenshield; a pretentious name, fitting for its bearer. Bilbo was sure the only reason he had any reaction to him at all was because the stress from what transpired before had made him lightheaded.
Now, after he'd squeezed all his guests into spare rooms and makeshift sleeping bags, he could finally think about it all with a clear mind.
‘Grocer, burglar, thief- why in the world would I be any of those things?’ Bilbo sat in his chair, elbow leaning on the armrest. He was a Baggins of Bag End through and through, not whatever Gandalf saw in him.
A life of convenience suited him, everybody agreed on that. The word of one wizard couldn’t win against his own voice of reason- or the memory of his neighbors making their displeasure known over every unexpected thing his family ever did.
Was Gandalf so old and grey that he believed Bilbo would give up everything for a company of bumbling, loud, pesky- yet, very funny dwarves?
Was he hoping he’d be compelled to venture out into the unknown just to aid a lost prince and his entourage in a quest for honor and gold? There, that was a better question. One he knew the answer to.
If there was a guarantee he could return home unchanged once the ordeal was done maybe he’d consider it, but Gandalf made it clear that wasn’t the case. So what was he to do but decline the offer?
Madness, that’s what his father would have called it. Sheer madness, going across the world to fight a dragon and steal its treasure.
’An adventure,’ he blinked, finding himself staring at the portraits over the fireplace, ‘that’s what mother would have called it.’
Bilbo shook his head. No matter how much Gandalf tried to appeal to him, he didn’t remember that young hobbit with his late nights outside, the mud, or the fireflies. Respectable. He was respectable.
It was high time he went to sleep, so it would stay that way... And maybe it would have, if not for that shadow in the hallway.
Once his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw that it was not a shadow, but something almost as dark; Thorin.
He just stood there, looking into one of the guest rooms- and for once, he was not scowling. A rare occurrence in Bilbo’s limited experience, but the sight of it still had him wondering if maybe they got off on the wrong foot.
Even if he wasn’t going to join him on his quest, even if the dwarf had been rude, and even if it went against conventions...Bilbo felt like he shouldn’t part with him in hostility.
Ordinarily, no hobbit would bother with this. Reconciliation after a social blunder could take months, or even years. His mother, though, made it a point to resolve a conflict quickly rather than sweep it under the rug for future generations to deal with. She’d seek people out and try to make things right. Especially if she was the offended party.
It just seemed like the right thing to do.
He stole a glance back at the portrait and sighed. Her influence on him was still this great, no matter what he did to maintain a respectable lifestyle.
Bilbo approached the dwarf slowly, fixing his suspenders on the way, and gave a short cough.
“Master Baggins.”
Bilbo might have missed Thorin’s nod had he so much as blinked. A disrespectful gesture, which could have been cause for some indignation, but he managed to swallow his pride.
“I do hope you found your lodgings adequate. This is a decent home, but it might not measure up to royal standards.”
Bilbo did as his mother would have told him; try to lighten up the situation with a joke before you make a life-long enemy.
“Were you uncomfortable?”
“I believe everyone found your house adequate. Why the concern?” Thorin raised an eyebrow, but at least his expression didn’t darken. So far so good.
“Well, you’re out in the hall while everyone else is sleeping. There’s no need to stand guard here, so…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure how to continue. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business really.”
It really wasn’t. He’d said it himself, and yet- and yet-
“I have no need for apologies.” There was no noticeable offense in his voice. Bilbo tried not to sigh in relief. “But it is your right to inquire, as our host. I’m just making sure they’re sleeping.”
Thorin inclined his head towards the room, where blankets and pillows had been spread out due to a lack of mattresses. Bilbo distinctly remembered its occupants- the golden haired boy who almost ruined his mother's glory box, and his beardless brother.
Funny lads, though he found them a lot more agreeable when they were sleeping silently- instead of throwing his dishes around the house.
“They sure look to be,” Bilbo mumbled, trying to think of a reason why Thorin would bother with this.
“Indeed. My nephews are prone to foolishness, though, so I had to make sure.”
‘Ah, yes, they seem to be at that age,’ Bilbo nodded to himself before his head shot up. ‘Wait, what-’
“My sister-sons,” Thorin said with the smallest hint of pride. He must have concluded that this was news to Bilbo, so he continued, “Their mother bade me keep an eye on them, and I intend to do just that.”
Suddenly, it was as though he was speaking to a different dwarf. Bilbo marveled at this, all thoughts of prior offenses forgotten for the moment. When Thorin talked of them- his family- his features relaxed and his voice carried a more pleasant energy. It suited him.
‘He does have a nice voice. Very compelling speech he made earlier, too. And then there’s-’ Bilbo stopped in his tracks. It’d been ages since he let an uninvited thought like that slip into his mind.
Be decent.
When Thorin glanced back at him, he was unable to find any words to say. Bilbo could only pray that the dim light of the hall concealed the red tips of his ears well enough to escape his notice.
The respectable thing to do now would be to wish him a good journey and forget any of this ever happened.
He would need to come up with an explanation for the state of his pantry that didn’t include ‘hungry dwarves’, but other than that he could keep on living life as usual. If he could just leave the dwarf alone, everything would go back to normal. If he could just do what was expected of him.
Don’t go acting like a Took now, Bilbo.
“That song- It was...good.”
The words simply burst out of him, but for each of them he cursed himself.
“Far more pleasant than what your nephews came up with when doing the dishes.”
The dwarf stared at him unabashedly, not knowing what to make of this- and he couldn’t blame him. Bilbo didn’t know what to make of it either. Or himself in general.
“The matter of the dragon aside, I mean. It’s very good." Bilbo smiled, seeing Thorin’s expression settle on bemused rather than angry when he looked away from him.
“Well, if you think so.”
He suddenly felt lightheaded again, though it wasn't stress that made him so.
Here he was tripping himself up over every word, while Thorin hadn’t said anything more than he needed to, all with perfect clarity. Bilbo was acting utterly unrespectably. He had to calm down.
“Indeed! So, you’ll be leaving before dawn, right?” he asked, voice cracking.
The scowl from earlier reappeared on the dwarf’s face, and Bilbo immediately felt cold rush over him. Along with it came a semblance of sense settling back into his mind, and he realised he had made a mistake.
“We’ll be out of your hair and home ere you wake in the morning.” Thorin turned to face him again, glowering. “You have my word on that. Now, excuse me.”
The dwarf walked past him, towards his room at the other end of the hall.
“Oh, no, I didn’t- That was not my meaning.” He tried to reach out and grab Thorin by the arm, but his hand was slapped away. Bilbo forced himself to straighten up and look sincere. “I merely- that is- I don’t expect we’ll see each other again so I wanted to wish you a good night.”
He'd expected to be called out for his discourtesy, but then he saw Thorin stop. He turned around halfway, just for a moment. Bilbo couldn’t meet his eyes, though he felt them on him. Such an intense stare.
“Goodnight, Master Baggins.”
Left on his own, Bilbo remained frozen to his spot in the hall for a while.
‘Goodnight? You wanted to wish him a good journey, you fool!’ he chided himself.
It was a good thing he decided not to join the company.
”Sword or axe? What is your weapon of choice?”
“Well, I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know.”
Naturally. Thorin hadn’t expected much. Or anything, really. It was just a hobbit. Small, skittish and unaware of any problems in the world.
He figured this ‘Bilbo Baggins’- such an outlandish name- would fold after seeing the contract, and so he did. Albeit in a more literal sense than Thorin had expected, but seeing him passed out on the floor still proved him right.
Temporarily, at least.
Despite the fainting, despite the danger, despite the sheer awkwardness- the hobbit ended up joining his company despite everything. He had come running after them, waving the signed contract in his tiny hands, and was welcomed by all. All but one.
Gandalf promised him a burglar, and if he’d given Thorin one, he would have treated him accordingly without question.
But Gandalf had given him this. A stunted creature unable to fend for itself- so Thorin would treat him accordingly.
They had made it past the bounds of the Shire without incident, setting up camp on a cliffside. Most of the company was sleeping soundly already, so Thorin closed his eyes and focused on the fire crackling steadily beside him. A moment’s peace, or at least it would have been if not for the sound of movement alerting him.
Loathe as he was to admit it, the last time he’d gotten a proper rest was the night he spent in the hobbit's home, and the drowsiness made him slow. It took a moment for his heavy eyelids to lift, and when they did he wished he’d just kept them closed and slept.
Bilbo was up and stretching, moving quietly around the sleeping dwarves on the ground.
As far as he was concerned, the deal he had made with the wizard still stood; Thorin was not responsible for keeping him safe. He’d keep him alive, maybe, as long as he was to be their burglar. He doubted that situation would last, though.
After seeing how he fared on the road, Thorin had been optimistic that the 'Master Baggins' they had all grown so fond of would soon sneak away from the company and back to his home.
He didn’t think he would do it so carelessly, though.
Despite his expectations it turned out that the only place he was sneaking away to was the patch of grass where they kept the ponies.
Thorin was almost disappointed. But more than that he was eager to see what the hobbit was doing.
He watched him walk up to the one they’d given him, its name escaped him, but he saw the animal perk up when Bilbo came near. Hadn't he been allergic to it?
“Hello, girl.” Thorin could hear him talking softly. “Who’s a good girl? You are! Yes, you are.”
Bilbo looked over both his shoulders before pulling something from his pocket, as though what he was doing were forbidden.
Even through half closed eyes, Thorin plainly saw him feed an apple to the pony... and couldn’t help but feel a pull on the corner of his mouth.
Stealing an extra apple away from the pile may be a crime if one would ask Bombur, but it might as well have been a capital offence with the amount of care the ‘burglar’ put into his act of secrecy. How ridiculous.
“This will be our little secret, Myrtle. Don’t go telling anyone now, shh shh.”
His soft cooing reminded Thorin of a different, simpler time. Though he tried to hold it back, it brought an earnest smile to his lips. Just for a second.
He remembered talking to Fili and Kili like that, when they were but pebbles in their crib, babbling the words back at him. And earlier than that, when their mother did it to Frerin and Dis.
Unbidden, his thoughts wandered to Erebor.
When they took back the mountain, how soon would there be children to talk nonsense to? Would families be willing to stay there, to grow there, in his kingdom?
While he searched for an answer, his gaze stayed fixed on Bilbo, who was gently patting the pony’s head as he continued to talk to it. The light of the fire barely touched him, but even then Thorin could see those auburn curls framing the hobbit’s face as he smiled gently to himself.
‘Would a hobbit stay there?’
The question startled him more than the shriek of the warg, which was drowned out by the loud drumming in his mind. He couldn’t form a thought nor move a limb until he saw Bilbo's small figure scampering away from the ponies and towards him and his nephews.
Thorin scarcely heard what they had said to frighten their favorite burglar, but when the noise in his head finally died down, he pieced together what he picked up from their conversation- and began scolding them.
They hadn't done anything wrong, really, but he had to occupy his brain with anything other than that accursed hobbit.
It worked for a while, and yet, all throughout Balin’s retelling of the Battle of Azanulbizar- for no good reason he could think of- Thorin seemed unable to take his eyes off of him.
When he finally turned away, his mind, as if to spite him, provided him with an endless supply of images. Curly hair and gentle smiles. He couldn't shake them no matter how hard he tried, much to his annoyance.
It unsettled him. So much so that Thorin almost didn’t notice the real thing standing in front of him again minutes later.
Fili and Kili’s watch had ended, though after hearing tales of battle it was unlikely they would simply lie down and sleep. Thorin saw to it that they at least pretended to rest on their sleeping bags, though. Just until he was out of sight.
He flinched when he became aware of the hobbit's presence in front of him. Thorin couldn’t be sure, as his mind was still elsewhere, but on his way back through the camp he must have ended up blocking his way, and now here they were.
“Master Baggins.” Thorin fully intended to pass by with a nod while avoiding to look at him directly. Really, he did.
But then he felt his arm gripped by a tiny hand.
Any other time he would have caught that hand and slapped it away- come to think of it, he’d done that once before. Thorin just stared wordlessly for a moment before Bilbo removed it of his own accord. He must have been more tired than he thought to let this happen.
“I-” he began, eyes searching Thorin’s face. Was he expecting something? “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Ah, right. The story of Azanulbizar. He’d been too distracted and too tired to allow himself to feel anything about it, but now it was back again. All thanks to him.
Thorin was glad for the hobbit’s insolence, because it gave him a reason to look at him- and look at him in anger at that. This was far easier to understand than whatever had been going on before.
“There is no reason to keep talking about this.” He furrowed his brows, taking a step forward in a threatening gesture. “I don’t-”
“I know, you have no need for apologies- but still.”
Their expressions matched in terms of astonishment; they both seemed surprised at the hobbit’s nerve. Before Thorin could decide what to feel, think or say about it, Bilbo drew in a sharp breath and turned away.
"Goodnight.”
Thorin tentatively settled on ‘bewildered’ as for how he felt, but managed to give a “Goodnight” in response, looking at the hobbit’s back until he was out of sight.
Rivendell was beautiful, and Bilbo would have thought it the most marvelous thing he’d ever seen regardless of any prior hardships skewing his perception- but it was especially beautiful after a week of rain, a night of trolls, and a dreadful encounter with orcs chasing them about.
The company had stayed for a nice dinner and oh- to decipher Thorin’s map which nobody seemed to be able to read until now.
Bilbo didn’t much concern himself with it once the elf lord had read the runes out loud. Standing in a specific place at a specific time wasn’t the hardest thing in the world to do; as long as you took travel time and any unforeseen circumstances out of the equation.
He was determined not to think of those things, though. At least not while there was a valley full of living elvish history to explore.
Every piece of furniture, every candlestick and tapestry lured him in and enticed Bilbo to spend at least ten minutes marveling at the craftsmanship- and then there was the books.
Bilbo’s fondness of books was a trait he shared with his mother, and one that he buried along with her for a while. He'd begun reading more in recent days, although it took him a week at a time to get through a single volume.
After seeing Lord Elrond's library, however, it was like a fire had been rekindled inside of him.
The fact that the books were all various degrees of incomprehensible to him was certainly a downside, but it didn't discourage him from going through as many of them as he could in the few days they spent here. He’d always fancied himself a quick study, after all, and everything was possible with a good dictionary.
He was sure that if he was given enough time to himself, he would have learned the words on the pages just as quickly as the ones that the elves around him spoke.
They frequently forgot Bilbo was in the room with them and began talking in their language. It frustrated him, but it wasn't as unpleasant as when they were unintelligible on purpose.
There was a difference- he could tell- and fast learner that he was, it didn't take him long to figure it out.
They only switched languages intentionally when they wanted to mock Thorin, the company, and their quest without him knowing.
In the two days since their arrival, the dwarves had kept to themselves- even moreso than on the road- which meant Bilbo alone heard what their hosts were saying about them.
He didn't understand all of it, of course, but what he did understand often offended him on the company's behalf.
While he agreed that bathing in ancient fountains may have been a little out of line, on every other account the dwarves were just being... dwarves, as far as he could tell.
For the most part, he managed to scoff and turn his attention back to his books when he caught someone gossiping. But it was slowly getting harder to swallow the resentment he felt every time it happened.
When he overheard someone complain about a 'shortage of food and wine', his patience finally ran out and he made a noise of protest. Bilbo quickly remembered the elves' superior hearing and turned the next corner as not to be seen and questioned- but he regretted it almost immediately.
The complaint was ridiculous enough to be protested.
After all, if the elves had welcomed twelve hobbits, their food stores would have been emptied much, much sooner. They should have been glad the company consisted mainly of dwarves.
To avoid upsetting himself any further, he made it a point not to eavesdrop on purpose anymore.
But on one restless night, Bilbo couldn't help but overhear a conversation that wasn’t elvish gossip; it was Gandalf’s familiar voice in an exchange with Lord Elrond.
The dragon and the quest were standard topics which Bilbo had already made his mind up to ignore. But a strain of madness? That was new.
He leaned closer, trying to hear more, but a sound startled him and he spun around, hands gripping the banister.
Out of all people, Thorin had snuck up behind him.
“I thought I was to be the thief in the night- seems you would make a fine burglar yourself,” Bilbo tried to sound effortlessly calm, but it took him much effort indeed.
“My apologies.” Even in the dim light Bilbo was able to make out his troubled expression. “How much have you heard?”
‘I thought we had no need of those,’ he pressed his lips into a thin line, and turned back to steal a glance at the bridge, thinking about whether or not to tell the whole truth.
He saw the lord leave with his advisor, a man called Lindir, as he usually did. Gandalf stayed behind, looking not at all satisfied. Bilbo exhaled and sat down on the nearby carved stone bench- late second age as he now knew from intensive study.
So many other things to focus on when he had a question to answer.
“Well, I was listening when they stopped worrying about the dragon and started to worry about some kind of...sickness.”
He was hoping not to incur Thorin’s anger again, so he gave him the truth; but not his thoughts on it.
“It wasn’t like that, really.”
Bilbo’s head shot up as Thorin sat down next to him. An unexpected gesture, considering he'd spent the last few days avoiding him like the rest of the company- and considering everything else.
They sat quietly for a moment. Bilbo looked at the waterfalls, the intricate stone pillars- anywhere but at him.
“My grandfather...he was ill.” Thorin no doubt tried to mask his grief and sorrow when he spoke, but it was still evident.
“I knew he was, but my father never-” He took a breath, and resolve began to replace the melancholy in his voice- “He wanted, more than anyone, to find us a home. Nothing else mattered. He lost his life for that cause, but not his mind.”
“And now that cause is yours,” Bilbo muttered.
Slowly but surely he felt like he was piecing together an understanding of what was said. It gave him the courage to finally look at the dwarf- who was staring straight at him.
“The gold never got to him.” Thorin intensified his gaze. Had he been looking at him this whole time? “It will not do the same to me as it did to the- the previous king.”
Bilbo noticed his hesitation before he said the words ‘previous king’ and ‘grandfather’, and surprisingly enough he could understand that with ease. He did the same thing whenever he talked of his parents. As if the dead were still there and judging.
“He must have cared for you a great deal. Your grandfather- before his illness.”
Thankfully Thorin didn’t consider him impudent this time, judging by the way his features didn’t immediately harden.
“When I wasn’t by his side I studied to be more useful when I was. He was proud of that. Of my dedication.”
Bilbo figured that this was his way of answering 'Yes' and could find nothing more to say. The inner turmoil Thorin was in when he said those words was more than clear to him.
Their knees were almost touching.
'I want-'
“So your nephews- you called them sister-sons. Is your sister...that is, where is she? Is she well?” Bilbo had to break the silence to fill his head with information. With something that felt safe to inquire after. With something so trivial there was no way it could be misunderstood.
But against his expectations, Thorin- who’d been looking at him uninterrupted for several minutes- now frowned as if unsure how to answer.
It was so simple, though? How could a question that was part of standard, polite conversation in the Shire cause him to be so stumped?
“She stayed behind in Ered Luin, to oversee our peoples affairs until our quest ends.”
‘See, that wasn’t so hard,’ Bilbo half-smiled to himself.
“She was against the whole thing, of course, and I fear she will not see me again should I fail in my task. To keep her sons safe.”
Ah. Not so simple after all.
“You’ve done admirably so far,” he said, hands gesturing vaguely towards the direction of the dwarves’ temporary quarters. "They have not been harmed."
“They were almost eaten.”
Bilbo bit back the ‘Almost’ that would have escaped him if he'd been talking to anyone else.
If he said the wrong thing now, Thorin would return to looking severe and serious, and Bilbo didn't want that. He looked better like this. Softer. The way he looked in the hallway in Bag End. Soft enough.
'For what?' He shook his head, willing himself back into the moment. It was his turn to speak.
“Well, they’re good men, I believe. Quite able to defend themselves.”
There, a good solid statement about his nephews. He couldn't possibly take this the wrong-
“What do you know of them?”
Bilbo turned his head upwards to look Thorin in the eyes. A bad decision, really. He’d angered the dwarf back into his closed off, hardened state just like that.
“What do you know of their abilities? Or anything else?” His voice was harsh, harsher even than it had been when he spoke to the elven lord he hated. "This was pointless. Goodnight, Master Baggins.”
"Goodnight," he said to the empty space next to him. Thorin had risen and taken three strides down the stairs before he could give anything more in reply but a deeply frustrated look.
Instead of thinking about the source of his frustration, Bilbo went back to studying the design of the benches.
When they’d survived the stone giants, Thorin firmly believed it couldn’t get any worse. He had almost lost half of his company- including his nephews- to being crushed by moving rocks, after all.
It was reasonable to think there would be few things worse than that.
But here he was, in the goblin caves, running and fighting for his life.
At Azanulbizar he fought ranks of organised orcs. Down here, though, there was only pure chaos from all sides and around every corner. Still his blade went cleanly through each and every misshapen creature, deflecting arrows and blocking hits.
Thorin needed all of his instincts to be as sharp as they could be if he wanted to survive this. But to make matters worse, there was one thing preventing them from being just that.
For a while now, before the caves and before the giants and before the elves, he’d found himself in a situation most bizarre.
He had tried not to notice at first, but every day, more and more, his gaze was drawn to the burglar.
His eyes, as though acting on their own, would wander to any part of him that they could get a hold of- even if it was just the back of his head. They would stay there for as long as they could before Thorin became aware and willed them to stop.
He quickly learned, however, that when he tried not to notice the burglar, he began to notice his absence. After enough time, Thorin realised 'notice' may not have been the right word, even. He felt his absence.
Thorin had felt it when he'd gone to deal with the ponies and found the hobbit almost being torn apart by trolls. He'd felt it hours earlier on the mountain, too, when the small thing dangled off the side of it just waiting for him to come to the rescue.
It was a dull stab in the back of his head, and the fact that he’d do anything to get rid of that ache made him scared and angry. That he had put himself into danger, put his nephews into danger, for the hobbit- twice- and against his own word-
No time to think about that.
Thorin could feel it again now, running through narrow stone crevices after facing down a giant goblin king.
He'd been at the front, trying to clear a way for his followers, which left him little time to look back and check for attendance. Still, amidst all the mayhem, something drew his eyes away from the fighting and the running ever so slightly. Just to look for Bilbo. Any sign of him at all, just to calm that formless, anxious ache in him.
It was distracting. It was revolting.
There was no doubt in the reasonable, logical part of his mind that the hobbit had escaped somehow. He’d gone back to the valley of elves, where he was welcome. Or better yet, he'd gone home. Leaving all of them to die.
Maybe he was dead himself, lying somewhere in the depths of the mountain being chewed on by some creature or other.
Either way, the thought that he’d never see the accursed man again should have calmed him- but it only served to get Thorin's blood boiling even more. Why?
What nerve that hobbit had, to get him into a state like this.
They'd almost made it out of the cave, but even then, even then he felt compelled to check every opening and gap in the wall for signs of that ridiculous jacket or the curls on his too-large feet.
A corpse was better than nothing, he knew that from experience.
But why did he want anything at all?
Bilbo was nothing to him.
Where the hobbit went, his safety, and his fate did not concern Thorin.
Why he’d ever talked about himself and his past to that pitiful excuse for a burglar was a mystery he’d bury and never resolve. Those were facts. So why wasn’t the feeling going away?
Thorin had to close his eyes when they finally stepped out into the light of day once more. It was blinding, after having spent so long in those wretched caves, but they had to move through it to get away from the goblins.
Maybe once he left the mountains behind for good he could also leave behind this awful thing that had infected his mind.
When they finally stopped running, the hobbit was nowhere to be seen, the company was in an uproar, and Gandalf was protesting- but Thorin just wanted to get it all over with. Wanted it to be done. For the ache to stop.
“I’ll tell you what happened,” he started, rage pouring out of his mind and through his mouth, “Master Baggins saw his chance, and he took it.”
Under normal circumstances, the incredulous faces of Fili and Kili would have stopped his tirade and made him reconsider, but not now. Not even Gandalf in all his wisdom, or Balin with his good advice would stop him.
“He has thought of nothing but home ever since he left it. We will not be seeing our hobbit again.”
The words which first spilled naturally like water from a spring now burned him like molten iron, but he had to go on. Had to get this out of his head.
“He is long gone.”
There. He'd said it. Now if his mind could catch up at last, he would know peace-
A voice rang out from behind them. “No.” No. “He isn’t.”
Ridiculous jacket, curls all over, dagger by his side- it was Bilbo Baggins.
While everyone else went through various levels of delight at seeing him again, Thorin could do nothing but look in exasperation. Look at their hobbit. His hobbit.
“Well, what does it matter how he escaped? He’s back!” Gandalf’s jovial dismissal of all their doubts startled him back into reality.
“It matters,” he all but spat. “I want to know.”
Thorin saw Bilbo pause as their eyes met. Finally, his mind was calm and silent except for a slight echo- ‘I want…’
“Why did you come back?” he pressed on, trying and failing to figure it out on his own. There was no reason. None.
"I know you doubt me, I know you always have.”
‘True,’ he thought, 'but not what I asked.’
“And you're right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books and my armchair- and my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home.”
‘The reason. Give me a reason-’
“And that's why I came back, 'cause you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you.” Bilbo looked around, no doubt finding approval from the company. All Thorin could see was him. “But I will help you take it back if I can."
Had Bilbo just... understood? He tried to parse the sentence in a way that made sense, but nothing at all made sense about any of this. Thorin repeated it to himself, once, twice, and then it all fell into place.
Oh.
Thorin had passed out. Bilbo could see him from where he dangled on the pine. They were cornered on a cliff, pines and grass on fire, trapped up a falling tree, and Thorin was lying on the ground, looking lifeless.
What was he to do but pull his sword and- and what?
‘I want-’
Bilbo wasn’t sure what he wanted. All he could tell at the moment was that his limbs were simply faster than his mind, which had a hard time keeping up.
Before he knew it, he had tackled an orc and stabbed it; right through its stomach, not once but thrice. For good measure. Then, in an instant, he’d jumped up and stood in front of Thorin, swinging at the pale orc and his disgusting warg. Had he always been capable of doing such things? The thought disturbed him.
He tried calming himself by looking back at the dwarf- injured but alive. Alive. Why was that even calming in the first place? Why did he care? Why was he jumping into action to save this dwarf?
He saw Thorin’s chest rise and fall slightly but steadily, and exhaled a sigh of something stronger than just relief.
Oh.
Dwalin’s battle-cry ripped him out of his trance, and Bilbo realised he’d have to start fighting in earnest if he wanted to live and dwell on those questions.
A few wargs tasted the enchanted steel of his blade, but on account of the fact that he had no training in swordplay, Bilbo was soon knocked to the ground, helpless. Almost as helpless as the orcs were when giant eagles began swooping down on them.
One by one the orcs- and then the dwarves- were lifted up and either dropped or carried away.
Bilbo was sure he must have bumped his head somewhere, because the sight of the creatures almost didn’t faze him past the initial surprise at their appearance. Maybe that would also explain why he did the things he had just done. Blunt force trauma to his head was a far more convenient, far easier explanation for him stabbing a living creature to death than doing it for... he couldn’t think it.
He vaguely registered that he was picked up and tossed on the back of an eagle, but all throughout the flight his mind stayed vacant of any in-depth reflection. He was far too occupied with checking on Thorin every couple of seconds. Still breathing. Still alive.
But getting weaker by the minute.
Hours seemed to pass before the eagles descended on top of a large rock plateau, gently letting the company down to gather around Thorin. Barely alive.
Bilbo watched from the other side of the rock as Gandalf worked some magic over the dwarf’s body. Slowly, just as Thorin’s eyes began to flutter open, Bilbo’s mind began to work again. Worried- he was worried for Thorin- and for himself. For good reason, it turned out.
“You!” Thorin still looked close to death, but managed to stand up with the help of Dwalin. If anxiety hadn't rooted him to the spot, Bilbo would have gone and helped him himself. Perhaps it was a good thing he didn't.
“What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!”
‘Yes, and what a death it would have been.’
He didn’t hear the speech Thorin made. No doubt it was full of ridicule and outrage at his actions- but what did it matter? Thorin was alive. That mattered. The only thing that mattered. Even if he insulted him. Even if he was going to be cast out of the company now-
Or pulled into a hug.
Thorin drew him close and Bilbo exhaled unsteadily against his shoulder. Even after a close brush with death, the dwarf was strong, nearly crushing him- but it felt oh so good.
Just like that he’d been accepted. He could tell; even if the actual words Thorin said to confirm it were a blur in his mind. The gesture was confirmation enough.
“I’m so sorry I doubted you.” He’d been released, but Bilbo still felt warm where Thorin held him. He would feel that for a while.
“No, no, I would have doubted me too,” Bilbo smiled as brightly as he could muster in this state- confusion, exhaustion, something else. “I’m not really a warrior, or a burglar.”
The rest of the company was cheering- for Bilbo, for getting out alive, for seeing the Lonely Mountain on the horizon- but in that moment he and Thorin were alone on the plateau.
The dwarf’s eyes searched him, his face and limbs. For injury, he assumed.
“I’m fine, Thorin. Hobbits are more sturdy than you'd think.” He let out a breathless chuckle, as did Thorin. Thorin. He'd said his name without meaning to. How utterly disrespectful. How wonderful.
“You saved my life."
“Only a little. Most of the credit goes to, well- everyone else. And the eagles, of course.” Bilbo gestured to the sky, where the mighty creatures were now fading in the distance, but Thorin caught one of his hands.
“It wasn’t the eagles I saw standing between me and Azog, Master Baggins.”
He couldn’t form a single word in response, and a wave of gratitude swept over Bilbo when the other dwarves came near, patting him on the shoulder and leading them all towards the edge of the rock to marvel at the sight of the mountain.
They were no longer touching, not even close, but he still felt Thorin’s eyes on him.
Just to calm himself, he exclaimed that the worst was behind them, but something in him was sure this was only the beginning. Of what exactly? He had no idea.