Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One year later, Bilbo Baggins still feels the stone under his hands, the same as he had searched for the key to the Lonely Mountain. He can still recall the image of the moon rising above Durin’s day. Distinctly, like it was bottled in his memory, he can smell the mountain as it was opened, and in his mind’s eye, he can still read the inscription above the door.

Exactly one year to the day that he and the company of Thorin Oakenshield reopened Erebor, Bilbo Baggins is on his knees in his bed, surrounded by doctors. Two were Hobbit healers from the Shire and one was an Elven envoy, sent by the Lord Elrond to spy - neighborly - on him. Or, as the ruler wrote in his missive, “To ensure experienced help in unprecedented times.”

The male Hobbit healer holds Bilbo up from behind and the burglar leans against his firmness weakly. The female elven healer has her hands between his legs, prodding blindly as if treating a wound in the dark. Gentle encouragement can be heard from either side — Drogo and Primula, holding each of their cousin’s hands steadily.

“Breathe, Bilbo. A few more moments, and then you can push.” The Hobbit behind him said, placing one hand over the hobbit’s chest and the other underneath his rounded stomach in support. “Let’s breathe together.” Pressing down on his chest, he exhaled, and lifting it back up, he took a deep breath.

Eyes tightly scrunched and back rigid, Bilbo shook off cousin Drogo’s grip on his hand to swat at the midwife. “Unhand me immediately! I will breathe when I wish, and push when I need!” He yelled out, irate and frustrated by being talked down to. In his head, he knew they were just trying to help, but his pregnancy hormone-riddled heart wanted to skin the man alive.

The midwife, used to such outbursts from expecting parents, distanced himself from the angry laboring Hobbit, leaving the bed to aid in collecting hot towels with the other Hobbit midwife.

“Bilbo my darling,” Primula whispered, petting her cousin’s hand and wrapping her other arm partially around his waist. “You must try to remain calm. Deep breaths. Relax. Your body will loosen, and this will be swift. Once you are calm, so too will the babe be.” Her gentle voice and encouraging logic was enough for Bilbo to quickly ease up.

Getting this wild animal of a child out of him? He would defeat all the dragons in the world for it. His body melted, knees falling out under him and shoulders sagging so quickly that his cousin Drogo rushed to pile pillows behind his back, keeping him sitting up. He helped Bilbo slide to the edge of the bed, where the elf healer could still access his… canal.

“That’s fantastic Bilbo! You’re crowning!” The elf midwife cheered, and the room breathed a collective sigh. They had been here nine hours already, trying without avail to make the burglar feel at ease. The Sun had risen and fallen and all the burglar had done all day was strain every muscle in his body!

The response to this new position was immediate, so much so that Bilbo regretted having resisted so long.

“I need to push-” He gasped like the air had been punched out of him. “Right now!”

The room jumped at his word — a linen blanket was laid down over his lap to protect his Hobbit modesty, and his gown was lifted. Dry towels were laid on the rug underneath him to protect the floors. He appreciated their careful consideration of his hardwood.

“We’re ready when you are Bilbo.” The older Hobbit midwife said as she laid the final towel down and took up her position keeping his feet planted firmly on the bed. Keeping his knees bent and his body angled would be beneficial, especially if he found himself unable to unclench his body again.

One deep breath and Bilbo was tensing, stomach muscles cramping and hands shaking. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the male midwife wiped it away with a cool cloth.

Drogo pushed his hair back carefully, trying to help in any way he could. Bilbo gave him a small smile at the tenderness.

Feeling the babe give and start to drop down, he let out a small chuckle of relief, and the babe gave a little more.

It burned, of course, like dragon flames had surrounded his entire bottom half in a ring of fire, but the sheer joy of feeling the child slip from his body after so long was incomparable.

“Thank Yavanna!” He exclaimed, his laugh being half a sigh. The room rumbled with cheer. An irate Bilbo was not a fun Bilbo - they were all more than happy to let that version of the hobbit fade away as the sun dipped below the horizon.

“That’s working Bilbo, try to keep laughing!” The elf smiled as a full head of deep chocolate-colored hair fell into her pale hands.

“That looks like one more push, Bilbo! Power on!” Drogo exclaimed.

“Drogo!” Bilbo yelled, smacking his cousin’s hand. “Don’t look there!” His cheeks were redder than a poppy. After a moment, Drogo burst into laughter and the rest of the room followed. The sound bounced off of the rounded walls, reverberating all around.

It was so loud that no one noticed the child who had slithered free until it let out a wailing cry.

The laughter died immediately, all heads spinning towards the sound of the newest babe in Middle Earth. “It’s a girl.” The elf whispered, wrapping the whimpering babe gently in one of the warmed towels and bringing her to Bilbo’s chest.

His hands flew to her back instinctively, cradling her in his arms.

Eyes turning to mush, and heart bursting in his chest, the burglar wondered why he had waited so long to relax — why had he been afraid? This tiny baby with her hands wrapped together against his chest was perfection incarnated. She was the first tulip of Spring, the first snowflake of Winter.

He kissed her head and brushed slimy hair — a full head! — behind her small ear. His stomach clenched painfully, but he remembered how the midwife had explained to him the passing of the placenta. It felt as strange as she’d explained, almost like birthing another baby, just slightly smaller.

He laughed, looking up at his cousins who were similarly fawning over the baby. “This is certainly the least graceful thing I’ve ever done-“

“Bilbo.” The male midwife interrupted suddenly, his voice strained in his throat. He was looking between his legs in shock, face pale white. Bilbo looked up from the miracle in his arms to notice the similar expression on everyone’s faces, and when he looked at himself, he understood why.

There, squirming in the soiled towel over the elf healer’s hands, was a bright red-haired baby boy, his eyes wide open and staring back at all of them silently, as if sharing his shock of being removed from his home inside the Hobbit.

Without missing a beat, though, the oldest midwife was picking up the babe and giving him a swift smack on the behind. After decades of experience, she knew a solemn truth: If he couldn’t cry, he couldn’t breathe.

The babe’s chin quivered, then his eyes scrunched, and then he let out a gasping screech like a hatching dragon. Bilbo covered his daughter’s ears as the midwife sighed, murmuring an apology to the boy and rubbing his back.

She swaddled him the same as the baby girl, bouncing him gently to soft whimpers. When she laid him on the opposite side of Bilbo’s chest, he was already quietly staring again.

The burglar was frozen in shock as the midwife adjusted his arms to surround both babies securely.

“Um, I’m sorry, what is-“ Bilbo blubbered over his words helplessly. “Did-did I just have-“

“Bilbo…” Drogo whispered, hand gripping his wife’s tightly. “You just had twins.” Primula’s free hand covered her gaping mouth.

“Why are you all so shocked?” The old midwife asked. “We Hobbits have multiples all the time! This would be more unusual if you’d only had the one!” She and the other hobbit man laughed, but silenced when it became apparent no one shared their sentiment.

“They’re not just Hobbits,” Bilbo said, looking down at his children… His son and daughter. “Th-they’re half dwarf. Dwarves never have twins!”

His eyes shot up to meet the midwives. “I didn’t even know I could have the one!”

He looked down at his babies and then the reality - and hilarity - hit him. He chuckled, then snorted, then his chest was shaking as he tried not to jolt the babies, but failed miserably. “Oh Yavanna, I had twins! I’m a father o-of two!” The shock that all of his prenatal care in both the Shire and Rivendell had missed a second baby would hit later. For now, all he could do was laugh.

Smiling, the midwives gently took the babes from his arms to wash them clean, and Bilbo replaced them by pulling in armfuls of Drogo and Primula. He squeezed them into a firm hug as laughter turned to tears. While he could only truly stand a portion of the larger Baggins family, it was sentimental to him that it had just gotten its two newest buds on this wonderful side of the family tree.

Chapter Text

Stopping at the fireplace, Drogo set down tea for his cousin and wife. Prim pet the head of the chocolate-haired girl, while Bilbo played with his teensy son, waving his finger around and tapping the tip of the boy’s button nose.

“So, cousin?” Drogo heaved a sigh as he slumped into the third armchair. “Does the surprise addition change the oh-so-secret name you’ve been guarding all this time? Will you finally share?”

Chuckling, Bilbo kissed his son’s forehead as he laid him in the bassinet at the side of his chair. Primula laid the girl down next to him, and the pair quickly found and intertwined hands. Pulling a quilt up on his shoulders and sipping from his cup, Bilbo gently rocked the bassinet back and forth. 

“I’ve given it much thought.” He said, setting his cup down. “And now, after seeing them, and of course having to decide on two names, I think I have it. 

“Luckily, I had one name chosen for either sex, though I had to see them first to be sure those were their names definitively. Choosing a name for eternity is a large responsibility, what if it didn’t fit-“

“You’re stalling.” Primula sing-songed over her cup.

“Yeah, come on Bilbo!” Drogo exclaimed. “I’m dying of anticipation!”

The Burglar scoffed, leaning back into his chair. “Calm yourself. I’ve been keeping this to myself for months, let me have my fun.” Drogo and Primula both rolled their eyes and Bilbo chuckled.

“I’ve decided to name the boy Boffin. Remember Drogo, our aunt Donnamira Boffin? Well, I always rather thought that her married surname would make a fine first name.”

Drogo smiled. “Indeed, cousin! A fine name for a fine lad!” The Hobbit smirked, knowing he had won the bet with his wife that the babe would be given a name beginning with ‘B.’ He was ten silver richer. 

“And the girl?” Primula set down her tea, still hoping she could win her money back, and then some.

Suspicious of the way his cousins were staring at each other, Bilbo glanced at them warily. “I’ve decided to name her Thona, like-“ Primula all but hopped out of her seat, careful not to make any noise and wake the babies, but not holding back in shaking her behind at her husband. “Twenty silver!” She whisper-yelled. “Hip-hip to Thona!”

Drogo hunched over miserably, cradling his head in his hands. “Bilbo, you two-timing swine, I shall never forgive you!” Primula, still celebrating as Drogo pulled out his coin purse, stopped when she saw him handing over the money - her money! - to Bilbo. 

“What are you doing?!” She spun on her heels to glare at her husband and cousin. 

“Oh, Primula…” Bilbo snickered, counting out five silver coins. “I bet Drogo 50 silver that you two would make bets, and when he told me you two already had, he said he’d pay me my bet price if I rigged it. Now he’s not only out my 50 silver, but your 20.” Flipping the two silver coins to his cousin, he stuffed the rest of the coin purse into his housecoat pocket and brought the teacup back to his lips. “In essence, my darling Prim, you were both played, but not by me.” 

Well, maybe a bit by me . He thought snidely, glancing over at his sleeping babes. 

“You can thank the newest Dwobbit Bagginses.”

Chapter Text

A little over four years later, as he lay in bed after the final guest of his twins’ birthday party had left and the children had been put to bed, Bilbo still smiled at his tremendous wit at choosing his twins’ names.

He also remembered how Primula had interrupted him from his very thought-out explanation of his daughter’s name to shake her derrière. He had spent many months on the name, thank you very much, it deserved a bit of respect.

He knew that his child’s name had to fit well with their father’s… Even if they never knew it, Bilbo would always remember. For his daughter, he chose Thona because it fit well with her title: Thona, daughter of Thorin son of Thrain. Her name in Khuzdûl meant “silver veins in stone,” and it reminded him of the few long white hairs that Thorin had growing from his hairline. Boffin, son of Thorin, son of Thrain, had the perfect rhyme to it while also being rather Hobbitish, honoring both of his fathers.

But it seemed his cousin didn’t care how much intense pondering he had put into his decision , Bilbo thought annoyingly. 

From the moment he’d come to terms with his pregnancy, he’d easily gone through hundreds of sheets of parchment full of rows and rows of names, both Hobbit and Dwarf. After he’d come to terms with his state, it was a mad dash to make all of the decisions he’d been ignoring for so long.

Those twelve months had been the second-most physically difficult of his life after some of those months he spent on the journey — Even pregnancy with half-dwarves was not as grueling as having to listen to Bombur’s snoring or avoiding being crushed by giants of the mountains.

Before he’d come to terms with his pregnancy, though, Bilbo had spent the first six months of his pregnancy in denial and sorrow. 

First, he couldn’t believe that his Hobbit body could be so fruitful from just one night in Laketown. Admittedly, it had been more than one time in a row, but only a single night! Bilbo was an educated Hobbit whose education expanded to safe sex practices, but still! He didn’t even really think he could become with child, considering the trait hadn’t appeared in his family (On the Took side, of course ) in nearly 200 years. 

After the acceptance came the sadness. Bilbo cried for days knowing that his dear lover would never meet their children. Leaving Thorin on Ravenhill had been the hardest thing he’d ever done, but if he had known then that he’d fallen pregnant just a few nights before… He didn’t know if it would have been possible to tear him from Thorin’s body. 

(Certainly, if he knew he was pregnant he also wouldn’t have faced a dragon, but that was beside the point.)

Bilbo missed those few days before the battle — which he’d heard during his time in Rivendell on the way home, was being referred to as the ‘Battle of the Five Armies’ — and before having released Smaug. The hours they spent climbing those hidden stairs of the pillar, anticipation growing so large in their chests that it felt they would burst. The moment they first reopened Erebor and it smelled of a home Bilbo did not know but could feel deep in his bones.

Having not seen Erebor since he left after the battle all those years ago, it was sorely missed in his heart. Even more sorely missed were his dwarves - and no such creatures had he seen since he returned. No visitors had come knocking, nor ravens came pecking on the window with a message. Not even a dwarf passing through the Shire on their way to a reopened Erebor, who could perhaps carry a message or missive.

In all fairness, Bilbo hadn’t sent a letter either. Afraid that their lack of reaching out meant they did not want to hear from him, he had not sent what may be unwelcome, even when the twins had been born. 

After their birth, he thought that sending word could be cruel. What if the dwarves saw his babes as a constant reminder that their King was dead? What if his children were resented? Worse to imagine, what if their contest to the succession of the throne made them a target of malicious dwarves? Dain had seemed loyal enough, but doubly hot-headed. A possible threat to his new throne could be unwelcome to say the least. 

Immediately after giving birth, Bilbo’s fried brain could not handle the thought — despite what Drogo and Primula had urged. 

Now, though, after five long years away from his friends, it was beginning to eat at him. Even if his children were missing their other father, a band of dwarves would help ease the emptiness they felt, perhaps? He thought about it near-constantly. 

Already, there was confusion in his son’s eyes when he saw children with two parents. His daughter had made a drawing recently of her small family, each little figure (read: scribbled blob) named: Papa, Thona, Boffi, Prim, and Drogo. 

Next to her yellow-colored blob-Papa, though, was a grey shape with no name. The shape, though, looked suspiciously like the rune on the front door, which Bilbo never painted over and could often be found gently tracing his fingers over when he sat out on his front bench. 

That picture, which she had presented proudly to him, had been kept safe in his room, hidden in the drawer of his nightstand. Sometimes, he would take it out and cry, thinking of all of the things that stupid dwarf had done to him. He’d gone and taken the Hobbit’s heart with him to Mahal’s Great Mountain, and then replaced it twice over, filling his Hobbit chest to the brim. Love and grief and so much gratitude burned inside of him and all he wanted to smack the lost king over the head. Damned clod-headed Dwarf.

Chapter Text

Clanging metal echoed through the halls, roaring fires burned tall, and miners tapped away endlessly in deep caverns.

Erebor was once again full of life, bountiful and gorgeous. Every day new weapons were forged, more gems were discovered and gleaming gold was melted into beautiful pieces. It was just as Balin remembered it in its prime. Laughter and chatter could be heard echoing all around, and if one crossed past the kitchen they would smell beautifully decorated baked goods and rich meat. A week after the Durin’s Day celebrations, the mountain had returned to usual business.

The rightful King Thorin was under the mountain after having been saved by elf healers and had recently taken up dutifully training his nephew-heir Fili. Balin loved his job as Advisor to the King, and the rest of the company similarly found fulfillment in their new positions. Their families had joined them, and some, like Bombur, had even welcomed new members. 

Everything was right with the Company, except that it was incomplete. 

After having parted ways with the Hobbit, elf healers had found the bodies of the Durins and saved them with mere slivers of time to spare. The company had sent for Bilbo right away, sending raven upon raven addressed to him in the Shire, but every single one had returned unopened. They didn’t understand why but were determined to find out — to no avail. Every single message was returned, offering no explanation. 

Entering the King’s chamber, Balin had one of those still-sealed letters in his hand. Thorin turned away from his paperwork and upon seeing the letter, his eyes lit up with anticipation. 

“Another one, your majesty.” Balin regretted seeing that light of joy leave the King’s eyes. “Returned unread.”

“Oh,” Thorin whispered, still just as hurt and confused as he had been when the very first letter came back. “Please leave it with the others, Balin. Dismissed.” 

Every letter that any member of the company had addressed and had unacknowledged was left in a stack that had grown to nearly two feet. In his heart, Thorin still had hope that he and Bilbo would be reunited and Thorin would read every word to him, but the glimmer dimmed a bit more with each disappointment.

“Your majesty, if I may?” Balin asked, closing the door behind him, clearly allowing himself before Thorin had accepted. The king sighed, slumping over his work wearily. “I’ve begun to notice a pattern with the letters, and think that maybe if we-“

“Balin.” Thorin interrupted. “If he will not open them, what can we change? There is nothing to be done until our Master Hobbit reads a single word… a single apology. Perhaps it is time that we all stop hounding the Hobbit.”

Balin’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “I don’t understand the reason dear Bilbo hasn’t replied, Your Majesty, but I don’t think that we should stop trying to find out why. In fact-“

Thorin laid his reading glasses on the desk with a sigh, pressing his palms into his eyes. “Why must we all prance around the truth, Balin?” Thorin asked weakly. “Why do we all pretend as if we have no idea why he has no words for us — for me ? I betrayed him, Balin.”

With sad eyes, the advisor laid his hand on the king’s shoulder. “I was consumed by greed and madness, it was like hysteria that took my entire being. I threatened to throw him from the ramparts, Balin. I called him a traitor, made him run in fear. My mind could not know, my eyes could not see the truth that he was saving me.”

“That dwarf was not you, Thorin. You beat the gold-sickness as your grandfather could not. You reclaimed Erebor, and look at it now. The mountain is alive again, as we remember it.” Balin tried to assure him but to no avail.

“And it is empty,” Thorin said harshly. “The mountain, this world, these royal quarters, my soul is empty without him here, knowing that he is somewhere far away still thinking himself banished from this place which owes him everything. I cannot bear it, Balin, to think that he is in that far West thinking that I hate him… That I would hurt him.”

Straightening up, Thorin’s back unlocked, and neck cracked loudly. He rolled his shoulders, shaking Balin’s supportive hand away. “I implore you all to continue sending word to Master Baggins, to continue to seek friendship or reconciliation — whatever it is you can achieve. But I shall stop sending them myself. I will not torture him with my unwanted attention anymore, and perhaps then he will return a letter of someone else’s.” The king’s voice was cold and final and Balin’s heart hurt. “You are dismissed, Lord Advisor.”

“But your majesty, Thorin, I must insist-“ Balin tried to implore the younger dwarf.

“Balin…” Thorin growled, anger rising in his chest.

“Thorin, please! I think I know-“ 

“Balin!” Thorin yelled, bringing his fist down on his desk, and jolting his ink pot to spill across the rich wood. “Bilbo will not peel a single wax seal, cut a single envelope, he will not unfold one letter from a single member of the company because of me — You are dismissed!

Sighing, Balin crossed his arms behind his back and bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty.” He let himself out of the royal chambers, making sure the door clicked audibly closed before exhaling sadly. His forehead leaned against the dark wooden door heavily. He wondered how he could ever mend the King’s broken heart, how he could restore the relationship he knew existed between the Hobbit and Dwarf.

Softly, from the other side of the door, he heard muffled weeping and closed his eyes sadly. “Oh dear boy, what am I to do with you?” He whispered. Pondering for a moment, he jumped back and made determined haste towards the entrance of the mountain, where the post came and went. He had to speak to the Master of the Post, Prince Kili. 

Chapter Text

Princess Dis was speaking softly to her ladies-in-waiting when she saw a long white beard fly past. “Balin?” She called out curiously to the Advisor, but he did not slow or stop. 

“I’m sorry Your Highness, this is a matter of great importance!” He yelled back, instantly sparking her interest and glee. 

Without any warning, Dis was off as well, her skirts held up in her hands and black hair flying back wildly as she left her attendants in the dust. “My lady! Princess!” They all cried but didn’t attempt to run after her. After serving her for the entirety of her life, many of them being less than even five years older than her, they knew better than to chase the wild stallion of a dwarrowdam.

“If it’s so important, then the only Princess Under the Mountain must certainly be abreast on the subject!” She laughed, quickly catching up to the older Dwarf. 

“Your Highness!” He exclaimed, dodging dwarves and weaving between dwarrowdams like a lizard with prey in sight.

“Oh come on, Brother-in-law! This is exciting, let me have some fun! Now, where are we heading?” Balin gave her a withering look, the same one he had given her since she was a child and he was advisor-in-training. 

“Fine.” He huffed, always more relaxed in addressing her than with her brother. “We’re going to see the Master of Post about the King’s returned letters. I have discovered something extremely important that may change all of our fates!”

“What?!” Dis exclaimed, bursting at the seams from the idea of finally being able to peel her sad-sap brother away from his wallowing at being ignored. “What have you found? What is going to happen?!” She questioned eagerly, and Balin rolled his eyes. 

“You will find out the same as when your son does. We’ve no time to dawdle now explaining-“

The Princess screeched to a halt, flat shoes skidding on stone floors. “We’re here!” Dis laughed, gasping for breath with her hands on her knees. “Finally. I see that Quest trained your body well, my friend. I am winded!”

Balin shook his head at her antics as she weakly trudged up the stairs. The Post’s guildhall was an extraordinary building, built within the hollow statue of an old king of Erebor, whose name was forgotten. Still, the dwarf stood valiant guard at the entrance to his mountain. 

“Kili!” Balin called to the upper balconies, hoping that the prince was there and not attending to other business. “Prince Kili!” He called louder, but no dwarves paid him attention. Either the boy was not here or he had finally lost his hearing from Gandalf’s fireworks, which he and his brother had been utterly abusing for their pranks.

“Let me try, brother-in-law.” Dis laid her hand on his shoulder as he smiled and covered his ears. “KILI, SON OF VILI!” She shrieked, and the hall went completely silent. 

Only a crashing in one of the upper offices, and a door being swung open so quickly that it smashed against the stone wall could be heard before the raven-haired Prince appeared over the railing. “Mother?!” Kili shouted, face red and eyes wide. 

“Hello, my darling!” Dis whistled, waving up to her youngest son. “Could you come down here please?” The Prince, still clearly shaken, climbed down the steps quickly as movement resumed in the room. He was quick to appear next to the pair of dwarves, trying and failing to regain composure. 

“Hello Mother, Balin.” He bowed gracefully, smoothing his hair back. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” His mother wrapped her arm around his waist and kissed his cheek before fixing his collar and stepping back quickly. 

“Just a small adjustment, my love. Continue.” She whispered, smiling. 

Balin internally rolled his eyes at the Princess’ mothering. “There is something extremely important that relates to our missing Hobbit, my Prince. I need to see the archive of addresses immediately.” Balin said hurriedly.

At the mention of their burglar, Kili straightened and was quick to point the two dwarrow in the right direction. “Anything, Lord Advisor. Let me lead you.” As they made their way past dwarves and into the archival room, they were met with shelf upon shelf of dusty leather tomes a full foot-thick with pages. 

“What has happened, Balin? Has he finally replied?” Kili rushed past dwarves and to where he knew the archive of addresses tome was. 

“Unfortunately not, lad.” Kili deflated. “But I don’t think he’s been ignoring us.” Both Kili and Dis perked up, looking at the man curiously. They came upon a pedestal where the pages were waiting, opened on the first page of the ‘P’ names. 

“This is it. Turn it to the B’s lad. Then to B-A.” Balin instructed from his left and Kili flipped handfuls of pages at once. Dis watched from her son’s right side as he went too far to the A-V’s and then flipped slowly to the B section.

“Alright…B, B-A…” Kili murmured as he dragged his finger down each name. “Badrid, Baftor, Bagar, Bagon…” He trailed off, freezing his finger at the space between Bagaris and Bakvo. 

“No Baggins.” Balin sighed, confirming his suspicions with disappointment.

“What?” Dis said, hunched over the book to see for herself. 

“But how could that be?!” Kili exclaimed. “I remember we made sure every member of the company was documented — I saw the ravens fly West myself. I recorded every letter from every member as it went there and back again!”

Balin laid his hand over the Prince’s shoulder, moving to take his spot in front of the book. “Indeed you did lad, I don’t doubt it for a moment. The ravens may have flown West, but they always returned because they couldn’t find the receiver.” Balin flipped a few pages, past B-E, B-I, and then finally to B-O. 

“They were never addressed to Master Baggins at all.” He sighed, placing his finger between the names of Bofindros and Bogindros of the Blue Mountains. 

There, written clear as day in dark ink, was Boggins, Bilbo — of Bog-End.

Chapter Text

It was a beautiful afternoon in the Shire. The first days of Winter brought a light flurry of snow, and Bilbo could hardly wrestle his children into their coats before they were leaping out of the round front door, eager to catch snowflakes. 

There was no controlling those tiny tornadoes. His only real option was watching them from a safe distance — which almost always meant sitting on his cozy bench with his pipe. That’s where he found himself now: Pulling his scarf a little higher under his ears, he took a long inhale off of his pipe and blew it into the chilled air. 

It was a busy day on the roads past the gate, the last shipments of Autumn goods and the first shipments of firewood and woolen items were driving past quickly, so Bilbo was sure to keep his babes within the safe bounds of the fence. 

“Papa! Papa!” Boffin yelled, running up to his father who quickly tossed his pipe to the side. “There’s a cart coming to sell pumpkin cream! It’s the last one, Papa, can we please have some?” Thona ran up too, each of his children putting their small hands on his knees and flashing big kitten eyes.

He tried to resist, knowing they had supper coming soon, but it was the last cart before Pumpkin season ended. How could he say no?

“Oh, alright you pair of thieves!” He laughed, giving Thona a silver coin for the both of them. “Make sure you don’t miss it!” He said, patting their heads before they took off at a sprint, skidding before the gate, and waiting for the Hobbit vendor to stop for them. 

He smiled and gave each an acorn bowl full of the sweet seasonal treat they loved and then took their coin with a tip of his hat to the small creatures and their father. “A well-met Arohim to you, miss and misters!” 

“Merry Arohim!” The twins said in unison, waving goodbye as the vendor moved onto the next house with waiting fauntlings. Having found warmth pressed together and against the fence, the twins sat to eat their treat, while Bilbo retook his pipe to empty the last of the leaves. He smiled fondly at his dwobbits as they looked over at him, and he blew a smoke heart into the air for them. They giggled, breathing into the air trying to do the same with the steam that the cold air created, to no avail.

Arohim, the Hobbit's first day of Winter, usually was spent inside with a warm stew and watching snowflakes fall from the windows, but Bilbo’s children had always loved being out when it was cold. It must have been a dwarf trait to be hardier to a chill, so Bilbo bundled up as much as possible to try and join them as far into Winter as he could. By Mid-November he was watching from his window with a shawl over his shoulders and hot cup of tea in hand as they played in the backyard. He truly didn’t know how they did it.

Finishing the last of his Autumn smoking blend, Bilbo tucked his pipe into his coat pocket and stood, brushing off his trousers in preparation to go inside. He had just begun to call the twins when he heard cawing from the distance — The only sound other than cart wheels and their vendors on the stone roads. 

Most of the birds had ventured to warmer pastures or were quietly making their homes ready for the coming season, so it was unusual to see a flock migrating so late.

It was quiet, then grew louder and nearer, until even vendors were stopping in the road to look for whatever journeying bird was making so much ruckus. A breeze blew through, shaking bushes and shedding trees of their dead leaves. The twins, having noticed the commotion, and as the birds became louder, abandoned their empty cream cups to run to their Papa. Admittedly, Bilbo would have been scared as a faunt, too. These birds were beyond loud, it was as if they were all trying to imitate a dwarves war horn at the same time. 

Thona and Boffin pressed their faces into his outer thighs and Bilbo cradled the backs of their heads, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sky. He had no hope, had long since stopped dreaming but… Those sounded like ravens. An entire flock of them. He knew those war-acquainted cries, remembered how Thorin had needed just a single one to call an entire army.

At neighboring homes, mothers and fathers pulled fauntlings waiting for ice cream into their smials or behind their backs in protection as the flock at least a hundred strong burst into the sky from the horizon. 

They flew over hills, Hobbit holes, and trees, some mere inches and some hundreds of feet from the ground. Their wings were black as midnight and cut through the air sharper than an axe in butter, and Bilbo understood now why they were legends of battle. They crossed the Shire’s pastures heading from the East, dead-set on wherever they were headed. 

Bilbo watched, astonished, as they began to circle Bag-End like an arrow striking its target. They spun like a web and swept up fallen Autumn leaves with the power of a tornado. A second flurry of gentle snow was whipped around before it could hit the ground as a different storm began. 

Letters , dropping from the sky and falling to the ground, slipping out of black beaks. They fell like rain, and the ravens left like storm clouds, reversing their flight back Eastward once their job was done. Parchment landed on Bilbo’s roof, his front and back yards, the road past the gate and, of course, right on top of the Hobbit himself. 

Every envelope had his name addressed, as far as he could see, but only one was handed to him personally — by a white raven. It landed on his shoulder, and passed over a pure black envelope with a squawk. Flipping it over in his hands, Bilbo recognized the royal blue wax pressed with the seal of the King. 

Why was Dain writing to him? He wondered.

Bilbo was so bewildered at the envelope that he didn’t notice his dwobbitlings running around in glee, collecting all the letters they could carry in their pockets, under their arms, in their hats and then boots. 

When the white raven jumped from his shoulder Bilbo noticed how it observed the two of them curiously before taking off the ground to circling above their heads. 

The bird landed in front of their feet and hopped closer... And then bowed. In its own avian way, of course, but Bilbo could see the action clear as day. It croaked unintelligibly, but his babes looked at each other curiously. They seemed to silently speak to one another, as if they were asking, ‘Did you hear that too?’ 

As the black ravens cleared and the skies were grey once again, Bilbo noticed the strange looks and whisperings of the other Hobbits and quickly ushered his babes into their home. 

The white raven flew off, nearly camouflaged by the color of the winter sky.

He would have to collect stray letters after supper. Even after shaking out boots and turning pockets inside out, he knew that the letters his children had collected were only a portion of what was beyond the gate and on his roof. 

The question was — why?

Chapter Text

Tucking away the children with a final kiss, Bilbo closed the twins’ bedroom door softly. He listened, hand still on the door handle for a few extra moments until he heard their breathing grow quiet and even. When he was sure they were asleep, he sprinted out of his front door faster than a Rhosgobel rabbit.

First, he stepped onto his sitting bench to climb up to the roof and collect what letters had fallen there, — all that time spent climbing on the journey had not worn off — then collected what was outside of the gate. He found that many letters had made their way into his mailbox, probably from well-meaning or disgruntled Hobbits trying to get them out of the road. He didn’t care very much either way, as long as they were with him.

He shuffled into the house quietly and tip-toed over to his bedroom, where he could lay out the letters organized by sender. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Nori, Dori, Ori, Gloin, Oin, Balin, Dwalin… Their letters took up almost all of the space on his bed, and he still had so many left. 

He filtered through more envelopes before his breath caught in his throat and he almost dropped everything in his hands. He read the names repeatedly, unbelieving. The boys! 

Fili and Kili were alive! Bilbo’s eyes filled with tears quickly, pressing the papers to his chest with joy. Their names were spelled in that unrefined, scratchy handwriting he once tried to train them out of, yet now it filled his heart. Oh, Yavanna how he was overjoyed. If he didn’t have dwobbitlings to keep asleep, the Hobbit might have jumped around in joy, rattling the floors with his big feet.

Those letters were the first to be opened when he had sorted them all out across his bed, Dain’s – the King’s – black envelopes the farthest away. 

The most letters were from, hilariously, Bombur! Just having glanced at a few of the messages, it seemed that the large dwarf had been busy single-handedly repopulating Erebor with his dear lady-wife Arndís. Many of his letters were pictures drawn by the children, and there was an announcement for every birth and pregnancy. Clearly, Bilbo and Arndís were similarly fertile, with the dwarrowdam expecting her second pair of twins, children ten and eleven! 

He rather thought those two would enjoy living in the Shire, seeing as they bred like Hobbits.

Kili, Fili, Balin, and Bofur had the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th-most letters written, and Bilbo decided he would grit his teeth and get the King’s letters out of the way before starting on those. There really weren’t many from Dain — The boredom would be over soon enough, he supposed. It seemed the King wrote a missive every six months and, luckily, they were all dated, so Bilbo was able to arrange them in chronological order. 

He peeled the first wax circle printed with the King’s seal and settled in for an hour of boring political updates. 

My Dearest Bilbo, 

I have just been permitted to rise from my bedrest, and the first thing I needed to do was write to you. My heart was broken to hear you had left, and it is shattered more so to know that I have caused it. 

First, I need to apologize for my actions upon the ramparts of Erebor, on Ravenhill, and for all the times throughout our journey that I wronged or insulted you. I was too weak to resist the Dragon sickness, and it will be my eternal failure, the same as my last moments with you.

I’m sure you are angry with me as I am with myself, that my last words did not speak from my heart, but my head. I do not wish to depart from you in friendship. I do not wish to depart from you at all. 

I will attest here and forever henceforth that I am in love with you, Bilbo Baggins. It was long before our night in Lake Town that I knew this, and it will be an eternity yet that I forget. Please come back, amrâlimê, my heart. 

Whatever you require to accept, I will provide. I shall relinquish my crown and live out my days under that hill of yours, I will throw the Arkenstone into the lake to sleep with the corpse of Smaug, and I will shrink three entire inches, grow large furry feet, and rename myself Oakentree to become a Hobbit with you.

Please, come back.

Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain.

Bilbo let out a piercing wail.

Chapter Text

Bilbo wasted no time in reading all of Thorin’s letters. After his first, there were two a year — One on Bilbo’s birthday and one on the anniversary of their night in Laketown. In every letter, Thorin lamented, begging the Hobbit to return and to forgive and punish him for his supposed betrayal. 

Why had none of these been delivered?! Bilbo wanted to scream into the sky. After his first message, Thorin expressed his disappointment at Bilbo’s lack of reply, but he had never even had the chance! And be assured, he would have most certainly replied!

Oh, how Bilbo’s heart broke with every word. He had thought Thorin dead this entire time, raising his children in secret, too afraid to send a letter himself. The Hobbit was enraged and frustrated, but most of all he was heartbroken. It wasn’t a new feeling for Bilbo to feel heartbreak over Thorin, but it was a fire with fresh fuel that was burning deep in his chest. 

He had half a mind to hop out of his bed and start running straight for the Lonely Mountain in his night clothes. He needed to see Thorin now, needed to tell him that he had been forgiven since he burst through the gates of Erebor to fight in the battle with this kin. 

Tears flowed freely from his eyes now, and Bilbo buried his face in the parchment, his tears wetting the ink on the pages.

“Papa?” A tiny voice called, as the Hobbit’s bedroom door creaked open. Shooting up in surprise, he saw his twins huddled together and peeking through the sliver of space in the door. Thona’s short arm was extended up high and hanging onto the door knob, while little Boffin hid behind his sister, peeking over her shoulder. “Papa, are you okay? We heard you crying.”

Bilbo’s heart melted in his chest. “Oh, my darlings... I’m quite alright, I didn’t mean to be so loud. Would you like to sit with me?” The hobbit scooched over and patted the space next to him. Boffin all but flew out from behind his sister and hopped like a racehorse onto the bed. He sat in his father’s lap and buried his face into the Hobbit’s stomach. 

Thona took up the space next to her father, leaning against Bilbo’s side as he wrapped his arm around her. “I was just reading those letters we got earlier.” 

Thona gasped. “The ones from the birds?!” She straightened up in excitement. All night she had been asking about the letters, begging to open just one, asking who Dwalin and Bifur and Dori were and why they were writing so many letters. He had hardly dodged her questions before she exhausted herself and fell asleep. 

“Those indeed. And they were ravens, my love. The ravens of Erebor.” He rubbed his son’s back and the boy turned around to silently trace his fingers over the ink-written words. He traced the lines of the ‘T’ in Thorin’s name and the ‘L’ in lansel. 

“What’s Erebor? Is it in Bree?” Thona asked, and Bilbo chuckled. 

“Not quite, my love. Erebor is a ways away from here, in the Far East. It is a Kingdom, like Rivendell.” Bilbo had taken them twice in their lives: the first just after their first birthday and the second just this past summer. They had fallen in love with the place, the elves who adored them, Elrond who fawned over their every need, and the Lord’s twin sons, who had taken it upon themselves to entertain the dwobbits most of the time. Bilbo could see even his usually shy and reserved son’s eyes glisten with wonder, the same as his sister’s. “This letter is from the King of that Kingdom, who is a very special man.”

“He’s your friend, Papa?” Boffin’s soft voice asked, and Bilbo smiled down at him.

“Yes, he is my friend.” He rested his chin on Boffin’s red head and held his daughter’s hand. “He is very important to you two, also.” Squirming under the weight, Boffin slithered out from under his Papa and next to his sister, the both of them shifting to face Bilbo directly. The Hobbit took a deep breath.“You know your friend Tansy, right?” Bilbo asked, and the twins nodded. “Tansy has a Mama and a Papa, doesn’t she?” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Cotton!” Thona announced, and Bilbo smiled. 

“Indeed, the Cotton family. So Tansy had a Mama and a Papa, but what do you two have?” The twins looked at each other curiously, and Bilbo would swear he could see them speaking to each other silently, as though they could communicate through the air.

“Papa, Drogo and Prim.” Boffin answered, and Thona gave an agreeing nod.

“That’s exactly right, my boy.” Bilbo took his children’s hands in his. “But there’s one other person I haven’t told you about.”

“A Mama?!” Thona yelled, jumping up onto her smaller-than-hobbitish feet. 

“Close, but not quite. Instead of a Mama, you have two Papas – me, and my friend, whose name is Thorin.” The twins were quiet then, Thona sitting back down quietly and meeting her brother's eyes to do that same, very strange, silent talking they did. After a few minutes of letting them process, Bilbo was starting to eat himself with worry. 

“Do you have any questions?” He asked softly, trying not to overwhelm or confuse the Dwobbits. Finding each other's hands the same way they had done as babes, Boffin was first to speak.

“Why is Papa, other Papa , in Erebor?” He asked, and Bilbo sighed in relief. He was afraid they were going to ask something much more difficult such as where fauntlings came from or why they had no Mama. 

“Because Erebor is where dwarves live, and he is a dwarf.”

“And a King? Like Uncle Elrond?” Thona chimed in.

“Indeed! Your Papa – your other Papa – is just like Elrond.” 

“Papa, I’m confused,” Boffin said with worry, and Bilbo’s heart stopped. “Can we call other-Papa something else?” 

Thona popped her head up. “Yeah! You can’t both be Papa!”

“Alright then,” Bilbo pondered, trying to recall what little Khuzdul he had picked up over the journey. “How about Adad?” The twins nodded, and Bilbo’s heart warmed. 

All this time it had weighed so heavy on his heart that he had not told his children the truth from the very beginning, and then as they grew he was so worried that he might confuse them or make them feel different from others that he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth. Seeing them now, though, only four years of age yet so accepting, full of wonder instead of sadness or anger, he wondered why he had ever held back.

Chapter Text

All night, until the sun rose and the twins leaned against each other with barely-opened eyes, Bilbo answered their every question.

Yes, their Adad had black hair. Yes, he had blue eyes. His name was Thorin Oakenshield, but no, they were not Oakenshield’s, because that was something like a nickname. Yes, Dwarves had smaller feet like Elves and that was why their own feet were not so large as their Papa’s or their peers’. Those questions were easy and lighthearted, and the small family had shared laughs over quite a few. 

There were also harder questions, though. Yes, they were Hobbits, but only half, and yes, they were Dwarves but not all the way. They were Dwobbits, and yes, that was unusual. 

Adad didn’t live with them because he didn’t know they existed. Why? Well, there was a great battle, and when their Papa left, he… Couldn’t find their Adad. He thought that he had gotten lost, and because of that, he couldn’t tell the dwarf that the two of them had been born a year later. 

And then, an even harder question: No, Adad wasn’t coming here, he didn’t think. Could they go to him? Papa would have to think about it.

Bilbo tucked his twins into their shared bed just as the sun rose over the hill and a new day dawned on Bag-End. Relaxing back into his room, the Hobbit realized that he had spent all night talking about Thorin and had yet to read any of the other letters! Before anything else, he settled in and peeled another wax seal. 

Kili was in a relationship with Tauriel – that much was public. Their recent advancement to courtship, however, was something not even Fili was privy to, and Bilbo felt very honored indeed to be the first to know. Balin loved his return to his role as King’s advisor, and Dori and Nori were in perpetual disagreements. Most of them were about how they thought best to raise Ori, the Scribe who rather thought he could raise himself, considering he was quite past the age of majority, and had much to say about these redundant arguments between his brothers

Bifur and Bofur loved toy-making for the children of Erebor, and their most frequent customer was, of course, Bombur. Dwalin was overjoyed to be reunited with his wife, Dis, whom Bilbo thought he would get along with quite well. This was much to the dismay of Fili, who couldn’t express the full scope of his disgust at their public displays of affection in words. He could, though, fully express his secret feelings toward one Luminia, the daughter of an Iron Hill lord, who had relocated to Erebor. Without even a drawing, Bilbo could imagine her every facial detail in his mind due to the overly vivid descriptions the Crown Prince had provided. Oin was finding much fulfillment in his position as Head Healer, and Gloin was overjoyed to finally be reunited with his wife and son. 

Bilbo’s heart was full as he read their every word. These letters were exactly why he had joined the journey, it was what he had told Thorin when they escaped Goblin-town. He had given them their home back, a place where they belonged and could live in peace.  

It was all he had ever wanted, just a short five years ago. Now all he wanted was to see Thorin again, wanted to kiss him like he had before they had separated and set their sights on the mountain. He wanted to meet the company again. Most of all, Bilbo wanted to give his children the amazing father he knew Thorin would be and wanted them to meet the amazing King that he knew the Dwarf now was.

Looking out the window of his bedroom, Bilbo could see the small tree growing in his backyard, barely five years old and born from that acorn he had carried long and far. In his heart, Bilbo knew what he wanted to do. But his mind had to catch up. It wouldn’t be easy, especially with the twins’ age, and winter on its way but Bilbo knew he could not resist the call: He was returning to Erebor.

Chapter Text

This couldn’t be like his last journey, Bilbo knew. First, he needed to do more than just pack a few outfits and run out the door. This journey, thankfully, wasn’t so unexpected — and now with his children in tow, he needed to be far more prepared and intentional in his decisions. 

Easier said than done, he learned. He had the old map, of course, with its inscription that had been revealed in Rivendell, and every confidence that it wouldn’t lead him astray. He could make his way to the mountain blind if he had to, but couldn’t risk losing his way with precious cargo. Bilbo had wondered, briefly, if a certain wizard would suddenly appear because he ‘had an urge that he was needed,’ or something just as vague, but no pointy hat came up the road. 

His next idea was to borrow an escort from Rivendell, but he knew well enough how the dwarves of Erebor felt about elves, and his own company certainly left no impression on the elves of Rivendell which would make one eager to reunite. 

Bilbo pondered his options on the front bench. The sun was rising gorgeously over frosty grass, brightening the Shire until the clouds of winter inevitably rolled in later this afternoon. Smoking his pipe, the answer came to him in a moment of ‘Eureka!’

It walked right up to him with a smile. “Good morning, Master Baggins.” The Ranger greeted, bowing his head gently. 

Hobbits had a long history with the Rangers. The group had protected the Shire and its borders since the Warg invasion, which had swept through green hills and stained them red. Nearly a third of the Hobbit population was lost in a few days, and afterward, they scrambled to rebuild their lives. That’s when the Rangers came upon them, mysterious strangers far from home. The two people grew a mutually beneficial relationship – friendship, even. The Rangers protected the Shire, and in turn found shelter, food, and warmth. 

Long ago, the Thain and Bilbo’s grandfather the Old Took had organized a small village of a few homes and employed numerous Hobbits to maintain them and cook meals for their inhabitants. It was embarrassing, but Bilbo had wanted to be one of the Caretakers when he was a young man, eager for the job so that he could be close to a Ranger he fancied. The group was generally reserved and secretive about their origins, so many Hobbits were wary of them but appreciated their presence, and protection, nonetheless. 

Shooting up from his spot, Bilbo all but ran to his fence gate and stopped the man before he could get too far. “Strider!” He called, beckoning the Ranger who approached with a smile. 

“Good Morning, Bilbo.” The two exchanged a handshake. Many of the Rangers knew of him because of his grandfather, but also because of his children. His family’s visits to Rivendell and visits from their inhabitants had not gone unnoticed by patrols. It didn’t help that his fearless children refused to pass anyone without introducing themselves. With the Rangers, specifically, Boffin always ended up pleading to wield their bows and arrows. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Strider asked.

“Why yes indeed, there is!” Bilbo tucked his hands into his coat pocket. “I require an escort for a… trip .” He said, unsure if the Ranger would outright refuse if he told him the truth. 

“Another vacation to Rivendell, Master Baggins?” Strider smiled. “I’d be more than happy to escort you. Though, I wonder why you find yourself in need of one. You and your faunts have taken quite a few trips alone already, have you not?”

The Hobbit bit his cheek with a polite smile. “We have, yes, but this trip will be a bit different. We will first go to Rivendell, then onwards. Farther East.” The Ranger’s eyebrows rose in surprise. 

“Farther, sir? Past Rivendell…” The dark-haired man pondered quietly to himself. “South, towards Lorien, perhaps? Or north, to the Greenwood?” There was puzzlement in the man’s speech, and Bilbo was almost relieved. While his dealings with elves seemed to be public knowledge, there was no suspicion of him ever having been involved with other races. 

Before he knew Thorin was alive, Bilbo would have been grateful that his children were able to pass as full-Hobbit fauntlings, protected from potential enemies to the line of Durin. Now, there was a voice inside that wanted to do flips and tricks as he screamed from the rooftops that his Dwarf was alive and their little family was whole. Now, he knew he could not lie to the Ranger of their heading.

“Due-East, my friend. We’re not visiting elves this time, though I think we may stop for a visit or two. Our heading is a mountain, perhaps you’ll know it. Erebor, the Dwarf kingdom.” Strider’s eyebrows grew into his hairline in the closest reaction to dead-shock that Bilbo had ever seen come from the Ranger. 

“Well, Master Baggins, I do wish to help but-“ Bilbo knew what was coming next. No rational person wanted to go that far, miles and miles East with two young dwobbits and their old father, already weathered and war-torn. Not to mention would they would be bringing, and the greater burden of what was left behind. “I’ll need a bit of time to prepare my horse and arrange a few ponies. You weren’t hoping to leave today, were you?” Strider asked and Bilbo blubbered, stumbling over his words. He would go!

“W-Why heaven’s no! I wasn’t planning to depart perhaps for a few days, at least. Prepare the children, Bag-End, set my affairs in order, as it were.”

Strider’s eyes grew large. “I’m sorry Master Baggins, I was assuming that I would be accompanying you there and back again. Will you not be returning?”

A serene smile bloomed on Bilbo’s face as the sun crested over the horizon. Gold spilled across the landscape and the Hobbit’s skin. He looked entirely at peace when he laid a hand over his heart. “No, Strider, we won’t be returning. The mountain will be our new home — Family is awaiting us.”

Chapter Text

A few days — one to reacquaint the babes with their sleep schedule and another to catch up on his own sleep, and Bilbo was set to take lunch with his cousins at noon. For a season now, Prim and Drogo had been seeking to consult Bilbo on a dilemma they’d had since the wedding: Where they should relocate. 

Per the usual Hobbit courting traditions, Drogo had built Primula a smial of their own as a gift, but he was no carpenter. The home was built just large enough for the two of them: A modest kitchen, dining, and living area, and one bedroom. This had been a precarious problem since he’d unveiled it to their families. There had been gossip over the couple’s family plans for weeks. To some, the single bedroom was a message of their intent to stay childless. Unfortunately, it was merely a message of Drogo’s naiveté. 

Luckily, as the two began to more seriously consider their futures, Drogo’s aging parents sought to downsize from their family home to something more manageable for an older couple. They were more than happy to swap with their son and the two began exchanging belongings in and out, spending the occasional night.

All seemed to be in working order until the first cold snap arrived a few weeks ago and it became clear why dear Fosco and Ruby were sick so often. It was revealed that the smial’s upkeep had been neglected due to Fosco’s declining strength, and so was in desperate need of repair before it would be suitable for a growing family. 

In ideal circumstances, it was an exciting adventure for a new couple to be able to repair an inherited smial! But that was when they came upon the home in late Spring, Summer, even until mid-Autumn when the days and nights were warm and long enough for construction to be quick and comfortable. With Winter’s approach, it was simply hazardous to leave either Fosco and Ruby or Prim and Drogo in that house, and all four of them couldn’t fit in the latter’s current home. This dilemma couldn’t come at a more ideal time — for Bilbo, at least. He was sure Prim and Drogo were just pulling their hair out from the stress, and he truly felt for them. 

He had planned to volunteer his home for them to stay over the Winter, it may as well be permanent. 

A knock came at his round door — which he loved so much and would miss dearly — and Bilbo ushered his cousins inside, out of the cold, and near the fire where he had laid out pre-lunch tea. 

“Oh Bilbo, we’re so happy to see you. Since we heard about this… Raven event we’ve been wracked with worry.” Primula said, and Drogo affirmed with a nod, mouth full of a finger sandwich. 

“The gossip mill ran rampant, cousin. They grew so ridiculous that someone said baby Thona and Boffin had been picked straight off the ground and flown away with!” Drogo’s hand found Bilbo’s firmly. “Goodness, I was ready to run off after them myself when I heard.”

“Then Rorimac told us it wasn’t true, so we knew we would have to wait to hear directly from you, lest we be running in circles.” Prim finished, sipping her tea quietly. The two of them talking was like watching a smacker-ball contest: a volley to the other side, then a kick back, and a catch. They tossed the conversation back and forth as if they could read the other’s mind, and anticipate their next words. It was eerily similar to what the twins did — the mind-reading.

Bilbo chuckled, sipping from his cup as he reeled from their game of conversation. They truly were his favorite family members, aside from his children. He would miss them and their antics dearly. Primula’s lightness, how she could always relieve heaviness or darkness in a room. The ease in which a conversation with her flowed while her company was soothing. Drogo’s comforting, gentle nature always settled Bilbo’s heart. As faunts, Drogo always picked flowers for his friends and cousins – Bilbo was never without a crown of daisies. It’s a mystery how his cousin never became a florist. 

Bilbo remembered the days of Drogo and Prim’s courtship, how happy he had been for the both of them. Witnessing the small moments between them, a lily behind Primula’s ear or a wreath of lavender hung from her window, made Bilbo believe in love outside of his books. Oh, how much his joy had grown when they finally married. The party went on for a day and a night, and some of the morning too! He had danced so happily in celebration of them and drank so weepily with a dejected heart.

At that time in his life, Bilbo had been the bachelor of Bag-End for years, with no prospects of courtship, marriage, or even a playful twist in the sheets. He was a hopeless romantic with no hope. Little did he know what his future would hold. 

Recalling that despondent feeling of deep sorrow, Bilbo felt assured in his decision. “Let me put your minds at ease and tell you the truth of the matter.” Bilbo started, and his cousins gave him their rapt attention. “When I left Bag-End all of those years ago, it was to go on a quest. I joined a band of dwarves and became the fourteenth member of their company, setting my sights on reclaiming their home from a dragon.” Their jaws dropped, nearly dragging on his floor, but Bilbo continued. 

“We headed East. I faced Goblins, orcs, wargs, trolls, stone giants, and spiders. I battled and lost, and I battled and won. All the while, I came to know these dwarves and that wizard. Two of them became like my nephews, the others friends, brothers and cousins. Gandalf became a close and great friend.” 

The Hobbit sighed, sitting back in his seat. He laid an arm on each rest and settled his eyes on the rug below. “One of those dwarves was a king, and it was his home, his kingdom, we were reclaiming. His name was Thorin Oakenshield and I fell in love with him.” 

Drogo’s hand flew to Prim’s, grasping it tightly. “He didn’t believe in me at first, and I was wary of him. His cold, reserved demeanor scared me away. But as time went on he showed me his greatest qualities. His bravery and passion, his loyalty and fierceness. I fell for him before long, and I… I think he felt the same.” A small smile bloomed on Bilbo’s face. “We stayed for a night in a human town, and that’s when we created our daughter and son.” His smile quickly fell.

“In the coming days, a great battle between five armies of men, dwarves, elves, and orcs raged on. As the fighting came to an end, I lost him.” A single tear fell from Bilbo’s eye, shining against the bright fire he stared at. “Thorin took his last breath in my arms and I carried him down Ravenhill the same as he had carried me to bed. I left before he was meant to be entombed. I couldn’t bear it.” 

Wiping away that tear, Bilbo smiled at his cousins and pulled out a letter from his house coat. He passed it to the pair. “All the years I spent raising our twins and trying to love them for the both of us, he was alive and I didn’t know.” The fire crackled and the three Hobbits sat in silence. Prim and Drogo were wiping tears while Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment, willing his away. 

Silently, Bilbo passed them another paper – The deed to Bag-End. 

“If we leave now, we can arrive by Spring, and I cannot wait. I am going to him.”