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Bilbo and Gandalf were nothing alike. That’s to say the least about it. Gandalf was tall, and he occupied the space surrounding him with knowledge he can do whatever he wanted. There was nothing about him that hinted at the fact he was an adventurer, unless you noticed how worn in his boots were, or how his hat was suntanned passed what was fashionable. If Bilbo had noticed any of those things, there was no chance he would had greeted Gandalf in such a jovial manner by his own choice. But respectability and living up to the Baggins name and all that, so there was a chance Bilbo might have, anyway. Even if that meant being dragged out somewhere, somewhere that was not in the Hill.
Bilbo loved his house; a place equal parts to hid in, and to safely explore all the nooks and crannies in it. There was never any need to leave, and he’d much rather have visitors over than become one himself. After that chance meeting with Gandalf, Bilbo figured that was the last of ever having to think of leaving, or being reminded of his mother’s tricky heritage. Being a steadfast homebody is not as easy as it looks with all these outside temptations.
--
Having such a domestic thing like dishes alert him to the fact last night was not a dream is ironic, Bilbo thought. His home is his safe place, and inviting strangers in was one thing. But, well, saying he will adventure out with them was something else. And being rushed, hurried out of his hole to the tavern is just plain rude. Don’t Gandalf and the dwarves have enough manners to allow Bilbo time to get dressed properly? It’s simply inexcusable he walked out without all the necessaries of life, like a handkerchief, or his trusted walking-stick. Let alone Bilbo now had no control over when he would get his next meal. After all, meals were the most important part of the day.
One misplaced agreement to go out does not an adventurer make, Bilbo reasoned. Soon enough he would be back at the Hill, back in his little hole in the ground. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened there. It was a total mistake to go out and make a blubbering fool out of himself in front of the people he was trying to rob. Bilbo was just not fit for activities of those sorts.
--
Bilbo knew thinking of home would do nothing objectively good for him. Feeding his homesickness was counterintuitive, and just made it stronger. But when he gazed up the huge mountain looming in front of him (“Only the beginning of the Misty Mountains,” Balin had said, making him wonder if it was really such a shame to go out and see the world when an immense thing like that was only just a piece of something greater) Biblo thought of his home. What a contrast; huge mountains with vast swaths unexplored, or a home that he could navigate blind.
By now, Bilbo had stopped complaining that the ponies got more for, or about the slow pace at which they set off on this journey. Complaining was getting him nowhere, because he was stuck with his group. These were his companions, and maybe even his friends. Even if they brought him along and forced him to walk dreadfully long distances by foot. For Bilbo, tired was now the norm.
--
The thunderstorm felt like ages ago. Being dragged down by the goblins was not a pleasant experience for Bilbo, to say the least on the matter. It was a unique and totally new humiliation for Bilbo to be cackled and laughed at. Cleverness does not surpass goodness in value when enchained; Bilbo saw no value of the apparently ingenious whip and weapons that sat precariously close to him. For a brief second, Bilbo considered he would be granted certain luxuries not afforded to the dwarves because he was not one of them. Maybe they would use their cleverness to figure that out. A selfish thought, but they were the ones who dragged him into this mess after all.
He expected someone to strike soon. The goblins were gathering around, waiting for the inevitable heft of Orcrist. They scared Bilbo, once they paid less attention to hiding their noises of twisted exuberance, almost salivating themselves over this opportunity for righteous violence. That didn't happen. Small blessings, but a blessing nonetheless, Bilbo reasoned with himself. A bigger blessing was when the Great Goblin crumpled to the ground.
--
Bilbo already started to feel almost clever when he had navigated through part of the dank underwater cave. It smelt of a certain fish that was popular to keep around as a pet a few years ago in his social circle; Bilbo almost bought one, but did not want to be in charge of another life. Also, it was quite a horrid smell, and would certainly not do wonders for the atmosphere of his home.
Gollum almost would have made a better pet, or at least a show novelty. Not many people leave the Shire often; Bilbo could have had wonderful company over for second breakfast to see it. Too bad it had that awful tendency to talk, and shiver and jolt around suddenly. Now that he was thinking of it, it’s probably for the best Bilbo never got one. He was not that frivolous. Also, when Bilbo got closer, he realized just how absolutely abnormal Gollum was. The mountain slime covered him and connected him with the ground: he was of the earth and the the dirt and could never go anywhere again, whether to the Shire or whatever he calls home.
--
Spending all the time in that awful, dark mountain cave coated Bilbo completely in dust and slime. It was a relief to get out of there, at the very least just so he could see the sun. But the sun was setting, he somehow misplaced some of his very important things, and his friends were nowhere to be seen. So maybe he would have been just as well off inside the mountain. He had the ring now, so maybe braving the mountains might be worth the reward of finding, and perhaps rescuing, his crew of friends who were now missing. The added bonus of being the glorified rescuer was just that, a bonus, to Bilbo.
And they had doubted him! Although his first act of burglary may have been as close as a disaster as possible while still calling it a success, this was something everyone respected. Bilbo Baggins, world class thief. Bilbo Baggins, first class at doing anything at all! The ring was great evidence to show to any doubters that may have been left. Even if Bilbo realizes that may have been a mistake, too.
--
What a great joy to have time to rest. Time to eat, too. Bilbo was grateful for the services Beorn had provided for him. His feet, ever calloused and dirtier than they ever have been in his whole 50-some years of living, wore the great distances he had journeyed. His hands, used to the substantial weight of a ring that meant more than he could ever know, got acquainted with soft bread again. Honey dripped off Bilbo’s lips. His last taste of this type of consuming stickiness was from Gollum, but this was something else.
Bilbo sat back as he savored his meal. His taking charge of their informal group was all too common as of late, and Bilbo had a sneaking suspicious his leadership would be required again soon. So he took a break and drank his mead, watching Gandalf and Beorn decide where to go next. He tore his last piece of bread as an even longer trek was suggested.
If this taste of comfort, of home, made the rest of the trip worse, well. Bilbo has gotten quite skilled at missing home.
--
Bilbo was tired. Days on and in an endless, vast forest would do that to anyone, especially just a hobbit like him. Nerves were running high; their previous sense of camaraderie was left at the entrance of the forest. The voices did not help Bilbo. He liked to see where noises came from, and did not necessarily enjoy surprises. The laughter and singing that followed him around would have been comforting, but instead it added another layer to the thrum of nervousness in the forest.
The lack of food did not help anything, either. Bilbo wondered if Beorn’s honey and bread was a dream, because for as much as he thought of it, it didn't seem real. He started to feel useless again, because even Bombur attempted to lighten the mood. The amount of sleep he was getting should have helped with the constant weariness, but the more he slept, the harder it was to get going again.
--
With a purpose, the hobbit stayed hidden. The ring remained on his finger, and he shadowed the steps and paths of the elves. He was being useful, he was being heroic, and he was proving himself. That alone almost was enough to propel Bilbo past the bone aching tiredness he felt. But if he could not rescue the dwarves, who would? If there was one good thing to be taken out of his slimmed diet, it was his slimmed figure. It made sneaking, and all manners and methods of being a thief and hero much easier to accomplish.
Although a job with great renown (to some people at least), sneaking around followed the same rewardless pattern. Get up, crawl around, slip through, glide under, hold your breath. Hope for the best. Bilbo thought of the dwarves in prison, making up imaginary messages to them. Once he could communicate, he was at a loss for words, only being able to hear the praises of his name being sung. It was one way for him to keep his hope up, his self confidence.
If finally saving the dwarves was the escape from boredom and monotony, then Bilbo would do it.
--
He was swept up in the thrill of the celebrations. He had no idea Thorin was of royal blood, with rights to a throne and a people. The way Thorin carried himself, and the way he acted could have suggested otherwise, but. Bilbo is not going to give up the benefits that come along with his title, even if he thought it was quite a bit odd he was included in it. The songs were rambling, but loud and with a purpose. He even could understand the importance of Thorin’s return, thanks to the song.
Quite like the song, the feast was long and rambling. Almost more celebratory, but for what real reason, Bilbo thought. If Bilbo thought Boerne's meal was a banquet at the time, than this was truly a feast. All the citizens got in on it in one way or another. Music and signing, joyous and loud, drifted through the crowds as a constant stream of background noise. He never heard his name, but Bilbo still consumed exuberantly.
--
The dragon was a sight to behold. Bilbo, in all his middle age years, had never seen anything like that before. On the way in with the dwarves, Bilbo glanced at the many jewels and treasures around him. It was astonishing, to see so much wealth just sitting there. He wondered who would be so careless as to just leave it lying around. Anyone could take it, and it must have some sort of use or purpose for it to be worth even keeping and guarding! His answer was Smaug, the dragon lying in wait, lying in the heart of the Lonely Mountain, forever guarding his treasure but never making use of it.
Smaug’s scales shimmered and gleaned, and reflected the same way as the piles of gold and jewels and priceless treasures around him did. He looked natural in his natural armor, born of wealth, and living without ever knowing a life without it. Bilbo felt fake in his dazzling armor, and was almost worried that if Smaug figured out he was there, he would in turn figure out Bilbo’s tricks.
--
For once, Bilbo found himself the voice of reason and of hope. He was obligated to lead the desperate dwarves out of the mountain. And plus, something really had to be done about Smaug. That dragon was certainly no good, and Bilbo knew that to be a fact. Bilbo knew how to deal with those reluctant to leave, because he was the very same type of person before. Luckily enough for him, he used those skills to lure Thorin and the others out. His stealth rescues earlier in the adventure had been a quite nice skill for Bilbo to use, because now he could navigate and sneak around just as good, and even better than Thorin and the dwarves. Bilbo wondered if he, all by his hobbit self, truly managed to lead.
Something clicked inside of him when he took charge, like something missing fell into place. Bilbo felt good when in charge, and it gave him a needed boost of self confidence.
--
He had no particular aspirations or dreams to set out and become a peacemaker of sorts. Not that his opinion on the matter was very much listened to, anyway. He was the one who had been in Smaug’s lair. He had seen the piles of riches, of needless wealth, and the unstoppable greed that came along with it. But for all that Bilbo had done for Thorin, for the dwarves, for everyone, no one listened to him when he had a particularly strong opinion. Needless arguments were not needed, and the issue of gold distribution was an especially strong fuel for those arguments. Let alone that Bilbo didn't want much to do with arguing at all. But arguing against arguing lead Bilbo to fear the title of hypocrite, so he kept his thoughts to himself.
He knew that they would need his help to solve this issue. Maybe not on that day, and maybe not in the days immediately following, but someday they will come to him. Bilbo was sure of that much. He was also especially sure of the fact that the stench lingering on the gold was not a healthy one, and would only hurt those who got a chance to smell it.
--
Sneaking away was an audacious move. A long time ago, many miles away in his little hobbit hole, Bilbo never would have considered that. He stuck to himself; no unnecessary trouble. Not that there was much trouble to be had there in the first place, but it’s the thought that counts. Bilbo knows now that is is not for riling up unnecessary trouble he is sneaking out for, but to ensure necessary goodness. Seeing everyone, even Thorin, spend loads of time and labor sorting through the jewels was wearing on him. Thorin already had enough jewels, and he even had a title and a village, too. But Bilbo figured that was the root of the problem there.
Every time Thorin brought up the Arkenstone (which was many times- who knew someone could talk so much on one subject in such a short period of time?) Bilbo became increasingly glad he did not disclose the information he had on it. Who knows what would have happened, he thought.
--
He had hoped for that. A chance at forgiveness, or at least a chance to explain everything he couldn't. Bilbo knows that death gets the final word, but it is worth it to try to slip something meaningful in there to Thorin. Bilbo had fallen to his knees, trying to salvage something when he hoped he still had the time to do so. Bilbo considered him a friend; for as much as he had to help Thorin, there were equal parts where Thorin had to help him. When Thorin breathed out his apology, almost angry at the fact Bilbo thought he would not forgive him, Bilbo let out a breath he did not know he was holding. He was scared to see someone who, initially, was much better than he was. Where would Bilbo be now if not for the help, guidance, and assistance of Thorin? But Bilbo was glad he was granted time with Thorin, and that his efforts for peace were not totally fruitless.
--
Bilbo was tired again. His adrenaline high from the events from the days prior had worn off, and all that was left now was the bone numbing tiredness he felt. It reminded him of early on in the journey, when every night was the most tired he had ever been. But now, instead of being chased or fearful or having a motive to leave, Bilbo was allowed to remain and rest. He drifted off to the music being played. He awoke in cycles, falling asleep intermittently, because he was allowing himself that much of a reprieve.
As he treked back home, Bilbo thought of his adventures. Nothing could ever be the same, because now he had seen the world and done things. Coming back to an auction of his goods almost didn't even shock him. Enough time went by that he had stopped worrying about the trivial goods in his house, if his robes would still be in style when he stumbled his way back. Bilbo’s return was not into open arms from the other hobbits, but he prefered it that way. It’s not like they knew what he had gone through.