Chapter Text
Thorin sat on his throne, bored out of his mind. General audiences were always needed. They were a necessity of course, but they were so, so boring.
He had to keep flicking Fili to keep him awake. Not that he blamed the lad. After all, there were only so many mining disputes they could listen to until it got repetitive.
He felt like a mischievous pebble from the way Balin kept glaring at him.
Thorin sighed and sat up straighter. “Next,” his voice called through the Great Hall.
He watched as a crowd of merchants walked up in a tight group. Looking petrified.
Both Thorin and Fili quickly turned all of their attention towards them, suddenly intrigued.
“Afternoon,” Thorin greeted, bemused at what had made them look so weary.
The dwarf at the front took a cautious step forward and lowered his head. “My king, we have a situation. We had a stowaway in our caravan,” he explained quietly.
Thorin threw Balin a quizzical look. “And this requires the attention of your King, why?” He asked them.
“He won’t tell us anything, just that he needs to see the King Under the Mountain. We don’t know when we picked him up, but we only discovered him between Greenwood and Dale.” the merchant explained nervously.
Thorin glanced around again, looking for someone who seemed out of place. When he couldn’t spot them, he called for them to be brought forward so they could explain themselves and the upset they had caused.
One of the dwarves from the middle of the caravan walked forward.
They were holding a very small, very identifiable creature.
Fili quickly stood. “You have a hobbit? A child? How do you have a baby hobbit?” He asked, bemused.
As soon as he said that, a little voice rang out with indignation. “I’m not a baby, I’m 11 you know,” he called back to the dwarf, unamused.
The dwarf holding him looked down and hissed, “Hush halfling, you’re in the presence of the King.”
Thorin, Fili, Balin and Dwalin were all about to say the same thing when the boy did it for them.
He scrambled out of the dwarves’ arms and gracefully jumped to the floor, causing the dwarves to let out a breath of relief when he landed in front of the first dwarf unharmed but clearly offended.
“I am not a halfling. I’m a hobbit. A hob-bit. Understand? I’m not half of anything, Sir!” He said with a disdainful sneer.
A sneer all the Company had been subjected to when they had uttered the same name to their dear burglar.
Thorin sat back down on his throne, startled.
It was Balin that walked towards the hobbit child and bent down to be a bit closer in height.
“Good afternoon Mister Hobbit. Balin, son of Fundin, at your service,” he said, giving the child a small head bow.
The boy’s face lit up with excitement. “Your Balin?”
“Yes,” Balin answered, confused about how the hobbit knew his name.
“Brilliant, right, yes? Mr Balin, can I speak to Mr King Dain please?” He asked ever so politely.
Balin turned back around to Thorin, confusion written on all the dwarves’ faces.
Thorin gave a small motion for Balin to carry on his conversation so they could figure out why this small hobbit, who had some of their deceased burglars’ mannerisms, was here and asking for Dain of all dwarves.
He must have known Bilbo before their quest. It had been almost 4 years since the Battle of the Five Armies, almost 5 since the unexpected party in Bilbo’s home. The lad probably had memories of his relative.
“Dain isn’t the King, laddie. He’s Lord of the Iron Hills. Dain doesn’t live in Erebor.” Balin explained gently.
The hobbit’s little face screwed up in confusion. “Yes he does, he’s King under the Mountain, " Uncle said so. He said he didn’t deserve it, because he did nothing but kill a few orcs at the end. Uncle said he came in and stole Thorin’s throne because Thorin was an idiot and went and upped and died.”
Every dwarf in the hall went quiet, and Thorin choked on his saliva in surprise.
Fili bashed him on the back, not taking his eyes off the tiny child in front of them.
“Lad, is your Uncle Bilbo Baggins?” Balin asked hopefully. The lad nodded his head enthusiastically.
Thorin stood once again and slowly moved forward. “But ... but Bilbo Baggins, Hero of Erebor, is dead.” He said sadly.
“No, he isn’t, he’s at Bag End. Well, actually, he’s probably on his way here and really, really mad at me,” the little hobbit answered with a sheepish smile.
“And why is your Uncle mad at you, lad? What’s your name too, if you don’t mind my asking?” Balin asked, gaining the lad’s attention again.
The boy stood as tall as possible “Frodo Baggins, son of Drogo and Primula, ward of Bilbo Baggins at your service,” he said, giving a very dwarven bow and then adding quietly to Balin “Uncle said that’s how dwarves introduce themselves and we should always be polite because otherwise they might throw your plates and sing daft songs.”
Balin stifled his smile. Fili, however, could not. “He’s alive, Uncle, he’s alive,” he said excitedly, running to a messenger to gather the rest of The Company and to close the open council session.
Balin waited patiently until the unneeded dwarves filed out. He then looked at Frodo again.
“Frodo, it is a pleasure to meet you. Can I ask another question?” Frodo just frowned at him, but nodded his head in acceptance. “Why does your Uncle think Thorin is dead and Dain King?” Frodo looked confused.
“Because he is. He didn’t mean to tell me. Well, actually, I listened when he was talking to Mummy before she left for the Greenfields.” He said sadly.
The dwarves realised why Frodo was Bilbo’s ward instantly. Sounds of commiseration for the young lad rang out from all 4 remaining dwarves.
Frodo waved them off in a way very reminiscent of Bilbo and continued. “He said he saw them. He said his boys were bloody and gone, and his King was laid under the stone in Mahal’s halls. He said Gandalf said they would rest in the halls of their forefathers and then Uncle Bilbo left because his heart died under the mountain and Dain was stupid because he didn’t do anything to deserve to be King. He was very mad at Dain. He said Dain sent a letter once, and he burnt it because he was so mad and sad and how dare “the king under the mountain” send him a letter, but Uncle Bilbo misses the rest of his dwarven family."
The dwarves all took in a collective breath at all the information Frodo had given them.
Silence settled over them as they finally understood what had happened and why Bilbo had left without talking to them and had never answered the letter Thorin had sent him.
The silence that settled over them all was destroyed by the doors crashing open and a group of 9 other dwarves came rushing in, pushing and shoving their way through one another.
It wasn’t often they got a Royal summons on mass and they were all eager to learn why.
They paused when they saw little Frodo standing in front of Balin. Fili, Dwalin and Thorin stood behind, watching him.
“By Mahal, it’s a tiny hobbit,” Bofur breathed out.
Frodo turned and glared at him. “I’m not tiny, you’re just too big,” he said, doing the same nose twitch in annoyance The Company had often seen Bilbo do.
“Mahal” Gloin breathed out. “Is he Bilbo’s boy? Why didn’t Bilbo tell us he had a child?” He asked, a little upset that their beloved burglar had never mentioned a child, especially with all the times the two had talked about Gimli together.
“He’s not Bilbo’s boy,” Dwalin said quickly before the chattering began.
Frodo took great offence at that and turned his little glare on Dwalin.
“Yes, he is. He has to be Bilbo’s. Look at him,” Nori argued back assuredly.
“I am Uncle Bilbo’s, you know, with him being my Uncle and now looking after me forever and ever.”
This caused the dwarves that had just arrived to look at one another. “Wait, you live with him?” One asked.
Frodo just nodded again, not sure what these dwarves didn’t understand about the fact that he was Uncle Bilbo’s and Uncle Bilbo was his.
“But he’s dead, laddie,” another said.
Frodo just looked at him like he was stupid. “Obviously not. He will be on his way soon and he isn’t a ghost or anything stupid like that, either. He’s Uncle Bilbo.”
As soon as Frodo said that, all the dwarves started talking and shouting over one another, excited and chattering.
Bilbo was alive and coming here.
Frodo, however, didn’t like the noise, considering he was a small hobbit, far from home and surrounded by people much too big.
This was a stupid idea, he thought to himself.
He tried to be big and brave, but he was only 11, and he realised how silly he had been and how worried Uncle Bilbo would be.
Another sudden thought had him wrapping his arms around himself.
He stood there crying amongst the much too big dwarves until the Not Dain King came up to him and sat down before him. “Oh little hobbit, why are you crying?” he asked Frodo softly.
Frodo was still sniffling when he looked up at the dwarf. “I came with all those dwarves and their axes. Uncle Bilbo will come for me, but I didn’t think. He will be on his own. I might have gotten Uncle Bilbo killed. He’s gonna die and it will be all my fault and I will be alone again and Uncle Bilbo won’t get to come back home to his dwarves,” he hurried out, suddenly bursting into big, body shaking sobs.
All the dwarves suddenly stopped shouting, rushing forward. A crying baby hobbit was a heartbreaking sight.
“Oh, little Pebble. I know your Uncle well enough to know that if the Battle of Five Armies didn’t hurt him, a trip to Erebor will be a walk in the park. Hopefully, he brought protection, but he is a smart male. He will get here safely and be happy to see you.”
“How do you know Uncle?” He asked, his sobs quieting down. “You weren’t on his adventure,” Frodo said, very self assured.
“I assure you, little one, I most certainly was,” Thorin replied, bopping Frodo on his nose, making him giggle, which in turn made all the dwarves around him melt at his adorableness.
“You can’t have been. I don’t recognise you.” Frodo said, as though that settled the matter.
“Oh,” Thorin said in surprise. “And do you recognise anyone else?” He asked curiously.
“Uh huh” Frodo nodded.
“Would you like to share who you know?” Thorin asked questioningly.
The Company watched as Frodo pulled himself up, emulating what they now knew was their burglar’s mannerisms.
He even pulled down his ratty little waistcoat the way Bilbo often had.
The sight had all the dwarves cooing and melting.
“I know all your names.” Frodo said as he craned his head back and looked up at the circle of dwarves surrounding him.
“Go on the boy,” the largest dwarf said.
Frodo just smiled up at him and went to stand next to him. To Dwalin’s surprise, Frodo held out his tiny hand, looking at Dwalin’s in turn. Cautiously Dwalin held his own out, being so very careful when Frodo placed his tiny one in his and tried to shake it.
Frodo frowned at their joined hands. Dwalin was amazed at how adorable he looked and humoured him by gently pumping his hand in the way men and obviously hobbits greeted one another. “Hello Mr Dwalin.” Frodo said, all smiles.
Dwalin felt his heart melt. They had to keep Bilbo and the boy here in Erebor, otherwise Dwalin was going to have to become a traitor and abandon his king to make sure this tiny creature was protected for all time.
Frodo let go of Dwalin as he walked to the next dwarf to repeat the process. “Hello Mr Balin,” he said, his smile still in place.
Frodo did this to each dwarf, leaving them speechless at his lovely little manners, wide smile and huge beguiling eyes. “Even my Gimli wasn’t that adorable.” Gloin found himself saying.
“To think, Bilbo was that adorable once.” Bofur said, amazed.
They had all seen Bilbo’s cuteness at work, especially after the Battle, when he opened his large hobbity eyes and looked like he was going to cry. It was the reason Thranduil had healed Thorin and the boys, because he never wanted to see that look of devastation on Bilbo’s face again.
But this …
“He’s a dangerous weapon. Can we keep him?” Nori asked, saying what half of The Company was thinking.
“Of course you can’t keep him. Bilbo will skin you alive if you try to keep his nephew. No, we keep him safe until Bilbo arrives. Understood?” Thorin said to them all, now annoyed.
Not only was he annoyed that The Company wanted to risk Bilbo’s wrath by stealing his child, but he was annoyed Bilbo hadn’t even bothered describing him to said child. It hurt Thorin deeply when he realised Bilbo had described the others' looks and personalities to the boy.
He turned back in when he saw Frodo looking at Fili and Kili, confused. But then he just shrugged and moved back to Dwalin.
Much to Dwalin’s surprise, Frodo held his hand and snuggled up into his furs. Dwalin looked at the tiny child and stood as still as a statue, not daring to move.
Thorin approached him. “Young Master Baggins, I believe you have had a trying journey. I can give you a room in the Royal Wing. Come.” he ordered. Albeit softly.
Frodo looked at the large unknown dwarf before him, looked at those around him. Shook his head no and scurried up Dwalin’s side.
Before any dwarf could blink, Frodo had wiggled his way into Dwalin’s fur coat and sat there, peeking out and scowling at Thorin.
If he wasn’t so confused at the boy’s reaction, Thorin would think it was the cutest thing he had ever seen.
Especially with the glare Dwalin was giving all the surrounding dwarves. Daring them to say anything.
Thorin ignored the whispers and sniggering coming from The Company and looked at Frodo, then at Dwalin. He gave a sigh, shrugged and motioned for Dwalin to lead the way.
“Where?” Dwalin asked incredulously, placing an arm underneath the tiny child hiding in his coat, more in case he lost him than anything else. The kid was fast.
Thorin thought for a moment before saying. “Dis’ room. It’s connected to our old nursery. Plus, she’s a female. Maybe she will be able to talk to the babe.” Thorin said quietly.
Obviously not quiet enough as they heard a disgruntled squawk come from Dwalin’s furs and Frodo’s head popped out as he gave an adorable glare to Thorin. “I'm not a babe, I’m 11. I'm nearly all grown up,” he said in a snarky tone.
Thorin couldn’t help but picture an older hobbit with a similar tone. It was obvious where Frodo had learned it from. “Indeed, and when will you come of age, young hobbit?” Thorin asked with a raised eyebrow.
Frodo looked at Thorin unimpressed and folded his arms. “In 22 years. I shall be all grown up and you can teach me how to use a sword like Sting and I can stab people in The Shire,” Frodo said with a mighty glare.
Not like the ones from before. This glare was full of pain and anger.
Dwalin stopped and looked at the lad in his coat. “I can teach ya, but we have to ask your Uncle Bilbo. He might not look like much, but I taught him how to use his little letter opener and he can do enough damage if I don’t warn him beforehand,” he said to the tiny creature.
They watched as Frodo smiled. It was like the sun had risen inside the mountain for the first time.
Bilbo’d had the same effect to a lesser degree, but a lot of that could have been because he was half starved, exhausted, filthy and world-weary by the time they noticed how adorable he actually was.
Frodo, though he had been hidden away, was well fed, clean enough and felt perfectly comfortable in Dwalin’s arms.
Plus, he was a child, and dwarves adored children, with their own being so rare.
It was a recipe for disaster if a dwarf didn’t want to get attached.
Add in that the child was almost a mini me of Bilbo with the way he talked and acted. Well, the entire Company had already lost their hearts to him the moment he had back chatted with beings so much bigger than himself.
The entire world really did underestimate the courageousness of hobbits, or at least the Baggins clan, it would seem.
Frodo looked at Dwalin with hero worship in his eyes as he cuddled up to him, muttering about how warm his furs were.
Dwalin just looked around wide eyed, being extremely careful he didn’t harm the smaller being who had entrusted him with his comfort.
“Why do you need a sword in The Shire anyway, Frodo?” Bofur suddenly asked. “Isn’t it like, super nice and friendly there?”
Frodo snorted at that, even laughed a little. “The Shire isn’t nice. It’s just pretty. But hobbits are mean and if my Aunt Lobelia is mean to Uncle Bilbo once more, I’m going to take a sword and stab her dead!” Frodo all but shouted. Surprising all the dwarves around him.
“Why do you want to stab your aunt? That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?” Dori asked, appalled that the child wanted to be a kin slayer.
“She’s extreme!” Frodo said in a huff.
Thorin had to turn around to stop the child from seeing him laughing.
Bilbo had given him that exact expression and answer whenever Lobelia came up during the Quest.
Thorin took a moment to compose himself before turning back to the child. “She is the dragon like hobbit, yes?” he asked. “Did she try to steal Bilbo’s spoon again?” he asked with a fond smile.
Frodo, however, wasn’t laughing. He looked at Thorin with solemn eyes as he clung to Dwalin so he could lean forward. “Worse, Mr dwarf,” he said quietly.
“Worse?” Thorin asked, worried now.
“Uh huh. She’s really, really worse. She made everyone believe Uncle Bilbo was dead. So when he came home after burying his dwarf boyfriend there was nothing in his smial. Nothing!” Frodo said, eyes wide with horror at such a thing.
Thorin let out a wheezing sound that caused the dwarf next to him to bash him on the back helpfully.
Sadly, the dwarf next to him was Dori, which ended up with Thorin coughing as he bent over, still wheezing.
Kili and Fili sniggered. But Ori was looking at Frodo sadly. “Did he get it back?” he asked the faunt quietly.
Frodo looked at Ori, the one Uncle Bilbo said loved books, and smiled softly. “Most of it. He says he still hasn’t got all Great Aunt Belladonna’s spoons back. And that some of Great Uncle Bungo’s tools are still missing. They broke the plates too. He was so sad. He said the ones they broke were the ones you lot used, and he was sad because it was one of his only things from the night when you were happy. He’s always really sad now.” Frodo said as he looked up at Dwalin and buried himself back in his furs. Not wanting to talk anymore.
Dwalin saw Dori nudge him. He looked at his friend, who mimed rubbing Frodo’s back. Dwalin scowled but gently started rubbing the lump in his furs, hoping it was the boy’s back.
They carried on walking, Dwalin still stroking Frodo’s back, when he paused. Standing there looking at the child that was hidden from view.
“Dwalin what …?” Balin went to ask, but Dwalin hissed at him, raising a finger to his lips.
He looked down as Balin walked closer, suddenly looking between Frodo and Dwalin.
“Is he purring?” he hissed back at his brother. Dwalin nodded, as confused as Balin.
“Purring?” Thorin asked as he walked over wide eyed. “Bilbo never purred, did he?” he asked, looking round at the rest of The Company, who all shook their heads.
The purring suddenly stopped and a very drowsy Frodo popped back out into the open.
He beckoned Thorin forward and started talking to him in what Thorin assumed was supposed to be a whisper. “Did you cuddle with Uncle Bilbo?” he asked sleepily.
Thorin looked at the lad confused, “No, we did not.”
Frodo nodded as though that answered everything. “So why would he purr? You got to be safe to purr. And cuddles. Hobbits need cuddles. We don’t purr with no cuddles. We die,” he said as he disappeared again and snuggled back down with Dwalin.
Dwalin tentatively started stroking the lad’s back again and gave a tiny smile as he started purring again.
Dwalin made a mental note to grab their burglar when he got here and not let him go.
Obviously the lad was exaggerating about death, because Bilbo was alive and well but Dwalin decided that if Bilbo needed cuddles to feel safe, well, it was his job to make sure the future consort would be safe, even if it was with cuddles and not running orcs through.