Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms, nor a dry, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat. It was a hobbit-hole, and that meant nothing short of comfort and tranquility.

It had a perfectly round (freshly painted!) green door, with a shiny yellow doorknob right in the middle. The wood it was made of was not new by any means, no, but wasn't even close to rotting. The door opened to a surprisingly vast home, though it was shaped in tunnels, as would a rabbit-hole. No going upstairs for the Hobbit; all they needed was in one level. That meant bedrooms, bathrooms, pantries (which they were very fond of), living areas... Not to mention, the hole itself was rarely empty.

You see, Hobbits lived in large families, consisting of a minimum of three children. Young faunts could constantly be heard running around, their oddly large feet padding surprisingly quietly over the wood. Not to mention the outside of their comfortable dens, which were even more crowded. If one didn't have a grand number of children, they could always have guests over. Hobbits loved company...

Maybe you've noticed how I never said all Hobbits. I've a good reason; it would be wrong. Not all Hobbits were... sociable. It was rare, maybe even one of a kind, but that is the case with our Hobbit. His name was Bilbo Baggins; a bachelor who was twenty years past his coming of age. He was nothing like his late mother, who was adventurous to a fault before becoming Belladona Baggins (former Took). Bilbo was much more like his father, Bungo, who enjoyed a peaceful life. Where nothing unexpected ever happened, aside from marrying Belladona.

~×~×~×~

By some curious chance one morning in the quiet of the world, where there was less noise and more green, Bilbo sat in front of his door after second breakfast. Yes, Hobbits have more than three meals, but we shall get to that later. Anyhow, as our Hobbit was smoking a long wooden pipe, one of the Big People approached him. He had a ridiculous outfit on, consisting of depressing grey tones and ragged fabrics. A funny pointed hat sat atop his old face, which was covered by his rich beard. The description matched that of a wizard, as his mother described them, but what was a wizard doing in the Shire?

“Good morning,” Bilbo found himself saying after a prolonged silence. He continued to smoke his pipe, blowing out smoke rings from his mouth. Nothing impressive, but calming, as all things should be. The old man's reply was everything but.

“What do you mean?” he asked, a bushy eyebrow furrowed. “Do you wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it to be or not; or that you feel good on this morning, or that it is a morning to be good on?”

Bilbo had to pause at that. This... wizard, or whoever he may be, was no good news. No good news at all. Pushing that thought aside for the time being, the Hobbit answered. “Ah... all of them at once, I suppose. A good morning, truly, for a pipe of tobacco out of doors!.. Can I help you?”

The wizard eyed him closely in response. Very closely. Too closely... Bilbo ignored it, since he was adamant on not letting anything ruin his fine morning. The man took a step back, not quite impressed by his words, but accepting. Either way, he continued as if Bilbo hadn't said a single thing other than ‘Can I help you’. “I have no time to blow smoke rings, not right now. I am looking for someone to share an adventure with,” a pointed look thrown Bilbo's way that he skillfully ignored, “though it is difficult to find anyone.”

“I should think so!” Bilbo all but exclaimed. He stood up, pretending to be busy with lighting out his pipe. His tone maintained its gentleness from earlier, though there was a light edge to it. “I can't imagine anyone West of Bree,” he tilted his head, pointing at the mentioned town with the narrow end of his pipe, “being interested in adventures. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Makes you late to dinner!”

Bilbo tried ending it there. His voice was polite, if not a bit louder than earlier. Just a bit. The Hobbit approached his mailbox, opening it to reveal a concerning amount of letters piled up. He skimmed through them, all while still holding that pipe between his lips, pretending to be interested. Pretending. Barely. His eyes kept darting to the wizard, who hasn't said a single thing for a surprisingly long amount of time. After a prolonged, and definitely awkward, silence, the smaller spoke again.

“Good morning!” Which it wasn't anymore. “We don't want any adventures, thank you! You might want to try over The Hill, or across The Water.” and with that he meant that the conversation was over. Bilbo turned around, hurriedly climbing the few stairs that led to his front door.

“Now, I never expected to be Good morning'd by Belladona Took's own son,” the old voice all but boomed from behind him. Bilbo was, momentarily, rendered speechless once more. He turned around, pipe long forgotten, eyes blown out of their sockets. Then, he recollected himself, and managed to blink stupidly. Words spouted from his mouth, words he wished he had kept inside his head. “I– I am sorry, who are you?”

The wizard almost smirked underneath that blasted beard. No, Bilbo was sure he did just that. “You may not know who I am, but I know who you are, Bilbo Baggins! I am Gandalf, and Gandalf means... me!” Gandalf... Gandalf! Bilbo almost smacked himself. Of course it was the old lad. After a short trip down memory lane, the Hobbit hummed, slightly sceptical.

“Not the Gandalf who made those excellent fireworks old Took had on midsummer's eve? Ah, I remember those!” If Gandalf thought that Bilbo would remain excited, he was dead wrong. If wizards could die, anyway. No, instead, Bilbo tapped his pipe, one hand on his hip questioningly. “I had no idea you were still in business...” Still in business, he said! It was very satisfying to see the smirk fading off the wizard's features, now replaced by something more bitter.

“And where else should I be?”

Bilbo mentally took a deep breath in. He could not start laughing, not yet. Not in front of Gandalf. Realizing words would risk exactly that happening, he just shrugged, motioning vaguely around himself. And was that a middle finger in the air? Gandalf grit his teeth briefly, instead opting to move his jaw around silently. He knew exactly where he should be, but this Hobbit wasn't making it easy. But Gandalf, that old bastard, wasn't about to give up.

“All the same, I am pleased to find you remember something about me... Well, then, it is decided! This will be very good for you, Bilbo Baggins,” he said, already begining to move along. Bilbo halted, yet another time, thought for much shorter. 

“Good for me? Wh– no! No.” he shook his head. Did Gandalf not understand? In that case, Bilbo would gladly repeat his earlier words. “We do not want any adventures; not here, not today, thank you! Good morning! Goodbye!” Without another look behind him, Bilbo ran into his hobbit-hole, all but slamming the round door behind him.

~×~×~×~

Bilbo Baggins sat at his dining table, listening to the calming sound of the firewood crackling. In front of him, on the table, lay his empty cup of tea, as well as his... sixth meal of the day, I'm guessing. On the plate, he could see a meal consisting of fish, potatoes, and a salad on the side. Next to the plate was a small basket filled with bread. The Hobbit sat quietly, getting ready to indulge in his prepared meal...

Then someone knocked on the door. Could it be Gandalf, once more? Bilbo's grin faded, though his hunger definitely did not, and he stood up with furrowed brows. Robe untied, he padded his way through the halls of his hobbit-hole. Reaching out, he opened the door, fully expecting a certain tall individual to appear. To say that Bilbo was surprised would be an insane understatement. In front of our Hobbit stood a... a Dwarf. A Dwarf!

Bilbo stammered for a moment, disbelief and confusion battling on his features. The Dwarf, oddly enough, had a shaved head. Not completely, though, only the top of it. The bald spot was covered with tattoos. And what would a Dwarf be without a beard, or any kind of ear jewelry? Exactly.

“Dwalin, at your service,” he greeted Bilbo, his voice deep and holding a strong accent. He even... bowed? Whatever for? Without realizing it, Bilbo bowed in return, offering his own services. Dwalin pushed inside, throwing his cloak off hurriedly. Shoving the wet fabric in Bilbo's hands, he looked around. “So... where is it?”

“Where's what?”

“Supper.”

That was how Bilbo Baggins found himself sitting behind Dwalin. Dwalin, who was a Dwarf, and who was eating his food. Horrid table etiquette. He ate just about everything with his hands, which have touched Yavanna-knew-what beforehand! “Is there any more?” Dwalin asked, mouth full with his fish. It took the Hobbit a second to understand the question, but then he quickly stood up. The bread basket was placed next to the empty plate, though not before sneaking a piece for himself.

Dwalin nodded, accepted the food, and, as if on cue, another knock on the door. Now, surely that was Gandalf? Right? Bilbo excused himself, not really sure what there was to excuse, and went for it. His palm made contact with the yellow knob, and he twisted it open. Another Dwarf. Much, much older. Gandalf's beard was no where near rich as his. 

“...Good evening.”

“Hm? Oh, yes, yes it is. Quite a lovely evening, indeed... Balin, at your service.”

Balin, the white-haired Dwarf, stepped inside. He was much more polite than the other one, that much was obvious. He took his cloak off himself, and even hung it by himself! Speaking of which, he acknowledged the green cloak already draped over the hanger. He muttered something about ‘the other's already arriving’, but refused to elaborate. Then something clanked in the kitchen. Loudly.

Both Bilbo and Balin turned towards the noise. Bilbo's concerned expression was the polar opposite of Balin's curious and somewhat gleeful one. The older of the two walked ahead, only for them both to spot Dwalin carelessly toying with Belladona's porcelain. Bilbo felt his face pale. Before he could kindly tell the Dwarf to let go of it, he noticed Balin. Dwalin immediately let go of the item, and reached for Balin.

“You've gotten shorter since I last saw you... and wider, no doubt,” Dwalin joked, a gleam of affection shining in his eyes. Balin replied with a simple, “Just wider, brother,” and took a step towards the much taller Dwarf. “And sharp enough for both of us,” he winked, causing them both to laugh. Bilbo thought they were about to embrace each other, as one would normally, but no. Instead, the two Dwarves roughly banged their foreheads together, resulting in an audible ‘thunk’ to reverberate across his hallway. Bilbo couldn't believe it. He thought one of them would pass out, but no, they were both fine. And smiling.

Another set of knocking. Another!? Without excusing himself this time, Bilbo stamped towards the door. Inhaling a deep breath to keep his cool, he opened it. A part of him assumed it would finally be Gandalf. A part of him was wrong. Two more Dwarves! “You must be Mr Boggins!” the brunet smiled.

“Fíli,” one said, “and Kíli!” the other added. “At your service,” they finished their sentence at the same time, bowing in the same breath. This was getting out of hand!

“Nope, you can't come in, you've come to the wrong house!” Bilbo attempted to close the door, but the brunet one, Kíli he learned, stopped him. His earlier smile was no where to be seen, now replaced by a worried scrunch of his brows. “Has it been cancelled?” he questioned. His brother, looking suspiciously between Kíli and Bilbo, decided to add his own input. “No one told us?”

Bilbo sighed, visibly looking tired. The noise behind him was distracting, and the noise in front of him was even worse! “What? No, no, nothing's been cancelled!”

The two young Dwarves seemed to brighten at that. After letting out a simultaneous ‘Good!’ they stepped inside, tossing their absurd amount of weapons into poor Bilbo's hands. He stammered from their weight, almost falling over, but caught himself in time. In time to notice Kíli cleaning his boots on his mother's jewelry box! Bilbo's face paled further.

“No, no, that's my mother's–”

More knocking. There were enough Dwarves in his hole as it was, he did not need any more! He dropped the weapons unceremoniously, though subconsciously made sure to keep them safe and out of the way. He stomped to the door, complaining and yelling the entire way.

“There is but no one home!” he barked, roughly pulling the door open. He doubted he'd see Gandalf this time. And he was correct. Nine Dwarves crashed right onto his carpet. Bilbo took a quick step back, his anger melting into surprise and confusion. The same feelings from earlier, really, just much more intense. Oh, and speaking of intense...

The unfortunate Dwarf that was on the bottom of the pile, closest to the floor, stared up at Bilbo. His piercing blue eyes felt like they were dismembering Bilbo bit by bit. The Hobbit swallowed nervously, even though he was not the one on the ground. As the Dwarves all scurried about, Bilbo looked up. Behind them all stood Gandalf, that blasted wizard! However, instead of crashing out, Bilbo just sighed.

“Gandalf...”

~×~×~×~

So that's how thirteen Dwarves and a wizard ended up in his dining room, rearranging his tables and chairs to fit them all. Bilbo constantly followed all of them around, reprimanding them, in order to stop them from absolutely destroying his hobbit-hole. Which they were very dangerously close to doing. 

Cheerful shouts in an unknown language, as well as Westron, echoed throughout his home. The neighborhood would surely love to have a word with him in the following morning, but that thought didn't even cross Bilbo's mind. Not when he stood in front of his pantry. His empty pantry. Completely empty.

Bilbo wanted to cry. He wouldn't actually, of course, but he was close to it. Shouts, mutters, obnoxious laughs, horrifying noises, awful manners... It was all too much. And of course Gandalf was behind it all! If this was the adventure he mentioned, then... then...!

“Oh, quite a joyous lot, aren't they? You'll get used to them.” Gandalf appeared behind him. Bilbo, suddenly fuming, glared at the wizard. He walked around the hallway, knowing that the wizard would follow. Getting used to them? As if!

“I don't want to get used to them! They– they've pillaged my pantry, dirtied my house! And don't get me started on the bathroom; they've all but destroyed the plumbing! I don't understand what they're doing in my house!” Bilbo stomped his feet, his voice wavering. He looked almost like a child throwing a tantrum. And he felt like one.

“Excuse me,” a small voice from next to him. Ori, he recognized. “What should I do with my plate?” he asked, being oddly kind about it. Bilbo felt himself relax, although that wouldn't last. Of course.

“Here, Ori, give it to me!” Fíli called out, and Ori did exactly that. He tossed the plate across the room, and Fíli caught it. The blond then threw it to Kíli, who threw it to Bifur. Bilbo's complexion surely matched Balin's hair and beard at this point. Bilbo followed the trajectory of the plate, which led him to... everywhere! In the end, he stood beside Bofur, who started to carelessly play with his silverware.

“Stop, you'll blunt them!”

“Oh, did ya hear that, lads? He says we'll blunt the knives!”

As if this was all planned, the Dwarves burst into song. Now Thorin had nothing to do with any of this, as he was too important and stayed with Gandalf.

Chip the glasses and crack the plates!                                                Blunt the knives and bend the forks!                                             That's what Bilbo Baggins hates–                                             Smash the bottles and burn the corks!

Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!                                                         Pour the milk on the pantry floor!                                                  Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!                                      Splash the wine on every door!

Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;                                                       Pound them up with a thumping pole;                                                  And when you've finished, if any are whole,                                  Send them down the hall to roll!

That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!                                                             So carefully! carefully with the plates!

Of course, they did none of those things, as they truly respected ones property. Most of the time, anyway. Bilbo could do nothing but follow them, trying to see what they were doing. He was terrified. They were terrifying. Horrible guests. Horrible! All roads eventually lead back to where they started their suspiciously organized choreography; the dining room. Everything was... clean. Neatly put in place. Not a single thing was broken, chipped, or missing. 

Thorin was calmly smoking a pipe, as if completely used to this. Maybe the choreo and song weren't as unplanned as they made it look like. Either way, Bilbo was... a bit distracted. Whichever direction Thorin ordered his smoke ring to go, it would go. It was the first time the Hobbit has seen anyone order smoke around with words alone. Just as quickly as it began, though, the jolly atmosphere shifted. 

~×~×~×~

Bilbo stood behind Thorin, nibbling on a biscuit (his appetite was quite ruined). Meanwhile, the thirteen Dwarves– goodness, thirteen!– discussed... something. Bilbo wasn't quite in touch with the subject, since his mind has been reeling ever since Dwalin pushed inside his house. All he understood was that they needed a burglar. And that they definitely didn't see him as one. His meeting with Thorin replayed in his mind...

“So, this is the Hobbit,” Thorin eyed Bilbo, inspecting him. Bilbo subconsciously straightened his posture, as if to appear taller than he actually was. He didn't dare comment about how the leader of this odd Company was, quite literally, on the floor a minute ago. Before Bilbo could confirm his statement, Thorin continued talking while circling the poor Hobbit.

“Axe or sword?” Bilbo stuttered. “What is your weapon of choice?” Bilbo stuttered again, but managed to speak this time. Whether he meant to or not, he deepened his voice just the slightest amount. “Well, I have a skill in conkers, but I... fail to see why that matters.”

In response, Thorin huffed. His expression was still deadpan. “Thought as much... He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.” Or maybe not completely stone-faced. He smirked condescendingly at Bilbo, and the other Dwarves all chuckled from behind him.

Quite an uncomfortable scene, I must admit. It was even worse for poor Bilbo, who was now being stared at by everyone. They all doubted him, which was reasonable, but frustrating. Thankfully, he snapped back to reality in time to hear Balin mention them needing a burglar. “Me? Oh, no, I've never stolen a thing in my life.” Everyone seemed to deflate a bit at that... almost everyone. Balin shot him a knowing, but not unkind, look. Bilbo could tell that the old Dwarf caught his lie.

In that moment, Dwalin interjected. “Ah, the wild's no place for Gentlefolk. 'e'll be eaten alive, I tell ya.” A good number of them, along with Bilbo himself, agreed with that very statement. But someone didn't. Gandalf, that dreaded wizard, suddenly stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. His voice echoed through the smial, almost shaking the walls.

“If I say that Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!” The dark aura around him disappeared, and his voice returned to normal, but his words still held a sharpness to them. “He will prove himself worthy on this quest. He can do much more than anyone may think...including himself.”

Some more time later, the discussion of the burglar was dropped. Instead, they spoke about the quest itself. Balin appeared to be the only voice of reason, which was unfortunate for the old Dwarf. “Our chances are slim,” he sighed, “Us thirteen, against a dragon?”

To that, one of the younger ones, Ori, stood up. Seeming very determined, he raised his voice. “I'm not scared! I will get that dragon, and shove a–” An arm suddenly pulled him back to his chair. His eldest brother, Dori, who said: “Oh, sit down!”

Balin, visibly tired of everyone, continued. “As I said, there's only thirteen of us. Not the best... and certainly not the brightest...” he added that last comment while sharing a look with everyone. That caused nothing short of utter chaos. Swears in the same unknown language, clearly rude hand gestures from Bifur, and Westron from everyone who wanted Bilbo to hear them arguing.

Bilbo, the poor soul, tried to calm them down. Every time he tried to get a single word out, they'd interrupt him. No one was going to listen to a Hobbit. But to a fellow Dwarf? They definitely were. Thorin, breaking his long silence, yelled at them: “Enough!”

Like trained pups, they all immediately shut up.

~×~×~×~

Bilbo sat in a different room from everyone else. The last thing he remembered was holding an insanely long contract, and Bofur's... helpful description of a dragon. “Think of a furnace, with wings! One blow, and poof! You're nothin' but a pile of ash.”

He just... needed to sit quietly for a moment. He must've said it out loud, as Gandalf immediately shut that option down. Bilbo could barely hear what the wizard was saying, but he was motioning to the framed picture of his grandfather, Old Took. The Hobbit could hear himself responding, maybe even arguing, but it was a blur. One thing, however, was everything but blurry and hazy. 

Far over the Misty Mountains cold...

Bilbo picked up singing coming from his living area. He stood up slowly, following the voice. It was too deep to belong to one of the younger Dwarves, yet it was missing the accents Dwalin and Óin's tones had. And were those instruments? A harp? Bilbo peeked his head from behind the wall, careful not to be seen. Hobbits were light on their feet and could go around unnoticed, as Gandalf explained earlier.

His jaw almost dropped. Thorin Oakenshield, the future King Under the Mountain, the Dwarf... was singing and playing the delicate harp. Bilbo would be lying if he said that it wasn't a beautiful sight, if not even breathtaking. The fire illuminated the golden instrument, along with the silver streaks in his hair. His blue eyes were shut, his brows furrowed. He knew this song by heart, it seemed. Then the other Dwarves joined, while Ori, Fíli, and Kíli simply listened with their brows furrowed.

That night, Bilbo Baggins went to bed and dreamt of a fallen kingdom he had never seen before.

Chapter Text

The previous night, he waited for all the Dwarves to go to sleep, and he went last. They sung and conversed until the little hours, which left the Hobbit almost exhausted. His eyes drooped, his shoulders slumped, but he didn't give in. The others pointed it out, whispering among themselves. They studied him as if he were something entirely new, which made sense. Most species had never even heard of a Hobbit, let alone saw one.

When they finally went to bed, Bilbo did so himself. As he lay in bed, he could hear Thorin still humming to himself in the best room next to him:

Far over the Misty Mountains cold                                                       To dungeons deep and caverns old                                                      We must away ere break of day                                                         To find our long-forgotten gold.

Bilbo went to sleep with that in his ears, and it gave him very uncomfortable dreams. It was long after the break of day that he woke up.

~×~×~×~

Up jumped Bilbo, and putting on his dressing gown went into the dining room. There he saw no one, just like in the rest of his hobbit-hole, but signs of a large and rushed breakfast were there. There was a horrific mess everywhere; unwashed plates, crocks, pans, silverware, as well as cracked eggshells thrown ungracefully over the counter. Curse those Dwarves!

Internally swearing at them all, Bilbo began to clean up. His smial had never been in a worse state than it was that morning. And he hoped it never would be. The washing up was so real, that Bilbo was forced to believe that the unexpected party thrown last night was, in fact, not a bad dream, as he had hoped it to be. Although, despite it all, he was relieved that the Company all left without waking him up. Yet, in a way, he could not help but feel just a trifle disappointed.

“Don't be a fool,” he scolded himself while rubbing mysterious gooey liquid off a pan, “thinking of dragons and long lost kingdoms at your age!” So, after spending a ridiculous amount of time on washing up, Bilbo made himself some tea. While waiting for the water to boil, he dusted the mantelpiece. Just beneath it, he found the contract, and something in him... did something. He had no idea what the feeling was, but it felt as if he was being pulled outside.

Was this how Old Took and Belladona felt before going on their adventures?

To the end of his days, Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, a backpack slung clumsily over his shoulders and contract in hand. He ran through the Shire, feeling like one of the faunts, a smile gracing his face. He ignored the glances the other Hobbits threw his way, ignored the way they all looked like they'd yell at him. One neighbor, he couldn't see which, attempted to stop him.

“Whatever are you doing, Mr Bilbo?”

“I'm going on an adventure!”

~×~×~×~

He had never ran so much in his life. Not that he remembered, anyway. The Shire had never felt so vast before. It had been so long since he last ran through fields, felt grass and flowers tickling the soles of his feet. All the while, his lips never gave up the excitement he felt. Wind blew the curls out of his face, cooling his skin. He hoped the adventure would be equally as pleasant as this.

Somehow, he managed to catch up to the Company. He could see their ponies (and one horse, which undoubtedly carried Gandalf) in the distance, sticking out from the rest of nature. How could they not? They were thirteen Dwarves and a wizard, just at the border of the Shire. Whatever feeling it was that occupied his chest, it made Bilbo run even faster. 

“Wait,” he called, “wait!”

To which they all stopped. They waited, just like he told them to. It wasn't a surprise, not for most of them to do so...but Thorin also waited. And Bombur, who seemed to carry the same kind of dislike for the Hobbit. If not stronger. Soon, Bilbo stood beside Balin's pony, his words coming out in a hurry, as if they'd all run away from him. “I– I signed it. The contract,” he beamed, showing it to everyone, then handing it to the old Dwarf who checked it.

Bilbo stood in place, looking around quietly. Anxiety and excitement swirled through his stomach as he waited for the signature check to be done with. Balin, seeming satisfied, handed the contract back to our Hobbit with an almost playful wink. “It seems alright. In that case, Bilbo Baggins, welcome to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield!”

As he said ‘Baggins’, Bilbo could briefly see Kíli turning to Fíli, whispering something to the blond. It probably had something to do with the way he called him ‘Boggins’ the night before, but it didn't matter. In the same, Thorin tugged on his pony's reins. “Give him a pony,” he ordered everyone while looking away. And was he smirking again? Wait, nevermind that, a pony? He didn't know how to ride a pony!

“What? No, I'm fine without,” Bilbo reassured himself more than them, “I've gone to many– many field trips on foot... No need for it, really, I–”

Suddenly, two hands grabbed his arms, respectively. With ease, Bilbo was hoisted up in the air, no doubt by the younger brothers, and thrown on a pony. His posture was too stiff, too uncomfortable, and he held the reins too tight. If anyone noticed, which they definitely did, they didn't say anything. Thankfully. Now, there was another reason why Bilbo avoided the animal; he was allergic. Not a good trait to have if you're going on a dangerous quest, which was why he attempted to keep it a secret. Attempted.

His plans were ruined by a sneeze that seemed to push him back almost comically. The others looked back for a moment, then ahead as if nothing happened. Bilbo mumbled to himself, not caring that the other ponies were mysteriously faster than his own. Receiving another questioning look from the Dwarf next to him, Glóin, he clarified.

“I'm awfully sorry,” Bilbo began, “but I've come without my hat, or my handkerchief, as I haven't received your note until a little after 10:45, to be precise...”

“Don't be precise!” said Dwalin from somewhere ahead, “You'll have t' manage without a good plenty of yer nick-nacks until we get to the journey's end. As for a hat, I've got a spare cloak in my pack, should you need it.”

And that's how Bilbo found himself wrapped in a cloak far too large for him. He looked almost comic, with the hood covering most of his face, and the sleeves reaching past his fingers. The only comfort was that he could not be mistaken for a Dwarf, as Hobbits grew no beard. Actually, Hobbits barely had any hair anywhere other than their head and feet. But that's a rather intimate piece of information.

~×~×~×~

Gandalf joined Bilbo at the back of the line. His horse paced steadily next to Bilbo's pony, as they were in no rush for the time being. It was only the end of May, after all, and they needed to get to Erebor by Durin's day. From what Bilbo understood, that was the last day of the year for Dwarves, and it happened on the last day of Autumn, which was late December. They definitely had more than enough time.

“They doubted you, Bilbo,” he said, keeping his voice lower than usual. He seemed almost proud of the little Hobbit, who was already beginning to regret joining this adventure.

“Ah...right. And you...?” Bilbo questioned, slowly starting to get used to riding (the pony, I mean) and keeping his posture relaxed. Not quite like everyone else, but much better than a couple of hours ago. In response to Bilbo's concern, Gandalf extended his hand, catching a suspiciously well-timed patch filled with coins. “Of course not.” There was that answer, then.

~×~×~×~

At first, they passed through hobbit-lands, a wide country filled with respectable folk, with wide roads and an inn or two. Then they went through further lands, where people spoke a language Bilbo was not at all familiar with. It sounded nothing like the rough language of Dwarves, but it was still odd. The roads became worse, and inns were nothing but a dream. Then came the dreary hills, which went up, up, and up, darkened with trees. Everything had seemed rather gloomy, especially with how the weather had taken a nasty turn. Bilbo was thankful for Dwalin's spare cloak, and made sure to let him know.

You know what he didn't like? The rain. Of course, rain was great background noise for when you were comfortable, warm, and with a good book in your hands, but now? Bilbo had never felt more resentment for drops of water falling from the sky. Especially when the Company settled in the Lone-lands, which were mostly dry, but did have the remaining evidence of awful rain.

“And no doubt that the rain has gotten into the dry clothes and food bags,” Bilbo mumbled more to himself than anyone else. He'd been hungry for far too long. Did these Dwarves even eat? “Bother burgling, and everything to do with it!” 

As if his voice was not louder than the wind, the Dwarves jogged on, never taking notice of the Hobbit. Fortunately, the road they had chosen went over a stone bridge, which helped them avoid a raging river and the risk of drowning. Hobbits didn't like water. They didn't like it one bit! Either way, by the time they crossed over, it was nighttime. That meant setting up camp. Thorin muttered something about supper, then spoke in a louder tone: “And wherever will we get a dry patch to sleep on?” For once, Bilbo agreed.

Where will they get a dry patch to sleep on? Everything was muddy, wet, and overall nasty. Quite disturbing, and very uncomfortable for the skin; not even mentioning the clothes that were clinging to his body. Bilbo sighed and, without say, followed the Company wherever they were going. That is how they ended up on a conventionally located part of the Lands, with large boulders and bushes and trees to cover them. Bilbo had never felt so grateful for a rock in his fifty years of living.

The Dwarves immediately got to work; setting up camp, lighting a fire, and preparing food. Bilbo helped with whatever he could (or rather, whatever they asked him to). For such a messy and rowdy bunch, he noticed, they got the job done swiftly and efficiently. If there was one thing Bilbo had learned about Dwarves, it was that they wouldn't half-ass anything. Not even a fire.

Rocks were placed in a perfect circle on a patch of dead grass, spaced evenly among themselves. Sticks and smaller logs were gathered in the blink of an eye, and later put in the middle of the rocks in a tent-like shape. Glóin lit the fire as soon as everything was gathered, and its marvelous flames burst in the night. It illuminated their faces, their ponies, and just about everything else in a six meter range. Bilbo sat in the back with the two princes when, out of the blue, something let out a horrible shriek from below.

“What was that?” Bilbo muttered, subconsciously bringing his knees closer to his chest. He felt his body tensing up, and the hair on his neck tickling his skin. Another shriek. “Orcs,” said Fíli, after looking at Kíli briefly. Bilbo hadn't noticed the scheming look they shared, as he was too focused on whatever was producing those noises. “Orcs?” he repeated, not trying to hide the waver in his voice.

“Aye,” Kíli confirmed, “Orcs. You know; those pale-skinned creatures. You won't even hear them coming. They just... jump out of a bush, and blood will be everywhere minutes later,” he explained, no emotion visible on his voice. Fíli nodded, his eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. However, at Bilbo's genuine fright, the two let out quiet giggles. They weren't as quiet as they thought, since Thorin was rapidly approaching.

“You think Orc raids are a joke?” the King frowned, his thick eyebrows casting a dark shadow over his bright eyes. Bilbo, not quite realizing it, held his breath and stared. The princes did the same. “No, we... weren't thinking at all,” Fíli replied apologetically. The Hobbit almost felt bad for them. Here they were, simply messing with him, and Thorin was already upset. Whatever Bilbo was going to say to lighten him up left his mind as soon as the Dwarf spoke again.

“You know nothing of the world,” he spat and turned back around, his boots crunching the leaves in their path. Bilbo was quiet, and he stared. He didn't know how much time had passed, but Balin began explaining that Thorin had more reason than others to hate Orcs, for one named Azog had killed his grandfather, Thrór. The same Orc attempted to kill Thorin, but he fought back with an oak tree, hence the name Oakenshield. The war was won, but no songs were sung. His father, Thrain, later went mad from grief and disappeared. The princes and Bilbo listened carefully to the tale, still holding their breaths. Then, Balin looked over at Thorin, and the three of them followed his gaze.

“There, on that day, I saw it, and I thought... There is one I could follow. There is one I could call King.”

Bilbo, obviously, had no idea what Thorin looked like back then. After all, these events went down before the Hobbit was even born. Even so, he had always been artistic, and could imagine it in his head. As they turned to look at the King, his heart jumped quite uncomfortably. Bilbo didn't realize why it did that, as he was completely enamoured by the scene in front of him.

There, near the nearest cliff, stood Thorin Oakenshield in all his glory. Wind blew his hair back, his royal braids swinging lightly. The black locks were shining under the Moon, while the patches of silver and white seemed to be brighter than the stars themselves. It was beautiful. Thorin was beautiful, there was no denying it any longer. Bilbo swallowed, unable to look away even as Thorin slowly looked down at the four of them. Oh, goodness.

“What– what of the pale Orc?” he asked, desperate to distract himself from... whatever he was thinking. The three in front of him were a bit surprised that he spoke, mostly because they forgot that he was even there. As Balin prepared an answer, a sharper voice rang through the air. Just great. The very thing he needed to stop thinking about was speaking to him! “That filth died long ago, his pride wounded more than his body.”

Bilbo ignored the sigh Gandalf let out. They went to sleep (or attempted to), and left first thing in the morning. They traveled the entire day, none of them speaking much. Nothing happened during those hours, and they didn't have much entertainment other than Bofur's occasional joke. At least the rain had stopped.

~×~×~×~

It was then that they noticed someone's absence. “Where is Gandalf?” one of the Dwarves mused. It sounded like Dori, but Bilbo couldn't be too sure. Anyhow, he agreed with a Dwarf yet again. Where was Gandalf? And, more importantly...

“How did he manage to sneak off without any of us seeing him do so?” Bilbo asked himself, knowing in advance that the Dwarves wouldn't pay attention to him. And he was right; not one of them even tried answering him. The only response he got was, surprisingly, from Thorin himself, whose expression shifted from irritation to acknowledgement. So Bilbo's question wasn't stupid, and they all heard it, but simply refused to answer.

“Just when you would need a wizard, too,” Nori huffed out, toying with his knife. Him and his brother, Dori, shared Bilbo's views about regular meals. The others did not. In the end, it was decided that they'd make use of what little everything they had. They set up for the night right where they were, not wanting to risk getting themselves into danger (unbeknownst to them, they absolutely will). Óin and Glóin, shockingly enough, struggled with lighting the fire. Somehow they managed it, but it was weaker than they'd like.

“Bilbo! Take this to the lads, would ya?” Bofur all but shoved two bowls of stew into the Hobbit's hands, barely even looking at him. The Dwarves only spoke to Bilbo when they needed something done, he noticed. Not that he wanted to speak with them too much, but it could get... quite lonely. They were a Company of fourteen, himself included in that number, and no one wished to speak with him!

“Um, right.” But Bilbo listened. Every time, he'd do what they asked, hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone would speak with him. 

As our Hobbit talked with himself, grumbling all the way to the youngest of the Durins, he barely noticed that the two were eerily quiet. Normally, they'd cause all sorts of mischief, or at least pull a smaller joke. In that moment, they were very much silent, and very much unmoving. That was the first red flag. The second one was Kíli's concerned brow scrunch.

“Boys, supper is ready,” Bilbo called quietly from behind them. They barely heard him over their own thoughts, but then responded, though still didn't look at the smaller being. “Right,” Fíli brushed him off. But Kíli, for whatever reason, did not. “Come with us, Mr Boggins. Come see something,” he whispered, and immediately started walking forward. Bilbo had gotten used to being called ‘Boggins’ by the younger of the two, but that didn't make it any less frustrating.

When Kíli invited him over to see something, he expected a joke. A prank. However, they led him to their ponies. Well, to most of their ponies. Two ropes lay untied, cut in a rush, as if someone took the animals away. That was not good. “We were supposed to watch the ponies,” Kíli began, but Fíli finished: “We had sixteen, but now, there's... fourteen.”

“Mmh... That's no good. No good at all,” Bilbo shook his head, still trying to hand the boys their dinner. “We should let Thorin know, shouldn't we?”

“No!” the boys yelled at him. The other Dwarves surely had to have heard it, but the two didn't seem to care. Kíli grabbed Bilbo's shoulders, shaking him, while Fíli took the bowls from his hands. “We mustn't let Uncle find out! He'd kill us! We were supposed to watch after them– and we really did– but now they're gone!” Bilbo was never shaken so hard in his life. Not even by Bungo, who had a habit of holding his shoulders if he picked a rotten tomato back in the day. Wait, two ponies were missing!

“What– but then what do you suppose we should do?” And that was the wrong question. Bilbo wouldn't have asked it if he knew what came after. Kíli stopped shaking the poor Hobbit, while Fíli stood beside them silently, eyeing the remaining ponies.

“Good question,” Kíli pushed Bilbo forward as gently as he could. “What should you do?”

“Me?” Bilbo sputtered. Him? Finding and, potentially, rescuing their ponies? Not a chance. He couldn't possibly do something of the sort. Even if he tried to explain this, the brothers went on.

“Gandalf said that Hobbits are very light on their feet,” Fíli reminded him, “So, we thought you should, you know, sneak in there. Like the burglar you are! Tell us where the ponies have gone, or who took them. You won't be noticed, and we'll be right behind you!”

So that's how Bilbo found himself sneaking around, trying to find the two ponies, not knowing what was waiting for him. He remembered what the princes told him: “If you need something, hoot twice like a barn-owl and once like screech-owl.” Off Bilbo had to go, without even getting a chance to explain that he could not hoot even once like any kind of owl. Suddenly, a red light shone out very bright through the tree-trunks not far ahead. 

~×~×~×~

While the burglar and the two princes were missing, the Dwarves ate their share of stew. The Ri brothers sat together closer to the fire. Glóin and Óin sat near them, while Bifur, Bofur and Bombur were around the pot. Thorin sat in the back, accompanied by Dwalin and Balin, who spoke idly about what their next course of action was.

Balin, being the only Dwarf present to pay attention to our Hobbit, turned to his companions. “Where has Bilbo gone?” he mumbled, looking around them. Despite his aging, he had very sharp eyes. You see, Dwarves had excellent vision; especially at night. That aside, the other ten of them all checked their surroundings. Actually, not ten, for Thorin only continued eating his food.

“I sent 'im to Kíli and Fíli earlier. He shoulda been back by now, I reckon,” Bofur managed to speak with a mouthful of stew, stirring the contents of his bowl thoughtfully. After swallowing, he continued. “Maybe they're pulling a prank on 'im. Who knows?” he finished with an absent shrug.

“Or maybe something happened to them all...” Ori muttered, barely having eaten his food. His brothers, Nori and Dori, seemed to agree with him, but didn't speak on it. Actually, his words caused a shadow of worry to set over the Company. Even Óin, who didn't have the best hearing, frowned beneath his beard at the youngest ones mumbling. 

Not much was said afterwards. The Dwarves sat in an uncomfortable silence, occasionally throwing glances in the direction that the trio left in. None of them returned for a good while. A very good while, actually. Their biggest concerns were Fíli and Kíli, though Bofur, Dori, Balin and Ori began to worry about Bilbo, as well. 

In the end, Dwalin stood up and, without a word, headed for the thick trees that the three were last seen amongst. The tall Dwarf reached for one of the axes on his back, while he used the other arm to push bushes away from himself. The others watched with baited breath, waiting for something to pop out at him. And something definitely did.

“Help!” Kíli shouted, running full sprint towards Dwalin. Fíli followed closely, though wasn't nearly as panicked as his younger brother. As soon as they reached camp, the blond stopped the brunet, turning him away from the others. They shared a look, and Kíli immediately ran back to where they came from. Before everyone could start panicking, the prince waved his arms in order to stop them.

“Hold on! It isn't much trouble– well, actually maybe it is– but two of our ponies have gone missing, and Bilbo went to get them,” Fili explained as quickly as he could. A couple of the faces in front of him seemed to be a bit surprised; not by the missing ponies, but by who went after them. But not everyone stuck to the smaller bits of the story.

“Why was Kíli calling for our aid?” Thorin stood up, soon appearing beside Dwalin. He crossed his arms, the usual frown plastered on his features. Fíli swallowed, feeling like a little pebble all over again, and scratched his beard.

“Ah... y'see... Bilbo might get... captured by Trolls?..”

~×~×~×~

“Mr Boggins?” Kíli called out quietly, drawing out his sword. Not that he used it often. No, his weapon of choice was rather ‘elvish’, as some call it; our Kíli was a skilled bowman. That was why he was a bit... clumsy with his sword at first. “Mr Boggins!?” he tried once more this time louder. As he opened his mouth to try again, he could hear someone shushing him.

Well, not really hear, but rather see. There Bilbo was, being held in the air by the nasty Trolls, examined as if he were some toy. Actually, more like as if he were something edible. Still, even while being in a very unpleasant situation, the Hobbit made sure Kíli was safe. The prince wasn't going to take that for granted, no.

Bilbo struggled against their grubby fingers, squirming violently under their hold. The constant questions were absolutely not helping. As a matter of fact, they were quite a distraction. Ever since those Dwarves came to his home, everything has been so messy. Oh, how he missed his armchair...

“So, whot are ya, anywe?”

“A burglar,” Bilbo sighed, though immediately caught his mistake. His daydreams perished, and he was, unfortunately, forced to return to the present. “Hobbit!”

“A burgla-obbit?” one of them tilted their head curiously. Were all Trolls of this low intelligence? “Can we eat 'im?” the smaller one asked the other two. Just then, someone popped out of the shadows.

“Drop him!” Kíli shouted, waving his sword around. The three turned to look down at him, though still held Bilbo in their hands. “I said– drop him,” the young prince warned, tightening his hold on the blade. The Trolls whispered among themselves, throwing around some incredibly distasteful words. Bilbo was already thinking of all the ways he was going to scold Kíli for jumping head-first into such a dangerous situation. Of course, that wouldn't actually happen. He was convinced that Thorin would kill him for even trying to do something of the sort.

Speaking of which, the entire Company showed up just in time to see Bilbo being pulled apart by his limbs. The Trolls tugged on his ankles and wrists, though did nothing to actually snap him. Thankfully. “Drop ye weapons... or your– your burglar-obbit gets it!”

Bilbo froze at the threat. In his mind, his life was about to end exactly in that moment, and not the way he wanted it to. He wished for a death fitting for a simple Hobbit; in his armchair, by the fire, stomach full. Death due to old age. This was far from it. Death due to being ripped apart by awful Trolls was the last thing he would have ever thought of. It would be instant, he hoped. Painless.

Something hit the ground. Then another thing. Then a whole new bunch of... things? Bilbo forced his eyes to open, and immediately felt relieved. The Dwarves, he was not sure in which order, all dropped their weapons. His eyes caught Thorin's, and his breathing almost stopped all over again.

~×~×~×~

“No good roasting 'em now, it'd take all night,” William complained.

“Don't start the argument all over again, Bill,” Bert said, “or it will take all night!”

“Oh, both of ya, shaddap!” Tom snapped.

The Trolls went on and on about all of the ways to cook a Dwarf. The most frequently brought up options were: boiling them, squashing them, and frying them. That was why our Company was divided into two groups. One had Oín, Glóin, Balin, Bombur, Kíli, Thorin and Bilbo, who were set carelessly near a boulder. The other one had Dwalin, Bifur, Bofur, Fíli, Ori, Nori and Dori all tied together on a cut tree. The ideas? Save the first group for later, cook the second one. Horrible business.

“We gots to hurry with cooking 'em before sunrise. I don't fancy being turned into stone!”

Bilbo paused. No one else seemed to notice what the big creatures just implied. The Sun turns them into stone, Bilbo realized. With that thought in mind, he shuffled around in the bag he was put into. His restrained body moved almost like a fish on land. It would have been ridiculous if someone saw it... and that someone just had to be Thorin. Blast it all.

“Burglar. Where are you going?” Thorin whispered to him, though his voice still held that sharpness in it. Bilbo halted, mid-bounce, and fell forward. He yelped as his body crashed onto the nearest surface. Said surface was... quite comfortable, actually. Were rocks and dirt always so soft? Squishy, even? Bilbo tilted his head up, since his arms were practically useless as well as his legs. 

Hm. Well that's not good.

That soft surface he ended up on? It was a Dwarf. It was Thorin, who looked like he would strangle him if he didn't get off that very second. So, Bilbo scurried off, cursing himself mentally for enjoying that small moment of softness. Did all Dwarves have a bit of a tummy, then? No! Not important!

“Oi, isn't that their burra-obby?”

“Burglar-obbit, you dimwit!”

If the incident from earlier wasn't enough, now he's also been spotted. Just his luck. He needed to think of something, anything, to buy them all time 'til sunrise.

“Um. Well. I couldn't help but overhear that you– ah– needed help?” Bilbo stammered, straightening himself out in the bag. He cleared his throat, fidgeting anxiously under the heavy fabric. The Trolls all stared at him in silence, then the angriest one spoke. “And wot th' hell do you know about cooking Dwarves? Have you eaten one?”

“I say we eat them alive!” the smallest one added. The chef, however, wanted to hear none of their complaints and arguments. Shutting them all up, he crouched in front of Bilbo.

“Nah, let the, uh... flibbertigibbet speak. What is the secret to cookin' Dwarves?”

“Right! The secret... yes, the secret to... to cooking Dwarves, is tooo...” Bilbo looked around, trying to find anything that could buy them time. The Dwarves held their breaths, clearly having heard him. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small knife. “The secret is to skin them alive first!”

“WHAT!?”

Chapter Text

“WHAT!?” a collective gasp from his companions, who were no doubt going to teach him a lesson later on.

But that was the least of his concern at the moment. One of the Trolls picked someone up, though Bilbo could not tell who. Not only that, but he also took a knife. Did he take him for serious? Just how naïve were these creatures? Actually, no, that wasn't the biggest problem. Was he actually going to skin whoever he held? No, that wouldn't do.

Panicked, Bilbo blurted out the first sentence that came to his mind: “A-ah, wait! Wait, they– they've all, um... they've all got parasites!”

Oh, bugger. Did he say parasites? Parasites, of all things! He could have named any illness, any kind of health flaw (which they, no doubt, had many), and he chose parasites. How clever. The Dwarves, if they had been released, would have definitely hung him by his ankles on the nearest tree. Thankfully, they were all tied down by the Trolls.

Ah. Right. The Trolls. The rather daft creatures that immediately believed little Bilbo. They truly believed that their planned meal was infected with worms. The chef, though Bilbo could not recall his name, dropped the Dwarf he held almost immediately. The Hobbit recognized it as Bombur, who immediately began crawling off. It was a bit funny, in all honesty, but Bilbo could not focus on that for long.

“Believe me,” Bilbo attempted nonchalance with the giant figures before him, “I wouldn't risk it, really.”

“Parasites!? We don't have parasites!” Kíli shouted, and Bilbo all but groaned out of frustration. He could be quite ridiculous and slow at times, the young prince. Just like the rest of the Dwarves, who began complaining the same way, though Balin and Thorin were still very quiet. 

Speaking of which, Thorin seemed to catch on to Bilbo's rushed plan. With a jerk, his tied legs nudged the young Kíli. That shut them all up, and, one look at Thorin, made them finally understand. Bilbo was very thankful for it, but the relief didn't last long. Now, instead of complaining, the Company all began to heavily exaggerate their health issues.

“I've got huge parasites! The biggest!” Kíli shouted.

“I've got parasites as big as my arm!” Glóin added.

Blast these Dwarves! Bilbo cringed at their poor attempts to back up his story, but the effort was appreciated none the less. At least they weren't blatantly ignoring him like at the beginning of their trip, which now seemed like forever ago.

Thorin, through it all, kept quiet and watched. If his eyes lingered on Bilbo for longer than necessary, no one dared to comment on it. Not that anyone noticed, anyway; their focus was on convincing the Trolls that their bodies were infested with fatal worms. Now that he looked back on it, Bilbo figured that that lie wasn't quite well thought about.

As the Dwarves continued, the rudest of the Trolls leaned closer to Bilbo. With a meaty finger jabbed at his belly, the Hobbit almost fell over. The creature lowered his voice, “I know what you're trying to do, nasty little burglar-obbit! You're lyin' to us, ain't ya! They've got no parasites, you just want t' save their asses!”

Well. Bilbo couldn't deny the last part; he truly did want to keep these Dwarves alive. On the other hand, the whole parasite thing... it wouldn't surprise him if at least three of them, while he didn't wish to point fingers, definitely were infected. Maybe not with worms, but most certainly something else. 

Having lost his train of thought, Bilbo didn't notice that the smallest Troll reached for him. Just as his hand was about to envelop his waist, a deep voice rumbled through the make-shift camp, settling deep within the roots of the surrounding trees. “Dawn take you all, and be stone to you!” it roared, breaking a boulder in half with a very familiar staff. The first rays of the Sun burst in through the cracks, shining a golden hue over predator and prey. The predators in question, those cursed Trolls, immediately turned to stone.

Bilbo managed to squirm away in time, thankfully. Otherwise, his body would have been trapped in a stone hand until the end of his days. The Hobbit shivered at the thought.

~×~×~×~

“I arrived just in time,” Gandalf announced to the Company, though his eyes wandered to Bilbo. “A little later, and we'd have lost out burglar, then you lot after him. You're lucky that you were bought some time,” he finished, shooting a pointed look at Thorin.

Many a Dwarf approached Bilbo, thanking and praising him for being quick on his tongue in stressful situations. The Hobbit was, quite honestly, unsure how to react in situations such as these. One moment the Company was against him, and the other they all slapped his back and, rather roughly, bumped his forehead with their own. He was grateful that they were being at least a tad bit more careful with him than before. They fell into comfortable conversation later on, talking about everything and nothing while gathering their things.

Meanwhile, Gandalf and Thorin stayed on the sidelines. The wizard, in Thorin's opinion, went on for far too long about the dangers of Trolls. The Dwarf prince was far too distracted to listen. His attention was on his Company, though especially on his sister-sons, who were the reason that they got into such a mess in the first place. In the end, Tharkûn even said something along the lines of ‘them all being saved’.

Before that sentence could end, Thorin interjected. “No thanks to your burglar,” he spat, the word sounding like a slur on his tongue. He turned away, but not quick enough to miss the disapproving look Gandalf sent his way.

“Silly time to go practicing pocket-picking,” said Bombur with humor, “when what you were sent for was just a scouting mission!” Bilbo chuckled quietly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Bombur was correct; he really shouldn't have attempted anything. The reason for his sudden approach at heroism was, in all honesty, quite selfish. He only wished to be accepted. Ultimately, it did work out, just not the way he thought it would. Not that he was complaining.

Still, Thorin kept a stubborn distance.

“You are wasting time now,” Gandalf reminded them, “We must move forward. Not only that, but don't you know that the Trolls have a cave somewhere near that they use to hide from the Sun? It is in our best interest to look into it!”

So, they searched about, and soon found the marks of large boots going away through the bushes and trees. The Company followed the tracks up hill, until they stumbled upon a big hole going deep into the ground. Bilbo, having been used to all sorts of terrain, had no problem with walking. Actually, he was quite thankful for it, but that's besides the point. With careful steps, they went inside the tunnel.

There were bones of all sizes on the floor, and Bilbo couldn't help but notice one skeleton that suspiciously resembled a Hobbit's. A chill ran through his small body. A nasty smell was in the air, but there was also a fair share of surprisingly good food thrown carelessly around boxes. There were even pots filled with gold, which Bofur, Glóin and Óin buried under the excuse of ‘safe keeping’. There were lots of clothes, though far too small for Trolls. That meant that they belonged to the unfortunate. 

Among all of the mess was a good amount of good swords and similar blades of various shapes, makes and sizes. One of them caught Bilbo's attention, so he quietly wandered off to fetch it. During that time, Gandalf and Thorin argued once more. The wizard found a great blade of good shape; perfect for clean and swift swings. It looked nothing like dwarvish making, yet he insisted on giving it to Thorin. The Dwarf was going to accept it, it seemed, but stopped as soon as Gandalf began speaking.

“It is a fine sword, Thorin,” he urged, a suspicious gleam of amusement in his eyes. Thorin, albeit slowly, took the sword from him for inspection. It looked wonderful and powerful, no doubt about it, but something was odd. It was too decorated, too elegant, too–

“It is the making of Elves,” Gandalf finished Thorin's thoughts. The Dwarf looked like he'd been personally insulted. In a way, he was; had the wizard seriously intended to give Thorin a sword made by Elves? He almost physically recoiled from the weapon. Seeing his overreaction, Gandalf rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. Figuring that Thorin wasn't going to make this easy, he decided to find Bilbo.

Our Hobbit was perched over a much smaller sword, just perfect for his size, but clearly hesitant on taking it. Why? Because Bilbo believed that he wasn't made for such things. He wasn't made for any of this, even with the Tookish blood flowing through him. Gandalf took it upon himself to pick up the blade by its grip, taking a close look at it. Bilbo hurriedly got up, dusting the rubble off his pants and out of the fur of his feet. 

“This is a fine blade,” said the wizard half drawing it, “ It was not made by Man, nor by Troll or Dwarf... When we read the runes, we shall find out more about them. I want you to have it, Bilbo. You must.”

“But I don't–”

“None of that! I know that you haven't a clue on how to use weapons such as this...and I'm hoping you won't have to find out.”

~×~×~×~

“Where did you go, if I may ask?” questioned Thorin as he and Gandalf walked in front of the others.

“To look ahead,” said he.

“And what brought you back?” Thorin pressed, his thick eyebrow lifting suspiciously.

“Looking behind.”

~×~×~×~

They did not sing or tell stories that day, nor the next day, nor the day after; even though the weather had drastically improved. They had begun to feel that danger was not far away on either side. One morning they forded a river at a wide place full of noise of stones and foam. Bilbo figured that it was the closest sound to the small streams in the Shire he'd hear in a long, long time. When they got to the top of it, they saw great mountains ahead. They seemed only a day's journey away from the feet of the nearest. The snow-peaks gleamed under sunlight, giving them an almost ethereal glow.

“Is that The Mountain?” Bilbo asked no one in particular, his breath taken away by the landscape in front of them. He would remember the sight for the rest of his days, no matter how long they be. He had never seen a thing that looked so big before.

“Nay,” said Balin, “that is only the begining of the Misty Mountains. We must get through, over, or under those somehow. Only then can we even think of the Lonely Mountains in the East, which are quite far away,” he patiently explained, silently amused by Bilbo's round-eyed staring at the Mountains.

Gandalf led the way and spoke to them, “We need food, for one thing, and a fair rest in reasonable safety. We mustn't be spent while passing the Misty Mountains.”

“And where are we going now?” Ori asked quietly.

“Hidden somewhere ahead of us is the valley of Rivendell,” here he shot a glance at Thorin, as if daring him to say anything, “where my friend Elrond awaits. We are expected to show.”

So they went on in relative silence.

~×~×~×~

It was a much wider land from the ford to the mountains. Bilbo was astonished. The terrain had changed drastically; from uneven stumbles and thorny bushes to vast prairies with the occasional tree as far as the eye could see. The Hobbit hoped that the paths they would take on their journey in the future resembled this one. Unfortunately, during the prior incident, their ponies had run away. That made them continue on foot. Not that Bilbo complained.

In the midst of this fairly pleasant stroll (although the others wouldn't call it that), they heard a loud shriek. It sounded like the one Bilbo heard a few nights prior, when Balin told him about the Orcs. The only difference was that these bone-chilling shouts were much, much closer than they were that night.

Gandalf hurriedly pushed the Company behind a conventionally placed boulder. Being the tallest one, he could see above it and keep them all safe. They remained there, silence falling over them while they waited for a sign to move. The wizard explained the plan to them. Out of that entire speech, Bilbo only caught the words ‘stay together’. His mind and eyes were set somewhere else– Thorin.

Thorin, the leader of their small Company, looked... small. His eyes were trained on the dozen or so Wargs that ran through the fields, half of them carrying an Orc on its back. Of course, the others looked at them all the same, but it was Thorin who concerned Bilbo the most. His breaths became shorter, and it wasn't due to running. His muscles were as taut as a bowstring ready to snap, and his pupils dilated so much, they just about changed his eye color. Everyone was scared, no doubt, but Thorin... Thorin looked like he was experiencing a traumatic event all over again. His reaction wasn't mere fright; he was panicking. Thorin Oakenshield was, in his mind, back in the battle of Azanulbizar.

It was only Bilbo who caught on, as he was standing right next to the Dwarf. How he ended up in this situation, he did not know. As if on instinct, Bilbo quietly called Thorin's name, his hand gently brushing against his upper arm. Thorin all but jumped at the contact, drawing his arm away and looking down at Bilbo. They stared at each other for a while, hazel eyes meeting scared blues. The taller of the two swallowed and, for some reason, allowed Bilbo to get closer. A small hand landed on his arm once more, only this time it was not pushed away. Bilbo could feel the tremors going through Thorin's body.

“Thorin,” the Hobbit whispered, searching, “Thorin, we– you aren't in battle. You are safe, as of now.” He tried to reassure him, to snap him out of it, but nothing seemed to work. In that moment, he noticed that the Company had started to move along, with Gandalf leading them to sprint ahead. Swallowing his worry, Bilbo turned his attention to Thorin again. “We must move, or else you won't be alive for long!”

And that did it. As if a switch had been flipped, Thorin blinked and started running right after Bilbo. They caught up to the rest of them rather quickly. Who knew that older Hobbits could run so fast? And run he did, for Bilbo was soon in the middle of the line. It worried him to be separated from Thorin, especially given his earlier state, but there wasn't much he could do about the arrangement. 

Kíli shot his arrows, Dwalin swung his axes, and soon everyone else joined in on the mission of keeping the Company alive. Bilbo felt utterly useless, as he had no clue how to wield a sword. So, he just ran as fast as his short legs allowed him to. The shrieks from the Orcs, and barks and howls from the Wargs went on, echoing into the space around them. The horrible sounds reverberated through Bilbo's ears and into his mind. They would surely haunt his dreams.

The chase was a blur. In the midst of it, he could hear Dwalin yelling something to them all: “He's abandoned us!” Oh, bother. Gandalf disappeared. Again. 

~×~×~×~

Sooner than not, the Company found themselves behind another boulder. Bilbo was next to Thorin again, who looked much better than earlier. If there was one thing to be relieved about, it was that. At least their leader wasn't losing his mind. He sent a signal to Kíli, who immediately began firing arrows just like earlier. Bilbo was, honestly, terrified. He had never seen an animal so large before! Not only that, but these were the first Orcs he had seen in his life. 

Someone must have noticed, for a sudden warmth fell around his shoulders. He fully expected it to be Bofur, who had a habit of making the Hobbit feel safe with smaller touches. When he looked up, his stomach dropped. The arm around him belonged to Thorin, who acted as if he was doing nothing out of the ordinary. No, you know what, he was overthinking. Surely. Thorin was just... returning the favor from earlier. Yes. That was it...

Kíli, Dwalin and Fíli went forward to protect everyone. Thorin stayed with the rest of them, as if to make sure that no one was left behind. As he mentally counted them, Dori spoke up. “Where is Ori?” That alerted everyone, and all eyes began scanning the environment. Dori and Nori looked the most worried, as it was their youngest brother who had gone off.

Spotting someone in the distance, Bilbo squinted. The familiar ginger bowl-cut was unmistakable. “Over there!” he shouted, pointing in the same direction that the other three went in. Thorin immediately ran forward, though not before telling everyone to stay put. Stay put they did, but the older Ri brothers could not stay still for the life of them. Therefore, Bilbo took it upon himself to try and calm them down.

“Ori will be returned, do not worry. I'm sure Thorin will get to him. You've nothing to worry about,” he said to Dori, who looked like he might just run after them as well. He tried the same comforting gesture as before, and it seemed to work.

While Bilbo begged everyone to just do as Thorin said, the Dwarf managed to stop Ori from going on a suicide mission. “Get back!” he warned the young one, pushing him away from a rapidly approaching Warg. Ori scurried back to his brothers while Thorin took his place in defending the Company along with his nephews and his cousin.

Thorin hoped everyone would make it.

~×~×~×~

“Get inside, you fools!” Gandalf appeared out of nowhere, really, and was already ordering everyone around. The youngest ones hurried into the hole in the ground first, then Bofur followed. Bilbo insisted that he go in last, but they wanted to hear none of it. He was pushed down right after the Ur brothers, then everyone else went after him. Thorin went last, choosing to flee only once he was sure everyone was safe and sound. That was one thing about the Dwarf that Bilbo strongly admired.

Once Gandalf counted all thirteen Dwarves and little Bilbo, they could finally get going. Instead of getting out of the tunnels, however, the wizard insisted they needed to go further in. For what reason, Bilbo had no idea. The only path they could take was marked with white stones, some of which could easily be missed due to being small or covered by moss. Altogether, it was a very slow business following the track, even under the guidance of Gandalf, who seemed to know his way about pretty well. He searched for the stones, and they followed his lead, but they seemed no nearer to the end of the tunnels when a considerable amount of time had passed.

Slow business, indeed.

“Here it is, at last!” Gandalf called, and the others gathered round him to see exactly what it was, as it took them so long to find it. They saw a valley far below, and they heard the faint voice of a stream at the bottom. The scent of trees was in the air. However did all of that get there, Bilbo never understood. He also never forgot the way they slithered down the steep zig-zag path into the secret valley of Rivendell. Partly because of the sights, but mostly it was because of the numerous times he caught his skin on a mysterious sharpness, or stubbed his toe on a rock.

If looks could kill, Bofur would have been dead long ago for even suggesting that Bilbo wore boots.

The air grew warmer the further they went, and the smell of pine nearly made the Hobbit drowsy. Every now and then, he'd nod off and almost stumble down. Their spirits rose as they went down and down, for they knew that warm food and bed awaited them just at the bottom. Bilbo looked up, catching the faintest hints of the stars. They were burning bright and blue, looking marvelous above the valley. 

Just then, a harmony could be heard from the trees. Bilbo, or anyone else, could not see where the song was coming from. Gandalf seemed completely unfazed by it all, of course. Though, the whole tra-la-la-lally was quite catchy, if nothing. The song was sung by Elves, which made Thorin brood deeply. 

Bilbo had met a small number of Elves in his lifetime, most of which his mother had introduced him to. He also knew what to expect of them, for Belladona has spoken to him about the race many times. While he didn't mind the singing and dancing, the Dwarves were not very fond of the Elves. Bilbo almost felt awkward at being placed into such a position.

“Well, well!” said a voice from the trees, “Just look! Little Bilbo the Hobbit, my dear! Isn't it lovely!”

“Most astonishingly wonderful!” another replied.

The Dwarves, confused, switched their attention from the trees to Bilbo and then back. How do these Elves know Bilbo? Does Bilbo know them? One look at the Hobbit, and that answered one of their questions: Bilbo was not acquainted with any of the Elves. He didn't recognize any of them, at least. Then the joyful race went into another song, which followed them up until they reached the bottom of the valley.

A young Elf approached them there, bowing to Thorin and Gandalf. “Welcome to Rivendell, Mithrandir!”

“Thank you,” said Gandalf. “Now, if may I ask,” here, the wizard looked around, “where is Lord Elrond?”

As if on cue, several horses galloped towards the Company, each of them carrying an Elf. Bilbo was pushed in the middle, along with Balin, Thorin and Glóin. They watched with bated breath as the horses approached, stopping only a hair short of trampling them. The first Elf got off his horse, smiling at Gandalf like seeing an old friend after ages.

“Gandalf!”

“Lord Elrond!”

They went on to have a full conversation in a language no one seemed to understand, other than the Elves themselves. Bilbo looked around, confused, but also wary of the Dwarves' growing irritation. They kept their weapons out, ready for brawl, should it be necessary. While Elrond and Gandalf spoke, though, the other Big People left them alone. The Company remained in the circle, but it wasn't nearly as tight and secure as earlier. Elrond, only once he was right in front of Gandalf, switched to Westron.

“Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders.” Here, he took a few steps past the wizard. “Something... or someone has drawn them here,” he emphasized with a curious look at them all.

“Ah,” Gandalf shrugged, then motioned to the Company with his staff, “that may have been us.”

Thorin and Dwalin stepped forward, frowning deeply. Poor Bilbo could barely be seen shuffling behind them. Elrond, recognizing the former, mimicked the motion. Looking down at them all, he greeted him: “Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain.”

“I do not believe we have met,” Thorin replied, and Bilbo almost had an urge to smack him for the underlying bite in his tone.

“You have your grandfather's bearing,” Elrond raised a brow subtly, though showed no emotion. It almost seemed like a game to him, pushing the Dwarf's buttons.

“Indeed? He made no mention of you,” Thorin eyed him closely, tilting his head with false innocence. Oh, how Bilbo wished to for the ground to swallow him. What could have possibly happened for Thorin to be so rude towards their host?

After an intense staring contest, Elrond switched back to the same language from earlier. Sindarin, Bilbo finally recognized. Even though he didn't understand what they meant, they carried a strong air of offence with them. Or maybe that was just the way he spoke, though Bilbo doubted the possibility. Elves were diplomatic and elegant beings, after all. The little grin from Gandalf only raised his suspicions...as well as everyone else's.

“What does he say?” Glóin drawled, before his voice slowly morphed into a shout. “Does he offer us insult!?” Many a Dwarf agreed with his assumption, and immediately began to form the same circle as earlier. Only now, Gandalf stopped it in time.

“No, Master Glóin, he is offering you food,” he stated, seeming all to amused with how everything was progressing. Bilbo, on the other hand, was not. He gripped his walking stick, shuffling from one foot to another awkwardly in his spot. The Dwarves whispered to each other, and Bilbo heard just about every insult they spat. He did not contribute to the conversation. After some time, they all faced Elrond again, and Glóin spoke.

“In that case, lead on!”

Chapter Text

Bilbo felt... he didn't know how to feel. It was one thing when the Dwarves completely ruined his house, but they did the exact same in Rivendell. Ignoring the horrible manners and foul language, which the Hobbit had grown quite used to, they were whining about the food like children.

“Where's the meat?”

“I don't like green food...”

“I'm not eating this.”

Thankfully, Bilbo was sat between Dori and Bifur, who were just as quiet and appreciative as he was. The Hobbit shrunk in on himself out of embarrassment, nibbling on the fresh vegetables they were given. He was extremely grateful for the change in diet, for he had gotten quite tired of eating only meat and strawberries (or nothing) for almost a month now. To his surprise, Bifur shared the same opinion.

Now, as you know, the Dwarf couldn't verbally express it due to the axe in his head. No, what made Bilbo understand was the fact that Bifur not only ate the food from his plate, but also picked up a few flowers and ate them. To anyone else, that might have been odd, but not to our Hobbit. He knew plants very well, and he knew that the ones in Bifur's hands were edible and, in fact, quite yummy. Quietly, he pointed to one of the flowers, all while looking at Bifur. The Dwarf was almost too happy to give a few of them to little Bilbo.

In the meantime, Thorin and Gandalf sat with the Elves. They chatted about everything and nothing, though Thorin only spoke when spoken to. Which wasn't quite often at that table. A part of him longed to sit with his kin, to laugh and drink with them, but he needed to remain diplomatic. Mature. Serious. He caught Bilbo's gaze more than once during that time and, oddly enough, felt his heart softening.

Just a bit.

~×~×~×~

Deep into the night, while everyone was asleep, a council was held. Thorin, Balin, Gandalf, Elrond and little Bilbo gathered on the terrace, which had a great view of Rivendell. Bilbo, honestly, had no idea why or how he ended up there. Not like he was as important as the rest of them. 

“Our business is no concern of Elves,” Thorin said, not caring that Elrond was with them. He strongly disliked Elves, and he would let them know.

“For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map!” Gandalf argued, though Thorin wanted to hear absolutely nothing of it.

“It is the legacy of my people. It is mine to protect, as are its secrets.”

Gandalf, in response, mumbled something about ‘the stubbornness of Dwarves’ and Bilbo completely agreed. To dislike someone was alright, but this was just overreaction, wasn't it?

...On second thought, Bilbo would never give his spoons to Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.

“Your pride will be the death of you,” said the wizard, “for you stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!”

Silence. Everyone stared at each other, waiting to see what Thorin would do. He took a deep breath, one Bilbo heard from where he was standing, and finally reached for the map stuffed in his clothes. Looking Elrond straight in the eyes, he ignored Balin's attempt to stop him. He handed the map over to the Elf, though kept a close eye on him in suspicion.

Elrond gently unfolded the paper, and Bilbo could feel his mouth twisting into a frown. He wasn't sure why. Was Thorin's behavior rubbing off on him? His gaze was set on the Lord, watching his every move. The Hobbit didn't feel himself so much as blink. His fingers flexed at his sides from the sheer nerves as he waited for something– anything– to happen.

“Erebor,” Elrond muttered to himself. “What is your interest in this map?”

“It's mainly academic,” Gandalf chimed in, “as you know this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text.”

Elrond, seeming satisfied if not a tad curious, turned around. Gandalf and Thorin shared a look, during which the Dwarf even offered a light nod and smile. Good. That was good, Bilbo thought. No brawl he would need to get involved in. Great!

“You still read ancient dwarvish, do you not?” asked the wizard, taking a step forward. Meanwhile, Elrond placed the map on flat stone just under the moonlight, muttering to himself once more. Gandalf seemed to catch on, and turned to explain the situation to Bilbo. “Moon runes. Easy to miss.”

“In this case, it is true. Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day of which they were written.” Elrond gave a much better explanation. Bilbo found himself nodding in response, letting the Elf know that he understood what those letters were.

“Can you read them?” asked Thorin.

“It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell.” The Elf turned back around, facing the map, “Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same Moon as this one shines upon us tonight.”

Everyone approached the flat stone on which the map was placed on, leaning closer to see the runes. Bilbo followed, of course, and found himself squinting to catch the shining letters as they appeared. Elrond began reading the ancient text smoothly, and with confidence. “Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks and the setting Sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole.”

“Durin's Day?” Bilbo accidentally voiced his confusion, though didn't seem to realize until he caught Balin and Gandalf looking his way. The wizard went on to explain how it is the start of the Dwarves' New Year. It was also the last day of Autumn. Once that explanation was out of the way, Thorin pointed out that they didn't have much time left. Balin, ever the wise, calmed him down by saying that they needed to be on the exact spot exactly the right time.

As if it was that easy. 

~×~×~×~

One night, sleep evaded our Hobbit.

Bilbo restlessly wandered through the halls of Rivendell, admiring the architecture of the many rooms. The walls were all decorated with colorful plants, giving it a lovely aesthetic. Bilbo inhaled deeply, taking in the cool night breeze. He leaned against one of the walls, closing his eyes as he imagined himself in Bag End. A small frown took over his face, but it melted into a content sigh as a rather pleasant smell filled the air.

Reopening his eyes, he took in his surroundings once more. The vines that swirled around the tall pillars grew small flowers in them. It was June, and that meant that the loveliest plants bloomed. Bilbo didn't recognize these ones, even when he got close enough to see them clearly. They were a wonderful shade of red with yellow and pink centers, almost resembling sunrise. The petals were incredibly light and frail under his touch, so he resisted from touching them too much. He didn't wish to cause any damage, unlike the rowdy Dwarves. Speaking of which...

“Master Baggins,” someone called from a few feet behind him. Bilbo jumped, not expecting company, and turned around with a gasp. Thorin. Of course, it just had to be him. Bilbo sighed, keeping his hand over his pounding heart.

“Thorin... You gave me quite the scare!” Bilbo attempted to lighten up the mood, though his words all but fell on deaf ears. Clearing his throat, he put his hands down, catching a button of his waistcoat between his fingers and rolling it around. 

Silently, Thorin approached the Hobbit, his footfalls confident and strong. Bilbo held his breath, wondering what he could have possibly done wrong. Thorin wouldn't wish to speak with him casually. It had to be something. As Bilbo's worries and doubts continued, Thorin just... walked past him. He stopped only once the far railings were right in front of him. Slowly, Bilbo turned around, catching a glimpse of...

Catching a glimpse of him; of Thorin, truly. Not a Prince in exile, not the future King under the Mountain, not the leader of a dangerous quest. He saw Thorin as the Dwarf he was, a shadow of gloom cast over his eyes. The Moon did the Dwarf justice, for it accentuated the silver streaks in his hair. Moonlight shined upon his face, making the slope of his nose even more prominent. Oh, Yavanna, he's handsome, Bilbo found himself thinking. 

What? No. Absolutely not. No, he was simply tired. That's all there was to it. Still, Bilbo could not take his eyes off the majestic Dwarf in front of him. He couldn't understand where these thoughts were coming from. Thankfully, Thorin was not facing the Hobbit, otherwise he would definitely see the small, dreamy shine his eyes carried. 

“To Hell with these Elves...”

Bilbo blinked. Once. Twice. A third time for good measure. Was Thorin speaking to him, or to himself?

“Meddling in our business... And blast that wizard for ever taking us to this place...”

No, he was definitely talking to him. Bilbo, utterly flummoxed, somehow managed to force a sentence to come out of his mouth. “I... don't see why you're complaining. Elrond has read the– the runes for you, has he not?” Since he wasn't thinking, it was the wrong one. Immediately realizing his mistake, Bilbo bit his tongue. He didn't trust himself to say anything else without making an utter fool of himself.

“He has,” Thorin was, somehow, very calm. “He has, but I had nothing to do with it. It was Tharkûn who led us here, who handed the map to him, that trickerous wizard.”

Bilbo had to agree. It was Gandalf who basically forced the Company into Rivendell, who gave away their plans to Lord Elrond. Still, the Hobbit didn't quite see a problem in it. They received food, shelter, and advice without having to return the favor. It seemed that the Dwarves didn't see it that way. Bilbo remained quiet, unsure if Thorin would say anything else. He didn't. For the longest time, not another word was shared between them. As Bilbo prepared to make his leave, however...

“After the Desolation of Smaug...” Thorin mumbled, his voice barely louder than the breeze. That forced Bilbo to take a few steps forward. “After the Desolation, we Dwarves lost our Kingdom. You've heard the tale back in your home, yes?” Here, he looked at Bilbo over his shoulder. The Hobbit nodded. “Right. When that wyrm settled deep into the Mountain, we had no choice but to leave. We had little to no supplies, and no place to stay...”

Bilbo watched as Thorin traced his thumb over the ring on his other hand. A nervous gesture. “The Elves were there that day. We... I asked for their aid. We didn't need much. They refused to help us.” Ah. So, that was it. That was where the hatred came from. It was completely justified, Bilbo figured. He would have been the same if put into their shoes, no doubt. Looking closely, he could see the genuine hurt in Thorin's eyes. His own expression fell and he looked away, instead focusing on the stars above them.

“I... I am sorry,” Bilbo whispered. A beat of silence.

“...Whatever for?”

“For everything. For what has happened to you.”

Bilbo and Thorin, though they would never admit it, grew a little closer that night. Meanwhile, in the room next to the terrace, the rest of the Company ate. Bombur sat on a bench, holding a plate liberally filled. Bofur, sitting in front of him, threw a sausage his way. The ginger Dwarf caught it and, right afterwards, the bench broke. Bofur rolled over the floor from laughter, and soon everyone else joined.

~×~×~×~

The next morning was a midsummer's morning as fair as could be in a dream; blue skies and never a cloud, the Sun dancing over the water. The Dwarves and little Bilbo left Rivendell without so much as a goodbye, leaving Gandalf behind. Now, they marched away, well rested and fed, to the path they needed to follow over the Misty Mountains to the land beyond. Bilbo quite wished to stay in the Last Homely House for a bit longer, but they had an adventure to continue, and a lost Kingdom to reclaim. 

Since everyone was in their brightest spirits, the first few hours of travel were rarely silent. Bofur, Fíli and Kíli did most of the talking, obviously, but the others contributed to their conversations and jests as well. All in all, it was quite pleasant, really. Bilbo had no reason to complain. Especially since a certain Dwarf wasn't watching and judging his every move.

Actually... Thorin was completely ignoring the Hobbit. Before, it would be bitter ignorance. Suddenly, it had turned into nothing other than the simple choice of not acknowledging someone's presence. Bilbo didn't understand where it came from, though he was almost happy about it. At least he wasn't constantly being scrutinized or yelled at.

Bilbo turned around once more, taking one last look at Rivendell. Oh, it was truly wonderful. He wished they could stay longer. Much longer! The valley looked just as beautiful as when they arrived, although the early sunlight gave it a completely different look. It was ethereal. His mesmerized staring lasted a good while; he didn't even realize that the Company passed by him in mindless chatter. The Hobbit inhaled a deep breath, wishing to feel the Elvish Lands for just a little longer.

“I suggest you keep up, Master Baggins.”

A voice from behind snapped Bilbo out of his trance. He turned around, only to see Thorin watching him in silence. Waiting.

~×~×~×~

There were many paths that led up into those mountains. Most of them were cheats that led nowhere or to bad ends, or infested with horrible, evil creatures and dreadful dangers. The Dwarves and the Hobbit (for Gandalf had gone off once more) took the right road to pass. For that they thanked Lord Elrond. By they, I mean Bilbo, because the rest of them wanted nothing to do with any Elf.

Long days after they had climbed out of Rivendell and left it miles behind, they were still going up and up and up. It seemed to be the only direction they marched in. Now, they could look back and, in the far West, Bilbo could almost see his own country of safety and comfort. His own hobbit-hole, which he missed impossibly so.

He shivered. It was getting cold up there, and the wind was on a mission to kill them, it seemed. Gusts of air so strong, they crashed boulders down the mountainside. Some missed them by a hair, some dropped right over their heads, which was alarming. They tried not to make too much noise, as anything louder than a whisper echoed eeriely. If all of that wasn't enough, rain was pouring over them. It was the most uncomfortable part of the adventure so far.

Bilbo knew that something would happen, and he didn't dare hope that they'd pass the Mountains without some kind of fearful event. All was, however, surprisingly well for a good while. One day, as the Sun began to make space in the sky for the Moon, they met a horrible thunderstorm. Storms from the East and West came up and made war. Lighting crashed above them, beside them, below; cracking stone and mountain peaks with sudden bursts. During the crashes, a giant boulder came from one end of the path to another, flying over them. Bilbo was no expert on weather, but that was not natural!

“By my beard!” Bofur shouted, grabbing the top of his hat for protection. “The legends are true! Giants! Stone Giants!”

Oh, that was divine. Just what we need, Bilbo thought to himself as they trudged forward, up, further into the darkness and rain and stone. Not only did they need to be wary of winds and rain; they also had to watch out for flying boulders being thrown around carelessly by Giants. And that was a thought Bilbo never expected to fly through his head. Then again, has anything expected happened since Gandalf appeared in front of him many mornings ago?

“Fíli!” And right after that came a shout, probably from the mentioned Dwarf. Kíli reached for his brother who had slipped off the edge. One wrong move and they'd both fall. Bilbo, in a state of panic, hurried to help them. He grabbed Kíli from behind, somehow getting him out of the way, and reached for the older of the two. The Hobbit was determined to save the Prince from falling to his demise. Surprising himself with his own strength, Bilbo pulled Fíli up.

Just in that moment, lightning and Giant combined their powers to crack a part of the Mountain away. The Company was divided into two; with Bifur, Fíli, Kíli and Ori nearly stumbling off. It was terrible, all of it. Bilbo had never been so afraid in his life. As the rocks moved, and the rain poured, and lightning crashed, they were reunited once more. Well, most of them, anyway. Bofur, being at the end of the line, noticed a certain someone's absence.

“Where's Bilbo? Where's the Hobbit?” he shouted, frantically looking around. During their adventure, the two had become good friends, but that's besides the point. The cracks shifted as the Giants moved about, rock grinding against rock, only to reveal little Bilbo hanging off the cliff just like Fíli earlier. The poor Hobbit was so afraid, he couldn't speak. Bofur ran towards him, extending his hand, but missed. Bilbo was sure this was where his journey ended.

And then someone fell beside him. He dared to look, dared to let his focus wander from keeping himself up and alive. Rolling down the cliff was none other than Thorin Oakenshield, who caught on to a small crack to keep balance. His other arm he used to push Bilbo up, his strong hand pressing against the Hobbit's butt. Bilbo squeaked, scrambling up to his feet while Dwalin helped Thorin climb back.

“Phew! I thought we'd lost our burglar,” exclaimed Bofur with joy, wrapping an arm around Bilbo's shoulders. The Hobbit remained silent.

“He's been lost ever since he left home,” Thorin argued, not even bothering to look at the person he so openly bullied. “He has no place amongst us.” Maybe things between them weren't going how Bilbo thought they were back in Rivendell, on that balcony, under the stars.

~×~×~×~

Kíli and Fíli had been sent to find shelter. They had very sharp eyes and were far younger than everyone else, which were things that gave them advantages. Everybody could see that it was absolutely no use sending Bilbo. The Hobbit was, for once, grateful that they all still doubted his abilities. He wouldn't have to risk himself, which was a rather selfish thought. His father would have killed him for being that way!

The Princes, while the Company struggled with rain, stumbled upon a cave. After a suspiciously short time, they crawled back to them, yelling so their voices could be heard over the harsh winds. “We have found a dry cave,” explained Fíli, to which Kíli only nodded. “Not far round the next corner!”

“Have you thoroughly explored it?” questioned Thorin, raising a brow at his sister-sons.

“Yes, yes!” they shouted in unison, though everybody knew they could not have been long about it; they had returned far too quick. Still, the Company did not have many (if any) options, so they followed them.

That was the dangerous part about caves; no one knew just how far back they go, or where they may lead to, or what waited inside. The wind was howling and the thunder growling, and they had a business getting all fourteen of them into a stuffy cave. Absolutely horrible. Before long they came to a big rock, behind which was a low arch in the side of the mountain. They passed under said arch, relieved that the wind and rain were finally outside, away from them.

They talked deep into the night, keeping their voices low in case something was nearby. They discussed what they'd do with their fourteenth share when they got it, which didn't seem so impossible right now. And so, they dropped off to sleep one by one. Most of them, anyway. Bilbo couldn't sleep for a long while; and when he did, he'd have the nastiest of dreams. That particular night, however, something entirely different kept the Hobbit up.

He couldn't do it any longer. Any of... this. The running, the constant fear, the near-death experiences, the deep feeling of not belonging, the homesickness... it all caught up to him at once. He felt nauseous, afraid, lost, and didn't know what to do with himself. Eventually, Bilbo made a decision. He quietly packed his stuff, grabbed his walking stick and carefully began to sneak out of the cave. It would be an awful journey back, he knew it, but he didn't doubt that he'd run into Gandalf somewhere along the way. The wizard, and his mother if she was alive, would be very disappointed in him, though he just... couldn't take it any longer. As he got to the entrance of the cave, someone called out to him. 

“Where do you think you're going?”

Bofur. Of course. Bilbo had forgotten that Thorin assigned night guards. The Hobbit, for a second, froze up, before sighing. It was no use to lie.

“I... I'm going back. To Rivendell.”

At this, Bofur's eyebrows raised so high that Bilbo was sure they went under his hat. “What?” asked the Dwarf, hurrying up towards him. His voice was a little louder than a meek whisper. “You can't turn back now! You're part of the Company; you're one of us.

“I'm not, though, am I?” Bilbo huffed, watching the conflicting emotions fly over Bofur's face. The genuine confusion, and dare he guess sadness, was terrible to watch, but he couldn't stop. His rambling went on. “Thorin said I never should have come and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins. I don't know what I was thinking. I should've never left that door.”

Thorin, of course, heard all of this. He felt a short, unexpected pang in his chest.

“You're homesick, I understand,” Bofur tried reasoning with Bilbo, tried to get the Hobbit to stay, but he wouldn't hear any of it. Bilbo found himself acting very irritated, and very rude. No, not rude; harsh.

“No, you don't! You don't understand, none of you do. You're Dwarves! You're used to– to this life, to living on the road, not sticking to one place, not belonging anywhere!”

And that was, obviously, the wrong thing to say. Bofur's face fell impossibly so. It was the most hurt Bilbo had ever seen the Dwarf. He immediately realized just how insensitive his words were. He was being hostile for no reason. “I... Look, I'm sorry, I didn't...” Words failed the Hobbit. Clearing his throat, he looked down at the floor, unable to look Bofur in the eye. Unable to look at his pain. The silence was eventually broken by the Dwarf.

“No, you're right,” he mumbled, turning to gaze at the Company over his shoulder, “we don't belong anywhere.” Bofur faced Bilbo again. “I wish you all the luck in the world,” here, he forced himself to smile. “I really do,” he sighed, patting the Hobbit's shoulder. Bilbo felt as if he might crumble to the floor from the weight of his sad eyes. He swallowed, offering a shaky smile in return, then hurried to take his leave. As he walked down the path, Bofur noticed something glowing from his waist.

“What's that?”

Oh, dear. Gandalf had mentioned that his sword would glow if Goblins and Orcs were nearby, but he didn't quite believe him. Not until now. Slowly, Bilbo drew the blade, revealing a blinding blue light. Suddenly panicked, he looked around, and that's when it happened.

~×~×~×~

Thorin, still pretending to be asleep, let his eyes wander. He listened carefully to what Bofur and Bilbo talked about. It was... painful, really, hearing Bilbo speak of them that way. Not only was it painful, but it was also insanely infuriating. How dare he insult his kin so freely? Does he not understand what they went through; what hardships they've faced? That little Hobbit had no right to say such things.

“What's that?”

The total change in subject caught the King off guard. He blinked, subtly turning just in time to see Bilbo with a glowing sword. For a moment, he was confused. Then he stilled. Of course, he knew that Bilbo wouldn't (and couldn't) harm anyone; that was not the reason for his concern. What struck him was that the Hobbit had his weapon out to begin with. He wondered what could have caused him to do so. Then the rocky floor beside him began to crumble, sucking the sand deep into a crack beginning to form. 

“Wake up!” Thorin shouted, shooting up from his position to gather everyone. The offensive words the Hobbit spat earlier were, momentarily, forced to the back of his mind. In that moment, he needed to make sure that everyone was safe. The Dwarves all jumped, grabbing their axes and swords and arrows, preparing for battle. Then the floor of the cave disappeared completely, making them all fall down.

Chapter Text

Down the Company went, falling to mysterious tunnels and rocks and bridges. They stumbled on some hard wood, only to immediately feel attacks coming from all sides. Thorin couldn't see where anyone was, or even what was in front of him. It was dark, and it was cold, and it was horrifying. The noises that the creatures let out made him realize that they were Goblins. Horrible things, they were. Thorin gathered the Company into one circle (like the one in Rivendell, if you remember), not realizing that Bilbo was missing. This time, no one noticed.

The Goblins were very rough, and pinched unmercifully, and chuckled in their horrible voices as they tormented the Dwarves. The creatures began to sing, keeping time with the way their feet tapped against stone, and shook their prisoners. It truly sounded and felt terrifying. What was worse was that Thorin found himself unable to do anything about it, as their weapons were taken away from them. The general meaning of the song was clear; for the Goblins took out their whips and whipped them, and then set them to run fast ahead, only to crush them with some other torture method once more. They ended up in a big, lit cavern, where the Goblin King awaited.

“Who are these miserable persons bold enough to come armed to my Kingdom?” asked he, completely ignoring the fact that he just produced the first ever rock song in Middle Earth.

“Dwarves, your malevolence. We found 'em on the front porch,” answered one of the Goblins.

“What are you doing in these parts?” the Great Goblin pressed, walking towards the Company slowly. Thorin was about to argue, but Óin stopped him.

“Don't worry, lads, I'll handle this,” he smirked, pushing for the front of the circle.

“No tricks,” demanded the Goblin, “I want the truth!”

“You're going to hafta speak up. Your boy's flattened my trumpet!”

“Oh, I'll flatten more than your trumpet!”

Before the argument escalated into a killing spree, Bofur stepped in. Thorin was, honestly, very grateful for the Dwarves that accompanied him. All quick on their tongue, and no less clever.

“If you want more information, I'm the one you should speak to,” the hatted Dwarf announced. The Goblin King thought about it, but gave in. He sat back in his ugly throne, keeping a close eye on the Company. Bofur took this as his sign to speak.

“Mhm... We were on the road. Well, it's not so much a road as a path... Actually, it's not even that, come to think of it; it's more like a track. Anyway, the point is, we were on this road like a path like a track, and then we weren't. Which is a problem because we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday...”

“Visiting distant relations!” Dori added loudly from behind. Bofur glanced at him, before nodding.

“So many brothers on my mother's side!”

But before they could continue making up any more relations and tracks and paths, the Goblin barked: “Shut up!” His subjects squealed, clearly very scared of their leader. The Company had no reaction. 

“If they will not talk; we'll make them squawk! Bring out the Mangler; the Bone Breaker!” He ordered, before his disgusting finger pointed right at Ori. “And start with the youngest.”

That had done it. This time, Thorin finally stepped forward, not wanting to risk the life of any of his kin just for some secrecy. When the Goblin King spotted him, his hand fell to his side. He recognized the Dwarf immediately, and a sickly grin spread across his fat face. “Well, well, isn't that Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrór, son of Thrain,” He paused, then bowed mockingly, “King Under the Mountain?” Thorin remained tight-lipped.

“Oh, but wait, you've no mountain. You don't rule any Kingdom. That makes you nothing, doesn't it?”

Thorin bristled. Without thinking, he reached for the blade that had gotten past the messy search of Goblins. One of them, however, noticed the action and grabbed his arm. Orcrist fell forward, and chaos ensued.

~×~×~×~

Poor little Bilbo had gotten lost. Somewhere at the beginning, he didn't know when, he was knocked out into one of passageways. He awoke with a horrible headache and small cuts over his ankles caused by sharp rocks. When his eyes opened, he wondered if they really were; for it was just as dark as with them shut. He found himself all alone, unable to hear and unable to see anything. 

Very slowly he got up and crawled around, feeling about with his hands so as to form a vague idea of where he was and what was around him. His head was swimming, his body ached, and it was dark and stuffy and uncomfortable all around. He pushed on until his palm landed on a cold, circular metal; a ring. Bilbo pocketed the ring without much thought, and sat down in a corner, where he stayed for a while.

The fear he felt threatened to consume him, as he could very faintly begin to hear the tumbling and croaking of the Goblins above. Subconsciously, he reached for the hilt of his sword, and drew it out. The blade almost immediately began to glow that familiar blue, and he felt his heart drop to the soles of his feet. Bilbo hurried up, nearly tripping over his own toes in the process. He hadn't used the sword yet, though something was telling him that now was the time.

Or maybe not. 

Sounds of running and screeching filled the darkness, reverberating across the tight rocky walls of wherever he ended up in. Bilbo stilled, moving swiftly to attempt to hide from the creatures. His breath came in ragged bursts; if it was nerves or fatigue, he wasn't sure. The Hobbit listened intently as something attacked the Goblin that went down the tunnels, no doubt searching for him. He continued to feel around with his free hand, all while keeping his eyes on the shining sword. When the croaks and cries of pain stopped, the blade stopped glowing. Whatever else was down there was no Goblin, nor was it an Orc.

Without any warning, Bilbo stepped into an odd source of water. It was freezing and felt suspiciously slimy. Shivering, he shook his foot around in a poor attempt to dry the fuzz over it. When he looked up, he noticed that he was in front of a pond, or a lake of some sort. Hobbits hated them, and ours was no different. He did not dare to wade into the murkiness. 

Then, something appeared on a rock in front of him. It was unnaturally pale, with eyes as big as the palms of its hands. They shone bright; perhaps even more than the sword. Its head was far too large for its skinny and small body. “Bless us and splash us, my preciousss,” it said, drawing the words slowly but confidently. Bilbo nearly jumped out of his skin when the hiss came in his ears. He grabbed his sword once more, waving it around for safety. “Who are you?”

“What iss it, my preciousss?” it asked, cocking its head to the side. After speaking, it made an odd noise, almost like a choke: gollum. Bilbo, subconsciously, named the creature just that. He also didn't appreciate the fact that Gollum completely ignored his question. That didn't mean that Bilbo would do the same, no.

“I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire... I've– I've lost my Dwarves, my wizard, and my way,” he stuttered, thrusting his blade forward in case Gollum jumped out from anywhere. “I don't quite know where I am, and, frankly, I don't want to. I just wish to find a way out.”

“A way outs, it wants! Bagginses wants a way out!” Gollum cheered, only to produce the same choke as before. He seemed to do so quite often.

“Yes... I do. Can you show it to me?”

To this, Gollum reacted by ignoring him. Again. The creature crawled around, staring at Bilbo the entire time. Eventually, after mumbling with himself, he turned around with the most innocent eyes he could muster. “Perhaps Bagginses sits here and chats with us a bit, my preciouss? It likes riddles?”

“Do– do I like riddles?” Bilbo repeated, blinking a couple of times out of confusion. Slowly, he drew his sword back in, figuring he wouldn't need it. Still, he needed to be careful with his words. “Hm, well, yes, I suppose I do.”

“It must have a competition with us,” Gollum pointed a thin finger at Bilbo. He sighed, feeling his shoulders slump. But he wasn't entirely ignored, for Gollum continued: “If precious asks, and it answers, we shows it the way out!”

“And... if I don't?”

“We... gollum!.. we eats it whole, my preciouss...”

“Oh, I say!” Bilbo gasped, sitting on a nearby rock. As hesitant as he was, it was his best and only choice at the moment. So, he put his hands over his knees. “Alright, then. You ask first,” he politely demanded, for he had not the time to think of a riddle. Gollum seemed to like the idea, so he began:

What has roots that nobody sees, is taller than trees? Up, up, up it goes, and yet it never grows?

“Easy,” said Bilbo, “a mountain!” Gollum seemed to be having fun, thankfully, even though Bilbo guessed right away. His childlike eyes never left our Hobbit, and he crouched in front of him. “Ask us!” Bilbo pondered for a bit, then did as told:

Thirty white horses on a red hill. First they champ, then they stamp, then they stand still.

It was a very old riddle, and he wasn't very surprised when Gollum answered: “Teef! Teefs, my preciouss!” His demeanor changed after that, and his pupils narrowed like a cats. “But we only has six.” Then, he asked his second:

Voiceless it cries, wingless flutters, toothless bites, mouthless... mutters...

“Half a second!” cried Bilbo, who was still too focused on the hunger consuming him. Getting his wits back, he finally remembered the answer. “Wind... of course,” he finished, putting on a mask of confidence and nonchalance. Gollum didn't like that. “Ask us again!” he shouted, jumping at Bilbo who immediately took his sword out again.

A– a box without hinges, key, or– or lid... Yet golden treasure inside is hid.

He asked that one so he could buy himself some time to think of something harder. Judging by the looks of it, even this was proving as a challenge for poor Gollum. He hissed to himself, but did not answer; he whispered and sputtered. After some time, Bilbo became impatient. “Well, what is it? The answer's not a boiling kettle, as you seem to think from the noises you are making.”

“Give us a chance, preciouss, give us a chance!”

After giving Gollum a much longer chance, he opened his mouth to push the creature for the answer. Gollum struggled for a while, squeezing his eyes closed as if the answer would magically show itself. Somehow, it did. “Eggses,” he mumbled. Upon hearing Bilbo grumble, he joyfully repeated: “Eggses it is! Eggses!” So, his third:

Alive without breath, as cold as death. Never thirsty, ever drinking, all in mail never clinking.

Alive without breath? All in mail never clinking? Bilbo ran his mind over for anything that could fit such a description. It proved as a poser for the poor Hobbit, for he had nothing to do with the water as long as he could help it. He cleared his throat once or twice, but not answer came. Gollum had run off, his voice echoing around stone. “Is it nice, my preciouss? Is it juicy? Is it... scrumptioussss?”

“Just a moment,” cried Bilbo again, shivering, “I gave you a good long chance just now.” Gollum sneered at him from the shadows, but allowed it. He put his hand in the water, and a fish jumped out right on Bilbo's foot. The answer was right under his nose– literally. “Fish! It's fish.” Gollum was very disappointed, and did not let Bilbo ask another question. Instead, he hurried out:

This thing all things devours: birds, beasts, trees and flowers. Gnaws iron, bites steel; grinds hard stones to meal. Stays king, ruins town, and beats high mountain down.

That was the longest riddle Bilbo had ever heard in his life. Also, he did not know it; and that thought terrified him. He sat in the darkness, holding his sword out with trembling hands. He raked his mind for all the Ogres and Giants he's heard of, but none of them had done such things. Gollum slowly crept up to the Hobbit, planning where he would bite him to prevent him from squirming while he's being eaten. He sat on the balls of his feet, shrugging with a twisted grin on his face. “Well, Bagginses... time's up.”

There it was. “Time,” shouted Bilbo, “time!” He was saved by pure luck, he knew it. Gollum was visibly fuming and tired from the game and hungry. He slapped his hands over cold stone, frustrated, and demanded: “It's got to ask uss another question, my preciouss, yesss... Just one more!”

Bilbo struggled. He was too tired to think of another riddle, and also too afraid to think clearly. He walked around, trying to come up with something. He scratched himself, pinched himself, and found that his hand wandered. Thinking aloud, he accidentally muttered: “What have I got in my pocket?..”

Gollum thought it was a riddle, and was rightfully upset. “Not fair! Not fair!” he hissed. Bilbo, confused turned around to face him. He immediately understood that Gollum has mistaken his thinking for a question, but he stuck to it. “No, that is my question. What have I got in my pocket?”

~×~×~×~

Bilbo had no idea how the situation escalated to quickly. One moment, he was having a riddle competition with Gollum; the next, he was running away from the creature in order to save himself. As it turned out, he was not shown the way out, so he was just wandering around helplessly. Although, as he progressed, more light came into view. That was a good sign, was it not? So, he ran. The little Hobbit ran as far as his legs could carry him. Not much passed before he suffered an unfortunate tumble, sending him to fly over many a rock.

He fell right on his behind, and something flew out of his hand. It was the ring he picked up earlier. Bilbo, in an attempt to catch it, accidentally slipped in on his finger. He didn't think that anything would happen. The only change he felt was the thumping of his heart, and the way time almost seemed to slow down. He shook his head, deciding that it was just fatigue messing with him and hid in one of the cracks. The hiding spot was absolutely horrible, but Gollum just hurried right past him. Confused, Bilbo peeked his head out. 

“Stop talking, my preciouss,” hissed Gollum, “and make haste. Bagginses is not far away gollum! It doesn't knows what Precious does...”

Bilbo almost gasped, but stopped himself by quietly placing his hand over his mouth. So the ring he had could turn him invisible. He heard of magical rings and powers before from his mother, but never guessed that he could find out. Still, there it was, and on they both went. Gollum argued with himself, hissed and cursed, while Bilbo quietly followed after him. They were rapidly approaching light. 

So they came to a stop. Gollum sat humped up right on the opening, but Bilbo could not get through. The creature had, inadvertently, taken him to the way out after all. Bilbo crept away from the wall as quietly as a mouse, but Gollum had heightened senses in the dark. He hissed menacingly. The Hobbit stopped breathing, and went stiff. He took his sword out slowly, placing it in front of Gollum. His narrowed eyes switched to those childish ones again, showing his fear and uncertainty and sadness. 

Pity mixed with horror welled up in Bilbo's heart. He couldn't do it. He remembered Gandalf's words: ‘True courage is not knowing when to take a life; but when to spare one’. So, he did that. He couldn't kill Gollum, not when he was so miserable and lost. Bilbo trembled, drawing his sword in. Then, he took a few steps back, and ran forward. He leapt over Gollum's head, causing the poor thing to fall off the rock he was posted up on. It cried out, immediately turning around to watch Bilbo as he sprinted out. He took the ring off just in time for Gollum to see his buttons popping off on the way out.

“Thief, thief, thief Bagginses! We hates it, we hates it, we hates it forever!”

~×~×~×~

Gandalf, Thorin and Co. managed to escape the Goblin tunnels. It was an amazing feat, but so exhausting. Thorin was relieved that everyone made it out without even a scratch on them. They all ran down hill, fighting off the last of the Goblins, until they reached trees and sunlight. Those cursed creatures could follow them no more. As the Dwarves hurried down, Gandalf counted them in order of descension.

“Five, six, seven, eight... Bifur, Bofur; that's ten... Fíli, Kíli! That's twelve... and Bombur! That makes thirteen,” he said, then looked around. The number was not the one he wished. “Where's Bilbo? Where is our Hobbit?” No one answered. Gandalf, frustrated and worried, repeated his question. Just much louder. That snapped everyone out of their trance, and they began searching for Bilbo. Little did they know that he was not far away from them, just invisible.

“Curse that halfling,” grumbled Dwalin, “now he's lost! I thought he was with Dori!”

“Don't blame me!” Dori argued, nervously looking at the wizard of their Company.

“But where did you last see him?” Gandalf asked.

“I think I saw him slip away when the Goblins caught us,” Nori pointed out, motioning to the direction where they all came from.

“But what happened to him? Tell me!” demanded Gandalf once more.

That's when Thorin interjected, visibly fuming. He stepped forward, pushing through the bundle of Dwarves that separated him from Gandalf. “I'll tell you what happened,” he barked, “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it. He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and warmth since first he stepped out of his door,” here, he paused. “We will not be seeing our Hobbit again.” The way he said it almost sounded like a slur, and the Company all cringed. Some even seemed saddened by the thought of Bilbo leaving.

No one said anything for a while; not even the wizard. Kíli and Fíli continued looking around, as if hoping that Bilbo would jump out of a bush, or from wherever. That is exactly what happened.

“No... you will,” Bilbo appeared from thin air, barely a scratch on him. All eyes darted to him, and half the Company sighed in relief. Some even smiled.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Gandalf stepped forward, “I've never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”

Thorin was silent through it all. He wasn't sure what to feel, what to think. What he said earlier was true; if Bilbo wanted to flee, he could have. Yet, there he was; standing in front of them, smiling, buttons missing from his loosened waistcoat. A small part of the Dwarf felt relieved. He didn't understand it.

“How on Earth did you get past the Goblins?” Fíli asked from beside Kíli, who was grinning wide.

“How, indeed?” added Dwalin.

Bilbo stammered for a moment, unsure what to say. It seemed as though he was hiding something, but Thorin just couldn't tell what it was. Or maybe he was just under shock. The Hobbit awkwardly chuckled, shoving his hand in his pocket. Sensing that the Dwarves would demand an answer, Gandalf broke through the tense atmosphere. “Oh, what does it matter? He's back!”

“It matters,” Thorin finally spoke, eyes pointed right at Bilbo. “I want to know. Why did you come back?” Wait. He didn't mean to ask that. No, he wanted to ask how, not why. But, oh well, the question was already out. He needed some answer regardless. He could see Bilbo's breathing pick up as they stared at each other. After finally forming the words, he spilled.

“I know you doubt me. I– I know– I know you always have. And you're right; I often think of Bag End,” he shrugged, shuffling from one foot to another. “I miss my books, and my armchair, my garden. See, that's where I belong. That's home,” Bilbo pointed down the mountain. Another pause. Thorin narrowed his eyes, subconsciously feeling his body stiffen. But Bilbo wasn't about to stop there. “That's why I came back. You don't have one...a home. It was taken from you.”

The Company all looked at each other, not expecting such words to leave their Hobbit. Bofur leaned against one of the trees, sighing to himself. Thorin, on the contrary, found himself taking a step closer to Bilbo. It was small, barely noticable, but it was there. It was as if his body and heart were acting instead of his mind, which was a rare occurrence for him.

“But,” Bilbo caught the movement, though continued as if he did not, “I will help you take it back. If I can.”

Thorin immediately looked at the ground. This Hobbit was something else. Perhaps Gandalf was right about him. Perhaps there was more to Bilbo than meets the eye. The Dwarf felt almost ashamed for constantly bringing him down now. His words failed him in that moment, so all he did was offer the smaller one a grateful nod. That didn't even begin to explain the turmoil of emotion swirling through his chest, seeping into his bones. 

Chapter Text

“I am dreadfully hungry,” groaned Bilbo, walking next to Gandalf as the Company cascaded downhill. The Hobbit didn't have one meal since the night before the night before last (or, that's what Gandalf said). His stomach felt empty and his legs were weak. The adrenaline and excitement had left him entirely. He trudged on, pretending not to notice the lingering glances Thorin threw his way.

“Can't help it,” shrugged Gandalf, who probably didn't suffer such starvation. “Unless you wish to politely ask the Goblins to lend you your luggage?”

“No thank you!” hurried Bilbo, subconsciously toying with the area on his waistcoat that once carried fabolous buttons. He sniffed, his nose twitching nervously. In that short moment of looking at his feet, the wizard moved to a different part of the line. Bilbo sighed, but trudged on. He didn't want to be supper, or have none himself.

“Mister Bilbo?” someone called from behind. He didn't even have to turn around to realize that it was Ori, but did so anyway. It was rude not to look at the person you are speaking to, after all. There stood the young dwarf, gloved hands rubbings together with an almost childlike curiosity, or nervousness. Bilbo hummed, letting go of his poor waistcoat for the time being. Ori took the hint and went on: “We... truly appreciate your kind words, Mister Bilbo. We thank you for joining us on this quest; for not leaving us.”

Bilbo halted, causing Ori to follow suit. His mouth was slightly agape, showing that the Hobbit was very surprised by the gratitude. He didn't even notice the few Dwarves that passed them by, until Dori appeared and pulled his youngest away. Bilbo didn't have time to tell him that ‘it was no problem’ or ‘no big deal’, but really, it was. The Hobbit just didn't seem to realize.

It was a very big deal, in fact. At least, if you asked the Dwarves about it. They would all give the same answer generally, some would just be more closed-off and nonchalant about it than others. And the leader? Well, Thorin was... lost. Not for the first, and certainly not the last, time, Thorin Oakenshield was mentally lost because of one halfling.

~×~×~×~

The Sun had long gone behind the mountains. Shadows were deepening around them, threatening to swallow them whole if they weren't careful. The Company and Gandalf limped along as fast as they were able down the gentle slopes of a pine forest. It smelled divine, Bilbo thought... Actually, as divine as it could, given that not a single one of them had bathed properly since Rivendell. Either way, there was no wind that evening. The silence got heavier, and the gloom darker.

“Must we go any further?” asked Kíli, who was behind our Hobbit. Bilbo, for his part, could not see a thing besides Thorin's hair next to him waving about as they stalked, the curls bouncing off his shoulders. He could hear every breath, every shudder, like a loud noise.

“A bit further,” Gandalf lied, because of course he did. They only showed signs of stopping after what felt like ages further. They reached a clearing with little to no trees, allowing them to soak in moonlight greedily. All of a sudden, they heard a howl from behind them. Then another. Then much more. In that moment, they all seemed to have one thought at the same time: Wargs. Just great.

“Escaping Goblins to be caught by Wargs!” cried Bilbo, running after the Dwarves as fast as his legs could manage. Even so, he found himself at the back of the line. And he hated it. 

“Up the trees! Quick!” Gandalf shouted, already halfway up one of the pine trees. The Company followed shortly after, splitting into groups so the poor things wouldn't break under their weight. However, little Bilbo struggled to climb. Of course, he had climbed a fair share of trees in his life, though none were like these ones. The Hobbit was already prepared for his fate– being eaten by a Warg. The idea sent a chill down his spine. He scuffled from trunk to trunk, hoping to find one he could get on.

“You've left the burglar behind again!” Nori reprimanded Dori. The older one puffed his cheeks stubbornly, pouting, “I can't always be carrying Hobbits around! What am I, a porter?” The two continued arguing for, really, far too long. One Dwarf decided that he had heard enough, and he made that known. Very known.

“He'll be eaten if we don't do something!” Thorin barked at them, feeling his fingers grip the tree tighter. There was no need for such a strong hold, though his nerves had gotten the best of him. He kept telling himself that the worry etched in his soul was purely because of Bilbo's role. If the Hobbit were to die, they'd lose their burglar. That was all. “Dori!”

Dori, ever the decent fellow, climbed out of the tree and let Bilbo scramble up his back to reach the lowest of branches. Just at that moment the Wargs trotted into the clearing. They were getting dangerously close, and poor Dori was still on the ground. Bilbo hurried up, and then reached for the Dwarf, who he pulled up with all the strength he had left in his body. Just in time!

In a minute, there was a whole pack of them surrounding the Company, and a couple had Orcs on their back. Bilbo trembled. Last time, they were in an open field with caves to hide in, but now they only had trees. Some time was bought, however, as Wargs cannot climb. Still, sitting on branches could only be so comfortable for a short while.

Gandalf was not going to let them have it their own way, for he began gathering huge pine cones. Probably the biggest Bilbo had ever seen in his life, as well as some of the Dwarves from the looks of it. Then the wizard set one alight with bright blue fire, and threw it down among the circle of Wargs. He began lighting more of them, each a different color, and tossed them to the Company to throw. Fíli and Kíli seemed most eager to join in on the fireworks. 

And then it happened. As the clearing lit on fire, as the few Wargs began to scramble, he showed up. The Company watched with bated breath as Azog the Defiler rode into the night, his Warg howling most terrifyingly. Bilbo, he was not sure why, immediately looked over at Thorin. The Dwarf's blood ran cold and his face paled. Azog was alive, and out for blood. The Orc yelled into the trees in his fowl language, and Bilbo was for once thankful that he didn't speak many languages. Then his voice lowered, as his gaze zeroed in on Thorin. The next words were clear: “Thorin... son of Thrain... you are mine!”

The remaining Wargs began to jump at their trees, ripping branches off and getting awfully close to biting Bilbo's toes clean off. He scurried away, as high as he could, gripping the tree so hard it well could have snapped. He closed his eyes tight, shaking from fear of what was to come. Azog laughed mercilessly. The fire continued to spread, but that didn't seem to stop him. But it did stop his people, and they ran away. The Company cheered, and Bilbo allowed himself a little peek. The Pale Orc was left all alone. Then the cheering stopped.

Bilbo looked up in time to see Thorin grabbing his sword, years of pent up grief and rage flaming in his eyes brighter than any fire ever will. He climbed down the tree slowly, not saying a single word. Time seemed to slow down in the Hobbit's eyes as he stared at their leader, who fearlessly began to charge forward. He wanted to scream, to tell him to come back, that it wasn't a good time, but his throat dried. Thorin walked through fire, cut through branch, and jumped over stone while holding Orcrist next to him. He was prepared to end Azog's life right there. The Orc grinned, murmuring to his Warg. The animal charged forward and jumped over Thorin, kicking his face in the process. The King fell.

As he pushed himself up, Azog turned around, slamming his warhammer into the Dwarf's nose. The King fell again, and this time getting up was not an option. The Warg bit through his abdomen, piercing his body. Thorin screamed in agony, pain cursing through his veins and into his eyes. Those sky blues, still, had never burned brighter. He moved his free arm, swinging Orcrist into the Warg's snout. The creature spit him out, throwing him onto a faraway boulder. The King did not move. The Company stilled, frozen in their tracks and unsure of what to do.

Bilbo looked around, trying to see if anyone would do anything. No one did. No one moved a muscle, as if afraid they'd be next. Azog stepped forward, jumping off his Warg. He pulled out his axe, stepping over Thorin. He raised the weapon high up, preparing to cut off the Dwarf's head, and Bilbo saw red. He didn't know where his courage came from, but he would forever be thankful for it. The Hobbit silently climbed down, ignoring the hushed protests from Gandalf and the Dwarves. 

Just as the axe was about to make contact with Thorin's neck, Bilbo charged forward, slamming his full weight into Azog's side. He pushed the Orc away from Thorin, sending them both tumbling down. The Hobbit was pushed to the ground, staring wide-eyed at Azog's blade. Filled with the need to protect, his adrenaline spiked, and with surprising strength he kicked. Azog was sent tumbling again, but quickly got up and climbed his Warg. He bared his teeth at Bilbo, showing him that this clearly was not over. Then another Orc approached, though this one was much weaker. Bilbo quickly got on top of it, and plunged his glowing sword deep into its stomach.

Then he got up again. One look at Thorin was enough to tell him that the Dwarf was unconscious. He ran forward, standing in front of him to face the few Orcs that appeared. He gripped his sword, his heart racing, his palms sweating, but he didn't back down. In an act of desperation, he swung, not really knowing where his aim was. Realizing it did absolutely nothing, the Hobbit stopped. That's when Kíli and Fíli jumped down, who skillfully swung their own blades and managed a good handful of hits. Then everyone else joined, and Bilbo followed. In the ruckus, a Warg hit his side, sending him flying straight to Azog.

Terrified, though still eager to protect, he crawled in Thorin's direction. No Orc would ever land a finger on the Dwarf. Not if he could help it. He glanced at Thorin, whose eyes were closed and breaths shallow. In that moment, giant Eagles flew down, fighting Orc and Warg alike. While some fought, the other's began to pick up the Company and fly off. An Eagle swiftly caught little Bilbo, who yelled one last time: “Pick him up carefully! Just the fingertips, watch the talons!” Even in such a position, he cared for Thorin. A lot.

~×~×~×~

The Eagles carried them deep into the night, well into sunrise. Bilbo could not take his eyes off Thorin the entire time, for the Dwarf showed no signs of waking any time soon. He stopped paying attention to the scenery below, afraid that he'd miss so much as a blink from Thorin. He hoped his rescuing wasn't too late. He begged whichever God was listening, let it be Mahal or Lady Yavanna, that the Dwarf would live. Without him, the Quest would be for naught.

They soon were dropped carefully among smaller mountains, in the middle that Gandalf had called ‘The Carrock’. Thorin was lowered first, and Gandalf right after. The Company came then, one after another. Little Bilbo was last. He arrived just in time to see the wizard crouching over the Dwarf, mumbling to himself with his palm covering the former's face. It was some magic, alright, for Thorin awoke right away. Bilbo felt like he could finally breathe again. The Dwarf, albeit drowsy, forced his words in a rasped voice: “The halfing?” In response, Gandalf only smiled and nodded. “He's alright. Bilbo is here, quite safe.”

Bilbo felt... honored, really, that he was Thorin's first thought. As selfish as that may seem. The Dwarf pushed himself up, using the support of Kíli and Dwalin to rise to his feet. As soon as he was standing, he shoved them away. Bilbo watched silently, feeling his heart swell...

“You!”

...then break.

“What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!” Thorin shouted, taking a step closer. Confused, Bilbo glanced at Gandalf. He wasn't sure why the Dwarf was complaining. His life was saved, and he still had no good things to say. Bilbo sighed. “Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?” With every harsh word, Thorin inched closer, and Bilbo felt stiffer. His eyes downcast, the Hobbit frowned, feeling a deep sadness overwhelm him. Thorin's breathing came ragged, his body language and eyes showing anger. Everything stilled. 

Bilbo, still heartbroken, dared to look up. He swallowed, and almost choked on his own spit. Thorin's eyes, suddenly softened, met his frightened ones. His brows, for once, weren't furrowed. His footsteps became quicker as he approached. “I have never been so wrong in all my life,” he sighed, wrapping his arms tightly around the smaller being. Bilbo froze. His heart rate spiked, pounding so hard he was sure Thorin could feel it. The Dwarf's nose brushed against his pointed ear, his prickly beard and warm breaths tickling his neck. The Company cheered, and Bilbo found himself returning the embrace just as tight. He smiled. Wide.

Thorin let go soon. Way too soon. Actually, Bilbo wouldn't have complained if he spent the rest of of his days in those arms, but that was a crazy thought. Still in a daze, he almost missed how the Dwarf held his arms and checked him for any injuries. Seeing that he was fine, his hands fell to Bilbo's wrists. He could see the surprise, and immeasurable relief in the Hobbit's eyes. “I'm sorry I doubted you.”

That caused Bilbo to snap out of his trance. The Company watched in silence as the two held on to each other, staring at the other as if none else existed. “No– no, I would have doubted me, too,” Bilbo reassured, then stepped back. “I'm not a hero,” he shook his head, “or a warrior. Not even a burglar,” here, he shot a look at Gandalf, then focused on Thorin. Thorin, who was smiling kindly at him. That smile turned into something akin to awe as he let his eyes wander behind the burglar. Bilbo turned, and there it was. Tall and proud stood the Lonely Mountain. There stood Erebor. Thorin, speechless, ran forward. Of course, Bilbo followed, as did the Company. 

“Erebor,” Thorin breathed, voice no louder than the breeze. “It is... not so far away as it once was.” His eyes shaped the sharp peaks. “I will take it as a sign,” his cheeks formed another smile as he looked down at Bilbo, “a good omen.” And on Bilbo his eyes stayed.

“I do believe the worst is behind us,” added the Hobbit because, really, what could be worse than almost losing Thorin?

~×~×~×~

On that same day, the Company found a small river. Actually, it was more like a stream, but they were happy with whatever they got. They needed to get the dirt and blood and grime off their bodies, as well as refill their water tanks. The stream was basically see-through and ice cold. After checking just in case, Óin confirmed that it was clean enough to drink. Thankfully. One after the other, they began taking their clothes off. Kíli and Fíli were most excited about the washing, though the blond wasn't half as mischievous about it as his brother.

Bilbo hopped in last, still not quite used to seeing the Dwarves'... intimate areas, so to speak. He was a respectful Hobbit, so he wouldn't stare, but he still felt a tad uneasy. Back in Rivendell, he had rocks to hide behind, but that wasn't an option this time. He stepped in, feeling a light chill go through his toes, then quickly sat down. Flushed from all the nakedness around him, Bilbo forced his eyes not to wander. Especially not toward their leader who had quite strong arms. He hadn't actually looked before. Didn't bother to. Now? Now, his suspicions from the Troll incident were proved true, Thorin was a little plump in the abdomen. He wasn't pure muscle, after all, which somehow made the Dwarf more pleasing.

“Mr. Boggins,” Bilbo jumped at the voice, gripping his arm tighter. Had he been staring? For how long? Did anyone notice? Before his thoughts could spiral, Kíli popped up into his view, with Fíli short behind. Bilbo hummed, faking nonchalance. It did not work. “Sorry, we didn't mean to scare you,” laughed the brunet. “We were just wondering–”

“We?” Fíli raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, we,” Kíli shot back. “Anyway, as I was saying, we were wondering something. Why'd you jump forward like that last night? You could have gotten in serious trouble,” he tilted his head, attempting to seem genuine. The little glint in his eye and the faintest quirk of his lips was enough to tell Bilbo that these weren't casual questions. He had to be careful.

“Well,” the Hobbit began, “I just... didn't wish for Thorin to die. Really, I do not see the point of him suffering ill fate before we even reach Erebor.” With that, he took some water from the stream to clean his face with.

“See? I told you, Kí. You're not getting anything from him,” Fíli pulled his younger brother away. Bilbo didn't think about the ominous delivery of that sentence. Instead, he busied his hands with the dirt on his body. Just like in Rivendell, the Dwarves simply could not bathe normally. It was, in all honesty, quite entertaining. Bilbo felt his thoughts disappearing, and a smile adorned his face. He dared inch closer. Perhaps he'd be part of their tomfoolery some day.