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The legend of Bilbo Baggins, as far as the Shire was concerned, was one of respectable lineages, lace doilies, and a complete lack of adventure. But legends were often curated lies, and Bilbo Baggins had spent a significant portion of his youth being remarkably un-Baggins-like.
Before the return to Bag End, before the death of his parents, and before the respectability of his fifties, Bilbo had been a ghost in the streets of Dale and a shadow in the Blue Mountains. He had been a thief of the highest caliber, someone who operated under the shadow of a heavy grey cloak.
And he had a partner in crime.
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The evening at Bag End was a nightmare of ringing bells and uninvited Dwarves. Bilbo had been handling the influx of the Company with his usual flustered hospitality, but inwardly, his heart was hammering against his ribs. He had recognized Dwalin the moment the door opened. He remembered that face, he’d seen it through a rainy alleyway in the Blue Mountains five years ago, right before he’d lifted a heavy purse from Dwalin’s belt and vanished into the fog. Dwalin had chased him for three miles, but Bilbo had been faster.
Then came Thorin. The King in Exile. Bilbo’s hands shook as he served the ale. He had stolen from Thorin, too. A silver signet ring, taken on a dare from a tavern table in Ered Luin. He still had it tucked in a floorboard in the pantry.
The chaos of the Unexpected Party was reaching its peak. Dwarves were stacking dishes, Bofur was playing the flute, and Thorin Oakenshield was brooding by the fireplace. Bilbo, meanwhile, was leaning against the kitchen counter, trying to stop his hands from shaking. He had spent the last hour avoiding eye contact with Dwalin, terrified the massive warrior would recognize the eyes of the thief who had robbed him in the Blue Mountains.
Then came the final knock.
When the door opened, a Dwarf with hair styled into three gravity-defying points sauntered in. He looked at the wreckage of the pantry, then at the flustered Hobbit.
"Honey, I'm home!" Nori shouted, his voice echoing into the rafters.
Dori dropped a stack of saucers, which Bilbo caught with a reflex so fast it was almost unnatural. "Nori?" Dori gasped. "What are you- where have you been?"
Nori ignored his brother. He walked straight to Bilbo and pulled him into a rough, one-armed embrace, messing up the Hobbit’s perfectly groomed curls. "Look at you! Put on a bit of 'respectable' weight, haven't you, Bilbo-lad? I told you that Shire air would make you soft."
"And I told you that your hair would eventually attract nesting birds, Nori," Bilbo retorted, a genuine, sharp-toothed grin breaking through his frantic mask. "You’re late."
"Ran into a bit of trouble with a magistrate in the South Farthing," Nori shrugged, already reaching into his coat to produce a silver teaspoon that Bilbo recognized as his own. He handed it back with a wink. "Found this on the porch. Thought you might miss it."
Dori and Ori stared, mouths agape. "Nori," Ori whispered, stepping forward, "how do you know the Halfling?"
"Know him?" Nori laughed, grabbing a wedge of cheese. "This is my brother in all but blood, little Ori. We’ve spent more nights in the shadows of Dale and the Blue Mountains than you’ve spent in the library. He’s the only one I’d trust at my back when the city watch is closing in."
Ori’s face fell, a flicker of hurt crossing his features. "But... I'm your brother."
"You’re my kin, Ori," Nori said, ruffling the boy's hair, though his eyes stayed on Bilbo. "But Bilbo and I? Its different…dont worry about it”
Dori hugged ori glaring at nori as the star haired dwarf walked off to Bilbo.
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In the Last Homely House, the Company felt out of place, but Bilbo felt at home amidst the ancient things. However, Lord Elrond was not easily fooled by Hobbit-sense.
One evening, as the Company examined the moon-runes on the map, Elrond walked past Bilbo. The Elf-lord paused, his ageless eyes settling on the Hobbit’s waistcoat.
"A fascinating garment, Master Baggins," Elrond said smoothly. "The embroidery is Shire-work, but the stitching of the pockets... it reminds me of the craftsmanship found in the more 'shaded' districts of Dale. It is designed for weightless concealment."
Thorin looked over, frowning. "What are you suggesting, Elf?"
"Only that your burglar has a very particular set of skills," Elrond smiled, a knowing glint in his eyes. "I once knew of a shadow in Dale who could lift the keys from a captain’s belt without the man feeling the breeze. That shadow had a stride very similar to your friend's."
Bilbo went very still. Nori, standing nearby, coughed loudly. "Must be a Hobbit thing, Lord Elrond! Big feet, light steps, you know how it is!"
As Elrond walked away, he cast one last look over his shoulder. "Indeed. But do be careful, Thorin Oakenshield. Sometimes the things we lose are taken by those closest to us, and we are too blind to see the hand in our own pockets."
Thorin grumbled something about Elvish riddles, but the seed of confusion remained. Bilbo waited until Thorin was gone before turning to Nori.
"He knows," Bilbo hissed.
"He’s an Elf, Bilbo. They see everything," Nori whispered back, grinning. "Just don't lift his silverware and we'll be fine. I already checked, it's all engraved. It wouldn't sell well”
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The journey through the Wild was a masterclass in petty larceny. Bilbo, bored by the long marches, had taken to "practicing" on his companions. It became a game, one only he and Nori truly understood.
One afternoon, during a brief rest near the eaves of Mirkwood, Gloin let out a frustrated growl.
"My silver tinderbox! It was in my hand not five minutes ago!"
"And my favorite carving knife!" Bofur cried, searching his bedroll.
Dori looked at nori with a suspicious narrowness in his eyes. "Nori? Have you been 'collecting' again?"
Nori, who was lounging against a tree, held up his empty hands with a smug grin. "Not me, Dori. I’ve been right here where you could see me."
Bilbo sat nearby, busily sewing a patch onto his trouser knee. He looked the picture of innocence. "Perhaps the squirrels took them, Gloin. They are quite attracted to shiny things."
Nori’s eyes flickered to Bilbo. He noticed the Hobbit’s pocket was bulging in a way that defied the laws of physics. With a lightning-fast motion, Nori reached over and gave Bilbo’s waistcoat a firm pat.
Clang. Rattle. Thud.
A silver tinderbox, a carving knife, two of Oin’s hearing trumpets, and a decorative spoon from Dori’s traveling kit tumbled onto the grass.
"Bilbo!" Dori gasped, clutching his chest. "You stole from the Company? From me?"
"I was merely testing your alertness," Bilbo said, his face flushing a bright beet-red as he reluctantly pushed the items back toward their owners. "In the Wild, one must keep their belongings secure. You’re all far too lax." nori didnt miss the way the hobbit glared at him and mumbled “rat” under his breath
Nori let out a cackle, but then he paused. He felt a strange weight at the back of his head, right in the middle of his star-shaped hair spikes. He reached up, digging into the stiff, lacquered braids, and pulled out Dwalin’s heavy iron whetstone.
Nori’s jaw dropped. He looked at the whetstone, then at Bilbo. "You... you put this in my hair? When? I didn't even feel it!!”
Bilbo gave him a cheeky, sharp-toothed wink. "You were distracted, Nori. A true professional never misses an opening."
The rest of company stare in shock unable to get the words out
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As they neared the Lonely Mountain, the tension between the "thief-brothers" and the actual brothers reached a boiling point. Dori and Ori spent their evenings watching Nori and Bilbo share secret jokes and coded hand signals, feeling like outsiders in their own family.
One night, Bilbo found Nori sitting alone on a high ridge, staring back toward the West. Bilbo sat beside him, offering a bit of dried apple.
"They miss you, you know," Bilbo said softly.
"They’re smothering," Nori grunted. "Dori wants me to be a merchant, and Ori thinks I'm some sort of tragic hero. They don't understand the life, Bilbo. Not like you."
"They don't have to understand the 'life' to love the man," Bilbo countered. He looked at Nori with the fierce loyalty of a partner. "Nori, you called me 'brother' back at Bag End. It nearly broke Ori’s heart. He looks up to you. He wants to be part of your world, even if he doesn't have the stomach for a heist."
Nori looked away, his expression pained.
"Give them a shot," Bilbo urged. "You don't have to tell them about the Dale job or the Blue Mountain purses. Just... let them in. If we don't make it out of this mountain, do you really want your last memory of them to be a cold shoulder?"
Nori sighed, the fight going out of him. "You’re a soft-hearted rogue, Baggins. That's going to get you caught one day."
"Maybe," Bilbo smiled. "But at least I'll have family waiting for me at the station."
Later that night, for the first time in months, Nori sat with Dori and Ori, teaching Ori a "secret" knot that was actually used for tethering getaway ponies. Dori watched from the shadows, his eyes misty, and offered Bilbo an extra helping of stew as a silent thank-you.
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The battle was won. The Arkenstone had been returned. The gold-sickness had broken.
Thorin sat in a grand meeting room with Thranduil and Bard. They were finalizing the treaties that would define the new era of the North. On the table sat the Royal Signet and the primary treaty, a heavy parchment sealed with gold wax.
"The terms are fair," Bard said, reaching for his copy of the scroll.
His hand met empty wood.
"What?" Bard blinked. He looked down. The scroll was gone.
"I beg your pardon," Thranduil said, his Elven eyes narrowing as he looked at the space where the Royal Signet had been sitting just seconds ago. "Where is the seal?"
Thorin looked down, his face going pale. "It was right here. I haven't moved my hands."
The three leaders looked at each other, genuinely baffled. Even Thranduil, with his heightened senses, had felt nothing. No draft, no movement, no sound.
From the corner of the room, a familiar, bright, and utterly irreverent laugh rang out. It wasn't the polite chuckle of a Hobbit; it was the sharp, triumphant bark of a thief who had just pulled off the impossible.
Bilbo was standing by a tapestry, tossing the Royal Signet into the air and catching it, while the treaty scroll was tucked neatly under his arm. He was laughing so hard his eyes were watering.
"You should see your faces!" Bilbo gasped. "Three of the most powerful men in Middle-earth! Ive always wanted to do that!!”
Thranduil stood slowly, looking more offended than shocked. "How? I am a King of the Woodland Realm. I would have felt a moth land on that table."
"You were looking at the map, Thranduil," Bilbo chuckled. "People only see what they expect to see. And they don't expect a Hobbit”
Suddenly, Dwalin, who had been standing guard at the door, let out a strangled sound. He stared at Bilbo, his eyes widening with a realization years in the making. That laugh. He’d heard that laugh once before, muffled by the rain in a dark alleyway in the Blue Mountains five years ago.
"The cloak," Dwalin whispered, his voice rising in volume. "The grey cloak! The thief who lifted my purse and mocked me from the rooftops!"
Bilbo’s laughter doubled. He looked at Dwalin and gave him a cheeky, two-fingered salute. "You were always so slow on the turns, Dwalin! I thought for sure you’d have caught me by the third mile!"
"YOU!" Dwalin roared, half-furious and half-impressed. "I chased you through three districts! I’ll have your hide for that!"
Dwalin lunged, but Bilbo was already moving. He ducked under a chair and vaulted over the table, still clutching the treaty. He ran toward the door, his laughter echoing through the stone halls of Erebor.
"Catch me if you can, Master Dwarf!" Bilbo cried.
Dwalin scrambled over the furniture, his heavy boots thundering. "Get back here, you little devil! I want my interest on that gold!"
Thorin watched them go, a look of absolute, stunned adoration on his face. He didn't care about the treaty. He didn't care about the seal. He looked at the empty space where Bilbo had been and felt his heart, the one thing he hadn't realized was missing, finally settle into place.
Nori strolled into the room, leaning against the doorframe next to a very smug Gandalf.
"I told you, Majesty," Nori said, winking at the King. "He’s a professional. You never stood a chance."
Gandalf blew a long, celebratory smoke ring that floated toward the ceiling. "Indeed, Thorin. You asked for a Burglar. I believe I delivered the finest one in the business."
Thorin sat back, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Nori chuckled, nudging Ori, who was standing beside him with a wide, proud grin. "Come on, kid. Let’s go watch the chase. My money’s on the Hobbit…. By the way thorin this is the third time now. …. Your ring you “lost” in the blue mountains is currently in bag-ends floor boards”
Thorin stared at nori’s retreating form and sighed and covered his face to hide the flush of his cheeks at bilbo's audacity