[He doesn't sleep yet; princes don't need much sleep, and a prince he is, or so his mother has told him. Instead, he likes to explore the mountain which is so different from the Iron Hills he's spent the first nine years of his life in, and yet so much the same. This time, his way leads him to one of the doors in the guest quarters. There is still light; the inhabitant is not asleep yet.] Mis'er Boggins? [He peeks around the door, smiling.] Can ye no sleep properly? (lioncubunderthemountain)
Lady Dis’s proposition early that morning had been a steady presence throughout the day, never straying far from the Hobbit’s mind as he wandered Erebor’s halls late into the evening. Eventually, Bilbo returned to his guest quarters, lighting a candle before sitting on the edge of the bed. Sleep evaded him, his hands clasped together while his thumbs rubbed against each other, the same decision somersaulting in his mind. Did he accept Lady Dis’s offer to remain in Erebor, permanently, or did he decline and return to Bag-End? On one hand, the Hobbit missed the Shire, the rolling green hills speckled with a myriad of flowers reflected by a myriad of stars in the night. He longed for his books, his garden, and his armchair, as he had stated before, and his own home’s memory had been the impetus spurring him to aid the Dwarves in reclaiming their home. Yet…she had said that Thorin needed him, had spoken with utter surety as she claimed him to be one of the few Thorin had opened his inner thoughts to, on occasion. Also, save for a very select few, there would be none that would be greatly affected if he chose not to return to the Shire, not a face that sprang to his mind in anticipation of returning. No, he had lived alone, and had been quite content with his lot. But, but he had changed, and now…now could this mountain become a place he felt to belong? Promising to even have his possessions delivered to him if he stayed, Dis had attempted to ease the possible transition. Yet still, a lone Hobbit midst a city of Dwarves, some that may not be quite fond of the idea, or claim that his sole intent on the quest had been this gain…there still was the matter of his having stolen their most precious heirloom, too, no matter his intentions.
Brows furrowing in perplexity with these thoughts, Bilbo only raised his fixated gaze at the sound of another’s voice, features softening at the sight of the tiny lad (this to distinguish him from his father, who had been very much a lad in the Hobbit’s humble opinion; less of one now, of course…but it still had been a shock to discover Fili had a son). He shook his head slightly, the little one more than ever reminding him of that mischievous uncle of his in some respects, before a small smile appeared.
"It appears not, not tonight anyway. What about you, little prince, for it must be quite past your bedtime?" Invitingly, however, Bilbo patted the space beside him on the bed, coaxing little Thorin to join him; better than the Dwarfling roaming the halls, after all; Fili would have to be told, of course…
