#propmpts

The loud noise echoed in the royal corridors of the reconquered dwarven city of Erebor. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, king under the mountain halted next to his head of guards and best friend, Dwalin. Both holding in their breaths expecting the sound to repeat itself. And repeat itself it did.

No more than five years had passed since the battle of the five armies took place in the lands connecting Erebor and Dale. Men and dwarves had worked hand in hand to turn each city inhabitable once again which was a tough yet rewarding work. Needless to say, the relative peace reached, especially when in diplomatic encounters with the elves, had been their own burglar's handy work.

Bilbo Baggins had been so kind as to forgive Thorin for his words and acts when sick with dragon fever, and had shown even a more affectionate heart if possible by leaving the Shire in favor of living in Erebor. Evidently, Baggend had been carefully put in the capable hands of Bilbo's gardener to keep in tip-top condition if he fancied a sunny holiday back at the Shire. A holiday he'd been careful enough to mention to all the members of the Company with an open invitation to accompany him once it took place.

If the notion that the stay at the Shire was meant to be a brief one smoothed Thorin's heartache nobody needed to know. Not only did the king have to endure Balin's knowing looks in court the moment Thorin's eyes softened while listening to Bilbo, but also his own confounded nephews were catching on to his lovestruck demeanor. Even Dís, his sister, had taken it upon herself to 'knock some sense' into him, as she expressed in her letters which came all the way from the Blue Mountains.

Thorin and Dwaling followed the sound, hands at the ready on their weapons. The royal wing had not presented too much dragon damage and it's been quite accommodating for Thorin, Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, and, of course, Bilbo. This license did not escape the Ereborians; they all knew what the king had intended with that simple move. Master Baggins, although a halfling, was meant to be respected as part of the royal family, he had won the acknowledgment of dwarf friend –which was unusual– and of savior as he not only took the Arkenstone from under Smaug's fauces but also kept it safe from Thorin's clouded mind.

Very well, Bilbo's chambers were the source of such noise. That notion nearly caused the king's heart to stop its essential work. However, the crouched figures against the ajar door calmed him down.

Fili and Kili were peaking through the slightly opened door, sharing confounded whispers. When sensing a presence behind them, the young dwarves tensed and turned their heads with their charming puppy eyes at the ready. Dwalin arched an eyebrow unimpressed.

"What are you two doing?" Thorin found himself whispering.

"Well, uncle, you see–" Before Fili could finish his sentence there was a crash inside the chamber.

"Confounded thing!! Wouldn't it work properly, no!!"

Bilbo's outburst slipped through the door. Fili and Kili shared a quick look before resuming their positions. Dwalin pushed the king slightly towards the door. Hence the current situation where the four dwarves spied on a very frustrated little hobbit covered in flour while mumbling to himself. The sight of Bilbo's big furry naked feet dancing around the shreds of some broken vase made Thorin's jaw tense.

Before Bilbo could hurt himself or accomplish whatever it was that he was so worked up about, the weight of those four dwarves pushed the door open making them fall. A pretty similar event came to the hobbit's mind when he saw a pile of dwarves on his threshold.

"Can I help you?" Bilbo's ability to pronounce a fairly polite question with a threatening tone and warning behind his eyes was a marvel.

Sputtering nonsense the dwarves put themselves together producing a cacophony of incredible excuses.

"Yes, well… It doesn't matter anymore. That confounded thing wouldn't work!"

"May I ask what's the problem, Master Baggins?" Thorin approached him.

"I was trying to bake one of my late mother's recipes. It's silly, I know. Bombur it's a fantastic cook and he will most definitely allow me to use the communal kitchen, it's just… I don't know! There's a perfectly functional kitchen right there and I've barely used it since I moved in I wanted to feel like it was mine, you see. Oh, this is ridiculous! I would've been nice to show up at supper tonight with my own baking for you, that's all I'm saying." Suddenly fidgety, Bilbo tried to shake the flour from his hands. "For you all, I mean. The Company. All of you. All of us. All."

"What seems to be the problem with the kitchen, burglar?" inquired Dwalin while pushing Fili a Kili towards it.

"The oven isn't working."

Just like that, Dwaling, Fili, and Kili cleaned and fixed Bilbo's kitchen. Meanwhile, the confounded Thorin Oakenshield was struck silent observing the nervous ticks in the hobbit with such focus he didn't dare to blink in case he missed any of his charming little movements.

Bilbo's plans for a big surprise had been confounded and yet he felt lighter than that very morning; all thanks to the dumb loving eyes Thorin was fixing on him without properly noticing.