#starterdrabble

He did it. By the skin of his teeth and the hair on his feet, if Smaug had anything to say about it. Still, Bilbo did it. He had successfully burgled the Arkenstone from a fire-breathing dragon. Returning it to its rightful owner would be another matter entirely. For one thing, said fire-breathing dragon was nipping at their heels. For another, Bilbo feared for the true King Under the Mountain. What if Smaug was right, and the stone really did possess some sort of adverse effect on Thorin? 

It was quite a while later before Bilbo was able to truly stew on these thoughts. After their escape through the mountain failing in ending Smaug’s life. After he fled to exact revenge on a human town that did not deserve such burning fury. After the dragon fell into the lake never to rise again. Bilbo turned back to gauge Thorin’s reaction, only for the dwarf to be retreating back into the mountain.

Lord Elrond spoke of a madness that existed in Thorin’s family. Gandalf seemed confident it would not take the dwarf as it had his grandfather. Bilbo supposed he had to hope for the same. Yet, unease took him at Thorin’s callousness. Before he could talk himself out of it, he found he was chasing after the King. The dwarf’s path straight to the treasure hall was not encouraging.

“Thorin!” Bilbo called.

He paused and slowly turned back to the hobbit with an unreadable expression that gave him pause.

“Master Baggins.” He nodded in return.

“The dragon is dead. I saw it.” Bilbo pointed out.

“One enemy defeated in a sea of others that will come to steal from us. We must make ready.”

Unease prickled the back of Bilbo’s neck. Something wasn’t right. He wasn’t going to jump to assumptions though. He wasn’t going to immediately doubt his friend for a paranoia that was fairly justifiable if you considered their quest thus far.

“I agree, yes, wholeheartedly we need to protect that which is yours, but Thorin...surely, there are more pressing matters at hand?”

“Pressing?” Thorin questioned with his chin raised high.

“Where are we going to sleep? After the food runs out from our packs, what will fill our bellies? The survivors of Laketown will need refuge.”

It was the last point that earned a growl from the dwarf king. 

“Do not speak to me of refugees when we know not who or what survived!”

Bilbo was taken aback by his ire, and found himself to be rather tight-lipped suddenly. Thorin shook his head in disgust before retreating back to the treasure hoard of Thror. The burglar did not give up the shining gem in his pocket that night.

The next morning found the company of dwarves and lone hobbit sharing a hearty albeit plain meal of jerky and cram. They had rations to last them a few more weeks, but most of the others agreed with Bilbo’s earlier assessment. They needed supplies. Only, their king was not there to bring such tidings.

“Bilbo, I thought you were with him last night. Did he say anything to you, lad?” Balin questioned.

The hobbit swallowed down the hard tack with a little water from his skin before answering.

“Uh, yes. He said we must be ready for...enemies.”

The dwarves all exchanged confused looks at this. Dwalin and Balin’s eyes met with more desperation and warning.

“I don’t blame him.” Bilbo immediately defended. “We’ve had enemies breathing down our necks the whole quest. Why should it be any different at the end?”

“Aye, the hobbit speaks sense.” Gloin agreed. “Clearly, there are several matters we need to take care of. The hard work is not over yet, lads.”

“And where is he now?” Dwalin rumbled. “Where was the last place you saw him, Bilbo?”

Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He knew the sons of Fundin shared his fears. They were close to Thorin, and Balin lived through the days of Thror’s madness himself. He didn’t want to offer doubts to Thorin’s sanity. Not yet. 

“I’m...not exactly sure. I may have a guess though. I’ll just...go see if I can find him and be right back.”

Dwalin didn’t look satisfied with his answer. Balin was a little more understanding. 

“Aye, that would be mighty fine, Master Hobbit. Meanwhile, we’ll start talking about defense and reinforcements so as to have an idea to present our king.”

Bilbo nodded gratefully as he hopped to his feet. He really hoped he was long as he meandered down the tunnel that would bring him back into the treasury. The endless waves of gold and gems were just as boundless as they were when Bilbo was last in here. He couldn’t believe so much of it could exist in the entire world! Much less this single, lonely mountain. It would probably be more of a monumental task to find Thorin than Bilbo first suspected. And honestly, he hoped he would not find the dwarf in such a place. It wouldn’t mean anything good, of that he was certain.

He carefully picked his way down the stairs and around the first golden hill calling for the king as he went. He didn’t really expect an answer so it nearly had him jumping out of his skin when the dwarf revealed himself to be right behind him.

“Am I not allowed my peace?” Thorin growled.

Bilbo spun around to see him leaning against one of the pillars broken by Smaug’s mighty forepaws. The dwarf looked terrible. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin looked pale and waxy in the glow of the gold.

“Thorin!” Bilbo shouted unnecessarily, still trying to recover from his fight. “We missed you...at breakfast.”

“The dawn is already upon us.” Thorin groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah.” Bilbo nodded slowly. “We’ve been discussing...options for what we should do from here.”

“There is but one option for us.” Thorin snapped. “We have to find the Arkenstone.”

Cold robbed Bilbo’s feet of any feeling, and his coat felt unnaturally heavy. 

“Last night.” He began gruffly, clearing his throat before continuing. “Last night, you said we had to prepare for enemies. Now some...shiny gem must be our first priority?”

Thorin’s head snapped to pierce Bilbo with an icy look. “What are you insinuating, Halfling?”

“Me?” Bilbo grinned without humor. “Nothing, nothing at all. I’m just trying to understand. How does a rock matter more in this moment than food and supplies?”

“It’s not a rock.” Thorin scoffed.

“It is!” He argued. “An unusual one, but a rock nonetheless.”

“What would you know?!” Thorin exploded, throwing his hands in the air. “If you had done your job in the first place, none of this would have happened!”

“Excuse you! What would you have me do? Run through flame and death!”

“How about not wake up a dragon?”

“How about there wasn’t supposed to be a live dragon to wake?!”

“Yet there was!”

“Yes, there was. And now he’s dead. Along with half a village of fisherman.” 

“A VILLAGE WITH MY NEPHEWS IN IT!”

Bilbo froze. Any anger, resentment, or cynicism he had left just seemed to ebb out as he watched the mighty dwarf king clench his fists and look away.

“I promised Dis...I was supposed to look after them. I thought I was doing right...I made them stay.”

Bilbo never felt so relieved to be washed in the waves of one’s grief. It all made sense. There was nothing sinister about Thorin’s action. He was an uncle worried sick. In fact, it seemed rather obvious in retrospect. Thorin tended to lash out worse when his heart was heavy if his how he described his behavior on the side of the Misty Mountains later to Bilbo was any indicator. Slowly, he made his way to the dwarf’s side and placed his hand on his arm.

“Thorin...I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I was short with you.”

The king tore himself away, still refusing to look at Bilbo.

“It does not matter.”

“No, it does! It really does, only...why the Arkenstone? Why come down here and search for it all night in your worry?”

Thorin heaved a large sigh, but the tension in his body relaxed none.

“I guess I shouldn’t expect a hobbit to understand such things.”

Bilbo tried really hard for the sake of his friend’s hurting not to take terrible offense.

“Do you remember at the beginning of the quest back in your home when I spoke of the meeting with my kin?” He asked, finally turning to stare at Bilbo.

The hobbit almost smirked. My! Didn’t that feel like a decade ago? However, he did remember the night. Vividly, in fact and nodded his assent.

“They would not join our quest. They thought it was folly. I was told I was only going to my death, and without the Arkenstone they would not join me in my suicide.”

Bilbo’s eyebrows came together as he tilted his head slightly. “I’m afraid I still don’t understand. What does the stone have to do with anything?”

“It’s the King’s Jewel. It is a symbol of power to people. One that can command any of the dwarven lords to honor their pledge to Erebor.”

Understanding took hold at that point. “If you had the Arkenstone, you would be able to call on their aid now.”

The king nodded which in turn caused the hobbit to scoff.

“How ridiculous! To be bound so by a…”

“By Mahal, Bilbo, do not call it a rock again.” Thorin swore.

Bilbo held the king’s glare before they both burst into snickers. Perhaps not the best time or place, but a welcome reprieve nonetheless. 

“Well, let me start by saying, don’t worry so. If your nephews are even half as stubborn as you, they wouldn’t dare let a dragon kill them.”

Thorin ducked his head with a sad smile. “Let us hope you are correct.”

“And turning our thoughts to food and bedding and clothing wouldn’t be remiss before we start holing ourselves in.”

Thorin rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Bilbo grinned. “If ruling is really going to be so much easier with a shiny rock...then I have just the thing.”

The dwarf looked to be losing his patience again at the word ‘rock’, but the sight of the Arkenstone Bilbo pulled from his pocket had him at a loss for words that the hobbit rather enjoyed.

“Not so bad at my job now, am I?”

Thorin barked out a laugh while his eyes glittered in wonder. “Bilbo, how did you…? Just when exactly were you planning to give this to me?”

“When I was ready.” The hobbit shrugged under the dwarf’s glare. “None of that! You can’t expect me to make good decisions on an empty stomach and blisters fresh on my feet. Just what kind of hobbit do you take me for?”

“The thieving kind?” Thorin raised an eyebrow.

Bilbo lifted his nose and gave a rather pretentious sniff. “Well, if that’s the case, perhaps I will take this rather important rock and put it back where I found it.”

Thorin laughed as he moved to place his hand over the Arkenstone. “Peace, Master Baggins. I meant no…”

The dwarf never finished his sentence. As soon as his hand touched the Arkenstone, both he and Bilbo were blasted backwards by a surge of power. Thorin hit the stone pillar hard, slumping to the ground before it. Colors danced before him and in it, a rather insidious voice he couldn’t place.

“Dig deeper. In the gold your heart will finally be free. After uniting the lock with the Arkenstone as key.”

Thorin shook his head to clear it as his ears still rang from the impact. He staggered to his feet as he looked around for where the hobbit could have possibly landed.

“Master Baggins?” He questioned.

He waited for a response, but none came. Thorin swore as he spun, checking against every stone and wall for an unconscious body.

“BILBO!” He hollered.

“Thorin?” A quiet and unsure voice returned.

The dwarf sighed in visible relief as he turned to where Bilbo’s voice came from. Only, there was no one there. There was nothing at all save for the Arkenstone.

“Bilbo?” Thorin tried again, creeping forward.

“Here!” 

Thorin’s brows furrowed together, and his steps became more cautious. How odd. He could almost swear he was hearing Bilbo’s voice come straight from the Arkenstone. He paused as he reached out for it, his fingertips just ghosting the surface. What if this was how the madness started?

“Thorin!” Bilbo called to him, his voice pleading.

A different type of siren’s song than what he imagined it to be. This had to be the madness that took Thror. His hand flinched back as he recoiled from the tempting stone.

“Master Baggins...Bilbo. The stone is leading down a dark path. I beg you to reveal yourself before I follow in the footsteps of my grandfather.”

The stone released a bright array of colors that had Thorin staggering as he shielded his eyes from the onslaught. The lights burned stars behind his eyelids that had him blinking rapidly as he adjusted back to the returning dimness of the treasury. Only, he was no longer alone. Master Baggins was standing before him. A sight that would have given him joy, if it wasn’t for the fact that Thorin could see straight through him as if he were a ghostly entity. Thorin stared, closed his eyes, rubbed his heels into them, and blinked them back open. He was still treated to the same sight. A spector hobbit trapped in the glow of the Arkenstone with a rather alarmed expression.

Bilbo heaved a huge sigh as he collapsed into his favorite armchair with his pipe in hand and a book on the table beside him. After months of being on the road, and weeks of tracking down his furniture that had been prematurely auctioned off, he was finally where he was supposed to be. Safely tucked away in his cosy Hobbit Hole, comfortable and relaxed at last.

He shifted in the seat and lit his pipe. He flipped open to the first page of one of his favorite stories and began to read. He was only a paragraph in when he had to fidget once more. He was barely done with the page when he realized how oppressive the silence was. He wasn’t even remotely through the first chapter when he plopped the book back down on the table hard and herded himself into the kitchen. He was just hungry was all. Nevermind he was still trying to acclimatize himself to a hobbit’s eating schedule again, and found himself stuffed full after four meals every time.

He pittered around in the pantry, but never could settle on something that sounded remotely appetizing. It must be the stale air inside the smial then. He was still used to the road’s gentle breeze. A nice sit out on his bench would be enough to settle him. So without further amble, he settled himself outside in the warm and green garden. The Shire’s rolling fields and endless blue skies, a welcome sight.

The exact shade of Thorin’s eyes. He mused.

It was that single thought that broke through the domestic bliss around him causing him to choke on the smoke he breathed in. He clutched at his chest as he tried to expel the extra pipeweed from his lungs. It still did nothing to relieve the aching hole that was newly exposed to him. Thorin Oakenshield.

The dwarf he ran off into the wild for. The dwarf he killed an orc for. The dwarf he riddled a dragon for. The dwarf who held a hero’s feast for him after the Battle of the Five Armies, yet still sent him back home with a pat on the back and a box of meaningless jewels.

It’s not like you would have said yes, if he asked you to stay. A voice in his head tried to remind him. His place was in Bag End. He made that intention clear to everyone throughout the journey. What would he do in a mountain of dwarves anyhow? All of that stone couldn’t be comfortable, and he could hardly see in the dark as it was.

It didn’t matter that those thirteen dwarves made him feel more included than his fifty plus years living in the Shire. It didn’t matter that he was stared at in wonder and admiration there versus the politely concealed animosity and judgement he found here. And a certain dwarf king’s almost death on the ice almost certainly had no bearing on his emotional state. 

His gaze flitted to the east where he pretended he could just barely see a single, solidary peak rising over what would be the Misty Mountain range. With a final exhale, he knocked the ashes out against his bench, and watched as the wind picked them up to carry them away. He turned back towards his cheerful little round door, heaved another sigh, and went back inside.

The next day, he decided he was going to start writing down his adventure, but he barely got a few sentences into it before realizing what a terrible idea that had been as Thorin was once more fresh on his mind. He decided to organize his study instead.

The day after, Bilbo went down to the market to buy some fresh produce only to notice a traveling dwarven caravan headed east. He ignored the whispers of ‘Mad Baggins” as he ran back home as quickly as he could, afraid he was going to tear off after them.

The day after that, his young cousins came over to hear the “Troll Story” again. He managed just fine until he got to the Carrock, and then his throat closed up and he had to excuse himself. 

A week later, Bilbo had been invited to a party where he found himself inexplicably irate that no one walked across the tops of the tables or held belching contests. He stopped accepting invites after that.

Another week went by where Bilbo finally broke down and decided to write a letter to Thorin. After all, they were still friends, and friends wrote each other. He had to throw away the first draft due to underlying longing in his words. Fifteen drafts later did not improve his skills, and the water stains that started to appear would have been hard to explain away. That was about the point Bilbo had enough of his ‘comfortable’ life in the Shire.

“You’ll not be the same hobbit as when you left.” Bilbo mocked Gandalf’s words from before as he threw clothes out of his wardrobe looking for something acceptable to stuff in the growing pack on his bed.

“He never said I would be unable to readjust back to Shire life! Blasted wizard! And blasted dwarves! I would have been perfectly fine living the rest of my life in an ignorant bliss of the outer world!” He cursed moving on to gather food for the journey.

Bilbo finally left his hands resting behind his head after he moved them through his hair and stared down at the bulging pack before him. Was he really going to run out his door after a dwarf with blue eyes and a soft smile once more? He went over to his chest where he almost reverently pulled Sting out. With a quick nod, he strapped on the sword, shouldered his pack, and locked his door. He left the key inside the postbox along with instructions of who to hand his childhood home over to as he was most likely not coming back. The only other post being a letter that was sent out in the mail the next day.

Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain, Erebor

Dear Thorin,

I hope you are up for receiving company because I am coming home to stay for good. I have already started on the road, and shouldn’t be far by the time you read this missive. I’ll do my best to arrive promptly by four for tea time. In the unlikely event that I would not be welcome, at least spare me a night before that uncomfortable conversation. 

With the deepest of regards,

Bilbo Baggins, formerly of Bag End, formerly of the Shire

***

Thorin had been rather impressed with how well he was able to keep his thoughts from drifting towards a certain Burglar who stole more than just his Arkenstone. Aside from still healing from a grievous injury, there was much to do with the restoration of Erebor and the moving of his people back to the mountain. A job that had taken decades the previous time around.

However, after the first month or two, work for him somehow managed to slow down. With less than two thousand in the mountain, there wasn’t much that required his direct supervision. Dis was handling all the relocation efforts from her end at the Blue Mountains, and any plans, disputes, or consultations that required his attention were done before the midday meal. So it was during his afternoon training and walk around his kingdom that his mind began to wander and freeze upon the little hobbit from their journey.

His smile, his eyes, his bouncing curls, his clever mind. Over and over, Thorin would imagine the hobbit next to him in the mountain. Agreeing or disagreeing with the decisions he made, stepping up onto the ramparts to turn his face to the sun, eating and laughing with the company at their evening meals. Every day his heart seemed to ache a little more, and every day he managed to convince himself it was for the best.

After all, what had he done for the hobbit? He belittled and degraded him every step of the way. He frequently forced him into perilous situations where they had to rely on his quick wit. Lest he forget, he tried to kill him under the influence of a hereditary illness that he never properly apologized for nor had any idea if it would return. No, Master Baggins was better off far away from him which is why he did his best to send the hobbit on his way with enough gold to live the rest of his life in luxury. He never doubted this was the way it must be.

Or was it he didn’t want to hear the negative if he did ask for the hobbit to remain? The thought pierced through the self-sacrificing haze of his internal monologue. He wanted to scoff for it sounded like a drunken ballad: the brave and noble warrior king afraid of rejection by the soft and clever mouse. Still, the burning in his gut seemed to indicate that was exactly it.

Therefore, Thorin made his peace with his yearning heart. There was just one small miniscule thing standing in his way: he missed his friend. It was the sheer fact that he was half a world away that kept him from hopping on a pony, and dropping by for the visit Bilbo promised they were all welcome to. He had tried to pen a letter, but the written word was never his strong suit. Nor was the spoken word for that matter, not like the talented tongue Bilbo possessed. So he found himself waiting for the hobbit to make the first contact. And waiting. And waiting. And Thorin was really tired of waiting.

When Balin discussed the idea of an embassy to Dale, Thorin agreed immediately, much to the surprise of the old advisor, just so he would have something to do again. Besides, he owed Bard much and felt obligated to be a part of this delegation personally.

It was fine for the most part. Bard eagerly showed him the changes they were making, and how much the city has already grown thanks to the dwarrows labor trade. Thorin was really only half-invested until they came to a curious alcove where a single green sprout was growing inside a circle of stones. When he asked about it, Bard gave him a sheepish look.

“I thought you knew. That’s the spot where Bilbo planted his acorn. My people are committed to seeing its growth as a symbol of hope for years to come.”

Thorin’s feet stopped moving as his eyes remained trapped on the little green plant. He knew this acorn very well, and in fact, the words Bilbo spoke at the time were swirling Thorin’s head on replay.

“One day it’ll grow, and every time I look at it I’ll remember. Remember everything that happened. The good and the bad, and how lucky I am that I made it home.”

He was supposed to take it home to plant in Bag End. Why did he plant it here? When did he plant it here? Unless…

Every time I look at it...I made it home.

Thorin apologized to Bard for having to end their tour so abruptly, but he had to get back to Erebor immediately. The man didn’t seem to put out, and Thorin was racing back to the mountain where he called the company into an emergency meeting.

“I’m an idiot.” He began. “We have to go and bring Bilbo back home immediately.”

“FINALLY!” Kili cheered. “I thought we were going to have to put up with your moping for the rest of our days!”

Thorin tried to glare at his nephew, but it didn’t come across very well. While Balin was all for the return of their Burglar, he was very reluctant against Thorin’s personal involvement in the retrieval. However, Thorin would not budge on the issue, especially when Fili was more than capable of taking on his duties for a few months. After much arguing back and forth, it was agreed that Dwalin, Nori, Bifur, Kili, and the two guards Dwalin was training, Goram and Tul, would accompany Thorin to the Shire.

He ordered them to pack because he was wasting no time and wanted to leave first thing in the morning. It would take them three months, which considering the long and grueling journey to get there in the first place, was no time at all. Thorin felt like his soul was soaring the closer they got to that little green door that hid his clever and fussy hobbit. 

The afternoon when Hobbiton came into view, Thorin spurred the pony into a full gallop much to the amusement of Dwalin and Kili. He didn’t care, he was about to see Bilbo again. He knew exactly what he would say as soon as he saw him. He would apologize for being a rock-headed king who should have never sent him away and ask him to come back home. Bilbo would probably agree that he is rather stubborn, but forgive him and get started packing immediately. 

He jumped from the pony’s back clearing the picket fence in one smooth move much to the startlement of the passing hobbits. He could hardly bring himself to care as he knocked on the door, unaware that he was panting until he was waiting in the charged tension. He focused on catching his breath, inhaling sharply when the door opened.

“Bilbo, I-”

He nearly swallowed his tongue in mortification when the hobbit behind the door was revealed. He had the same button nose and muddy blonde hair, but otherwise his dark eyes and chubby cheeks were a stark contrast to what he was expecting. Thorin couldn’t believe it. Did he get the wrong hole? It had a green door, but then again there was nothing saying that Bilbo had the only green door in Hobbiton. An apology was on the tip of his tongue for a whole new reason when the hobbit tilted his head in curiosity.

“Are you by any chance Thorin Oakenshield?”

Thorin nodded still unable to comprehend what was happening. The hobbit gave a wide grin before turning back into the smial.

“Prim! You’ll never guess who’s at the door! It’s Bilbo’s dwarf. It’s Thorin Oakenshield!”

A voice from inside squealed when a female hobbit with dark locks and sweet blue eyes appeared with a wide grin. Something about being called Bilbo’s dwarf ignited something in him which allowed him the function of creating words again.

“At your service.” He gave a small nod with a hand crossed over his heart. “I’m looking for Bilbo. Do you know where I can find him?”

The couple shared a look. Thorin felt like he had been dunked in a bucket of ice water. Something was wrong, and he’s learned to trust his instincts over the years. The only thing he could plead for was not to hear of his death. Please Mahal above, don’t let me find out this way.

“Bilbo left months ago.” The male hobbit answered.

“Left?” Thorin repeated numbly, his heart gradually remembering how to beat again.

“Put in his will that he was going back to Erebor.” The female added.

It was a dark and stormy night as a small figure fought his way to a run-down inn in Esgaroth. He tugged his cloak tighter to his person as he pushed his way through the Big People around him to claim a small table near the back. Being so close to Erebor, none of the men took notice of the figure half their size. Once he was settled in with a piping hot plate before him did Bilbo Baggins-Took, exiled Prince of the Shire, pull back his hood.

He could feel the stares even more so now that he revealed that he wasn’t in fact a dwarf. Halfing, Shire-folk. The whispers floated just on the edge of his enhanced hearing, and under the table he readjusted the grip on his long knife. He didn’t really expect anything to happen, but he also knew to be cautious.

Bilbo was able to finish his meal in peace, and pulled out his pipe as he continued to wait on his purpose in coming to this Yavanna-forsaken lake town. He had just lit the bowl and took a couple of deep puffs when a figure in a long gray cloak and equally big hat stopped before his table. He looked up, but the lighting and angle hid the man’s face.

“Good evening.” He greeted with a curt nod.

“What do you mean? Do you wish me a good evening, or mean that it is a good evening whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this evening; or that it is a evening to be good on?”

Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief. “Gandalf.”

The old wizard gave a deep chuckle as he threw his head back, his eyes twinkling in delight.

“Hello, my dear friend.”

“I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me.” Bilbo complained, trying to hide the meek smile around his pipe stem.

“Misplaced in my memories, surely. But never forgotten.” Gandalf affirmed as he sat down across from Bilbo. “Now, what exactly have you done this time to get yourself kicked out of the New Shire?”

“No, no. That’s not what happened.” Bilbo was quick to dispute. “I saw an opportunity to help my fellow hobbits, and I took it. This...is an adventure, not a sentencing.”

Gandalf merely raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Bilbo held the staredown before he groaned releasing a cloud of smoke.

“And perhaps...I did get carried away when I said the Brown Lands would be more green if the men there would just give us control and keep their smelly booted feet off the land and their long noses out of our arses.”

Gandalf chuckled. “Fortinbras didn’t think that was very clever?”

“Oh, my cousin didn’t have much of a problem with it. I dare say the village chief we were negotiating with was ready to strike me down where I stood.”

Gandalf hummed in agreement and part amusement. Bilbo let the silence fester between them long enough for another draw on his pipe before he spoke again, more reverently.

“I know I don’t make it easier on Fortinbras or the rest of my family, but my pride as a Took and as a hobbit is all I have left, Gandalf. I can’t believe they sent me away to get rid of me, and maybe a small part of me thinks…”

Bilbo trailed off staring at the grain in the wood of the table between them.

“Yes?” Gandalf prompted the smaller fellow.

Bilbo shook his head, and the hesitancy in his eyes moments ago was replaced with steely determination.

“The hobbits will return to Eriador. Even if I have to stand alone before the Goblin King himself. I will have my kin living again in the quiet burrows of the Farthings.”

Gandalf gave the hobbit prince a soft look. “The bravery of hobbits will never cease to amaze me. Or perhaps, it is your mother’s legacy I see shining in you, rather than your people as a whole.”

Bilbo felt himself blush as he always did when Gandalf compared him to his mother. 

“Which is why, I do not hesitate to give you this: the last possession she left in my care.”

Bilbo raised an eyebrow as he finished off his pipeweed and tucked the wooden heirloom away for another day. He reached across the table to take the folded parchment Gandalf threw down between them. His eyes raked over the map in awe when he realized what it was he had before him.

“Gandalf, this is a map to…”

“Yes.” Gandalf nodded putting his hand over Bilbo’s much smaller one. “And if we are careful and clever, I dare say with this we can see your dream fulfilled.”

Bilbo’s eyes filled up with tears as he shook his head mutely.

“I don’t...I don’t know what to say.”

“Keep it secret. Keep it safe. And while I think it is a fine plan of foolishness to march into your enemies hold outnumbered nearly ten thousand to one, I thought if you wouldn’t mind the company, I have an idea for some hired help.”

“Who?” Bilbo questioned.

“A company of soldiers I’m well acquainted with conveniently located in Erebor.”

***

Thorin had it in his head from the morning he woke up, that it was going to be a perfectly normal day. He had a couple of orders to finish up for cookware from one of the widows in Dale and an axe for Gloin’s son he thought he would begin. He planned to take Fili and Kili out to the edge of Mirkwood on that hunting trip he had been promising for so long. May catch up with Balin and Dwalin over a pint of ale in the tavern later that evening. There was certainly nothing that seemed to suggest he would earn a visit from Tharkun, bringer of grey moods, and yet a couple of hours into his forge, that’s precisely who showed up.

Thorin barely glanced up from the hot metal he was beating into shape, trying to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Most would recognize he was busy, and wait for him at the front of the shop. Not the old wizard it seemed.

“Well, if it isn’t the disturber of peace himself.” He greeted gruffly, his eyes never leaving his work.

“Now, now, Thorin. Is that any way to greet old friends?”

“I wasn’t aware that’s what we were.” Thorin raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, old friends of your father.” Gandalf was quick to correct.

Thorin huffed a bitter laugh. “Yes, friends. Tell me, is it common to leave all of your friends to the mercy of orcs?”

“That was not my doing, Thorin Oakenshield, but that of your king.” Gandalf remarked gravely.

That, Thorin knew all too well. He grunted before plunging the skillet into the basin of water watching the rapidly cooling metal for imperfections. When he finally deemed it well enough, he pulled it back out and set it to the side before giving Gandalf his full attention.

“What do you want?”

“I’m on a recruiting mission for an old friend. You see, he’s a long way from home and in need of an escort to get over the Misty Mountains.”

Thorin shook his head with a chuckle. “Your friend sounds like a fool. No one steps foot west of the Misty Mountains anymore. Besides, I’m a blacksmith, not a warrior.”

“That’s not entirely true. There are still some settlements to the west out of goblin hands, and I’m sure my friend will accept any help freely given even if that comes with a little rust here and there.”

Thorin resisted the urge to rub a hand down his face and instead scratched at the bottom of his shortened beard.

“Perhaps I’m not making myself plain enough, friend. I will not be coerced into another farfetched scheme of yours. Now away with you, I have better uses for my time than to argue it away.”

“At least hear him out. You may find yourself empathetic.”

“I sincerely doubt it.”

Thorin crossed his arms at that point, refusing to budge on the issue. Gandalf gave him a calculating look before shaking his head as if in disappointment. Thorin was not swayed.

“You’ve changed Thorin Oakenshield, and not entirely for the better. Very well, I will rid you of my company. Good luck to you in your smithing endeavors.”

Thorin merely gave him a nod watching him pass through the settlement on his way to Dale before returning to his work. Dwalin gave him a look, but Thorin shook it away. Seeing Gandalf again brought up dark memories, but nothing that he hadn’t made peace with. He was happy. His family, well what was left of it, was happy. Even if their houses now existed on the outskirts of the mountain rather inside her warmth. This was his life now, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize it for another fullhardy attempt against the goblins.

The rest of the day passed much in how he was expecting it to go. Dis noticed his mood and tried to pry the worries from his mind, but he assured her he was fine. He met the brothers Lin down at the bar, and after his second beer he had nearly forgotten his exchange with Gandalf. That’s when he appeared.

“Will you look at that?” Balin marveled, his voice low.

Thorin and Dwalin were both facing the older dwarf, and therefore couldn’t see what had captured his attention. They both turned in their seats before their jaws dropped in much the same open awe as most of the patrons. It was a halfling. Obvious by the large feet containing bronze curls, and the pointed leaf-shaped ears hidden in hair equally fair. He walked with a pompous air of someone not swayed by the staring and whispers happening around him. He paused for only a moment before squaring his shoulders and marching right up to Bombur who had stopped cleaning the glass in his hand subconsciously as the creature eased its way forward.

“Have you ever seen a halfling before?” Dwalin murmured.

“Nay.” Balin denied with a shake of his head. “Father said he had once before the Fall of the Shire. He said the land used to be beautiful, rich in food the way Erebor is rich in gold.”

The halfling had quick words with Bombur but spun around towards them as if he somehow heard Balin’s soft words. He said something to Bombur with a nod of his head before making his way towards their table. The whole time, Thorin couldn’t take his eyes off him. No dwarf there really could. Thorin fought the urge to smooth down his hair as he set his beer back on the table. The hobbit came right up to him and gave a bow of his head.

“Thorin, son of Thrain?” He questioned.

Thorin only blinked in shock that this near ethereal being with a musical lithe in his voice sought him out. Dwalin gave him a kick with his boot which managed to wake him up enough to answer with a gruff ‘aye’.

“Bilbo Baggins, at your service.” He stated holding out his hand.

Thorin merely stared at it numbly, and for the first time the halfling seemed to lose some of his confidence.

“That is...was I wrong to assume that is a traditional dwarven greeting?”

“Uh, no. Thorin, son of Thrain at yours and your family.” He returned shaking the smaller, softer hand.

Bilbo nodded, regaining the cool detachment once more. 

“Very good. I assume these are your companions?”

“Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service.” Thorin’s friend eagerly answered shaking the halfling’s hand as well.

“Well met, Dwalin.”

“Balin, son of Fundin, at your service.” Balin picked up after Dwalin.

“Well met, Balin.” Bilbo shook his hand as well. “May I?” He asked indicating the spot next to him.

“Please, Mister Baggins. Can we order you anything?” Balin took over with pleasantries.

“No thank you. I like to keep my wits about me when conducting business.” The odd being was quick to brush off, his jade eyes piercing Thorin.

“Business? With me?” Thorin smirked.

What could an average dwarven blacksmith have to offer a wandering halfling? The little creature bristled in confusion.

“Yes, Gandalf told me you were made aware of this meeting. Is something the matter?”

All of Thorin’s good mood vanished in an instant. 

“You’re Gandalf’s friend.” He accused.

“I hope you are quicker with a blade than you are in a conversation, Mister Thorin or this will be a poor venture indeed. Yes, Gandalf, the man who spoke with you earlier sent me here as was scheduled. Or was I too late to catch you before you were knee deep into your spirits, and the drink had addled your mind?”

Bilbo Baggins was many things in the eyes of his nephew both before and after the incident with the ring. He was courageous. He was kind. He was encouraging. He was everything Frodo needed him to be when suffering the tragedy of losing his parents. He could so clearly recall the memory of running out as a tween without a waistcoat in his eagerness to get to the market to get the first pick of raspberries for Bilbo’s tarts. 

Of course, he had managed to run into Lobelia Sackville-Baggins who gave him such a scolding on the shame he brought his family name to be underdressed, running wild, with uncombed feet hair to top. Frodo could barely stomach the lashing, and ran back to Bag End, tears in his eyes, ready to never leave the hole again. Well, that certainly wouldn’t do for ‘Mad’ Baggins as he promptly stepped out in his bathrobe of all things! Returned Lobelia’s barb words tenfold making sure she knew just who the shame upon the family name of Baggins was, and then sent Frodo out into the woods where the ‘best wild berries’ lay hid. 

It really was no wonder Frodo offered to walk upon the slopes of Mount Doom itself just to protect his uncle. He would do anything for his uncle’s piece of mind. And while the Big Folk may sit around and argue as to whether or not Bilbo could be faulted for picking up what he deemed a harmless trinket that turned out to be the singularly most evil item in all of Middle Earth, Frodo decided he could carry those invisible sins. All for Bilbo’s happiness.

Happiness. A curious word in retrospect. If one had asked Frodo prior to the whole mess with the ring if his uncle was happy, he would have said yes easily. After all, he had shared laughs and smiles with Bilbo. He had been subjected to tender hugs and kisses as a faunt. He knew the stories that could tickle him pink. What else could happiness entail?

However, in the weeks leading up to their departure to the Undying Lands, Frodo looked introspectively, and realized Bilbo had been happy in the Shire in the same way Frodo was happy now. A mask of contentedness that hid the drowsy emptiness inside. A phantom pain that couldn’t be explained, and that couldn’t be chased away. A sad thing that clings to the back of the mind once they were alone. Perhaps it was the way one felt after having witnessed true tragedy, and there was no cure. Or perhaps it was the lingering effects of the ring that refused to give up even after its destruction. Either way, Frodo hoped with his entire being that the Undying Lands were the answer. That sailing west with the elves would heal this hurt upon his and Bilbo’s minds to show them true happiness once more.

Frodo watched his uncle’s face light up in pure delight when he deemed himself ready for ‘one last adventure’. It was so nice to see Bilbo coherent once more. That was the one thing he feared the most as he grew older, the loss of his wits. Seeing that he found them once more gave Frodo hope as he climbed into the boat with him. That hope was dashed within the first hour of their voyage.

“As soon as we land in Valinor, we must stop at the Gardens of Yavanna and maybe the Lands of Lorien before we head to the Halls of Aule.” Bilbo began to murmur excitedly.

“The Halls of Aule?” Frodo questioned with a laugh. “What business do you have in the Valar’s Smithy?”

“The Valar’s Smithy indeed.” Bilbo huffed. “I’ll have you know that is where my dwarves are, and I intend to see them.”

“Bilbo, my dear fellow, you and Frodo are the first mortals to get to visit Valinor.” Gandalf pointed out delicately.

“Meaning what exactly?” Bilbo asked with a raised brow.

“Meaning you won’t exactly have free reign to wander into anyone’s afterlife. You will be treated as a mortal in an immortal’s land.” Elrond answered gently.

The joy that had been shining in his eyes swiftly left making the already old hobbit seem nearly decrepit. After that, it was hard to get Bilbo to engage with them again. He just sat there looking out across the ocean with that pained look Frodo knew only too well. However, now he was wondering if the reason behind that look had nothing to do with the Ring. What if it had to do with something that happened during Bilbo’s adventure?

Frodo went to sleep that night wishing for more than anything to just be able to erase that look from Bilbo’s eyes forever. After closing his eyes, Frodo actually began to dream for the first time in a long time. He was standing amongst the stars where several tall figures began to appear.

The first was a blind man with hair fairer than Lady Galadriel. He looked over at Frodo and winked before turning to the rest of the gathering. With a jolt, Frodo realized what he was witnessing. He was in a meeting of the Valar, and that man was Lorien, Master of Dreams and Desires. As he spun around, more names became associated with the faces above him.

Lady Yavanna, earthy and proud, next to her husband in the dwarven armor and long red beard, Aule the Smith. Manwe’s electric blue eyes practically radiated the power as King stood next to his wife and queen, Varda, shining stronger than the stars around them. Mandos, Nienna, Este, Tulkas, every lord and lady Frodo had ever grown up learning about was present, and not a single one of them was aware of his meager presence. Well, until Lady Yavanna had the gull to wink at him.

“Why have you summoned us, Lorien?” The impressive voice of Manwe bellowed.

“To answer the call of your Chosen.” The blind Vala answered.

“Yavanna and Aule’s children?” The shadowed persona of Mandos questioned. “Have we not already granted them asylum?”

Yavanna shared a look with her husband, giving his hand a squeeze of support.

“After the service they have done us, is it too much to give them an audience?” Aule gruffed.

“Oh yes! Please, let us hear Frodo Baggins out.” Nienna pleaded her Mercy with tears streaming down her face.

Frodo suddenly found himself the intense victim of the immortals’ weighted gaze. The fact that his legs hadn’t given out on him yet was a strong reminder that this was only a dream.

“Well, let’s have it.” Este’s sweet voice, as the Lady of Healing would have, carried down to Frodo making him feel almost giddy. “What would you desire of us, Young One?”

Frodo gulped struggling for a moment to find an answer for the Vala.

“You see, it’s my uncle, Bilbo Baggins. I just want him to be happy. He doesn’t deserve to be so burdened. The choice to Bear the Ring was mine and mine alone, but Uncle...he just thought he was helping thirteen dwarves get home.”

Eyes shifted to Vaire, the Weaver, as she pondered Frodo’s request.

“It’s true there were many paths laid out before Bilbo Baggins, but...it was the fall of the Line of Durin that sealed his pain. I cannot free him without going back nearly eighty years in the mortal’s lifetime.”

Yavanna gripped Aule’s hand in support as his face twisted into a pained grimace.

“The three deaths in question were young and unnecessary, but unavoidable when considering the proximity of the One Ring that Bilbo Baggins carried at the time.” Aule pointed out.

“And we cannot surrender that front.” Manwe interjected. “This mortal’s pain is unavoidable.”

“Not necessarily.” Lorien gave a tight grin. “I have called us all here because I have heard the calls from both Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, and I believe there is a way to fulfill their desires. Vaire, could there be a path to peace created from the presence of Frodo Baggins after what the mortals referred to as the Fell Winter?”

Gasps were heard around the room.

“That far back?”

“Can it be done?”

Vaire seemed to give this a considerable amount of thought, and as she thought her fingers glided through the starry landscape as if she were sewing a pattern in the vastness of the sky. Her eyes widened at whatever it was she saw, and she turned towards the rest intrigued.

“There is a pattern I see. It’s very risky, but it can be done.”

“You’re asking us to risk the fate of the world on the happiness of a single mortal?” Manwe scoffed. “Why would we ever consider such a thing?”

“Because if anyone deserves happiness, it’s the ones we burdened with our shame and inaction.” Nienna cried out. “We must give Frodo Baggins a chance.”

Varda took that moment to address Frodo causing silence amongst the rest of the Valar.

“Frodo Baggins, do you understand what is being asked of you?”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but I’m afraid I do not.” He admitted.

She nodded gently but her voice still rang firm. “If we grant this wish for you. To see your uncle’s happiness, you will have to carry the One Ring once more. Could you bear such a burden again?”

Frodo hesitated and the pain in his shoulder from the Nazgul’s blade throbbed as if in denial of the deed that lay before him. He was broken from the quest the first time. Would there be anything left if he had to carry such evil once more? He came to the Undying Lands in search of peace. Peace for himself and for Bilbo. This entire conversation seemed to counter that point. His anxiety must have shown on his face, because Este’s calm broke through his dark thoughts. 

“I cannot see the future, Frodo Baggins. But I can feel out this timeline, and if you succeed, you and Bilbo will finally be free of the pain you carry.”

Frodo heaved a heavy sigh. There was really no question then, was there?

“I don’t know if I am truly the right person for such a monumental task as this. But for Bilbo...for myself, I would be willing to try.”

Tulkas laughed hard enough to shake the foundation upon which they stood.

“What did you do to these ones to make them so courageous, Aule?” He questioned.

Frodo stared at the smith in confusion as he just smiled fondly.

“I let my wife have some input in the design. She wanted them born with a healthy dose of hope.”

“Then let us carry that hope forward. Manwe, with your permission, I wish to send Frodo back in the timeline where he can make a real difference. He will remember much of his previous life, and he will know of the task that lies before him.”

Manwe sighed a gust that threatened to blow Frodo over. “So mote it be.”

“So mote it be.” Everyone else repeated.

Frodo looked expectantly up at Lorien who was gazing down at him softly. “Go Little One. May you fulfill all your wishes, and if you need guidance, may you always know where to find me.”

It was happening again. The dreams. It wasn’t every night. In fact, sometimes Bilbo would go months, even years, without having one. However, every single one of them was as vivid as the last and seemed to haunt him for the rest of the day.

“You! What were you doing?” The injured dwarf commanded relying on the help of his kin to regain his footing.

“You nearly got yourself killed!” He continued taking a step closer. “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.”

At this point he was mere inches away. Close enough that Bilbo could feel the warmth radiating off of him and the glare burning into him. Not that he was able to raise his eyes higher than the dwarf’s booted feet.

“I have never been so wrong in all my life.” The dwarf sighed in relief before enveloping Bilbo in a tight hug.

Bilbo stiffened completely unprepared for the embrace, and he was certain his jaw was dropped in surprise. Being in his arms though...a smile split his face as he hugged back just as tightly amidst the cheers of the remaining company. Too soon, the dwarf stepped away looking him over as if to double check that he was alright.

“I am sorry I doubted you.” He stated, his eyes full of guilt.

Bilbo shook his head, his chest burning under that look.

“No, I would have doubted me too.” He answered. “I’m not a hero or a warrior...or even a burglar.”

Never once did the dwarf’s sky eyes waver. Never once did his soft smile wane. Bilbo would have done anything to always have that smile on him. However, the sounds of eagles screeching seemed to drag both of their gazes away, and when Bilbo looked back the dwarf was staring over the top of his head, his mouth agape. As he walked ahead, Bilbo spun around as well only to see a single mountain rising out of the expanse as if trying to reach out to the rising sun.

“Is that what I think it is?” Bilbo questioned following the dwarf to the edge of the ledge they were standing on.

“Ere.... The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.” A familiar voice answered.

“Our home.” The dwarf breathed reverently.

Bilbo stared at him with a smile appreciating his strong profile as his eyes stayed glued on the mountain. Somewhere behind them there was something about a bird.

“We’ll take it as a sign.” The dwarf grinned looking over at Bilbo fondly. “A good omen.”

Bilbo felt his chest puff up in pride as he nodded along. He turned back towards the mountain as if it held all the answers to his problems.

“You’re right. I do believe the worst is behind us.”

Bilbo truly believed it too. And then there was a giant golden eye glaring at him.

Bilbo gasped, his hand reaching for his ring finger, yanking at something that wasn’t there. When he finally had his wits about him again, he fell back against the pillow rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He glanced over at his alarm clock with a groan. It was still too early to get up.

He fiddled with the lamp on his side table before reaching for the notebook in his first drawer. His mother had taught him to keep a dream journal back when he finally decided to confess them to her. The beat-up twenty year old spiral was full of torn and stained pages that contained detailed accounts of the odd encounters with the dwarf king he had taken to nicknaming Oak. 

Once he wrote down what he remembered of the dream, he flipped to the back where he had been working towards a sketch of Oak. The problem was, as clear as he could see him while dreaming, the image always tended to flicker away from his consciousness the moment he woke up. All he had so far was a very detailed set of eyes with a rather striking nose. When Bilbo finished eking out every last moment he could remember, he carefully put the notebook back in the drawer and hopped up to make a pot of coffee before starting his day.

Not that long ago, his morning would consist of fighting his way into a suit to get out the door with plenty of time to fight the Tube’s morning commute to one of the top law firms in London. However, the death of his mother three years ago had him re-evaluating his priorities. So he said goodbye to the spacious apartment, goodbye to the hustle and bustle of Zone Two, and retreated north to Lancashire. He would have quit his job as a paralegal completely, but Gandalf Grey, one of five partners at Maiar Law, refused to accept his resignation.

So here Bilbo was, receiving his workload via email, and going outside only for groceries and to mess around in the garden in order to preserve his image from total and complete hermit. Not exactly where he pictured himself at thirty-four that was for certain. He was in the process of seeing what exactly Gandalf had in store for him today knowing he still needed to finish putting together the information on the Proudfoot case only to narrow his eyes at the strange email in his inbox.

As he opened it and scanned the contents, he immediately had his phone in hand and Gandalf’s name highlighted before he even stopped to think of whether it was a good idea or not. Especially considering it was 6:30 in the morning.

“Bilbo! My dear fellow, how are you on this glorious morning?” Gandalf’s voice answered.

It was almost obnoxious how cheery he was.

“Do you at all remember our conversation last week?” He demanded, skipping the pleasantries.

“Of course.” Gandalf returned.

“You came all the way down to my house and said there was a job for me in London if I wanted it, and I told you I was fine where I was.” Bilbo prompted further.

“I dare say my memory hasn’t failed me quite yet.” Gandalf huffed. “I recall the conversation.”

“So then why in the world do I have an email from Erebor Industries confirming my 2pm appointment with someone named Thorin Durin?!”

“Because I thought your argument was a load of poppycock.” Gandalf scoffed. “So I took the liberty of accepting for you.”

If the man was standing before him, Bilbo would throttle him. He swears he would.

“No, absolutely not. I won’t do it.” Bilbo snarked, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Can you give me one good reason why you shouldn’t?” Gandalf pestered.

“How about the fact that I only stayed with the firm because you allowed a work from home clause to my contract? How about the fact that I’m woefully underprepared to meet with one of the richest CEOs in the UK? Oh and if those aren’t good enough, let’s bring up the fact that I’M NOT ACTUALLY A LAWYER!” 

There was silence on the line for a long moment. Long enough for the anger to slowly dissipate out of Bilbo.

“Bilbo, what you’re doing right now isn’t living. It’s existing. The world isn’t there in your little cottage amongst your books and garden. It’s out here. Come back to us. Besides, all I need you to do is gather information on what Mr. Durin needs our services for. You’re not to advise him in any way, and he’s well aware of this fact. Just this one small favor, and I’ll leave you to your precious Shire.”

Something ugly and painful welled up in Bilbo’s chest at Gandalf’s words. What did he know anyways? Bilbo was perfectly content here in his mother’s house. Perfectly content.

“I’m sorry Gandalf, but you have the wrong person for the job.” He murmured softly.

“Well…” Gandalf’s disappointment rolled through the phone in waves. “I don’t believe that is true. But if this is what you wish, I won’t press the matter. Take care of yourself, Bilbo Baggins.”

With that, he ended the call, and Bilbo numbly set his phone down on the countertop. Well that was that. He decided to pitter about the kitchen and start on something for breakfast. Probably just eggs and toast. He pretended the silence of the house wasn’t oppressive in the least.

He took a shower, dressed in something sensible, and settled himself into his study again with a nice cuppa. He fished a pair of reading glasses out of the pocket on his jumper, staring at the documents to do with Mr. Proudfoot’s case. However, he couldn’t take in the words. His mind was elsewhere. He felt relatively guilty for his behavior towards Gandalf. Maybe he could just put together some information about Erebor Industries that could help whoever was going to take his place.

He opened up a search tab on his computer and started reading through the google listings. He knew the company for it’s massive steel mill, but he had no idea they had a jewelry chain, and that they made weaponry for the military. That seemed rather ominous until he read further and found out that Thorin Durin was a war vet. Medically discharged eight years prior for a shot in the chest that nearly collapsed his lung. Bilbo winced, rubbing his own chest in sympathy.

His search switched gears at that point, and he clicked on a page dedicated to the relatively young CEO. Forty-two, only surviving family was his sister and two nephews. Seemed to be a relatively private person. He found it odd that there were no scandals surrounding him or the company. It was odd for someone seeking legal counsel outside of his own company. Then, there at the bottom of the page, was a photo of Thorin Durin, and Bilbo swore his heart forgot how to beat. 

It was him. It was Oak, the dwarf king. Bilbo would recognize the face from his dreams anywhere. How though? How was this possible? Bilbo’s fingers traced Thorin’s haunted eyes and humorless face so unlike the soft smile from his dream this morning. In that moment, Bilbo wanted to do whatever he could to relieve this man of even a fraction of his worries.

Covered in mucus as he was, Bilbo was not likely to forget his experience with trolls for as long as he lived. Even now, standing in the sunlight several hours after the whole ordeal, he would release little shivers of disgust. This was the closest he’s come to death in his entire fifty years of existence, and they weren’t even close to the mountain yet. More and more, he was beginning to regret running out his hole.

Once the full story came to light on just how he came to be in the possession of three trolls intent on cooking him, Fili and Kili were sent off to catch the ponies with more punishment to come. Bilbo stood before Thorin awaiting to hear his verdict as well. Their esteemed leader barely spared him a glance of disdain before marching away. He knew he should feel relieved that he wasn’t held accountable for the night, but he couldn’t stop thinking of his father teaching him about gardening. 

Flowers that had potential to survive were pruned and maintained. Lost causes were left behind as mulch for the stronger buds. 

Bilbo felt as close to mulch as a lone hobbit in a company of dwarves could be, he supposed. Not really having much of a purpose, he followed Gandalf and the others to the edge of the troll cave. He got maybe ten steps in before he was gagging and resisting the urge to retch right there at the entrance. He didn’t know how he could have endured as much in the disgusting habits of trolls and still not smelled the worst they had to offer. Perhaps, he wouldn’t follow them in. Not that anyone really noticed.

He turned to make a quick exit when his eyes stopped on a small brass box pressed into earth by what he would assume was a giant troll foot. If he hadn’t already been bent double, he doubted he would have seen it. It was probably nothing special, but the little carvings on it reminded him of his mother’s old puzzle box. His insatiable Tookish curiosity grabbed hold of him, and before he realized it he was digging the small prize out.

His fingers glided over the odd ruins and sliding squares. He used the only corner of his coat not ruined to wiped the dirt away to allow sliding pieces more room. There appeared to be twelve positions on the box and only eleven squares to move them in. Each square was marked, but he wasn’t sure as to the sequence in which they needed to be in order to open. His fingers swiped them up, over, down, over, over, up, fascinated by the odd toy.

“What have you got there, Mister Baggins?” Balin looked up from his discussion with Oin and Bombur about supplies.

Bilbo jerked before giving a shrug and slipping the little box in his pocket.

“Just a puzzle. Nothing important.”

Balin nodded indulgently looking ready to ask him something when Gandalf appeared thrusting a sword into his chest. Not that he had any idea as to how to use it other than point it at his enemies and hope they run themselves upon it. The old wizard wasn’t a whole lot of help with that either, other than to advise him to use it more like a deterient. Well, he could only hope anyone he faced was just the least bit afraid of a hobbit with an overgrown knife, although from the few smirks he received as he struggled to strap it onto his waist he wasn’t willing to bet on it.

He had been a little afraid he was going to have to prove just how inadequate he was when something burst through the brush only for it to be another strange wizard. As Gandalf discussed...whatever he discusses with other wizards, Bilbo was left to himself. So he sat down and began to fiddle with the puzzle box again. Over, over, up, over, down. It was forming some sort of pattern, and he was so excited to find out what lay inside, he didn’t even notice one of the dwarves sneaking up on him.

“What’s that?” Bofur asked peeking over his shoulder.

The hobbit jumped nearly dropping the thing before clutching it close to his heart.

“You startled me!” He accused.

“I didn’t mean nothing by it.” Bofur laughed with his hands held in front of him.

“Yes, well…” Bilbo grumbled as he brought the puzzle box back out.

“You’re one for games I see.” Bofur teased over his shoulder as he watched Bilbo work.

Bilbo hummed in response, not too bothered by the dwarf’s presence until he started trying to assist.

“Will you just let me do it?” He demanded.

Bofur laughed loudly, turning a few heads in their direction. Bilbo rolled his eyes going back to his game when the piece he slid down made an audible click. The hobbit gasped in surprise and elation as he found a small knob sticking out from where the missing piece would go. Wondering just what was inside the little puzzle box, Bilbo pressed down on the knob, and the box swung open. 

Bilbo was taken in a coughing fit as a cloud of golden dust rushed out to meet him. He dropped the box on the ground as he frantically worked to expel the stuff from his lungs.

“Are you alright, lad?” Oin pressed as Bilbo’s condition pulled tears from his eyes.

Bilbo tried to wave him away, but the older dwarf went ahead and pushed a waterskin into his hand. Bilbo nodded his head in thanks, taking a swallow that helped ease his discomfort. Well, that’s what he got for playing with something he got out of a troll hoard. Lesson learned.

“Uh...Bilbo?” Bofur called his attention.

“What, Bofur?” Bilbo choked out.

When Bofur turned back to him, his face was chalk white. Bilbo cocked his head to the side wondering what had the dwarf so distressed. Bilbo was only fairly certain he wasn’t dying.

“Your name is on this box.” He murmured holding the puzzle box out to him.

“WHAT?” Bilbo exclaimed, taking it back while fighting off another cough.

Bofur handed the box back to him, and there it was. In the final square where there hadn’t been a piece, a new one appeared with the name Bilbo Baggins written in his elegant script. Bilbo felt numb staring down at his name and internally cursing his inability to leave things alone.

“What’s going on over here?” Thorin demanded, having decided to make his way towards the gathering crowd around the hobbit.

Bilbo ignored him as he screamed out for the one person who could fix this.

“Gandalf!”

The wizard was either so deep in his conversation that he didn’t hear him, or he decided Bilbo’s problems couldn’t possibly compare to theirs.

“GANDALF!” Bilbo shouted again as he pushed through the dwarves to get to him.

“What, Mister Baggins, could be the problem that you feel the need to interrupt…?”

The grey wizard trailed off as Bilbo thrust the puzzle box at him. Gandalf stared at it gingerly with Radagast peeking over his shoulder until he noticed Bilbo’s name now etched onto the surface.

“Did you open it?” He glared down at Bilbo sharply.

“Well, yes, but…”

“Fool of a Took!” Gandalf cursed, cutting off Bilbo’s explanation.

The hobbit shrunk away from the wizard feeling properly chastised for the first time since he was a young faunt. 

“What’s wrong, Gandalf?” Thorin demanded.

“Your burglar decided to open the lost Box of Transformations.” Gandalf grumbled.

Bilbo could feel the weight of fifteen pairs of eyes and was quite content counting his toes than looking up to meet any of them.

“What does that mean?” Thorin growled out, clearly regretting having ever taken the hobbit out of the Shire.

“It means,” Gandalf sighed. “I was not wrong to say Bilbo’s involvement would be most amusing.”

Bilbo turned up to glare at Gandalf who was watching him with a contemplative expression. 

“It’s not funny, Gandalf.” Bilbo remarked.

The small smirk fell from Gandalf’s face, his eyes remaining solemn.

“No, it’s not.”

Honestly, that didn’t make Bilbo feel better.

“So what’s going to happen to him?” Bofur worried, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Mister Baggins will be going through a series of twelve magical transformations. The last of which...well, hopefully we won’t get to that point.”

The look Gandalf shared with Radagast was far from comforting.

“Gandalf…” Bilbo whined.

“Like what?” Kili pressed in interest. “Will he turn purple?”

“Will he grow tusks?” Fili added.

“Will he turn invisible?”

“Will he go bald?”

Bilbo could only stare at Gandalf with increasing horror every time the two came up with a different suggestion of what could happen to him.

“Each transformation will be quite random in appearance, duration, and abilities. Even we could not predict what form he will take.” Gandalf answered.

“Can’t you fix it?!” Bilbo cried out aghast.

“Not on my own, no.” Gandalf grumbled. “But luckily, I know someone familiar with this particular magic. The first thing we need to do is…”

Gandalf never got to finish as a howl broke through the clearing before a warg charged straight at them. Thorin and Dwalin dispatched the first one, and Kili killed the second with his arrows. They were being urged into action when Bilbo felt an uncomfortable swoop in his belly, and his skin began to glow golden.

“Um, Gandalf!” Bilbo called out.

The water was blue. It was more blue than he ever imagined it could be. As a writer he knew several different names for the color blue: cerulean, sapphire, cobalt, turquoise. Yet, when faced with the sheer depth of the ocean, he felt like ‘blue’ was the most apt description.

“I certainly hope you aren’t getting sick, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo spun around, squinting against the fading sun’s rays to face the taller man with eyes the same color as the ocean who was responsible for Bilbo’s current adventure. A smile split his face, and he took a step closer.

“Not at all, Mr. Durin.” He stated playfully. “I was actually trying to come up with a better word for the ocean than just ‘blue’.”

Thorin released a laugh shoving his hands into his pockets.

“And yet you’re our writer for this little production.”

“An opportunity I’ve been most grateful for.”

“So you’ve told me.”

Thorin’s soft baritone sent a shiver down Bilbo’s spine. He was rendered absolutely speechless as Thorin’s dark hair and beard stood in stark contrast to the pink and purples of the sky above. They were only mere inches apart now. A single step and he could reach up and kiss that gorgeous face like he’s longed to since stepping foot on this bloody boat.

The boat gave a little jump, and Bilbo stumbled to get his legs back under him only to stumble right into Thorin’s chest.

“Careful.” Thorin grunted as his arms encircled Bilbo’s smaller figure.

His heart felt like it was going rabbit out of his chest as his nerves singed under Thorin’s touch. Bilbo looked up to see he was in a perfect position now. Their breaths mingled, and if he just extended himself maybe a centimeter more…

The next jump by the boat shot Bilbo’s nose painfully into the underside of Thorin’s chin. They broke apart clutching the aforementioned body parts, giving each other a look, and laughing awkwardly. 

“I guess the waters are getting rough. Maybe we should head inside?” Thorin urged.

Bilbo nodded both simultaneously thanking and cursing his luck. Honestly, what was he thinking? Thorin was owner and producer at Erebor Pictures. As an emerging screenwriter, this was going to be his first big production. He couldn’t be developing crushes on the one person who controlled his big break. Something he has been telling himself for the entire five months he’s gotten to know Thorin. And to think, he almost said no.

Thorin opened the hatch door for Bilbo, and he took the five steps down into the common area. The crew was gathered around the massive round table playing cards and drinking as they have done nearly every night since boarding.

“Bilbo! Come join us.” Bofur greeted joyfully.

“Thanks, but I think I’ve won enough money off the lot of you.” He teased.

There were roars of laughter and verbal denials at his words.

“I’m still convinced you cheated.” Nori eyed him suspiciously.

“I’ll have you know, my mother had seven older brothers. It’s not my fault they were good teachers. Plus, you get them drunk enough, and they don’t notice you sneaking a few cards under the table.”

Thorin’s chuckles were heavy and close enough to ruffle the curls around his right ear. Bilbo didn’t put up much resistance as he was pulled away from the mirth at the table and Nori’s shouts of ‘thieving writers’ following them. They walked to the other end before taking the staircase that led up to the next level. Balin, Dain, and Dwalin were already there huddled around Balin’s iPad.

“Thorin! Mr. Baggins! Good of you to join us.” Dain grinned being the first to notice them.

“Not to sound too much like a child on a car trip, but are we there yet?” Bilbo sighed as he flopped down on the U-shaped couch.

“Dain seems to think we’ll arrive by tomorrow.” Dwalin informed him, leaning back with his arms crossed.

“Good. And the cast?” Thorin questioned sitting much more gracefully beside Bilbo.

“Should be about four to five days behind us.” Balin answered.

“Excellent.” Thorin nodded.

His arm slipped seamlessly behind Bilbo’s head, and the writer had to force his body to remain natural and not lean back too enthusiastically. Even if Thorin’s fingers were ghosting the edge of his curls.

It was still a little surreal to be thinking in a matter of days they would actually be working on a movie that Bilbo wrote. He never once thought he’d get to this point. Hamlet, Beowulf, Jane Eyre, these were the works that had inspired Bilbo in his secondary years to put some serious thought into becoming a writer. He had always wanted to leave behind a literary classic that’s language and prose would be talked about in future literature classes. 

Unfortunately, he was growing up in a generation that was losing interest more and more in the written word. He can specifically remember his university advisor telling him that if he wanted to see any shot of success, he better hope his work gets picked up in film or play. So he made the choice to be a screenwriter. His specialty was in dialogue anyways, so he could easily leave a legacy in clever word play. Sure, it was more underappreciated than being an author, but in the end he just wanted to see something of his become immortalized.

He had written tales of hobbits riddling with dragons, Arthurian legends full of heroic deeds, and gorgeous remakes of old fairy tales. However, in his fifteen year career, if he could call it that, he couldn’t get a single studio interested. Gandalf, his agent and dear friend of the family, had asked him to make something with a little more action and humor pertaining to this era. So he wrote El Dorado. A story of two friends who accidentally stowed away on Cortes’ ship, and end up discovering the city of gold before him.

It was certainly what Gandalf had asked him for, and he had even simplified the language to allow it to be marketed to children, thus increasing his reach. He never once thought this slapshot work would get picked over what he considered his masterpieces. He had almost declined Thorin’s offer on principle alone. Being where he was now though, he was extremely glad he hadn’t.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but how did you find this place again, Dain?” Bilbo questioned curiously.

“Dain served in the navy.” Thorin murmured in his ear.

“Aye.” Dain agreed looking between the two of them curiously. “I was always impressed to learn there were still undiscovered islands out there. So I made notes on which ones to go back to explore later. It’s really come in handy as a director.”

Bilbo’s brows furrowed. “So if they’re undiscovered, how do you know they’re...you know, safe?”

“Well that’s why we’re getting here before the others!” Dain bellowed.

Bilbo shifted in his seat as his imagination ran away with images of being mauled by tigers or other such beasts.

“Don’t worry, nothing’s going to happen.” Thorin eased, his hand giving his shoulder a small squeeze.

Bilbo felt the weight of others’ gazes at the comforting gesture. The privacy from earlier was now lacking, and Bilbo found himself irrationally uncomfortable with Thorin’s forwardness. After all, he was supposed to be a professional. He jumped up afraid that if his face got any redder, he would have to blame it on the sun. He gave a large stretch backtracking towards the staircase.

“Well, I should probably go to bed. Big day tomorrow.” He excused himself.