"I apologize, Master Dwarf!" Bilbo cried, as he pulled the sky blue-cloaked dwarrow off of his tiled and carpeted floor. He had continued to just lay there with a scowl, even after the other dwarves got off of him. The hobbit was not sure why he was apologizing, only that he really did not like that dwarf's glare being directed at him. "I am really, very sorry!"

The regal looking dwarf did not look very pleased to be on the floor of Bilbo Baggins' smial. His glare from his dark eyes and the scowl on his lips, making his beard twitch, made Bilbo just bob up and down and say "sorry, sorry, sorry!" all the more.

Eventually the dwarf, if only to get the hobbit to calm down a bit, clasped Bilbo's hand and stopped his scowling.

"Pray don't mention it," said the enormously important Thorin Oakenshield.


The world of Men was a very intimidating place to be for one of the Little Folk. Everyone was two or three heads taller than any respectable hobbit. All were clomping and stomping about in leather and sheepskin boots. And if one took a look at some of the hobbits around the village of Bree, not a single foot seemed to be brushed! If you had asked Bilbo, he would tell you that these foreigners could stay across the water with their tunics and weather-stained cloaks, with their stories of goblins and other interesting and adventurous and fun things.

Or perhaps he would leave off that last part.

The Company, along with Bilbo and Gandalf, was stopped in Bree to get something a bit more sturdy than a string of Shire ponies, and a horse for Gandalf. Shire ponies were bred for farming, after all, and not for trekking all over Wilderland and back again. And there was also the fact that Bilbo had forgotten a few things in his mad dash to the Green Dragon a few days prior, as he only had about ten minutes to pack. Though he had Master Dwalin's cloak and hood, there were some other things that were necessary for this adventure he had agreed to go on: an oilskin, some warmer clothes for the colder months that would be coming— mittens, thicker breeches, a wool tunic to be worn over his linen shirt and weskit— and some food was purchased, too. Some twice-baked scones that would keep well, and salted meat that would certainly dry out his mouth something awful once the he ate it.

The dwarves grumbled a bit about the unexpected stop, until Bilbo produced a few gold coins to pay for the things he needed. Maybe the Company had thought they would have to cover the expenses! Bilbo got that idea watching the dwarves hurriedly stow away their money pouches in packs and hidden pockets. Despite seeing the Gentlehobbit's well-kept smial, they seemed to think he would not be able to hold his own. Or perhaps they were just shocked that hobbits used gold, simple food-growers as they saw them.

Bilbo placed his purchases into a sturdy leather pack (also new), and straightened up to see that most of the Company had already set off, most likely to get astride their ponies and begin the trek east. Most of the Company save two. One was a wizard who had gone tramping off to the inn a little ways down the pitted dirt road, something about "seeing an old friend". The other was a dwarf who did not look very pleased to be waiting for a hobbit who was quite the meticulous packer (when given the chance, at least).

"Ready to go, Master Baggins? It is good to see you finally prepared for the reclamation."

"Er, yes." 'How formal this dwarf is!' Bilbo thought. "Shall we join the rest of the Company, then?"

"Of course," Thorin Oakenshield said. He gave the hobbit a once over, and seemed to be satisfied with something, because he then nodded and took the halfling's small hand in his much broader one. "So you do not get lost amongst the Big Folk," the dwarf-lord explained, as he led the way.

Thorin did not talk much, he just guided Bilbo through the crowds. Occasionally he would point out a building, or a tree, and say something about how it had not been there a century beforehand. Mostly, though, he kept his mouth shut and his gaze straight ahead of him. Bilbo pictured the two of them: the famous Oakenshield, leading a little Gentlehobbit through busy crossings like the dwarf was some kind of mother duck. The hobbit had to hide a smile in the green hood Dwalin loaned him at the thought of the image.

"Is this necessary, Master Oakenshield? I am not altogether helpless, I swear" Bilbo said, eventually. It had been maybe ten minutes since Thorin had first taken his hand. By that time, the two of them were approaching the East end of the town, and Bilbo could see the Company at the top of the crest of the next hill over. "I am sure I could not get so terribly lost at the moment."

The dwarf dropped his hand then, and Bilbo mentally chided himself for almost missing the warmth of it. Thorin then nodded, made a small noise of farewell, and strode on towards the Company, leaving Bilbo behind. Shortly, he felt a broad hand on his arm, but this time it was not the hand of a dwarf.

"Acquainting yourself with the leader of our Company?" Gandalf asked.

"If that is what you call it! You know, he held my hand, Gandalf?"

"He was worried you would get lost, my dear Baggins. A natural worry."

The wizard had a twinkle in his eye, so Bilbo could not tell if he was joking or not.


The trolls were turned to stone, and everyone had cut or wriggled their way out of the foul-smelling sacks they had been shoved into. When Bilbo finally produced the key to the troll's cave, amongst the grumblings of the Company's, "Why didn't you say so earlier!", Thorin walked over to the hobbit. He clasped the hobbit's hand tightly in thanks before taking the key.

Later, when everyone had a bit of gold jingling in their pockets, or a new helm on their head, Bilbo admired the dwarf king and his new Orcrist; he was running broad hands over the flat of the blade, and its jeweled shaft.


The next time it happened, it was not quite the gentle hand hold he was almost getting used to. He had slipped down into a ditch, making a misstep from the trail marked by white stones Gandalf was plucking his way along. The ground was squelchy; moss on the stones making things uncomfortably slick, even for a hobbit's sturdy leathery soles. Now, when Bilbo took his spill, he never thought, 'Why is this dwarf lord taking my hand in his?' Because, by the powers that be, no matter how romantic a gesture like hand holding could be to the people of the Shire, you do not really consider that when slipping off a muddy, miserable path into an even more muddy, miserable hole (not to say that he had not considered the implication of Thorin Oakenshield's hand holding before— because he definitely had). Bilbo was especially not thinking about romance when a pony's harness was in his hands, and the poor thing could have tumbled in after him, had anyone not saved him from his fall. No, a fall with a pony in grasp would not be pleasant for any party involved, including any of the dwarves standing within a few arms' lengths.

And as a matter of fact, where was Gandalf taking them anyway? Bilbo's maps, marked in red and blue inks, posted along the entryway of Bag-End, detailed nothing past Bree. From the sour look on the most-important Thorin Oakenshield's face, the old wizard would not tell him much of anything about the destination either. Much as Gandalf used to be an old friend of his mother's, Bilbo was not quite sure why they were all trusting the wizard to lead them somewhere safe, and (hopefully) dry.

Now, for an adventure, things had admittedly been pretty mild for Bilbo Baggins. Other than an awful bout of rain that lasted for an Age, it seemed like, and the distant cries of wolves that echoed through the South Downs all hours of the day, Bilbo found this quest to be quite the mellow one. If he closed his eyes and just listened to the rustling of leaves and the gurgling of the stream that ran near the path, he could almost believe he was in the Shire, visiting relatives near the Bywater.

And the adventure was better with increasingly-familiar faces around all hours of the day. The Company was a rowdy bunch, and they were not quite comfortable with our hobbit yet, but Bilbo felt that they were not so bad to be around. And there was always Gandalf at his side, on a rather intimidating and large horse, telling stories of long-dead kings, and brave heroes, and the love stories of elves and men. And sometimes a tale or two of a brave hobbit would crop up in an old tale of Westernesse, or Belladonna Took's name would appear, accompanied by a story quite unbecoming of a hobbit of her standing.

Yes, things were peaceful. There was his failure at burglaring with the trolls, but that was but one blemish on almost a month of smooth sailing. (Smooth sailing? What sort of hobbit talked about the sea! How Gandalf was rubbing off on him, this mad old wizard who was advisor to elves and dwarves and more fantastical things besides!) With a pipe in his mouth, he could almost forget the smell of the sack the trolls pulled over his head, or ignore the way his pony's hair made his nose twitch.

Bilbo supposed a little wet spill constituted as peaceful as well. That sort of thing could happen back in the Shire, so it was not quite an adventure. Just a regular occurrence that made you wet and grimy and altogether miserable. Unless, it seems, you had an heir to the throne of Durin on hand.

The hobbit felt his feet lose purchase with the slick ground, and the only thought that ran through his head was something around the lines of, 'How my cousins will make fun of me for this!' As if his cousins would ever even hear the tale! He found fault in himself for thinking that, instead of, 'My, these clothes will be ruined! Master Dwalin will be in a sour mood, surely!' or 'I hope my head does not hit against a rock of some kind!' or 'Oh ho, won't this make these dwarves in their sturdy steel-clad boots warm towards me!' Or maybe even some thought to the little sword he now kept stuck in his breeches, which could certainly poke him something terrible if he took a big spill. But alas, he had only time for the one thought before he had to brace himself for the splat! in the mud that would surely come.

Except it did not. He slipped sideways a bit, and maybe the edge of Dwalin's green cloak got a bit muddy, but he was saved from a large bit of dirt and water when a rough hand, fingers with rings stacked upon them, grabbed his, and wrenched him back onto the path. Bilbo had no time to marvel at the broadness of the hand (as he had before), or the calluses on the palm and on the fingers, which were incredibly thick compared to his nimble brown ones. There was not a second to note how dainty his hands seemed against the dwarf lord's. No time to make a remark on the difference. Bilbo had small brown fingers, nicked in some places by a kitchen knife, and maybe burned a bit from turning a bannock in the fire that was a bit too hot. Thorin Oakenshield's hands were scarred and marked from blades friendly and hostile, callused from a century and a half of swinging all manner of blades. Burns were there, from a forge, sparks leaping off a heated piece of iron, hammered over and over again, because each strike meant a little bit more food in a sister-son's belly. On the dwarf lord's fingers, rings sparkled, each with a meaning to himself, his family, or his people. Around the wrist, amongst an extraordinary amount of hair (at least in Bilbo's eyes), bracelets clinked and jingled as they slid over one another. Bilbo had no time to note that the only sort of jewelry to ever grace his own brown skin was made from chains of fragrant grasses and jewel-bright flowers.

No, it all happened rather quickly on that path leading up to the Misty Mountains. There was no stroll through a busy street of men, nor was it a gentle squeeze of gratitude. This was a vice grip around his arm, and a sharp jerk to keep him out of the mud. A hand wrapped around his wrist and roughly yanked him backwards and up, onto the path muddied by the past few weeks rain. Bilbo only knew it was Thorin who had saved him from the rather embarrassing spill from the glimpse of a sky blue hood and a, "Keep up, Master Burglar!" as the dwarf marched to the front of the company, slowing down a bit once he was alongside the bobbing red hood that belonged to Balin.

Even so, it was a kind gesture, Bilbo thought. And if this time he wished the contact between their hands had lasted a bit longer, well, that was his business, was it not?


Rivendell was beautiful. Bilbo had heard tales of the Last Homely House from his mother; descriptions of the Loudwater and the streets and palaces it flowed past. Elves seemingly floated through the streets of the city, as well as through the halls of Elrond. Robes in every color fluttered as the elves took their long strides.

Yes, the elves. That seemed to be the problem.

The company had been stumbling by foot or leading their ponies between rocks and trees, and slogging through the streams and skittering down sharp inclines, and no one was in a very good mood, save Gandalf. And spirits did not raise any further when the dwarves heard jolly cries and song from the trees on all sides.

"Elves," the company said derisively, picking their way over stones and trying their best not to get wet, 'lest they receive more teasing about the length of their beards. Joyous calls of 'Don't dip your beard in the foam, father!' echoed in their ears. "Always capering about! And singing! And what exactly is 'tra-la-la-lally'?"

"I think your beards are quite the right length," Bilbo told the dwarf next to him. "Once you get used to them, anyhow."

"We are Longbeards," Thorin said. "What did these elves expect?"

"I would be more hurt being called a grandfather, personally."

"I am almost two centuries old," Thorin lifted the silver tassel of his hood up, so it would not drag in anything too distasteful, like ground that belonged to elves, for example. "Approaching old age for a dwarf; they are almost correct. And we dwarves are not the only ones being insulted! If it is consolation, I do not find you rotund, Master Burglar. You could surely fit through any decent-sized keyhole."

"Now that is an insult, Master Oakenshield!" Bilbo cried. "A round belly is most pleasing to the eyes of a hobbit, you know. Why, to suggest that a Baggins could squeeze through a keyhole!" Thorin did not smile, but his beard twitched slightly. He gave the hobbit a nod, then decided he was done with the conversation. The dwarf spurred on his pony, quickly outpacing Bilbo. Eventually a tall elf came out of the woods and exchanged a few words with Thorin, who responded quite gruffly. Then the Company all got off their ponies and switched directions, in order to better ford the Loudwater.

And, really, that short conversation Bilbo had had with (the always brave and regal) Master Oakenshield was the way it was between the hobbit and all of the dwarves. A few words, polite little exchanges, and nothing more. Sometimes Bilbo wished they would be more accepting of him, but everyone knew of the stubbornness of the dwarves, and his Baggins side was perfectly happy just rolling over and letting them treat him like a stranger (which he really was, still). Maybe he would have done something about it sooner, if his more Tookish side had not been distracted by everything Rivendell had to offer.

Once they had forded the Loudwater, they got back onto their ponies and rode for a bit longer. A few minutes, and the Company was in the city itself. It really was a sight to behold. Bilbo was suddenly not very sorry that the dwarves had denied a meal from the elves they first encountered in the woods. The Last Homely House was a place where time stood still. Bilbo could imagine he was living in the beginnings of the Second Age when he saw the elves of Rivendell walking through their villas and their gardens, intricate yet old-fashioned embroidery on the cuffs and collars of their robes, neat little circlets sparkling over their pointed ears and drops of crystal strung on strands of their long, dark hair.

Rivendell had many things to do. There were libraries, filled with books of history and romance and adventure. Every day there were open-air markets on the streets, where you could purchase anything you could want. There were, of course, palaces, large multi-storied things with sloping roofs and sprawling gardens. In Elrond's palace, there was the Hall of Fire, where you could hear the best tales and sagas and songs. And then there were the gardens. They were really something to behold! Bilbo was glad he still had a pouch of pipe-weed to smoke on when he sat down in a patch of grass next to an elaborately carved trellis on the grounds of Lord Elrond's palace.

The hobbit was happy to see a bit of green that was not yet part of Wilderland. The gardens of Elrond were protected, and that meant the tall trees and shrubs and flowers spaced so meticulously would not be housing trolls and wolves and goblins and other unpleasant things they would find once they crossed the Misty Mountains.

The Company stayed in the Last Homely House for fourteen days. Over the course of the stay, Bilbo did not get close to the dwarves, not necessarily. But they did indeed become more familiar with each other.

It was the eve of their leave of the valley, as well as the eve of Midsummer, when old Balin found Bilbo in Lord Elrond's gardens, puffing away at his pipe and wishing dearly that Thorin Oakenshield's Company of dwarves would leave him this one last moment of peace before they ventured into the passes of the Misty Mountains. But it was not meant to be.

The old dwarf tottered over to Bilbo's patch of sweet grass, and fixed the hobbit with a curious look in his black eyes. For a dwarf that would be considered a gaffer back in the Shire, Balin could move quite quickly, and with purpose, and his counsel was wise. There, however, in the gardens of the Last Homely House East of the Sea, was not one of those times when the the son of Fundin moved with purpose. He seemed determined to move as slowly as possible in the valley as long as he could. Bilbo felt somewhat of a kindred spirit with the old dwarf.

He did not feel the same when the dwarf wagged his scarlet hood (newly mended) in front of his knees in greeting, then declared,

"Master Baggins, Thorin Oakenshield and his Company would like your presence at dinner tonight!"

"Of course!" Bilbo said, without quite meaning to. He found the Company well enough, but really preferred speaking with them, rather than eating with them. Bilbo had eaten with the dwarves a few times over the past weeks in Rivendell, but found that there were much more pleasant things to experience. After the first few meals with the Company, he made efforts to eat with Gandalf and Lord Elrond. Sometimes he simply grabbed a heel of bread and sat down in some sunlit corner in Elrond's library. Sparse meals compared to what he was used to, but better than the less-than-prim manners of a dwarf at mealtime. The dwarves were all very comfortable with one another, or something like that, and they were content to reach over small hobbits to share and grab food from each other's plates, hands, and sometimes even mouths. Bilbo lamented this, but still sat down with the Company on that Midsummer's Eve. He hunkered down in his seat, and slapped away any hands that grabbed for his bread or his bacon.

Along with their unsavory eating habits, the Company all had quite the penchant for mead. They got rather rowdy as a result. Despite the kindness of their host to provide them with such drink, they declared Lord Elrond's was not as good as the kind they brewed in Ered Luin.

"And certainly not as good as the brew we had in the Lonely Mountain!" they said, or at least said the ones among them who remembered Erebor. And from what he knew about the Company, and of dwarves in general, Bilbo was quite sure that out of all of them, Balin and Thorin were the only ones who could have possibly been old enough to drink so much alcohol as to make their wits addled. Maybe not even then! He tried his best not to give Balin a black look across the table as he talked about the drinks he had tried as a dwarf-lad in the kingdom of Thrór.

"I would like to hear more about your Lonely Mountain, I think," Bilbo said, as he nibbled on a piece of bread from Elrond's table. "If only to stop the talk of mind-altering substances," he added, as a side note.

"And how!" the Company cried. "Your people are the ones who began the practice of smoking funny leaves!"

"Dwarfs do the same, however ghastly your leaf is," Bilbo sniffed. "Now tell me more of the Mountain, please!"

"Very well," they said. "But weren't you paying attention to our song we performed in your home two moons past?"

And then, something happened. Something not expected. A warm and rough hand closing over his upon the table. The hand of a king. The coolness of the rings in silver and gold and metals Bilbo could not even name that brushed against the heat of his skin. A dwarf-lord thanking him for asking, and wondering aloud where he should begin when talking about his beloved mountain.

Thorin Oakenshield described the lands of his fathers, with stunning detail. It had been over a century since the last time he laid eyes on the realm, but he recalled his home perfectly, clear as crystal. There were fertile lands surrounding the Lonely Mountain, where the food-growers of Dale labored to produce enough crops to provide for two kingdoms. Gold and silver and gems flowed out of the gates of the mountain, and gold and silver and gems decorated those that lived within it. Erebor had begun as a dwarf-colony, but after a few centuries of superb leadership, it was a dwarf-kingdom, filled with feasting and songs.

Thorin talked about statues of the famous dwarrows of Durin's line, which filled the halls of the mountain. Dwarf-roads and -paths and -stairs led to beautiful caves and chambers and palaces filled with all the wealth expected of Durin's folk. Tapestries plucked out in silver thread lined walls, and carvings on railings and road signs exemplified dwarvish craftsmanship, which still thrived, even after so much knowledge was lost to Durin's Bane and the cold and fire drakes of the north.

King Thrór's wealth, his ring of power, and his possession of the Arkenstone ensured that his family and his kingdom prospered for generations of men. Elf-kings and lords of men all paid tribute to him, and dwarf-lords of the east and west deferred to him. And how well off his family was, for a while!

Thorin was always wont to go off in tangents when giving his infamous and drawn-out and, of course, very noble speeches. The Company grunted and nodded at appropriate times as Thorin talked about his (mostly) long-dead family, and how Thrór's wealth enabled them to wear the finest fabrics, seams picked out in mithril, trimmed in soft and warm furs. Only Fíli and Kíli looked interested, but they were hearing about their family, after all. How Thorin went on about his grandmother and her servants! They used to braid his hair, stringing it with gems and heavy beads, each with a different meaning. Even when relaxing in their chambers, the dwarf-lord said, his family's hair was well-oiled and braided, just because they had the luxury to wear it that way. Even simple top-knots or three strand braids were perfumed and tied up in strips of embroidered velvet.

Most hobbits could think of better ways to spend a Midsummer's Eve, something better than listening to an old dwarf talk about what clothes he wore and how he braided his beard about two hundred years ago. Bilbo found he didn't mind. Wasn't it interesting, learning about a culture and a race's history, centuries prior, still firsthand? And perhaps more importantly, didn't Thorin Oakenshield look handsome when he smiled? Wasn't he a sight to behold, even in rough and stained travelling clothes, his hair without the taming touch of oil and tied back with a leather band that had certainly seen better days? Firelight reflected off of his jewelry, making it all glitter and shine. The warm light made his scars and tattoos stand out even more than usual, and his black slanting eyes glittered just as much as the gold and silver in his ears and on his nose. No, this night was nothing like the past fifty or so Midsummer's Eves Bilbo had celebrated in the Shire. And it definitely not what most hobbits would consider a good time! Surrounded by dwarves in an elvish palace, eating and drinking alongside two different races, one of them of the Big Folk.

But when Thorin took his hand, Bilbo found he could not care whether or not another hobbit would like what he was doing. He was… well, him! And Bilbo Baggins was on an adventure, and he was holding hands with a dwarf-lord, and his Tookish side was thumbing its nose at anyone who would criticize him for enjoying this.

Thorin lifted his hand a few minutes later, and Bilbo found he did not mind much. After all, he was still considering staying behind in the valley of Rivendell while the Company forged ahead. It would not do to develop some sort of infatuation on the leader of said Company if he was thinking about leaving it.

Of course, it might have been a bit late for that sort of thinking. From the burning of his cheeks and the feeling deep inside his chest, Bilbo might have gone ahead and developed feelings for the dwarf, in spite of himself.


Yes. Oh, yes, he really should have definitely stayed in Rivendell.

Storm giants! Walking, living, mountains, tossing rocks at each other, and crashing into the valley below. All while rain fell so hard it physically hurt when it hit exposed skin, mixed with hailstones and lightning and thunder so loud it shook the rocky ground of the mountain path beneath Bilbo's sturdy hobbit feet.

A particularly loud crash of thunder— or was it the giant smashing against the mountain's rise a league or so ahead?— made the Company all lurch forward and sway. Bilbo, worried he might lose his balance, flung out a hand to steady himself. What there was to grab, to anchor himself to, he was not quite sure. All he knew was that it would not be pleasant to end this journey as a hobbit-sized spot of grease in the middle of the Misty Mountains.

His hand did not meet anything at first, but after a moment, was seized and squeezed tightly by the dwarf directly behind him.

Bilbo turned his head and locked eyes with Thorin. The dwarf gave his hand another squeeze and his head a nod. After a while he let go of Bilbo and put his hand instead on the hobbit's back, gently leading him down the mountain path.


"He has been more trouble than use so far. If we have to go back into these abominable tunnels to look for him, then drat him, I say."

Bilbo suddenly felt a bit less excited about surprising the Company.

He was still a bit shaky from the goblin caves and that… creature that he had riddled with. He could still hear it's hacking and coughing of gollum, gollum. And the cry of 'We hates it forever!' was still ringing in his ears. To top it all of, his nice brass buttons tore on that dratted guard door on his way out of the mountain. But suddenly none of that really mattered, in the face of what the dwarves were saying about him.

He knew that they thought of him like he was a stranger, even after months of travelling together and talking and sharing meals. But to leave him in those terrible goblin tunnels, to starve or worse? That stung. He hung back from the group, leaving the magic ring on, letting the world stay fuzzy and muted and grey around him. He waited for one of the other dwarves to speak up, to say a kind word or two about him, that he was not so bad a fellow, or should we not let him have the chance to at least try to prove himself as a burglar? Maybe Ori, who he had talked to about his songs and poems and short stories, would stand up to the older dwarves. His brother, the strongest of the Company, could mention that he was a decent chap, and he was sorry for dropping him, and he would be willing to go back and look for him. Dwalin could say that he still had his cloak, and his hood, and that they had to go and get it back. Or maybe Thorin would say that no one of the Company should be left behind, even if he was a little cowardly halfling. Maybe the dwarf would say something kinder, something from the heart to convince his Company to look for his Burglar.

But Bilbo was disappointed. No dwarf said anything in his defense. Not even kindly old Balin spoke up. Gandalf was the one who spoke on his behalf— and Bilbo almost considered turning back into the tunnels himself, to somehow get back to the Last Homely House and throw himself at Lord Elrond's hospitality. What was the point of staying on this quest if the dwarves he was doing this for did not give a whit as to what happened to him? Once he was back in Rivendell, then maybe he would go back to Bag-End. He would make himself a whole kettle of tea, fry up some bacon, and just try and forget this whole miserable ordeal.

Bilbo did not do any of that, of course. For some reason, he felt the need to prove himself to these dwarrows. It was his Tookish side, determined to prove himself. His Baggins side, as well, was not at all pleased that these dwarrows thought he was no good.

There was also the fact that Gandalf was an intimidating sight when he was angry; Bilbo almost felt bad for Dori as he got snapped at.

It was while Dori was explaining why he dropped him that Bilbo strode into the middle of the Company, and slid the magic ring off of his finger.

"And here's the burglar!" he cried.

A collective gasp rang out from the Company, and then a cheer. There were smiles, even on the grimmest dwarf! Suddenly it did not really matter that they had said so many unkind things. Because look at how they rejoiced his return! Gandalf called out to Balin, asking him what sort of guardsman he was, letting someone walk right under his nose into their midst.

The dwarrows crowded around him, asking Bilbo how he did it, and where he had gone, since he had not fought with them in the goblin tunnels.

He gave them some excuse, something about sneaking around and being very, very quiet. Bilbo didn't mention the ring. He was not sure why, but it just did not seem like it was worth talking about.

"It is good that you are whole and hale, Master Baggins. That was a mighty impressive tale," Thorin said, standing a ways behind him. He looked a bit of a wreck, dirty and a bit bruised from the roughing-up the goblins gave him. (He still looked better than Bilbo, who was covered in scrapes and whip-lashes and cuts and bruises. He was a bit damp from the underground lake, as well.) Thorin's beautiful, sky blue hood was covered in grime and black and red blood. But the dwarf was smiling, actually smiling, beneath the coarse hair of his beard. The hobbit found himself already forgetting Thorin's silence. He put a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, and held Bilbo's hand with the other. "Now tell us of your adventure!"


Some bits of gamey and burnt meat on a stick did not quite make up for the meals Bilbo missed while he was in the goblin tunnels. And it it no way made him feel better about being so high up in the Misty Mountains. Bilbo felt he deserved something nice, something like strawberries and clotted cream, after all he had gone through. Or perhaps a pan full of bacon. Blackberry scones, maybe. His stomach growled even as he gnawed a bit of meat off the stick Bofur passed him. He almost shuddered to think of the things he had just experienced. It was all hitting him, just then in the eagle eyrie. Riddles in the dark, and that croaking creature. Fire and wolves and goblins. A hobbit climbing up in a tree, like some sort of elf! He longed for something normal, instead of this adventure. Soft grass in some low lying meadow— if there even were pleasant things such as meadows in Wilderland. He frowned.

The hobbit was miserable, but he could still appreciate some things. He was alive! Bilbo Baggins of the Shire survived a fight with actual wolves and goblins and the tricks of a wizard. And his hosts were the stuff out of legends. The Eagles of Manwë were an impressive sight; their size and the tales they could tell were astounding.

That did not mean their eyrie was a pleasant place to be. It was drafty and cold and the Company was not… well, the best company! While Bilbo was busy feeling sorry for himself, longing for a blanket and some bread, please, the dwarves were joking and chewing and gnawing on the "meal" the Eagles had caught for them.

"Cheer up, Bilbo!" the dwarrows said. (For apparently, he was Bilbo now, and not 'Master Burglar', 'Master Baggins', 'Halfling', or 'Hey, You!') "See the forest in the distance? We are drawing close to the Lonely Mountain! We are alive!"

Even Gandalf was in a bright mood. Despite his confidence, Bilbo was sure that being up in those trees, with wolves snapping at his heels, terrified the wizard. So he was quite pleased that he remained alive.

"Bilbo, you have survived something even your ever-so-Great Uncle Bullroarer would quail at! Keep your chin up, my lad!"

Eventually, he got tired of the crowd. They were singing the song about the Lonely Mountain they performed that night in Bag-End so many weeks ago, but Bilbo found it did not move him as much as it did the first time he heard it. The hobbit did not want to hear a song. What he really wanted a nice, long smoke. He asked one of the Gróin son brothers for a match, (he had lost his in the goblin caves), then shrugged off Glóin's hand when the dwarf tried to get him to stay around the fire. Bilbo walked away from the Company, sat on a rock a dozen or so strides away, and went about getting his pipe ready for a smoke.

He puffed away at the stem, relishing the relative silence, but also shivering a bit, since he was a ways away from the fire. Bilbo was sucking in his cheeks, focusing on making a smoke ring when Thorin sat next to him on the rock. The hobbit blew out the ring, letting it float above his and Thorin's heads, then turned to the dwarf.

"Yes, Master Oakenshield?" he asked. "Did you need something?"

The dwarf-lord did not respond immediately. He just looked out to the east, to where the Lonely Mountain rested somewhere beyond the horizon.
"You looked quite calm, sitting over here. I suppose I wanted a bit of peace myself. I have not been so close to the Mountain since I was a dwarf-lad. I have not been on this side of the Misty Mountains since the Battle of Dimrill Dale— perhaps you have heard of it?"

Bilbo nodded. "The Shire is not so cut off from the world that I missed the story of that battle," he said. "Most learned hobbits have heard tell of the valiant Thorin Oakenshield, avenging his beheaded grandfather and defending himself from Azog the Defiler with naught but an oaken branch. It was, of course, an honor to have you in Bag-End. Once I knew who you were, at least."

"So impressive a tale that I often forget my place in it," Thorin said softly. He continued in a louder voice: "Anyway, it is simply a good feeling to be so close to home after centuries of parting."

Bilbo just hummed in response. Thorin sighed.

"Do you long for your home, Master Baggins? Is that why you are over here, so pensive?"

"I suppose so," Bilbo said. "Yes, that's it. Hobbits are not meant to be on adventures like this."

"Yours are a soft people," Thorin mused. "Not meant for quests such as ours. Even so, I feel as if you are not like most hobbits."

"Perhaps," he replied. He took a long drag from his pipe. "I still long for Bag-End. Hobbits are soft, as you said. We are certainly inclined to be creatures of comfort."

"Not like most hobbits, I said. You are not like the rest of your people. Not many halflings could escape a full goblin guard armed only with your wits."

"I had a sword along with these wits, though."

"A sword is not much use unless you know how to wield it."

"I know how to use a sword!" Bilbo protested. "Stick whatever is attacking you with the pointy end, yes?"

Thorin huffed out a quiet laugh. "That is the idea, yes. Some of our warriors could teach you a few things. I would not want you to be helpless in a fight, should we have to go through another skirmish like the one on the cliffs."

"That is kind of you to offer," Bilbo replied. "Though I am not so sure anyone would be able to make a decent swordsman out of me."

"Maybe not," Thorin admitted. "Maybe you will be able to slip out of every fight we get into. But learning some of the basics of swordsmanship would only benefit you." The dwarf took Bilbo's hand that was not wrapped around his pipe, and held it most gently. "I would not like to see you get hurt, Master Baggins."

The hobbit was thankful that the darkness of the night hid the smile that spread unwillingly across his face. "Well," Bilbo said, a little breathlessly. "If the famous Thorin Oakenshield thinks it's a good idea, I suppose I should definitely think about doing it."

Thorin smiled, then placed Bilbo's hand back in his lap.

"You are either flattering me, or jesting."

"I will let you figure out which it was."

"I will put some thought to it, then," the dwarf said, standing up. "I will let you know once I have learned. And I shall have to come up with some compliments in return, if it was, in fact, the former I mentioned." Thorin then cleared his throat, a bit gruffly, and looked behind him, at the Company. They were starting to settle down, and get ready for sleep. "Get some rest, Master Baggins."

"Good night," Bilbo told Thorin. He ignored the knowing smile Gandalf sent his way, over the fire.


Bilbo woke up the next morning with the thought that he needed to put his tea kettle on. That thought vanished quite quickly once he actually opened his eyes, and saw the rest of the Company gnawing chilly bits of mutton and rabbit, still on the charred sticks they had used last night. He had gotten the best sleep of his whole fifty years that past night. He was so overwhelmingly exhausted that he was well rested in spite of the hardness of his bed. Seeing the sight that was awaiting him when he woke up made him want to drop his head right back onto the rock with a thunk! He could not even stop the groan that escaped his mouth as the events of the past few days caught up with his head.

Nor could he stop his smile, warm against cold stone, when he heard a deep voice ask, "Everything all right, Master Halfling?" Not that he appreciated being called a halfling, but he did appreciate a certain dwarf-lord giving him extra attention.

"O yes!" Bilbo said. "I just seem to have lost the ability to stand up. I am enjoying this bed of stone."

"Us dwarrows are rubbing off on you," Thorin replied, a smile in his voice (though not on his face). "Next you will sprout a beard."

"A Baggins with a hairy chin! What sort of hobbit would I be, then?"

"A very fine one, I am sure."

"Is this one of the compliments you spoke of last night, Master Oakenshield?"

"If it pleases you."

Bilbo did not say anything, but he finally raised his head off of the cool stone. He held out his hand to the dwarf standing over him, a wordless request for a little help standing up. Thorin, of course, complied.


Bilbo slid off the eagle's back on shaky feet. Luckily, there were warm hands, one wrapped around his, the other on his back, to keep him steady. Both of them were dropped with a twitch of a beard and the hints of a smile as soon as soon as he was stable on his feet.


Gandalf was not coming along for the rest of the journey. Or, well, he would be travelling along with them for a few more days, and then he was leaving them. The point was that he was still leaving Bilbo alone with thirteen dwarves. Dwarves who he was not sure if they even liked him, though they had been travelling together for months.

Once they had skittered down the Carrock, the Company had all but torn off their clothes and dunked them into the Great River of Wilderland rather speedily, so they could get into the river to wash themselves and get all the accumulated grime from the journey off of them. The hobbit sat on the rock where the dwarrows were letting their clothes dry and rolled up the legs of his breeches. He dunked his big feet into the water and ignored the hooting and horsing around of the Company, as they splashed river water every which way. Bilbo tried his best to keep his eyes on his woolly toes, but he had never seen his dwarves without their several layers. They were fond of keeping on their armor and hoods and cloaks on most of the time. It was an interesting sight to be sure to see them all uncovered, as they all had a lot more hair than he had expected. And it was everywhere. He almost couldn't tear his eyes away.

One of the dwarves in particular caught him ogling, and Bilbo snapped his eyes very quickly to the wizard sitting behind him. The summer heat was even getting to him, and he had taken his hat off, and rolled up the shabby grey sleeves of his robe, as well. His silver scarf had been unceremoniously discarded to his side.

"Gandalf!" the hobbit cried.

"Yes?" the wizard asked.

Bilbo fought the urge to say one of his mild curses. He did not actually have anything to say to the wizard! The hobbit was flummoxed. He just wished to look busy so Thorin would not think he was gawking. He was doing just that, of course: gawking. Like some tween sneaking between the hedgerows to get a glance at his love. Utterly ridiculous, Bilbo was. He was a grown hobbit, not some blushing youth. Even so, he did not turn back to Thorin.

"Er…" he said. 'Quite eloquent, a master of prose, you are', Bilbo reprimanded himself. "How are you, Gandalf?"

The wizard did not look confused at the question, out of the blue. Rather, he looked amused at Bilbo's fumbling.

"I'm quite alright, Bilbo. How kind of you to ask."

"Yes, well," the hobbit trailed off. "Say, Gandalf, I have a question." The wizard hummed in response, looking at Bilbo expectantly. "It is about the leader of our Company."

"And why would you want to know something about Thorin Oakenshield, my dear hobbit?"

"O, Gandalf, I believe you know very well why I would like to know about Thorin Oakenshield! Would you listen to my question, please?"

"I will listen, and I may even answer!"

"How kind of you," Bilbo said, with a roll of his eyes. The hobbit tried his best to come up with a good question to ask, because, of course, he hadn't really been particularly curious about anything. "I would just like to know how old he is."

"Let me think a moment," Gandalf said. His lips moved as he thought about it, making calculations with that brilliant mind of his. "He was born in 1146 in your Shire reckoning, I believe. There was such a celebration in the Lonely Mountain, you know, when he was born. How the line of Durin rejoiced another heir to the throne!"

"But that was almost two hundred years ago, Gandalf!"

"Yes, but dwarves are a long-lived race, Bilbo-lad. At least compared to hobbits, they are. At one hundred five and ninety, Thorin may have yet another one or two hundred years ahead of him."

"He is one hundred and ninety-five!" Bilbo said. He was nowhere close to being a lad, but he just ignored that part of Gandalf's piece. "Why, the dwarf must see me as a child!"

"I find myself doubting that," the wizard replied dryly.

"No dwarf that old has any business looking that… like that!"

"Like what?" Gandalf asked, smiling. Bilbo scowled. Was the scheming wizard trying to play matchmaker?

"All strong and regal and—" Bilbo stopped himself. He shut his eyes, and just pointed behind him with a jerky movement of his thumb. He had pointed towards the area where Thorin had last been bathing, scrubbing himself with the sand from the river-bottom. "Like that, Gandalf! O, won't you stop making me feel like lovesick tween!"

"I have not done a single thing, Bilbo. This is all your own doing. And also, my dear hobbit, you may want to turn around."

That is what he did, and he saw a dwarf slogging through the water of the Great River, towards him. He looked back towards Gandalf, and thanked him with his eyes, since he had warned him of the dwarf's approach. The wizard just smiled vaguely and wandered away, as Thorin drew closer.

"Thorin!" Bilbo said, very nonchalantly, he had definitely not just stopped talking about him. "I would have thought you would stay over there, with the rest of 'em. Over there."

"'The rest of 'em'," Thorin repeated, sounding bemused. "Why do you not bathe with the rest of us, Master Baggins? The water is very pleasant."

"Is bathing what you call that?" he sniffed. "I call it roughhousing. Horseplay!"

"My sister-sons may have caused some mischief, but be reminded that they have not even reached their first century. Seventy-seven, and eighty-two, Kíli and Fíli are."

"So young!" Bilbo decided not to mention that he was even younger, much younger than Thorin's nephews.

"Both are older than I was for my first battle; one would think they could act as grown dwarves!

"But that is enough about our Company's dwarflings. You did not answer my question! Why do you not wash? Do you not wish to get the grime of the goblin caves off of you? And the scent of fire and burning wolf?"

"Of course! But hobbits cannot swim, unless you are a Brandybuck. And I am afraid the great current of the Anduin would knock me right off my feet!"

"I would catch you," Thorin said, solemnly.

"Would you? That would be a comfort, Master Oakenshield."

"I shall be right here."

"Would you mind turning 'round?" Bilbo asked, after a moment. "While I get undressed." Thorin nodded, and turned around to face the Company, who were still washing in the river. Bilbo noted that the dwarrows had no trouble being unclothed in front of each other. He shivered, despite the heat of the day, his Baggins side making him think of how absolutely un-respectable this was! He kept on his smallclothes, if only to hold on to a bit of propriety.

Bilbo stepped carefully into the water, making sure his sturdy feet had purchase on the slick, green bottom of the river.

"The current is not so strong," he noted. If only to break the silence that had descended over himself and the dwarf standing next to him. The hobbit bent over and began to scrub at the bare skin on his legs.

"It will be more help if you get some of the silt from the bottom," Thorin said. "Scrub yourself with it and it will get you cleaner."

Bilbo looked up to see that the dwarf was watching him. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I am a bit scratched up from my tumble into Gollum's cave, you see. I would not want to get dirt into the cuts."

"The water will wash it right out, yes?"

"O, yes."

Thorin watched Bilbo wander a few steps towards the center of the river. Just a few. The hobbit went as deep as he dared, and scooped some of the gritty sediment off the bottom. He rubbed it across his arms and his legs, and ignored the sting. He was pleased to see most of the grime and blood from Goblin-town slough off along with the mud. He did the same thing to his chest and his back, as well as his neck. It was quick work, but only because he made it quick. He strode back to the bank of the river, back to Thorin, as fast as he could without slipping.

"How I hate water," Bilbo groused. "Not safe for Little Folk!"

"Do halflings have an aversion to water?" Thorin asked him.

"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Or, well, most of us. Brandybucks are a queer breed, for sure. Hobbits,we are not called halflings, by the way, are not really meant for water. Many fauntlings drown in our streams and lakes every year, you know. And even adults drown in the Brandywine sometimes! Bagginses do not do water."

"Yet here you are," Thorin said. "In the Great River of Wilderland. Halflings do not do anything we have done on this quest, and yet you remain. Bathing in the Anduin!"

"A bit too late to turn back now, is it not?"

"This is true. But you could have turned back at the Trollshaws, or in Rivendell. Or even after you escaped from that Gollum creature."

"That is all true, but I am afraid I am here to stay, Master Oakenshield. You may as well get used to it."

"O, Master Baggins," the dwarf said. He put out his hands in a show of apology. "Am I being unkind? I do not wish to criticize you, my friend."

"You are not being cruel, I promise. It was a good question! I suppose I never turned around because I would like to see you regain your birthright. I did so enjoy your song about the Mountain."

"The song is what made you wish to stay? Perhaps the Company can sing for you more often."

"We can all sing, perhaps. I can teach you all some Shire drinking songs! Or some of the tunes I wrote myself."

"Shire drinking songs would be a delight to hear, Master Burglar. As well as your ballads." He paused for a moment, then, "The Shire," the dwarf said, in a tone that suggested he was ready to start one of his speeches. "I did not want you on this quest at first, Master Baggins. Did you know that?"

"I got that feeling, when we first met and you growled at me when the Company fell on top of you. In my own home! Then you stomped past me in your big boots and tracked mud all over my nice tiles, without a single 'by-your-leave, Master Baggins'!"

Thorin blinked. "I apologize for that."

Bilbo shrugged. "Its alright. And the nice little squeeze of the hand you gave me in apology made up for it, for the most part, I would say. Now, Master Dwarf, I get the feeling I was about to get treated with one of your famous speeches. Go on!"

The dwarf looked a little miffed at that, but he went on regardless. "I met Gandalf in Bree a few months ago— he may have told you?" Bilbo shook his head, to say that no, he had not.

"Gandalf appeared at my smial the morning before the party. He did not tell me a single thing about this whole business."

"I can see that dratted wizard surprising you like that. It explains why you were so surprised to see us all on your doormat! Anyway, I met the fellow, and recognizing him from my time as a dwarf-lad in the Lonely Mountain, took him back to my halls in Ered Luin. We were talking about taking back the Mountain when he brought up something about halflings. I said some rather rude things, which I shall not repeat, if that is fine with you about halflings. Or well, not repeat it again, as you heard me say it all while in your Bag-End. Cowardly and small and sensitive. Useful only for growing food. I am sorry for all that, as a side note, as you have disproved all of it.

"I simply cannot stop thinking about it, Master Burglar. I would really like to know why you came with us on this quest."

"Is that what you were getting at? Why did you not just ask that in the first place?"

"I had not thought of that."

"Surely not! Thorin Oakenshield must give a long-winded lecture before he actually says anything!"

While Bilbo teased him, Thorin was pulling himself out of the river, onto the rock Bilbo had been sitting on earlier. He tilted his head back so his long hair would not drip all over him (the dripping of his long beard, however, he could not escape). "Does it bother you so much?"

"No, it is fine. Your speeches are not so bad. And I think I came along because of those insults you just mentioned! I said, 'You think I am no good!' and then I said something like 'Tell me what you want done, and I will try it, if I have to walk from here to the East of East and fight the wild were-worms in the Last Desert.' And I am a hobbit of my word, you see. I will give burglaring a try for you. Or, well, the Company."

Thorin smiled at Bilbo, and began to braid his long, wet hair into a simple braid. "Its nice to hear that you are serious about this job," he said. "Does that mean you were jesting about our song?"

"Hm?"

"That it made you stay. The song." Bilbo watched the dwarf's hands weave his hair into a basic three-strand braid. He noted that the dwarf had left on his jewelry; all his rings and bracelets and piercings and chains. Thorin tied off the end of his braid, and started pulling on his clothes than he had left on the rock.

"Maybe that had something to do with it. But don't give yourself too much credit! You and that deep voice of yours are not the only reason I stayed."

"But one of the reasons?"

"O, be quiet, you silly dwarf. And help me out of this dratted river!"

Bilbo reached out his hand, and Thorin pulled him up onto the rock. Together they laid and sunned themselves while they waited for the Company to finish their own bathing. Bilbo probably should not have gotten so giddy every time his hand brushed Thorin's on that warm rock, but that was just the way things were.


Balin rubbed at his back, which was starting to feel the ache of everything the Company had done in the past days. "We should ford the Anduin and get to this friend Gandalf spoke of."

"And get some food!" cried the Company. "We lost our packs on the cliff side!"

"Quite right, Balin and Company," Gandalf said. "Do try not to get knocked over by the current!"

"Oh dear," said Bilbo, looking at the water of the Anduin. The Company had all finished their baths, and they were ready to cross the Great River and travel deeper into Wilderland. The river was as deep and it was wide, and while the dwarrows would be able to forge through it, (with difficulty), it would surely go over his head and knock him over.

"I can carry you, Bilbo," said a dwarf behind him. The dwarf was Dori, in his lavender hood.

"Thank you, Dori!" Bilbo said. "I would think you were quite done with me hanging onto you, what with the goblin tunnels, and the trees on the cliffside, and my clutching to your legs on the eagles."

"Do not remind me of that!" Dori told the hobbit. "I will carry you, just try not to pull my legs off this once!"

He let Bilbo climb onto his back, and the hobbit hooked his legs through the dwarf's strong arms.

Dori got across the Anduin without too much trouble, though Bilbo got splashed and jostled rather more than he would have liked to. He thanked Dori for his trouble, and then Dori replied that it was no trouble at all. He then went to rejoin his brothers, who had crossed the river earlier.

Bilbo felt a hand on his, and turned to see who else but the great Thorin Oakenshield, quite soaked from the top down.

"I was worried you would not be able to get across the Anduin," the dwarf-lord said.

"Dori saw to it that I did."

"I could have carried you, instead, if you had wanted it."

"I did not think to bother the leader of our Company with something trivial such as a hobbit who cannot swim."

"It is not trivial," the dwarf replied. He smiled, then frowned, when he saw a wizard approaching behind Bilbo. "It is no matter. Until later, Master Baggins."

He lifted his hand off of Bilbo's and walked away from him, towards Dwalin, through the tall green grass and wide-armed oaks.

Bilbo then had a hand on his shoulder, and before Gandalf could say anything about his dwarf problem, he asked: "And why is it called the Carrock?"

Once Gandalf started talking about who had named the Carrock, the dwarves of the Company all gathered back 'round and listened to Gandalf talk about the skin changer. It was all very remarkable, and Bilbo kept thinking about what it would be like to turn into a large animal. Then he wondered if he would even be large as a skin changer. Maybe he would turn into something smaller and less threatening; perhaps a rabbit.

It was rather hot, and Bilbo was beginning to think that bath in the Anduin earlier was a bit worthless, since he was sweating so much that it was beginning to soak through his shirt. Drenched and it was not even time for the midday meal, which, by the way, he was missing. Hobbits could endure, sure, and survive a long while without food, and lots of other things as well, but that did not mean it was pleasant. The hobbit would have eaten anything at that point, even acorns, had they fallen to the ground right then. Strange that there were no berry bushes of any kind around. Bilbo's poor belly agreed.

Yes, it was hot, and every once in a while, one of the Company would give up and just sit down, underneath one of the many oak trees surrounding them, and take a small break. And of course, the rest of the Company would join him. Dwarf, hobbit, and wizard alike would all lay down in the sweet green grass and try to ignore the gnawing in their bellies and the heat pressing down on them. No one was in a very cheerful mood, and they wanted to simply to get to this bear-man Gandalf kept going on about. Even if the skin-changer did not like visitors, he could still spare some food. At least, that is what they all hoped.

Once, Thorin was the first to lay down. (A capable warrior he was, and Aulë made his children to endure, but he was not as young and spry as his sister-sons, the dwarf-lord. No one faulted him for taking a break.) Thorin leaned against the trunk of one of the great oak trees, and slowly sunk to the ground. The Company all groaned gratefully and slid down into the cool green grass. Next to him, Bilbo got down and laid his head against dirt and grass, not caring that bits of both were getting into his cloud-like, coily hair. Thorin's long beard just barely tickled the back of the hobbit's neck.

They were not the only two around the tree, of course. The Company had fourteen members, after all. Glóin squatted on the ground next to Bilbo, and began to speak with the hobbit. (He had decided he liked the hobbit, after Bilbo asked the dwarf if he had a family. Anyone who let Glóin Gróinul go on about his jewel of a wife, and his children without interruption was a good fellow in his book, after all.) The red-haired dwarrow, though he talked with Bilbo for a good long while, never quite realized that the whole time, the hobbit had his fingers entwined with the dwarf-lord dozing off beside him. The tall grass, while itchy and scratchy, had some benefits.


"Come on Mr. Baggins! There is a gate somewhere around this way."

Before Bilbo could follow Gandalf, to find the way to Beorn's halls, Thorin grabbed at his hand roughly, saying, "Be careful."

The hobbit was still a bit terrified of the idea of the skin changer, but he trailed after Gandalf, following the hedge with the hint of a smile on his face.


Beorn let Gandalf call 'a friend or two' into his great hall, in order to better spin his tale. Bilbo was swinging his legs like a fauntling from his place on one of the tall benches that lay along the walls of Beorn's large home. Watched the bees (which were as big as his head!) buzz-buzz-buzz around the strange flowers in the garden, which marched right up to the wooden steps— when Gandalf whistled for a pair of dwarves to come along, as previously agreed. Bilbo stopped the swinging of his legs when he saw who was marching through the long grass to the wide doors of Beorn's hall. His rocking was replaced with a smile when Thorin and Dori both came in, bowing and nodding and offering their service to the skin-changer, who was quite unimpressed with the display.

"I don't need your service, thank you," he said. The bear-man went on to say that he did not like dwarves, not one bit. But if they were enemies of those filthy goblins in the mountain pass, then he would offer his services. If only the two dwarves would stop bobbing and shaking their heads in their showing of manners! "What are you up to, by the way?" asked Beorn.

Thorin Oakenshield was a strong and capable dwarrow, seasoned in battle and the ways of being a warrior. He could lead a Company across half of Arda, getting them into all sorts of trouble and skirmishes. Dwarven poets and historians wrote about how his oaken-shield and a cry of "Dû bekar!" led Durin's Folk to victory at Dimrill Dale so many years ago. But that was in battle. The dwarf-lord was not the best of leaders in diplomatic or political situations. Some would go on to say that he was just plain awful at that sort of thing. As such, Gandalf responded to Beorn's question before Thorin could even think about answering.

The dwarf looked a little bothered by this, but he let Gandalf carry on and tell their story. (The wizard was the better story teller, and a bit more convincing, besides. Had Thorin told the tale, it would have taken three times as long, and with half as much meaning.) As Gandalf carried on with the story, and Nori and Ori quickly shuffled into the wooden hall, Thorin and Dori both tried to clamber up onto the bench Bilbo was already seated on. Dori scrambled up without much trouble, sitting on Bilbo's left. He beckoned to his brothers as soon as they arrived, and they soon joined him on Bilbo's left side. Thorin could have climbed up onto the bench the same as the Ri brothers, but Bilbo offered a hand up regardless. Thorin sat on Bilbo's right, but did not speak to the hobbit, as the brothers on their left spoke. He listened closely to what Gandalf was saying, instead of conversing. But the dwarf did sit rather closer than was absolutely necessary, and neither let go of the other's hand, not until Bombur sprinted into Beorn's halls, right after Bifur and Bofur, with a rather sour look on his face.


When Bilbo awoke the next day, it was to the weight of a dwarf falling on top of him. He had not seen the little hobbit, curled up underneath his wool blankets on his bed of straw.

Bofur said a mild curse in the secret dwarf language before he righted himself and said, "Wake up, lazybones!" The dwarf pulled the blankets off of Bilbo, and then led him onto breakfast. Breakfast in Beorn's hall was much the same as it was for the dinner he had treated them to the night previous: bread, cream, and honey. And though the dwarves said most of the fare was in their stomachs, Bilbo was still able to eat enough to fill his stomach (and a good deal can fit in a hobbit's stomach, you know). The hobbit believed that the one thing that could have made breakfast better was the miraculous animals coming to serve him as they did before. Alas, he had to content himself with serving himself out on Beorn's wooden steps. This was not so bad, with a cool breeze from the mountains tempering the hot summer day outside. And he was content with scritching one of Beorn's dogs behind the ears while it dozed, rather than having it stand on his hind legs and do something that he could surely do himself.

Once Bilbo was done eating, the Company revealed to him that their host was gone. That did not surprise the hobbit much, as the skin-changer was nowhere in sight. If Beorn could not be heard or seen, it was likely he was not there. He was so large that he could not really hide anywhere. And he did not seem the type to hide from anyone, besides!

What surprised Bilbo was that Gandalf was not in the vast halls. The wizard had, of course, said that he would be leaving. But Bilbo believed that Gandalf would have said good-bye, at least to him! Then the dwarves told him that the wizard had just gone out to explore, but Bilbo still felt a bit uncomfortable not having Gandalf in Beorn's halls. Things tended to go a bit awry when he was not around, as Bilbo noted. Things like trolls, goblins, and unplanned, heartfelt conversations with highly esteemed dwarf-lords.

Which is, in fact, just what happened that day. The heartfelt conversations, that is.

Bilbo had half a mind to go exploring Beorn's vast gardens, so he asked, (while feeling quite silly!), one of Beorn's dogs if he could leave the long wooden house and go look at all of the flowers. All of Beorn's animals were intelligent creatures, so the dog knew to nod and point his nose in the direction of where the blooms were brightest and where they smelled the sweetest. With that, Bilbo took a full pipe and a mind full of songs to sing to pass the time.

He found a perfect place to smoke in a patch of clover next to one of Beorn's bee hives. It was an excellent spot because of the shade cast by the large beehive, and the softness of the ground. Bilbo could listen to the drone of the bees, and smell the grass and clover, and imagine he was in front of Bag-End. A few things dashed this little illusion, however. The buzzing of the honeybees was much too loud compared to the small creatures that flitted around the Shire. And almost out of earshot was the deep rumbling of dwarf voices. Dwarfs could be found in the Shire of course, finding the path to the Greenway, but none were ever close enough to hear the grating, low notes of their secret language. What most blighted the image Bilbo had almost created in his head was the dwarvish song he was singing underneath his breath as he huffed and puffed away at his pipe. Still living in Bag-End, he never would have done such a thing.

The night before, at their evening meal, the Company had sung a song about the lands surrounding the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo had been nodding off while they sang, and had not listened to most of the words, but he had picked up the tune quite easily. It was easy to remember the long, low notes that rumbled from the depths of Thorin Oakenshield's chest. As he sang to himself, he hummed the solemn tune mostly, content with that. The hobbit was most surprised when his quiet humming was joined by a dwarf's strong voice, right next to him!

"The moon set sail upon the gale," Thorin sang, right behind the hobbit. "And stars were fanned to leaping light."

Bilbo let loose a most unbecoming squeak. He jumped high into the air, his pipe almost tumbling out of his mouth. Though the pipe was spared a bit of injury, one dwarf could not say the same. The hobbit, in his jolt of surprise, knocked Thorin's jaw with his head, hard. It made the dwarf drop the basket he was carrying. (It was Thorin's fault, of course. He did not have to stand so close to the hobbit to complete the song. But lately, the dwarf had wanted to be closer to the Company's burglar. He was small, and seemed weak, but he proved himself in the goblin tunnels. Master Baggins proved himself as quite the formidable burglar! He longed for his home, all the while helping the dwarves get back theirs. He sang and smoke and cursed and ate enough food to feed three dwarves. He was a unique creature, to be sure. The hobbit, when he was near, made his heart beat harder and faster. And when the hobbit let him take his hand, and hold it, and stroke it softly with his thumb, it was a delightful feeling. One Thorin had not experienced in a good, long while. Without meaning to, it seemed the dwarf-lord had become a bit smitten with the little burglar.) Rubbing the spot on his head that would surely develop a goose's egg, Bilbo looked up at the dwarf towering over him.

"You crept upon me quite suddenly, Master Oakenshield!"

Thorin was ever confident, and Bilbo had gotten it into his head that he was incapable of being ashamed. That was disproven when the dwarf looked a bit embarrassed at coming so close. He smiled nonetheless at the hobbit. "I did not wish to scare you. Only to speak."

Normally, a dwarf could never hope to sneak up on a hobbit. Bilbo should have been the embarrassed one that day, in Beorn's garden, letting such a large and imposing dwarf creep right up to his little pointed ear. But he had been distracted by his pipe, his song, and the memory of one dwarf's voice as he closed his eyes and sang of his homeland.

"Then sit down, and we can share words and my pipe!"

Thorin did just that, and reclined in the clover next to Bilbo. The dwarf looked very at peace, Bilbo thought. His hair unbound but for the beads in it, his beard laid freely upon his chest. His hands were clasped in his lap, and it seemed like all of Thorin's jewelry had been polished and rubbed to a shine the night before, while Bilbo had slept. The dwarf had even taken off his cloak and hood, and most of his armor.

"Well, firstly," Thorin said. "How are you finding our host's hall?"

"What is there not to enjoy? The fare is excellent, the animals gentle, and the flowers sweet."

"I am pleased to hear that you are enjoying yourself. I believe the whole Company needs this short rest before we venture further."

"That is certainly true. If nothing else, we needed the food."

"Especially you, Master Burglar. You have been looking rather thin these past few weeks. Or, thinner."

"Yes, I had noticed the same thing," the hobbit lamented.

"Perhaps now you will squeeze through those keyholes we talked about some months ago."

"And that would not even be the least respectable thing I have done during this whole affair! Creeping around like a sneak-thief is not so bad compared to fighting wolves or goblins."

"Well, as long as we are here, you might as well eat as much as you can. Who knows how long our food will last in Mirkwood? Not I."

"As always, you soothe my fears, Master Oakenshield," Bilbo jested. "If you insist, I am sure I could eat some more of that dense loaf Beorn has been feeding us. Shall I go and see if there is still some on the breakfast table?"

"O, that is not necessary," said Thorin. He leaned over, and picked up the basket which he had dropped when Bilbo knocked him on the head. And it was a fine basket too, woven from the strong, thick grasses and reeds that grew around Beorn's homestead. "For that is why I came to find you, Master Baggins. The Sun is high in the sky, and you have been sitting out here lonesome for some time. I thought that we should share a luncheon, out here, in the grass."
"Why, a picnic, Master Oakenshield? How could any hobbit say no to that!" As the dwarf unpacked the woven basket, (filled with, what else, bread and honey), Bilbo said, a touch shyly, "You know, you may call me Bilbo, if you like."

Thorin was hunched over, his long, coarse hair hiding his face from Bilbo's eyes. Which was a shame for the hobbit, because the wide smile on Thorin's face was a sight to see. "Call me Thorin, then. And you may stop calling me most-important, and illustrious, and regal, if you like."

"Don't you enjoy my niceties? I work ever so hard on 'em."

"Do as you will, my friend. It is just that I feel as if it is not like you to bestow titles. I would not have you acting differently around me, than around others you hold close."

"You wish to be just Thorin, then?"

"It is what I would like."

"Hm," Bilbo hummed. "Well, I think I might like just Thorin. Now why don't you pass me some of this food you brought, eh?"

Most of the eating was done by Bilbo that day in the garden. Thorin just sipped on the sweet mead he had brought along with him, and watched his hobbit eat an alarming amount of bread and honey. Along with the bread, Bilbo feasted upon several handfuls of blackberries he had plucked off the several bushes on the way to his garden spot.

"Us dwarves can put away quite a bit of food. I am sure you already know this, from how we cleaned out your larder. And from the way we ordered breakfast off of you so very rudely! But when you get the chance you can eat more than perhaps four of the best of us! Come, why did you not eat so when we were in that elf's halls?"

"I certainly ate quite a bit! Just not with the Company."

"We were a tad raucous in Rivendell, that is true. We were not the best company," Thorin said, with a smile. He took another drink from the skin full of mead in his hands.

"That was my thought! Clever words, Thorin Oakenshield. See now, you were the best of the lot. You did not steal a single piece of food off of my plate."

"And I held your hand."

"Yes, that you did," the hobbit said, his voice a bit higher than usual. "Was your Lonely Mountain giving you tender thoughts?"

"That might have been it. Or perhaps you were the cause. Now, about that food again. What sort of meals will a… what did you say it was? A Gentlehobbit? One of them returned from an adventure, all loaded with gems and gold and the like, eat? You could buy a thousand loaves of bread, and sufficient honey to lather 'em all up."

"With all the treasure you are offering me, Thorin, I could purchase all four farthings, along with enough food to feed everyone in them. Food would not be the first thing on my mind once we win back your mountain!"

"And what would the first thought be?"

"Perhaps something like 'O, by the powers that be, I just burgled a dragon!'"

"And after that?"

"Well, I have not thought that far ahead, Master Dwarf. Perhaps I will be wondering how long you will allow me to stay in the Lonely Mountain, with you being the newly crowned King Under the Mountain. I should like to remain there a while, I think, to enjoy what we have worked so hard towards."

Bilbo looked down at that moment to lick stray drops of honey off his hand— and missed the bright look in Thorin's eyes. He heard what the dwarf-lord had to say, however:

"You may stay in my halls as long as you like, Bilbo Baggins." And neither did the hobbit miss the next thing off Thorin's lips. "I would like to hold your hand."

A smile crept upon the Gentlehobbit's face, not of his own will, not really. You and I both know the feeling: something simple happens, and to others it may seem very trivial. But to you, and maybe just you, it is momentous. When Thorin asked, really and finally asked if he could touch, Bilbo felt as if the moment was as large and significant as all the giants and ogres from all those tales his mother, the famous Belladonna used to tell. Yes, Bilbo Baggins' heart was full, and both souls in that garden that day were bright, when Thorin took the hobbit's hand.


Bilbo had last watch that night, the first night after they left Beorn's wide wooden halls. It was amazing, the contrast between Beorn's tamed lands and the Wilderland lying outside of it. Inside his gate, the grass was short, the trees trimmed, and flowers grew in neat little patches. The Sun shone bright, and she cast her light on the gentle and intelligent animals that made up Beorn's family.

Outside, the Sun beat down on their necks: there was no shade. Just long, swaying grass and the dark expanse of Mirkwood, growing ever closer with every step the Company's sturdy ponies took. The forest certainly lived up to it's name, Bilbo thought. It was darker than the day warranted. It almost seemed like the trees were sucking the brightness and warmth out of the day. The hobbit dreaded going underneath the boughs of that forest. It seemed even fouler than the Old Forest in East Farthing. And that was certainly a foul site to be at! Bilbo had not placed a single woolly foot in that place, and he did not wish to even peep a toe over the border of Mirkwood.

For shame, as he had pointed out earlier to Thorin, there was no going back to Bag-End now! No way to turn around, unless he wished to stay with Beorn. Not to say that he was unpleasant company, but 'little bunny' was an unpleasant nickname, to be sure.

Though they were being tracked by the wolves of Wilderland, and their goblin allies, the dwarves had still lit a fire for the night. Beorn had ensured them that no goblins would cross over into his lands, and that they would not, in fact, bother them in Mirkwood either. So Óin and Glóin had set to it, and lit the fire in that speedy way of theirs. The Company sat around the blaze and ate the food Beorn gave them for that night. (He had also given them preserved food for the forest: dried fruit, nuts, hard scones, and honey in stout little earthenware pots.) For that last night outside the confines of the forest, Beorn had given them some last loaves of bread, along with butter and juicy berries, almost too ripe from their time spent in the sturdy packs Beorn had gifted them. So the Company had one last feast, and they talked and sang and jested before they fell asleep for the night. Nori had first watch, and he peered with black eyes over the fire, into the night, searching for a source for all the wolf howls and goblin cries that carried across the open lands leading up to the forest.

Despite the loudness of their enemies trying to track them, Bilbo was able to curl up on his bedroll and fitfully sleep for a few hours before Bifur shook him awake. (Bifur had relieved Nori sometime during the night.) And so Bilbo stood watch until the Sun rose in the sky and started to wake the rest of the Company.

Bilbo had been on watch before— it was the duty of everyone in the Company, after all. Even Gandalf had had a shift, and Thorin as well. No matter how important a dwarf is, in the Company, everyone was equal when it came to taking watch. Not even hobbits were spared.

No one could ever say that Bilbo was a decent watchman, however. He was more likely to daydream than keep a close eye on what was going on around him. Thinking of Bag-End in the middle of summer was more pleasant than hearing the howling of wolves. Had it been a little colder, Bilbo's thoughts could turn to more unpleasant ends: the howling of wolves during the Fell Winter. But the night air was still warm, and he could block the goblin cries and think about how cool Bag-End's tiled floors would be under his sturdy feet, and how much better plush carpets under his feet would feel, rather than the dried-up and shriveled grasses outside Mirkwood. It would be a nice night to sit down with a bottle of Old Winyard, a pipe in his hand with Thorin by his side.

Or well, not anyone in particular by his side. The hobbit, flustered with himself, shoved his hands into his pockets. It did not have to be Thorin, of course. Bilbo put aside that silly thought. Much as Bilbo found himself enjoying the company of Thorin Oakenshield, he was not sure if the dwarf was meant for the gentle hills of the Shire. He was made for mountain halls, after all. No matter what he said, he was a regal dwarf, a royal dwarf. He had no real business getting involved with a little hobbit.

"Bilbo?"

The hobbit started from his spot in front of the fire.

"Burglar, where have you gone?" a low voice whispered.

Bilbo realized he was wearing the ring. Without troubling himself over the thought of 'Now, Bilbo, when did you put that on?', he quickly slid it off, stowing it back into his pocket. He whispered at the dwarf who had his back turned to him:

"I am here, Thorin."

"I suppose my eyes skirted right over you," whispered the dwarf, walking over to Bilbo. He sat down next to the hobbit, folding his legs underneath himself. Bilbo turned his gaze to the fire. "I did not notice you! Is this the hobbitish stealth Gandalf told us about? The kind you used in the goblin tunnels?"

"Something like that," Bilbo hedged. He did not want to mention his ring. "Could you not sleep, Thorin?"

"Hm?"

Bilbo looked away from the fire, and at the dwarf seated next to him. Thorin was just watching him, a slight curve on his lips. "Because the Sun is not yet up. Could you not fall asleep?"

The dwarf blinked out of whatever reverie he had fallen into, and shook his head. "No, I could not. Used as I am to the war cries of wolves and goblins, I feel a bit unsafe in the open. And then I thought, how shall our burglar feel? Out in the open? Alone on his guard? How he must tremble! Of course, Bilbo, you have fought alongside the best of us, so I may, truly, be wrong in guessing that you could be scared. You may be considered one of the best Heroes by the end of this adventure. You are not a little bunny, not really. You may become accustomed to the cries of orcs and of wolves! But even so, I would sit with you a while.."

"I shall never be accustomed to it, I should think," Bilbo said. He gracefully ignored the comment of 'little bunny'. "But you needn't be worried about me. And if trouble arises, Gandalf will wake up in a flash! You should go back to sleep, Thorin, I will be quite fine."

"If you say you shall be fine, I will leave you," Thorin replied. He looked down at his hands. "But before I retire, I had one more thing to say, while there is a bit of privacy from the rest of the Company. If you would like to hear it, of course. I do not have to tell you just yet."

Instead of asking what on Earth the dwarf could need privacy for, and why he was now saying he did not have to share, Bilbo replied, "You may tell me anything!"

Bilbo expected anything but a frown to that, but that is what he received. "Not yet, I believe," said the dwarf.

Bilbo nodded, saying that was all well, without any words. He reached over and grasped Thorin's hand. "You can tell me when you are ready, then."

Thorin did not protest when Bilbo began to stroke his much broader hand with the pad of his thumb. Nor did he complain when the hobbit rested his other hand on his knee. In fact, he relaxed into the touch, and leaned his weight into Bilbo, pressing the two of them closer.

'Perhaps', Bilbo thought, 'we do not need words for this. Not yet. Maybe this is enough.'

"If you have no quarrel with it," Thorin spoke slowly, after a long while in comfortable silence. "I would share the rest of your watch with you."

Bilbo just smiled, and did not reply. Keeping his and Thorin's fingers intertwined was answer enough.


Bilbo fussed with the straps of his newly-stuffed pack. It was five days after that night by the fire, and the Company was desolate. Gandalf was leaving, and they had to send back Beorn's shaggy little ponies. Without the sturdy animals, the Company had to carry all their supplies themselves. Fíli and Kíli, (who had been assigned to the tedious job), had words with Bilbo while they packed him up, and they insisted that everyone had the same amount of food and supplies. Bilbo was sure that he had been given more, and he said as much.

Thorin's way of comforting the hobbit was patting his hand and telling him with a smile that he would wish the pack was heavier in two weeks time, when they were all starving to death.

Bilbo let go of Thorin's hand when Gandalf announced that he was finally leaving. He sat down on the ground, and wished he was sitting behind the wizard on his horse, even if the beast was much too tall.


The nights were the worst part of the forest. Pitch black, so dark that Bilbo could not see his little hand waving in front of his eyes. Mirkwood was gloomy and dark during the day, but night somehow managed to make it more unpleasant: eyes blinked at them from under the leaves, and large moths, black bats, and buzzing midges swooped over the Company if they ever tried to light a watch-fire.

Bilbo was used to his dark little holes, but Bag-End was nothing like the forest. Bag-End was cozy, and lights could be lit if it was dark, and food was to be had, fresh fruits and warm breads, and blankets could be wrapped 'round a hobbit who was seeking a bit of comfort. And Mirkwood was quite the opposite.

The one thing that made Bilbo feel a bit less miserable was that the rest of the Company was just as discomfited. When they laid down for a few hours of fitful sleep, the dwarrows all crowded together, practically atop one another. It reminded Bilbo a bit of staying with his cousins in the Great Smials. Except a bit hairier, and a touch less loud. Most nights, Bilbo would squeeze in between Dori and his brothers. Occasionally he would stay up later than usual, chatting with Balin about anything you could imagine. Anything to keep their minds off of the eyes glittering above them in the treetops. The dwarf and the hobbit would both wake up the next morning, finding that they fell asleep atop one another.

One night out of the many they spent in that forest, somewhere in the maze and crush of dwarf bodies, Bilbo found himself falling asleep next to Thorin. Dreadful and terrifying as the forest was, the hobbit was able to drift off very easy, his hand cradled and stroked as he smiled down into his bedroll.


"There is a boat against the far bank!" cried Bilbo.

"How far away is it?" Thorin asked, striding up to where Bilbo was kneeling in the shed leaves that lined the banks of the river. He held onto Bilbo's hand as the hobbit leaned far over the banks over the black stream.

"Not at all far," Bilbo said.

It took a fair bit of arguing, as well as some trial and error, to get the little rowboat to the side of the river they were on. Bilbo was almost dragged into the river, and would have fallen in without Balin's help. After Balin dragged the boat onto the bank, Bilbo let go of the damp rope and put a hand on the boat as well. Thankfully, the craft was sound, and it had no magic water slogging around the bottom of it.

"Who'll cross first?" Bilbo asked.

"You will come with me," said Thorin, grabbing Bilbo and lifting him into the boat after him. "Fíli and Balin, you come too."

Fìli raised his brows, giving the hobbit a curious look when he saw that his uncle did not drop Bilbo's hand once he was safely in the little rowboat.


Bilbo shouted in distress at the sudden darkness that fell over the lit clearing. He was not the only one who gave a cry of surprise. Though the Company had been in the inky darkness of Mirkwood for weeks, it was a surprise to see everything go dark after the brightness of the elvish party.

Part of Bilbo's shout was dismay, however. He had really wanted something to eat. The poor little fellow was wasting away! Or at any rate, getting a bit too thin for his tastes. He was sure they could have begged something off the elves, had they not fled as soon as the first dwarf stumbled into the clearing.

Bilbo stumbled through the dark, scratching himself on tree branches and tripping over rotten logs. In the distance, he heard the rest of the Company doing the same. Though they added more curse words than Bilbo, who just grunted softly whenever he stepped on something squelchy.

The hobbit blundered around for several minutes, and felt a bit like crying, having lost his way so thoroughly. The Company were all shouting, and calling out names, but Bilbo could not locate any of them. He called out as loud as he could in his high voice, calling for help, and for someone to cut down all these ghastly trees so he could stop knocking his head around! And then he began to think too much about it all, and how dreadfully lost he was getting, and the poor fellow began to cry in earnest, not even paying attention to where he was blundering. Bilbo's crying only stopped when he felt something touch his shoulder, and it was only to allow for a shout of surprise. Stray tears still trickled down his face, even when he heard a familiar, albeit hoarse from all his shouting, voice say, "Bilbo, all is well!"

Thorin kept his hand on Bilbo, a comforting touch, as he slowly lowered the hobbit to the ground. Then he called loudly:

"O, Company! Follow my voice!"

The dwarf continued to call for several minutes. Bilbo cried himself out very quickly (not having much water in his body to waste), and sniffled until the whole Company was clustered together and all accounted for.

"There is nothing to be done," Balin said. "We should stay here for the night."

"And find the path in the morning?" Kíli asked.

"Of course, Kíli," Thorin said. "Stay close, all of you. We will light no watch fires, not even this far off the path! Dori, take first watch."

Bilbo took the dwarf's words to heart. The 'stay close part', anyway. He did not try to sleep, he sat up straight, ignoring the scratching and rustling of the forest around him. The hobbit sat close to Thorin, their sides brushing. He jumped every time a creature in the forest made a loud noise. Thorin did not speak— Bilbo supposed he was worried about how they would possibly find the path come morning. Or perhaps the dwarf heard the growl of Bilbo's stomach and was wondering how long they would be able to last in the forest without food.

Something in the woods let out a loud, chattering cry, and Bilbo's hand shot out. He clumsily grabbed at Thorin's hand. The dwarf had settled the heavy weight of his hand on Bilbo's thigh, but the hobbit found greater comfort in having the warmth of Thorin holding his hand, giving him an illusion of safety. Had they not been lost, and had Bilbo's stomach not been cramping from lack of food, he would have preferred Thorin's hand in more intimate places, back on his thigh. If Bilbo was not worried about the elves from the celebration coming after them in the dead of night with pointy weapons that could stick starving little hobbits, he might have encouraged Thorin to keep his hand there, and perhaps to stray to other places.

But it was not the time for that. Bilbo smiled at Thorin, sheepishly, even though the dwarf could not see him. Thorin seemed to understand what the hobbit was trying to communicate, because he squeezed his hand tightly and hummed softly and patted his knee every time he jumped.

The hobbit was feeling snug and very drowsy, with the warm weight of Thorin at his side, when Dori whispered that the lights had appeared again.

Well, Bilbo was wide awake once he heard that! He sat up quickly, and Thorin pulled him to his feet as they looked at the score of glimmering lights that suddenly appeared. From some unspoken agreement, the Company all grabbed onto one another and walked in a single file towards the lights. As they got closer, Bilbo could finally see the dwarves around him. Their bushy brows were knitted together, and their mouths were twisted in worry. The only one who looked excited was Bombur. Bilbo supposed it was because he was thinking of the dinner party he dreamed about.

They stopped moving a few yards from the brightly-lit clearing. In a harsh whisper, Thorin told the Company to not rush forward this time! And that he was sending Mr. Baggins into the circle, rather than a dwarf, because they would not be afraid of the hobbit.

Bilbo sent Thorin a look of despair at that. The dwarf gave Bilbo one last squeeze (perhaps in apology) before letting his hand go. Bofur, who was standing behind the hobbit, gave him a push which he probably thought was encouraging towards the lights. The Company took Bofur's lead and kept pushing Bilbo along the line until he stumbled into the clearing.

Losing his balance, Bilbo threw out his arms and tried not to fall face first. He looked up at the last moment, catching a brief glance of elvish folk giving him horrified glances before someone kicked out their fire, and everything went black once more.


The hobbit frowned, clutching at his shoulder where the dwarves had shaken him too roughly to wake him up.

Bilbo had cried much in the ghastly forest of Mirkwood, but he still felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes when he thought of the beautiful dinner party he had dreamed about.

The Company was once more moving forward, to an even brighter group of lights than before. There was no need to cling together as they approached: they could see each other clearly. Even so, Thorin held Bilbo's hand, only dropping it when they were within a few strides of the open meadow where the elvish folk were celebrating.

"I shall go this time," said the dwarf.

The hobbit did not say anything in response. Perhaps if Bilbo had known how long he would go without seeing the dwarf again, he would have thought of something to say. Maybe he would have finally told Thorin how he was feeling. But he just stood there. He just tried to remain hopeful and watched the dwarf-lord take a deep breath and step into the light.


Bilbo flattened himself against the cave wall, and sucked in what was left of his stomach as the elven guards approached. In his hand, he had the crusty heel of a bread loaf clutched tight. The hobbit sent out a silent plea to whichever Valar were listening to keep his stomach from letting out a loud growl.

It did not, thankfully, and Bilbo kept silent and stealthy as he barely dared to breathe. Quite against his will, however, he quietly gasped as one of the dark-haired elves mentioned an ill-tempered dwarf, imprisoned deep within the caves. Bilbo could not stop a smile from spreading across his face, because who else could that ill-tempered dwarf be but Thorin Oakenshield? The leader of the Company was not dead! He was there, somewhere in the Elvenking's stone halls.

Now, Bilbo knew now that Thorin was somewhere in the vast system of caves. But where exactly was he? That was what the hobbit had to figure out himself.

It took much trial and error— picking a guard to tail for hours and hours, stationing himself in one room, wedged into a hiding spot, listening for the smallest hint of where the chief of the dwarves may be. He even snuck his way out of the Elvenking's magic gate, to see if any of the guards outside the palace knew anything.

The hobbit had a great deal of luck, and that was the very reason he was able to find Thorin. Bilbo could not see the moon, not in those elven caves, so he had no idea how long it took to find Thorin (as he had quite lost track of the days). But one day he simply got tired of looking. He sat himself right by Balin's jail cell and said as much. The white-haired dwarf became very cross with that!

"Bilbo!" he harshly whispered. (There was no telling which elves could be listening.) "You have proven yourself, again and again! You bested Gollum in the caves, and you took his ring! You defeated those terrible spiders!"

"Well, yes," said Bilbo. He kept complaining, though he was very satisfied with Balin's compliments. "But that's got nothing to do with finding one dwarf in this massive place."

"And if anyone can find our chief…" Balin paused, smiling. "You can, Bilbo."

"What do you mean by that, Master Dwarf?" asked Bilbo, a bit dryly.

"Nothing, Master Hobbit," Balin replied, archly. "Just that I think Thorin may be very pleased to see your woolly toes outside his door."

"I find myself doubting your so-called wise words, friend." Bilbo stood up, and brushed off the front of his trousers, though no one could possibly see the dust on him. No one could see him! Not even a keen-eyed old dwarf like Balin. "I will go and find him, then."

Balin waved him off and whispered, "Good luck!" as Bilbo walked away with careful steps.

Mr. Baggins was a hobbit of his word, and he went and looked for Thorin as he said he would. Only, he abandoned all strategy. He did not listen in on any conversations, nor did he follow any of the elven guards who patrolled the prison. He simply wandered.

It is, of course, once you stop really searching for something that you find it. This works with a misplaced house key, your favorite shirt, as well as with dwarves. And so, just as Bilbo Baggins may have found a misplaced pen or hat in his cozy little smial, he also found Thorin in his prison cell. He was in the deepest, darkest part of the caves. The hobbit almost jumped for joy when he saw the hairy dwarf.

"Thorin!" Bilbo cried, once he saw the dejected dwarf sitting against the cave's wall, his head hanging down. The hobbit clapped one of his little hands over his mouth at the noise of his exclamation at the same time Thorin's head snapped up. The dwarf did not move, however, he just kept his eyes on the spot he thought he heard Bilbo's high voice coming from. "Thorin," the hobbit said, much quieter now. "Come here so we may speak!"

Thorin finally stood up, and the smile on his face was infectious: Bilbo found himself grinning as well. "Master Baggins," said the dwarf. He even laughed! He strode right up to the bars, and nearly stuck his head through the bars. At any rate, the only thing that got through was his long nose. "Bilbo! I almost gave up hope. I was very near to telling the elves about our quest!"

"How low-spirited you must feel!" Bilbo whispered.

"I feel a great deal better now," he whispered back. "Bilbo, is the Company alive? Are you the only one who lives?"

"O! No, we are all alive! Everyone is in a jail cell, save me. We got captured after we fought the spiders."

"Spiders!"

"Spiders, yes, and do keep your voice down! Here, I'll tell you. We figured out where all those dreadful cobwebs came from. The ones that hung down from all the boughs, you know. Alright, I will begin with this:

"After you walked into the clearing, we all got quite lost when the lights went out. I ran around for hours, calling everyone's names. Eventually I decided to just sit down and sleep and wait until the next day to find everyone. But the next morning I was in no position to find or be found. I was being wrapped up in sticky webs! The Company was captured by spiders!"

"How do you get captured by a spider?" Thorin leaned against the bars, getting comfortable for the certainly long tale Bilbo was about to tell.

"Why, when they are the size of two dwarves put together."

"Ghastly!"

"Yes, they were," said Bilbo. "Now let me continue my story:

"The spiders had disarmed all the dwarves, but I am a very lucky hobbit, and the spiders never thought to check the inside of my trousers for a short sword! I was able to slash the webs and kill the spider they came from before it poisoned me!" Bilbo did not mention that before he drew out his sword, he beat at the spider with his hands and squealed loudly for a good while before he even remembered he had his sword. The dwarf would not be impressed with that! There the hobbit paused.

"Not only are you a lucky hobbit, but you are also the fiercest one I know!" said Thorin.

Bilbo smiled, satisfied that the dwarf was able to pick up on his cues. The hobbit was getting quite used to the Company giving him compliments.

"Now I was free, but I was left with an issue. 'What about my dwarves?' I asked myself. 'How shall I find them? How shall I free them!' Well, there was no going about answering those questions where I was, next to the husk of the giant spider. So I wiped Sting— that is what I named my sword— off in the grass, and set off towards the direction where I heard the Company's cries the night before.

"I walked for a good long while, and eventually I came to a part of the forest that was even darker than usual. Mirkwood is all dusk and gloom, but the part I wandered into was blackest midnight! Through the dark, I could just barely make out the shapes of a whole mess of spiders. All was quiet, and I could hear the beasts speaking. They were gathered around neatly spiderweb-wrapped bundles, and they were speaking of eating. They were preparing for a feast! I was horrified, because can you guess what their feast was going to be made of?"

"Dwa—"

"Dwarves, Master Oakenshield! Strung up on a branch like the herbs I have hanging from my ceiling! Now, I could not let the Company get eaten by spiders, not when we were so close to the Mountain, and perhaps so close to escaping the forest! And how cruel would the irony be if we were to be eaten by spiders while we starved to death? Too cruel! The spiders went for the fattest among the lot first, but unluckily for them, Bombur still had some life inside of him. As soon as the first spider poked and prodded at him, he kicked out, and whap! The spider went flying!

"That really enraged them, and the spiders decided then that they would kill their food, then eat it, instead of the other way around. Now, I could not allow that to happen! I almost weeped at the thought of being all alone in those woods, but stopped myself. 'The Company needs you, Bilbo Baggins! Do something about it!' I said. I could not just run into the midst of the spiders and slay all of them with my sword, of course. I was hired for my stealth! I looked around at my surroundings and found that there was a good deal of throwing stones around my feet.

"Now, Thorin, much time as you have spent with me, there is still a great deal you do not know about Bilbo Baggins! For one thing, I am rather good at is throwing games. Anything that involves good aim, really. I play quoits, horseshoes, I shoot the wand, I can throw darts, I can play the ninepins… And I am an excellent hand at conkers! Now, conkers is a popular game among fauntlings in the Shire. To play, all you need is a handful of horse chestnuts, sometimes painted, sometimes not. You drill a hole in the chestnut, and tie a string through the hole. The point of the game is to hit the others' chestnuts and crack them. Many a faunt has gone home with teary eyes and a bruise from getting knocked with a conker too hard! Not me, of course. I was always rather good at it."

"Bilbo," said Thorin.

"Yes?"

"The story, Bilbo. Tell me. You are good at throwing things?"

"Of course! My aim is excellent. So I grabbed a decently sized stone, and just as one of the spiders bent to deliver a bite to poor old Bombur, I threw it. I hit it, as you can probably guess, square on! Out it dropped from the tree, dead on the ground! Before the spiders could even react, I threw another stone. It whizzed through the air and snapped right through a string that one of the spiders was hanging from. It dropped straight to the forest floor as well, dead as anything.

"I gathered an armful of stones and ran off, just as the spiders congregated at the spot I had been standing in, just moments before! It came into my head that I should lead the spiders away from the dwarves, so that they could try and escape. From my new position, I began to throw more stones. Also, I sang and danced."

"Bilbo Baggins!" said the great Thorin Oakenshield. "Blessed with good luck, good aim, and the ability to serenade anything. Be it dwarves or spiders!"

"You flatter me! The song was nothing good. I called them Attercop. And Old Tomnoddy!"

"Grievous insults," said Thorin, solemnly. "Remind me never to enrage you."

"Just do not threaten to eat my friends, and we will be fine. Now, once the spiders chased after me again, I went to another new place. There I sang another insulting song, and—"

"Sing the song for me," Thorin said, his eyes twinkling.

Bilbo laughed quietly. "Very well. Do not judge me too harshly. I wrote it in a moment, after all!" The hobbit began to sing in his high little voice:

Lazy Lob and crazy Cob

are weaving webs to wind me.

I am far more sweet than other meat,

but still they cannot find me!

Here am I, naughty little fly;

you are fat and lazy.

You cannot trap me, though you try,

in your cobwebs crazy.

Thorin closed his eyes and smiled, leaning his forehead against the bars of his cell. "If only I could have been there to hear it! Do stop singing, or else I may change your job description. You will go from burglar to minstrel! Go on with your story, Bilbo."

Bilbo did not let the teasing get to him, and he continued spinning his tale. "Well, with that song, the spiders got so angry that they actually began to think clearly! They all got together and began to weave a web, one to entrap me! Well, I could not allow that. I had to get to the Company. Before the web became too thick to cut through, I drew out Sting and slashed it! Then I renewed stamping and singing. Attercop, attercop, I teased! I went as far from the web as I dared, and the spiders all followed me, scurrying their way over, their eyes rolling and their mouths frothing. While they came running, I took off in the other direction, back to the Company.

"You recall they were all strung up on a tree branch? Well, to get up there, I had to think like the spiders. I grabbed one of the sticky strings they left lying about, and I climbed up it to where the dwarves were all fastened. Imagine my surprise when I finally pull myself, huffing and puffing, onto the branch, and I see an old fat spider waiting for me! Its back was to me, and it was toying with the strings wrapped around Bombur. It wanted to start the meal without its brothers! I let it join its other brothers, that is, the dead ones, and I stuck it with my sword. It fell to the forest floor with a whump.

"It was then that I realized I could not do the same to the dwarves. I could not just cut them down, or they would also go tumble-thump with a whump down to the hard ground! I got closer to the first dwarf, shimmying and sliding my way along the branch, making all the Company bounce and dangle like too-ripe apples in the fall. I solved my problem by dragging the dwarves, with great difficulty, I might add, up onto the branch with me and only cutting a few of the strings, around the middle. After I sawed all that mess on the first dwarf, I saw that it was your sister-son, Fíli. He was quite woozy from all the spider poison, but still managed to get the rest of the webs off and clamber onto the branch along with me.

"'Come help me with this, Fíli,' I whispered. 'We must escape!' He just grunted and spent a few seconds trying to get spiderwebs out of his eyebrows. He must have decided that it was no use, because he quit trying after a bit and helped me drag the rest of the Company up. With his help, we got Kíli, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, and Nori. (The rest stayed on the branch to help with the cutting down. Poor old Bombur just rolled right off the branch and laid on the ground, that is how tired the fellow was!) Now, it was excellent that we got that many down, but by then the spiders realized that I had run back to their nest. Just as we got Nori cut out, the beasts began to swarm up the tree!

"The whole time during this whole adventure, I had had my ring on. But I removed it when I rescued Fíli! So when the spiders all climbed up, they saw me at the top, waving Sting and slashing at 'em. They all shouted in surprise, and swore to eat me and collect my bones. While they tuckered themselves out with all their shouting, I noticed that some of the other beasts were on the forest floor. They were about to go after Bombur, who was lying defenseless in his pile of leaves! I leapt down from the tree, and rolled into the midst of the spiders.

"And Thorin! It might be that I won't ever need your sword lessons. I slashed and stabbed and leapt and ducked, and wove in and out of a forest of hairy spider legs, hacking at them as I went. I don't know where it all came from! Likely from good old Bullroarer, or maybe my mother. Anyway, I killed six or seven of 'em, I think.

"While all this was happening, above me, the Company was busy cutting everyone else free. After I killed that handful of spiders, I called up to them, 'Come down! Come down!' Some leapt, some climbed, and some simply fell off. Either way, we were all on the forest floor. This did not do us much good, however. The Company was all in a shaky heap, and I was tiring out, waving my little sword around. Above us tens and hundreds of spiders looked down, their eyes glittering.

"Despite their weakness, your Company quickly armed and prepared to defend themselves. Balin, Fíli, Kíli, Nori, and Bifur all had a knife or two on them. Dori, Dwalin, and Ori grabbed sticks to whack at the spiders with. Bombur was still too weak to do much of anything. Everyone else grabbed armfuls of stones to throw. And I had Sting. We killed dozens of spiders, but wave after wave of them kept coming! I saw that the battle could not go on like this.

"Much as I was loath to tell, I turned and told the Company about my secret ring. I told them that I was going to disappear, and lead off the spiders."

"You were going to sing and caper about again?" Thorin asked.

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. "Yes, and I want no teasing! It worked, did it not? Anyway, I told them I was going to disappear, and said that they should run off in the opposite direction of where I was leading the spiders. None of them quite understood what I was talking about, but I cannot blame them! They were dizzy, and fighting, and dwarves probably have a bit of trouble hearing a high hobbit voice over the din of battle. I tried and tried to repeat my instructions, but eventually I just had to execute my plan. I put on my ring, and ran off.

"I performed a reprise of my Attercop song—"

"And how did that one go?"

"Hush! And I ran off, away from where we found the last elf-fires. I sang and slashed, and had to double back at times, because the Company could not properly defend themselves. But eventually they made their way to the elven clearing while I protected their backs. It took a long, long, long time! Hours, it felt like. Eventually, quite suddenly, all the spiders just gave up, and they scurried on back to their webs.

"We lay in the clearing for a while, huffing and puffing and trying to regain our breath. That did not take long, and as soon as they could say a word, every dwarf began to pester me with questions. How did I find them? How did I know how to fight the spiders? How did you write that delightful song so quickly?— That was Ori. In particular, most of them wanted to know about my ring and my disappearing."

"That is what I am curious about," whispered Thorin. "What ring?"

Then Bilbo remembered Thorin had not heard the tale yet! He told the whole story of Gollum's cave (complete with all the riddles— the hobbit wanted to show off a bit). The dwarf-lord was even more impressed than he had been with the little hobbit in front of him. "That is an even better tale! A braver hobbit has never lived." Thorin continued smiling. "You are ever surprising me, it seems! You are a clever one."

"Yes, well…" Bilbo shrugged. "Anyway, the Company was all very impressed. They praised me and patted my back for a while, and some of the Company fell asleep, but then Dwalin noticed something that none of us had noted earlier."

"What was that?"

"You were not there!"

"O!"

"Quite a fuss was kicked up, we were all dreadfully worried, but there was nothing any of us could do. We decided that there was no finding you until we had some water and some food in our bellies. So we took a vote, and myself, Balin, Dori, Ori, Bofur, Bombur, Fíli, and Glóin were in the majority, and we decided that the path lay to our left. We had no sense of actual direction— there is no sun to be seen in most of this forest, after all! We staggered along, and it was not long until on all sides, a whole score of red torches flared up. Out from the trees leapt a troupe of Wood-elves, armed to the teeth!

"Well, none of us were in any state to fight. All of the Company simply sat down and waited to see what would happen."

"Even you, Bilbo? After this tale, I would not think you one to give up like that."

"Well, I was tired," Bilbo said. But then he laughed, and said, "But I am jesting. You know me increasingly well, Thorin. As the elves began to count how many of us there were, I slid on my ring. They never noticed me. They bound all the dwarves, and made them walk single-file through the woods, until we came to the magical doors of the Elvenking's halls. I had to move quickly to get inside before they slammed!

"And that is most of the tale," concluded Bilbo. "Since the Company was imprisoned, I have been sneaking about in these halls, stealing information and food wherever I can find it. Everything has been terribly boring and stressful. I had almost given up hope myself, the hope that you were alive, until I quite by accident wandered down here."

"That may well be the happiest accident that has happened during this whole quest. Perhaps my whole one hundred and ninety-five years!"

"More of your compliments, Master Oakenshield?"

"Of course," said the dwarf. "But have you ever stopped to think, Bilbo, that I am paying you so much kindness for want of something?"

"Want of what, Thorin?"

"I called you clever. I was wondering, or well, first, may I ask how long we have been in here? I have lost count of the days."

Bilbo shrugged helplessly, though Thorin could not have seen it. He had the ring on, after all. "I have come upon the same problem. It has hard to keep track when you cannot see the sun. I would guess less than one Moon."

"Well then! That brings me upon my question. Or less of a question, and more of a statement. Surely the most respectable Master Baggins, of Bag-End, may the hair on his feet ever grow, will have found a way out of this prison by now!"

"Well, you are not completely wrong," said Bilbo. "I have not found a way out. I have found several."

"That is excellent news!"

"It would be, Master Dwarf, if we could actually get out those ways. There is, of course, the front door. It is heavily guarded, and very quickly slammed shut after it is opened. There are a few side entrances, all of these closely guarded as well. I was almost caught when snooping about one of them!"

"Do not get yourself caught!" whispered Thorin harshly. "You are likely our only means of escape, unless I ransom myself."

"Ransom yourself!" hissed Bilbo. "No, Thorin, do not. You are our leader! How could you suggest leaving yourself here! Promise me you won't!"

Thorin looked a little stunned at that. "I was not actually considering, now that you have found me. I promise, Bilbo."

"Good," sniffed Bilbo. He reached out, and uncurled Thorin's hand from where it was wrapped around his prison bars. He held it tightly, and bravely said, "I refuse to take one step closer to the Lonely Mountain unless you are by my side."

"I believe it," Thorin said softly. It was not his harsh whispers of their conversation before that moment, nor was it a gruff statement said quietly. It was something altogether different, something gentler. Something Bilbo had only heard a few times from the dwarf-lord. "And I refuse to offer myself as ransom until Mr. Invisible Baggins gives up on finding a way out. And you will not," he continued. "ever give up. You are one of the bravest creatures I have known. I was very wrong with my previous judgements of you, Bilbo."

"I am glad you think so," said Bilbo, matching Thorin's tone. For a while, the two just stood there, their hands linked. Bilbo watched Thorin's lined face lose some of its lines as the dwarf relax. Thorin could not see Bilbo, but he took comfort in the touch and the steady breathing of the hobbit. It was pleasant, but Bilbo had to remember that Thorin was in prison and he himself was essentially a fugitive in those stone halls. Eventually, he said, "Thorin, I have been here for quite some time. Shall I go and tell the Company that you live? I cannot stay in one place for too long, you see."

Thorin said something low under his breath, and then straightened up, lifting his head from where it was leaning against the bars. He lifted one hand to brush a stray lock of hair behind his ear, but kept the other entwined with Bilbo's.

"Of course," he whispered. "Just a bit longer, though? I have something I would like to say to you before you leave."

"Ask me anything, O King," said Bilbo.

"This is what I meant to ask of you that night by the watchfire," Thorin explained. "It is a question, but also a bit like a promise." The dwarf stopped himself.

Bilbo ran his thumb along Thorin's hand, in what he hoped was an encouraging gesture. "If it is within my means," the hobbit said. "I will promise you anything."

Thorin smiled, but soon grimaced. "We usually have more ceremony for this sort of thing. Especially for a dwarf of Durin's line! But I am an exiled dwarf, despite my lineage, so I will put it very simply. Would that I could do this the way you deserve, Bilbo Baggins! I could smith and craft and make you a fine gift. I would braid my beads and colors into your hair, and I would pay for you to receive my line's scars and tattoos. I would dress you in softest velvets, and the warmest furs. All would look upon you and know that you were well cared for, and you would receive the respect due to dwarvish royalty. I could not get you the standard gift of sturdy boots, of course. You do not like covering your already sturdy feet! Perhaps something different? Whatever you would like. I shall have to ask Balin to put it into writing soon as we reclaim the mountain. And I…" the dwarf trailed off. He looked off into the distance, trying to put what he was thinking into words. Thorin did not falter, but whatever he wished to say, it was giving him trouble. It was something he had never asked of anyone.

"Put it very simply, as you said, Thorin," said Bilbo, softly, gently, and with a warm feeling swelling in his heart, as he thought he had an idea of what the old dwarf was trying to say.

Thorin nodded decisively. "Bilbo, once I reclaim my mountain… When we reclaim it… I—" He stopped himself again, then shook his head. "I apologize, Bilbo. I know what I want to say, and how, but I am just not sure when is the right time to say it. Perhaps not now."

Bilbo did not say anything. He was glad that he had his ring on, so Thorin could not see his face crumple. He tightened his hold on Thorin's hand, and then let go. Thorin opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but before the dwarf could speak, Bilbo quickly said, "Now, I really must go, Thorin. Is there any message you would like me to deliver to the Company?"


The hobbit knew it was not a good idea, but he planted himself in front of Thorin's bars nonetheless. The dwarf heard the whump and the little breath of air Bilbo let out as he settled himself down, and he approached his cell door slowly.

"My dear Burglar," he whispered. "Is that you, or am I going mad?"

Bilbo considered not answering. Eventually he said, "I am here."

"Have you found a way out?"

"No." A pause. "I haven't."

Thorin hesitated, then, "How fares the Company?"

"Alive," Bilbo said. "And very cross that I haven't found a way out yet."

"Cross? Why, you've only had three— four? days!"

"They expect things of me now," Bilbo said miserably. "As do you, no doubt. I have had little to eat, and even less time to sleep, and I feel as if I'm about to keel over. I feel wretched."

Thorin did not know what to say. Of course, he had experienced what Bilbo was going through in the elven king's halls. Now, he had done none of it in the presence of an elf, but he knew the feeling of an empty belly. An empty belly, that had been empty, and would stay empty for a while. He knew what it was like to be so tired from working and thinking all through the day and the night. When the exiled dwarves of the Lonely Mountain wandered Middle-earth, looking for a new home, Thorin and his people were well acquainted with struggling with hunger and weariness. The dwarf did not say this, however. He wanted Bilbo to feel a bit less awful, and he did not think sharing his troubles with the hobbit would make anyone feel better (or perhaps he just wished to leave his past where it belonged— in the past. Perhaps he did not want to think of his life as a beggar, when he was so close to being King). So, instead, he said,

"You could sleep here, for a bit. You could have some of my food. I'll keep watch, so you do not get caught."

Bilbo considered a moment, then he said: "No. No, I must find us a way out. I've been here far too long, besides. I'll sleep once you all are free."

Thorin heard a rustle, and the creak and groan of Bilbo's joints as the hobbit stood up. But the dwarf-lord did not want Bilbo to leave.

"Will you eat, also, once we are free?"

Bilbo sighed, and though Thorin could not see him, he figured the hobbit was giving him a thoroughly exasperated look. "If you are offering me your food again, Thorin, your night meal won't be delivered for a few more hours. It would be easier for me to go nab something off a passing cart, rather than waiting here with you."

"You could sleep while you wait, and I will keep watch for you, as I said."

"In the open?"

"You are invisible," Thorin pointed out. He sat down, across from where he figured Bilbo was. "No one would know you were there but me, unless you snore."

"I do not snore," said Bilbo.

"So then, it makes sense that you should sleep."

Bilbo huffed and though none could see it, or perhaps because of that, gave Thorin a very dark look. "O, fine. But you must wake me— before the guard brings your food."

Thorin heard Bilbo settle back down, and he felt, rather than saw, the hobbit's hand wrap around his.

"Squeeze my hand if you hear footsteps approaching."

It was strange, to feel and not see Bilbo, but of course, not wholly unpleasant. After a while, Thorin noted that Bilbo's breathing had not slowed down, nor had he loosened the grip of his hand.

"You cannot sleep," he said quietly.

"It is hard," Bilbo admitted softly. "I am under a great deal of pressure, and I cannot relax."

"If you could have any meal at this moment," the dwarf said suddenly. "What would you want to eat?"

Bilbo huffed out a sharp breath— a quiet laugh. "What a strange question! What is this meant to do?"

"Food helps you relax, and find your calm," Thorin explained. Bilbo nodded, glad the dwarf could not see his smile. He paid attention to what Bilbo said, and he valued it, and he remembered it. Bilbo had mentioned it once, perhaps in the Eyrie, or in the forest, or even at Beorn's. He could not recall! But it did not matter, because whenever it happened, Thorin tucked away that small fact about him, and was thinking about it. Even a small return of the feelings the hobbit felt— even if they were not to the same degree— made his stomach twinge and heat up: not unpleasantly. "A very hobbit-ish trait, and not a bad one! Now, what would you eat, right now?"

"Something warm," the hobbit said. He rubbed Thorin's knuckles thoughtfully. "My favorite meal is breakfast, you know. If I could make any meal in the world, it would be some bacon, and some eggs. And toast, with butter and jam."

"How do you like your eggs? And what sort of jam?"

"O, I like them fried, just like you do, I assume, since that is what you demanded of me for breakfast the night we met. As for jam, perhaps blackberry or raspberry."

"That sounds very appealing. And then perhaps after that, a hot bath."

"That would be lovely." Bilbo sighed. "And I would have clean clothes, and a comb for my feet."

Unlike the serious conversations they had been having at Thorin's cell, this one was rather carefree. The situation they were in was dire, or soon would be, but the hobbit was definitely in need of a break from his constant sneaking and plotting he was doing in the Elvenking's halls. Thorin was happy to give it to him.

The two of them spoke of many things, but overwhelmingly, they spoke of home. Thorin longed for his home just as much, if not more than, as Bilbo did. They spoke of soft carpet underfoot, and hardwood floors polished to a shine, but they also spoke of mountain stone, warmed by thousands of bodies and great forges. Bilbo brought to mind his many closets and coats and buttons, and Thorin mentioned silk and golden thread and his grandfather's robes of state.

Mostly though, the dwarf was content to hear Bilbo speak.

That evening, Thorin learned (perhaps more than he wanted to) about the Shire and its ways. He heard of large and criss-crossed family trees. He listened, amazed, to the strange tradition of giving things away on your birthday. He learned what a mathom was, and questioned Bilbo quite thoroughly as to why his race valued useless objects such as they so highly. He imagined the great Party Tree, increased in size in his mind by how fondly and vividly Bilbo described it. Rather than bringing up the Lonely Mountain's vast chambers used for celebrations, festivals, and dances of all kinds, he simply wondered what it would be like to rest in the Party Tree's shade on a quiet afternoon.

After a while, Bilbo did drop off and fall asleep. Thorin was pleased that his plan had worked, but he almost wished that it hadn't. He would have listened to the hobbit talk for hours, if he could.


"Upon my word!" cried Thorin, when Bilbo whispered for him to come out and join the rest of the Company. "Never again will I doubt the nimble mind of our Burglar!" The dwarf slung an arm across Bilbo's narrow shoulders, and asked what they were to do next. (Bilbo noted that no one in the Company looked surprised at so much contact. Bilbo hoped Balin saw the black look he shot him— the old gossip!)

Once Bilbo explained his escape plan, Thorin (and the rest of the Company) was much less enthused about the entire thing. After a thorough tongue-lashing by the hobbit, however, they were all rather cowed. They looked down at their booted feet and shuffled along as Bilbo led them down to the wine cellar.

It took some time to find them, but eventually Bilbo and the dwarves found thirteen decent barrels to hide themselves in. The hobbit scurried back and forth, cramming dwarves into barrels, (as was the case with Bombur), or fussing about stuffing barrels with straw to ensure the small dwarf inside would not bump his head, (as was the case with Kíli).

Eventually, all the dwarves but Thorin and Balin were stowed relatively safely in their barrels. Balin was still in the doorway keeping watch, so Bilbo went about getting Thorin inside his barrel. It was proving to be very difficult.

"Thorin!" hissed Bilbo. "Come now, everyone else has gotten into their barrels without too much trouble. And you won't be in there too long! O, please won't you get inside!"

The dwarf twisted around and pushed at the sides of the barrel. "I don't like this," he said. He turned around again and let out a rough growl, and another, "I do not like this at all."

"Tough! I am breaking you out of prison, and well, boo-hoo if it is not comfortable enough for you! Settle down in there and let me seal this!"

Thorin twisted about once more, then finally settled down. He took off his blue hood, and folded it in his lap. "Do as you will, Master Baggins."

"Don't 'Master Baggins' me, Thorin Oakenshield!" Bilbo shoved straw and other soft things into the barrel to cushion the dwarf. "Won't you calm down?"

"I am very calm. I've sat down, haven't I?"

"Ugh!" Bilbo tugged on Thorin's ear, and flicked at the heavy cuff on its shell.

"You did not put up such a fuss when the others of the Company grumbled and tossed and turned," Thorin groused. "And they were certainly less kind than I have been."

"Yes, well, I am not… we do not have the same, er, relationship as with the rest of the Company." Bilbo grimaced at his words and added one last armful of straw, grabbing the lid to Thorin's barrel. Before he sealed the barrel, he cupped the side of Thorin's face. He ran a thumb over a scar on his cheek, and said, "You'll be alright." Thorin seemed to forget his discomfort and anger for a short second, and he looked up at Bilbo with gentleness in his eyes. Bilbo dropped his hands, smiled, and then dropped the lid onto the barrel with a satisfying thunk!

"Not a word," said the hobbit to Balin, who had been watching the whole thing. The dwarf, for once, just smiled at Bilbo, and clambered into his barrel.


As soon as night fell, Bilbo hobbled his back into the river, back to the barrels which were still lashed together and bobbing in the current. He pulled Sting out and sawed off the cords that lashed the barrels together. He wrapped his little arms around the one closest to him, and with some effort, heaved it onto its side. A loud groan came from the barrel, and the hobbit fought the urge to cheer. Whoever was inside, they were not dead! His plan worked! He pried off the lid as quick as he could, his fingers a little shaky and clammy because of the chill that descended as night fell. Once the lid was tossed to the side, a rather haggard and altogether miserable looking dwarf crawled his way out.

"Thorin!" cried Bilbo, as that was who the dwarf was. He fell into the water, and with shaking arms reached out towards Bilbo. Bilbo stuck out his hand, and Thorin, after grasping blindly for a while, finally got a hold of the hobbit. With difficulty, Bilbo pulled the dwarf up onto his feet. Once Thorin was relatively steady on his feet, Bilbo cupped his face as he had in the wine cellar of the Elven King. But this time Thorin had no gentle gaze. He was not happy, not at all. He brushed away Bilbo's hands with one strong swipe.

"Bilbo," said the dwarf, spitting the name out of his mouth. And then he did actually spit, retching into the water. Once Thorin was done with that, he pushed off and slapped away Bilbo's hands and his efforts to help him, and moved forward. The dwarf slogged and struggled his way through the river and finally collapsed with a groan onto the shore. He lay there for quite some time, motionless. Every little movement made him ache all the more, so he remained in his sprawled and inelegant position.

It was to a chorus of winces and groans that Bilbo took stock of Thorin's appearance. He looked horrible. His face was mottled with fresh bruises and little cuts, as likely was the rest of his body. His hair was drenched and tangled, the braids becoming unraveled, the beads that usually decorated him were barely hanging on by a few strands. His draggled beard had bits of straw poking out. Bilbo knew Thorin really was feeling terrible because he did not even attempt to pluck the pieces out. Yes, the dwarf looked awful. If Bilbo was to be honest, he only ever recognized the dwarf that night because of his gold chains and his sky blue hood— which was looking quite dirty and tattered. The beautiful silver tassel was simply ruined. Thorin had one less meal in his belly than Bilbo, and he had a look in his eyes that made him resemble a mangy street cat. Or perhaps a Bracegirdle who missed their supper, thought Bilbo. Both were equally savage, after all.

"Thorin," said Bilbo. "Thorin!"

Either the dwarf could not hear Bilbo over his groans and the distraction of his pain, or he was just ignoring the poor drenched little fellow, since it was because of him he was so banged up. At any rate, the dwarf only raised his head from the ground when Bilbo's nose trumpeted out an extraordinarily loud sneeze. I would guess that he only looked up to see what sort of creature made that loud a noise!

When Bilbo saw that Thorin was finally responding, he said his name once more in an especially loud, "THORIN!"

"What?" asked Thorin finally. "What, you impossible hobbit?"

"You," said Bilbo, scrubbing his hand beneath his nose. He pointed the finger not mopping up snot at Thorin, in a rather accusatory gesture. "Need to stop ignoring me! And quit being so rude! Are you out of prison, or not? Are you dead, or not?"

Thorin grumbled something under his breath in the secret language of the dwarves, but he did not respond.

Bilbo did not appreciate that, not one bit. "If you want to waste away on this river bank, well that is your business! If you do not want to eat dinner, or if you do not want to go get your mountain— which is, by the way, RIGHT THERE! You can see it!— then that is alright. But I know you, O King Under the Extremely Close Mountain, and you will get up. Or else I may box your ears!"

"Save me from the tiny fists of irascible hobbits," Thorin muttered.

"I won't do with teasing," said Bilbo. "Get up! Acting like a dwarfling, you are!"

Thorin took that a touch personally. With the hobbit's statement, he finally pulled himself off of the ground. He did so quite slowly, however, and with a terribly loud groan. Once he was on his feet, his back hunched, the dwarf began to hobble off in the direction Bilbo had just come back from, towards the torchlight of the town floating on the lake.

"Where do you believe you are going?" asked Bilbo. "Get back here!"

"Food," the dwarf said shortly.

"Without your Company?" Thorin kept shuffling along, and Bilbo marched right up to him and tugged on one of his more intact braids, a bit harder than was necessary. "Thorin, we have to get them out while the barrels are still here, and not further down in the Long Lake. The faster we do this, the sooner we can get food and dry clothes and warm bed. Come on!"

Thorin saw the sense in this, and with a few more tugs on his braid, and a jab into his side when he tried to sit down again, Bilbo managed to lead the dwarf back to the banks of the river and the Company, still in their barrels.


The Company was all on the shore, more than half of them just laying there and being miserable. Dori, Nori, Ori, Óin, and Glóin were all so waterlogged and bruised that they could hardly move. Poor old Bombur! He was passed out, sleeping off his horrid adventure down the river.

Bilbo had stopped helping the dwarves out after he helped Balin out, and the old dwarf snapped at him. All he did was help, and none of them appreciated it! They just complained about sore backsides and bruises and cuts. The hobbit was quite miserable as well, but at least he did not go around yelling at people who were only trying to help him. He led Balin onto the shore and immediately made a beeline away from him, to one of the wide tree stumps that were dotted throughout the forest that marched up to the banks of the river.

There he sat, and stared down at his wooly toes for what felt like hours. He hummed quietly to himself to drown out the noise of dwarves splashing around and cursing. That helped the hobbit calm down a lot, singing the songs of his people, immersed in his own thoughts.

Bilbo was in the middle of a silly chant about a lonely troll when a very large and still wet dwarf settled himself down next to him on the stump. Before Bilbo could say anything too biting, the dwarf said quietly,

"It was not warranted for me to be so rude. Or, it was not, but I only see that now that I am slightly dryer and not as sore. I should not have been so cross with you, Bilbo. Yours was the best plan for escape, and I should be thankful."

"Yes, well…" Bilbo trailed off. "It is no matter, Thorin. I would have been cross too, if I was as roughed up as you are."

"Still, I ask your forgiveness." Thorin for Bilbo's hand in the failing light of the Sun.

"I forgive you," said Bilbo. He completed the movement, reaching for Thorin's hand and tangled their fingers together. "And here is a promise, since you did not let me make mine when we were speaking in the prison: if ever we get captured again, I will be sure to make our escape much gentler on you."

"I would hope to not ever be captured after our plight in the forest! I would not have anyone in this Company suffering so again," said Thorin. "And Bilbo, regarding your promise. I would prefer if you not use your it for potential escape plans. Rather, I was thinking about it while helping the rest of the Company out of the water, while I was calming down a bit, and I want to pose the question I was about to ask you in the Elvenking's cell. I believe it is the time, now, after such a great success."

"No," said Bilbo. He did not want to be let down again. "Tell me later, once we are in Laketown. I'll be more likely to promise agreeably with some dry clothes on my back and warm food in my belly. Come, we should tell the Company to start moving."

"Bilbo, come, I wi—"

But the hobbit was already striding into the midst of the most draggled, wet, and miserable groups of dwarves you could ever imagine. Thorin followed after him, his step heavy.