Characters: Bilbo Baggins, Balin, Thorin, others mentioned.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. I don't get money from it. Sue me and I'll laugh. And hide.
Warnings: AU. Hint of slash.
Summary: Bilbo needs a reason to stay.
Author's Note: I do not think that I can do a better, equal or even passable imitation of Tolkien. This is just for fun. Also, this is my first Hobbit fan-fiction so please review constructively! :D
For those kind and wonderful people following my B5 stories, my sincerest apologies! My B5 muse has gone beyond the Rim and not left a forwarding address, and has instead appointed the Hobbit muse in it's place. I have not abandoned those stories, indeed, Amateur Redux is planned out to every chapter, but I can't get my head back on the station to actually flesh those chapters out so, in the mean time, I need to work out my Dwarfs and Hobbits. My sincerest apologies once more!
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It was all going well enough. The Battle was done- a most unpleasant affair- but it was finished, and with no personal losses for their side either, all the better. Bilbo had intended to return home as soon as possible, especially after Thorin's far less than polite dismissal of him before the Unpleasant Affair, however the newly re-sane King Under The Mountain had gained an increasing resemblance to a sad puppy when it came to the subject of his Burglar.
Desperate to make up for his gold-blinded error on the battlements, Thorin had taken it upon himself to show Bilbo the million and one reasons to stay in Erebor, more to bask in the Dwarf Kings' generosity, gratitude and guilt-driven penance. It was not the Dwarf Kings' fault that mines filled with rich gem deposits and vaults filled with gold of every possible form held little interest beyond the feigned for Bilbo, nor was it the fault of the Princes, equally eager for their friend to remain, that getting drunk with legions of Dwarven youths from the Blue Mountains and bragging of their achievements was actually slightly less appealing to the fair headed Hobbit than shiny metal and sparkly rocks.
But, whenever he tried to raise the subject of his return- no doubt a protracted and complicated affair if he was to return safely, and thus requiring some level of cooperation from the Company- he was met with Fili's sad blue eyes, and Kili's wobbly lip, Bofur's tragically crestfallen face and Balin's deep breath of 'oh-my-Gods-I'm-about-to-plunge'. And, far more complicating, Thorin would inevitably hear of his half made plans to make plans to leave and come up with yet another mine or vault or something that Bilbo simply had to see.
It honestly wasn't that he didn't enjoy spending time with his Dwarf friends- they really were his friends, funnily enough, not something he'd ever have thought to see, but there you go- It was more that he knew his place at home. He knew what was asked of him, what was needed, what was permitted, everything there was clear and simple. Here, all he knew was that his friends wanted him around and the other Dwarfs considered him somewhere in between a foreign curiosity and and pesky little nuisance. It wasn't that he had a long list of reasons to go, as Thorin had (in one slightly-more-ale-than-was-strictly-necessary evening) tearfully asked, it was more that he didn't really have any good reasons to stay, beyond friendship. They all had duties, he didn't. Was friendship enough for him to build a home here?
Clearly Thorin thought it should be, as he led Bilbo down yet another dark pit that was 'of course oh so interesting, Thorin', talking at great- interminable- length about how magnificent it would all be and entirely without equal and completely flawless, except for the ceiling which decided not to stay where it should and instead fell around them, caving them in for 16 hours.
His mithril shirt saved his life but not his wind as he was left too breathless to protest Thorin treating him like the one chick to his hen. By the time Dwalin and Bifur had dug the two of them out- bruised and dirtied but very much alive thank you Bofur- Bilbo was about ready to cry from frustration.
After allowing Oin to check him over, eventually convincing the King and his nephews (who would not stop circling him like demented vultures with mothering complexes) that he was, indeed, quite alright, the tired little Hobbit returned to his room, pulling his exhausted and abused body up onto the windowsill and spreading the glass panes to welcome the breeze. Breathing deeply of the fine, fresh air, he didn't hear the door opening, nor the footsteps entering.
His first clue someone was there was when Balin lighted his hand on Bilbo's shoulder, almost sending him flying straight down the mountainside in shock. Thankfully, the old Dwarfs' reflexes were better than his and Balin's weathered but strong hands bore him back to safety.
After apologising profusely, Balin said, "I heard what happened in the mines. I've just come back from Thorin's chambers, he asked if I'd check on you and see if there was anything you might need."
Sighing in irritation without showing it is hard, Bilbo realised, but sometimes necessary. "Well that was," Utterly unnecessary, "Very thoughtful of him. I promise you, I'm quite alright. Just a little... tenderised."
Frowning slightly in confusion, the venerable Dwarf replied, "You're not... a piece of meat." Then he blushed. Slightly but surely.
Shrugging lightly, the sandy haired Hobbit responded, "Well, at the least I feel like a juicy steak that's been pounded and squeezed 'til I've not a breath left inside me."
"Oh?" Whispered Balin, suddenly seemingly timid.
"Oh yes, quite ravaged and sore, I feel sure those rocks didn't miss an inch of my poor skin." Pouted Bilbo morosely as he put his hands on his lower back and stretched slightly.
"Uh..." Stammered Balin, face flushing even more.
"I could barely even sit down after I got out of there, I tell you, if there is anything I have need of right now, it is a nice, warm, soothing bath, oh yes, that would be lovely, nothing but warm, soapy water to soak my poor battered body and massage these last aches out of my flesh-"
Before he could continue on, Balin coughed and spluttered, backing out of the door at top speed. "Ahh, I'll... uh, I'll send the servants up with plenty of hot water and soap, so they can ready your bath and then you can... uh... bath- bathe, then, Master Baggins." He tried to bow, stumbled and nearly toppled over.
"That's very kind of you, my dearest friend... Are you alright?" He queried of the tremendously crimson Dwarf.
"Oh, yes laddie, I'm... fine." Balin choked out before turning and fleeing the rooms with all haste. After his footsteps had faded, Bilbo's face surrendered to the smirk.
"Thorin was right." He murmured to the empty room. "There are good reasons to stay."