AN: Nothing belongs to me. Image credit goes to completemadman on tumblr.
Part I: Bilbo (1)
For Bilbo it starts, well it starts at the beginning. It starts when night-time falls on his comfortable hobbit hole and he listens to twelve dwarves singing of their losses and desires, their loneliness and hope in the dark, the deep voice of Thorin Oakenshield soaring above all others. It is not magic, at least not the kind that Gandalf the wizard commands, yet it moves him deeply – far more deeply than anything else he has ever experienced (safe perhaps, for watching petals and rain showers in the sky with wide eyes and explosions of light in all hues brightening the night when he was just a little tot).
He doesn't know it then, but this is the moment his journey truly begins.
By the time the third day of riding through still mostly pleasant country-side rolls around, Bilbo has finally managed to match every dwarf to the right name in the morning, an accomplishment he is actually quite proud of, seeing as none of them have made any concerted effort to re-introduce themselves after the first night. He has also ridden himself sore in places he has never consciously realized are even part of his body, has needed to actually use Bofur's scrap of cloth instead of his already much-missed handkerchief, has not got a full night's sleep due to the dwarves incessant snoring, and been shouted at by Thorin at least five times. In fact, it has been exactly six times – he knows this because he can recall every occasion in horridly vivid detail. The dwarf king does not seem too fond of Bilbo and his commanding presence makes it very hard to ignore his scolding. But, on the other hand, Bilbo has also caught Thorin just watching him more than once, usually inciting a mixture of nervousness and worry, since he has no idea why the other keeps looking at him. At times he wonders if he is simply making up these covert glances – Bilbo loves nature and loves watching the green country-side slide by, but even he can get tired of staring at trees or grass all day.
His suspicions on Thorin's staring are proven when they make camp that night. Bombur cooks, as he has done every night so far- though if you ask Bilbo, calling it cooking is a slight exaggeration, what with only having a small fire and a few pots at hand – and Bilbo, as usual, is sent to bring the sentries their share, in this case Thorin. Habitually quiet as he is, neither Thorin nor Balin, who has apparently joined the younger dwarf on his watch, notice the hobbit drawing near. Bilbo stops, just within earshot, his natural curiosity rearing its head.
"You've taken to watching the hobbit a lot," the white-haired dwarf says, sounding neither reprimanding nor glad, just stating a fact, and Bilbo's ears perk up. They're talking about him – as far as he is concerned this gives him the right to listen in.
"I have?" Thorin responds mostly non-committal, though Bilbo fancies he hears a tiny thread of surprise in his voice.
Balin chuckles lightly. "Nearly everyone has noticed. Why, Bofur asked me just this morning if poor Mr. Baggins has something unfortunate on his face that makes our illustrious leader watch him so much."
Bilbo's hand creeps up to his face reflexively, even though he knows there is nothing there. Thorin does not seem to find it funny either, for he huffs, "I'm simply trying to make up my mind if the halfling possesses the potential Gandalf claims he has. So far I've yet to see it."
Bilbo barely manages to refrain from making his displeasure at that audible. It is not as if he has had the chance to steal anything yet, has he? Only then he remembers that Bilbo Baggins from Bag End is not, in fact, actually a burglar and therefore quite happy with not having to prove his non-existent talent.
A few meters away Balin sighs, in the way that every father, no matter which race, would recognize. "If you say so, laddie. Just try to do your 'evaluation' a little subtler in future, yes?"
The hidden hobbit suspects that if it were anyone but Balin speaking to him in such a way, Thorin would do more than bristle at the other's disbelief. "What are you trying to suggest, Balin?"
"Never you mind laddie." Balin pats his liege on the shoulder once, companionably, and wanders off, leaving behind only a confused king, and a similarly baffled hobbit.
After a few seconds, Bilbo remembers the dish of food in his hand and his job to deliver it. Making as much noise as he can – no need to sneak up any more on a sword-happy dwarf – he proceeds towards the rock Thorin has chosen as a lookout place.
"What are you doing here, halfling?" Thorin grunts, looking about as ill-tempered as his tone of voice suggests.
"It seems I've been designated dinner errant boy," Bilbo replies mildly, holding out the dish. "At least it's something useful for me to do."
Thorin stares at it for a moment, as if it might bite him, then takes the bowl. "And do you think there is something else you might contribute to our company?"
Bilbo shrugs. "I could certainly cook, but Bombur guards the food store most ardently."
It's only there for a second, but Thorin's lips twitch. Bilbo feels oddly proud – and immediately decides that now would be a good time to retreat, lest something else he says or does ruin the mood and send Thorin back to his usual frustration with the hobbit.
Bilbo rides next to Bofur the following day, finding much to his joy that it is quite easy to carry on a conversation with the good-natured dwarf. Apparently the whole company is out to upend his carefully cultivated ideas about dwarves – a few weeks ago he would not have dreamed that he might be talking about gardening of all things with a dwarf (he fleetingly thinks that Hamfast Gamgee would probably have a coronary at the thought – or jump with joy, it is usually a little hard to tell with the gardener when it comes to his favourite subject).
Bofur is quickly becoming his favourite, conversations about gardening aside, simply because he does not treat Bilbo much differently than he does the other dwarves. He also makes the hobbit laugh, and sometimes plays the flute to cheer him up when the reality of his hair-brained decision to join this quest catches up to him. In short, he might very well be becoming Bilbo Baggins' friend.
They're in the middle of debating the merits of wild bee honey, with Bofur insisting that the thrill of distracting the bees long enough to procure it is definitely worth the risk and Bilbo firmly in the corner of the Shire's home grown honey, when Thorin reigns in his pony next to them and snaps, "Could you two stop nattering on? At least talk about relevant subjects if you have to distract everyone with your fast mouths."
Bilbo immediately blushes in embarrassment, even though Thorin is already guiding his dark-pelted pony back to the front of the column. Bofur on the other hand, just smiles indulgently.
"Don't mind him little Baggins. He's under a lot of strain right now." His smile turns a little wicked, though still amused as he leans closer conspiratorially. "If he didn't like you, he would be ignoring you instead."
Bilbo is sure Thorin's resulting growl and glare from up front would have skinned anyone else alive, but Bofur remains entirely unbothered.
"Likes me," Bilbo repeats disbelievingly and snorts. He cannot really imagine Thorin liking any non-dwarf much, let alone useless little Bilbo Baggins.
Thorin is now staring resolutely ahead. Bofur winks at him and he could have sworn he hears a muffled snigger from the direction of Fíli and Kíli.
Strange people, dwarves. Confusing as well. Bilbo sighs once more and returns his attention to the path ahead.
For once the company remains mostly silent, everyone indulging Thorin's sour mood. Only Gandalf is whistling merrily at the rear, puffing on his pipe, entirely unaffected by the quiet around him – but those are wizards for you.
So they plod on, exchanging wide, sweeping fields for a more rocky terrain, until Thorin suddenly halts, frowning.
"What is that noise?"
A second later Bilbo hears it too, with no little wonder.
"Cows," he says, cocking his head a little. "And sheep."
He receives more than a few blank stares from the surrounding dwarves.
"You really don't know what life stock sounds like?" he asks, blinking a little.
Gloin shrugs pragmatically on the pony in front of him. "We usually encounter them as meat once they're dead."
Bilbo cannot really tell whether he is joking or not – a frequent problem, as trying to read a dwarf's face proves almost impossible for the hobbit every time he tries.
He does not get the time to figure it out, as the cause of the mooing and baaing rounds the bend in front of them, along with a troop of ragged-looking men.
Everyone freezes for about as long as it takes Bilbo's heart to properly start jumping in fright before the first arrow starts flying.
A moment later the path is full of panicked ponies and dwarves swinging to the ground, battle ready with various weapons appearing in their hands. Quite by accident Bilbo's eyes catch sight of Thorin in full battle mode and he finds that much to his shock he simply cannot look away. All the dwarves are skilled with their weapons of choice, but Thorin… Thorin moves with breath-taking grace as he swirls his sword around, incapacitating attacker after attacker. Bilbo's mouth suddenly goes inexplicably dry.
Meanwhile Myrtle, possessing far more sense than her distracted rider, moves behind the relative safety of a man high rock next to the path (later it will occur to Bilbo to be more than grateful that Thorin had given him the most unflappable pony of the troop, for he would surely have had a nasty fall otherwise).
The unexpected movement beneath him finally has Bilbo tearing his gaze away from their dwarven leader, for all that he has the disturbing feeling that he could easily watch Thorin Oakenshield forever and not mind the passing of time.
It is by pure chance that his gaze falls on the man pulling the string of his bow back to his ear on top of a tall rock ahead, yet unnoticed by the dwarves, instead. It takes Bilbo a split second to see who he is aiming at and then he is shouting, voice high and desperate, "Fíli look out! Duck!"
It is as close to a miracle as Bilbo has ever witnessed when Fíli, against all odds, hears the hobbit's high voice over the din of battle and immediately lets himself fall to the ground without question. The arrow therefore passes over the young dwarf's head harmlessly, and Bilbo can suddenly breathe again, the roar of his blood and wild thumping of his heart overly loud in his own ears. A moment later the human archer topples from his perch with a strangled cry, felled by Kíli in defence of his brother.
After that the battle is soon over. A group of mostly ill-equipped and untrained men does not pose a serious threat to a battle-hardy group of dwarves. They even manage to recover all their bolted ponies, thanks to Gandalf, who does a strange trilling sound with his lips which calls all of them back to the party.
Feeling emboldened by his useful contribution to the fight – so he had not been jumping around hacking at people, but they already have enough dwarves doing that and none keeping a watchful eye out (he does not intent to mention that he only spotted the threat by chance, no he does not) – Bilbo sidles up to Thorin, who is inspecting one of the fallen men.
"Who were they?" he asks, partially because it seems a safe topic for conversation, but mostly because he is genuinely curious.
Thorin shrugs, not seeming much interested. "Robbers and bandits most likely. Look at this livestock, it's certainly not theirs to keep, judging by the state these animals are in."
He is right. Many of the cows and sheep are far too thin, obviously underfed, and they are not even close to good grazing land.
"Shouldn't we be giving these animals back to whomever they belong to?" Bilbo dares to venture next.
Thorin snorts derisively. "And how do you propose we do that, halfling? Do you know who they belong to? We don't have the time to let every little thing distract us if we ever wish to see the end of our quest."
"Right, of course, sorry," Bilbo mumbles, blushing in mortification. "It was a stupid thought."
Faced with a stammering, embarrassed hobbit even Thorin apparently cannot remain completely unaffected, for his face softens a little and he says, "A kind one though. Now run along Mr. Baggins."
He does so gratefully, if still embarrassed. Not that he gets far, however, as Fíli and Kíli appear in front of him, simultaneously as is their habit.
Fíli addresses him first, bowing deeply, his hands on his thighs with the open palm facing outward (the dwarven sign of peace, as the hands grip no weapon). "I am in your debt, Bilbo Baggins."
"We are in your debt," Kíli chimes in a second later, repeating the gesture, leaving poor Bilbo quite flustered, and perplexed over how to respond.
"No, no, let us not talk about debts," he says quickly, a little uncomfortable under the two discerning gazes trained on his figure. "Without all of you I would never have come this far."
"Without all of us you would still be comfortable in your burrow," Fíli points out reasonably and Bilbo is relieved enough that he is not pressing the matter of debts that he lets the 'burrow' comment slide.
Even he is surprised when the next words that slip out are, "Yet maybe I don't want to be there."
Simultaneous grins appear on the dwarf brothers' faces, and almost something like pride.
Fíli pats him on the shoulder. "We will make a hobbit-warrior out of you yet, Master Baggins."
For a moment Bilbo expects to feel disquieted, uncomfortable even, at the mere suggestion, but he finds that he feels none of that. It appears that Gandalf had been right – again, as usual – he really is a changed hobbit already, no more than a week into their journey.
"I doubt I'm made of the stuff of warriors, Master Fíli," he finally says, "but have my thanks for the kind thought."
Unbidden, the image of Thorin in an intricate dance with sword and foe rises to his mind's eye. A hobbit-warrior? No, probably not.
Having found growing friends in the youngest dwarf brothers, of course the first thing Bilbo manages to do is get lost with them. To be fair, it is not really their fault, but Bilbo doubts Thorin is going to see it that way when he figures out that they are going to lose more time because of them.
Bilbo looks glumly at the fork in the road in front of them. Very unfortunate indeed, the whole incident.
Bilbo had been riding between Kíli and Fíli at the end of the column when Kíli's horse had stumbled on the rocky ground, nearly throwing Kíli and dislodging one of his travel bags. They had already been lagging behind a bit (Bilbo suspects that that is Fíli and Kíli's way of trying to protect him at least a little from the heightened pace Thorin has set, but he will surely not mention his theory if they will not) and with night time fast approaching the rest of the company had, in their hurry to find a good spot to make camp, failed to notice their absence.
By the time they had finished repacking the bag and fixed it on the troublesome pony's back, there had been no trace of the rest of the company to be seen in the growing dusk. That had only, however, become a problem once they had reached the fork in the road Bilbo is now staring at so disconsolately. One look at Kíli and Fíli reveals that they are quite lost as to which way to go as well and now the two dwarves are whispering urgently behind his back. The only plan they can come up with is to send Kíli down one path, have him return when he sees the rest of the company or when he is getting too far away and in case of the latter doing the same with the other path.
It is hardly a failsafe plan and no one is surprised when Kíli finally returns from the second path, shaking his head.
"What do we do now?" Bilbo asks quietly, trying to keep his growing anxiety out of his voice.
"We cannot risk going down the wrong path," Fíli replies, already leading his horse over to a few straggly birches a bit off from the path. "We should stay near here for the night so that the others can easily find us tomorrow."
Bilbo eyes the scanty cover of the trees dubiously, but nevertheless follows him with Myrtle in tow. "I'm more worried about what else might easily find us."
"Don't worry yourself needlessly, Master Baggins," Kíli calls from where he is already setting up his bed-roll. "We will not let anything happen to you."
There is such stout belief in his words and sincerity in Fíli's accompanying nod that Bilbo does not doubt their skill, yet it is hard for him not to be at least a little afraid out of the safety of the company.
Neither of the dwarves mention his obvious distress, but once all preparations are done, they set about trying to take Bilbo's thoughts off their current predicament. Kíli tells an embarrassing story about Fíli from their childhood, in which the dwarf is accidentally mistaken for a young dwarf woman by a passing human trader. Fíli promptly retaliates by telling an even more embarrassing story, involving Kíli, an inn in Bree, a little too much to drink and a very irate Thorin Oakenshield.
Bilbo is sure he even spots a slight blush on the dark-haired dwarf's cheeks as he mumbles sullenly, "Uncle never did have a good sense of humour."
That brings Bilbo up short. "What? Thorin is your uncle?"
"Aye, indeed, our mother's brother," Fíli replies, giving him a strange look. "Why are you so surprised?"
Truthfully, Bilbo has a very hard time imagining Thorin with any kind of family. He coughs lightly.
"Well, he doesn't strike me as the family type," he starts hesitatingly, trying to phrase his thoughts in the least offending way possible. "He doesn't seem very… nice."
Amused chuckles meet his stumbled explanation.
"No, generally our uncle isn't very nice, as you put it, dear hobbit. Yet he can be kind and generous and once he has taken you into his heart you could wish for no better friend. You should not be fooled by his gruff exterior so easily, Master Baggins, for he uses it as much as armour as he does real chain mail."
Now that he thinks about it, Bilbo can, strangely, imagine that too. Or perhaps he just wants to believe it. And now both Fíli and Kíli are looking at him with a slightly terrifying amount of focus again.
"Say, Master Baggins, what do you think of our uncle?"
This should, by rights, be dangerous territory, but Bilbo does not feel any suspicion emanating from the brothers, just curiosity.
"He seems to me a good leader and a formidable warrior," Bilbo hedges, stating only the most obvious of truths.
Kíli's smile widens. "Is that all?"
Much to his horror Bilbo can feel himself blushing, hoping to the Valar that it is already dark enough to hide the red creeping into his face from the two dwarf brothers' discerning eyes.
"Should there be more?"
Once again the only reply he gets is matching amusement. Fíli is the one who finally rescues him from his embarrassment. "You should try to get some sleep, Master Baggins. Uncle Thorin will want to push on farther tomorrow to make up lost time."
"Shouldn't we be taking watches?" he asks, gratefully latching onto the far more harmless topic.
This time it is Kíli who reassures him. "Don't you worry about it. We will stand guard."
Bilbo might have protested that he can make himself useful too and does not need to be coddled, but he is tired and if Kíli and Fíli want to be nice to him who is he to complain?
He falls asleep surprisingly quickly, glad that his mind does not stubbornly dwell on a certain dwarf before succumbing to weariness this night. His last thought as he slips away into sleep is that having friends on this journey is proving to be a very good thing indeed, even if they insist on asking him questions he cannot properly answer.
It has been raining all day. By the time they make camp, Bilbo is more than thoroughly wet, cold, and absolutely miserable. The top layer of his bags is drenched, including his bedroll, so he tries to huddle as close to the fire as possible, attempting to catch the most warmth he can manage. Most of the dwarves are better off, at least having worn slightly water-repelling cloaks and being equipped with baggage more fit for travel. Right now Bilbo fervently wishes for either of those, as sleep seems as far away as ever getting dry again.
Huddling in his wet blanket, Bilbo tries to hide his violent shivering. He does not need Thorin thinking him even more of a useless piece of baggage, especially after the recent episode of getting lost with Fíli and Kíli (as predicted, Thorin had not been happy, to say the least, however Bilbo had been fascinated to see, now that he knows they are Thorin's sister-sons, that he does treat them a little differently than the others, with a little more long-suffering understanding and affection). He is pretty sure he has caught Ori giving him sympathetic looks while fiddling with his slightly damp cardigan, but Bofur is busy cleaning and putting away the remnants of dinner and Fíli and Kíli are looking after the ponies, so he does not expect anyone to actually approach him. Consequently, he jumps violently when footsteps sound directly behind him, followed by a deep sigh.
"Why did you not say you were freezing, halfling?" Thorin asks, a curious mix of irritation and concern colouring his voice.
Bilbo scrambles up as fast as a hobbit who has spotted mushrooms in the wild.
"I'm sorry," he mumbles, looking anywhere but at the frowning dwarf in front of him. "I didn't think it important."
For a moment Thorin continues watching him, dark eyes inscrutable, then he sighs again. "Come here."
Bilbo stares at him. "What?"
"I said come here," Thorin repeats, impatience now prevalent. "You are of no use to anyone if you freeze to death."
When Bilbo does not make a move to obey, he simply takes the hobbit's arm and drags him along to a free spot. Bilbo is so surprised that he does not even try to move away when Thorin slides out of his big coat, drapes it on the ground, and then tugs Bilbo down with him. He yelps, landing flat on his back next to Thorin Oakenshield, who is now tugging the edges of his cloak around them both to keep the warmth in – the action creates a snug cocoon of hobbit, dwarf, and thick cloth. Bilbo thinks he might start hyperventilating any second. The poor hobbit lies stiff as a board, determined to ignore the feeling of Thorin at his side (it is a nice feeling, a very nice feeling in fact, warm and surprisingly comfortable) and resisting the urge of snuggling closer to the warm body next to him.
"Relax," Thorin tells him quietly, sounding, much to Bilbo's quickly growing embarrassment, unreasonably amused of all things. Of course he has to pick this situation to show a streak of humour. "I'm not going to eat you."
"I wasn't worried about that," Bilbo grumbles defiantly, but he does relax his muscles a little, sinking back into the soft coat. He really is rather tired, after all.
The last thing he hears before falling asleep is Thorin's quiet, "Go to sleep, halfling."
He sleeps better than he can remember sleeping for a long time.
When he wakes the next morning, Thorin is already gone – he left the coat, though, and only reclaims it once Bilbo is properly up. Neither of them makes a comment about the past night – Bilbo because he is already embarrassed enough and would not know what to say anyway, and Thorin, well, no one knows why Thorin does what he does (save for Balin and sometimes Dwalin, his companions of old), especially not Bilbo.
At least, with a restful night behind him, the hobbit feels up to another day's journey for once, even if he is slightly distracted for the rest of the day.