A/N: I don't rely on my abilities to write a fanfiction for movies, but I gave it a shot. I notice most adult write for this fandom, and I'm not an adult. I'm too old to be a kid, and too young to be an adult (In other words, I'm 17...)
Enjoy! Though it sucks in my opinion.
Bilbo had always known that he had always been akin to something else, something different than the hobbit race. At home, he just hadn't figured what. One would say it was in question who he was, why he was here. At first he'd thought he had come upon the wantings he had struggled between for a time he hadn't known. There was a concept to be mentioned here; his social status. Everyone back at the Shire had taken him as the loner of the town. He had labeled himself as rather absent. He wasn't a sociophobe and never had he been, just not as social as a normal hobbit should be. He had his pride to look after, but in the meantime maintain a balance of.
It had long changed when he was taken along on a journey without further notice. Or, further notice shouldn't be used here, he did agree in the end to come along. And indeed he still did. Tagging along even though the leader shunned him, thinking of him as nothing but a medium for their own dwarf attire.
It soon had occurred to him that maybe it hadn't been worth the trip at all. No one seemed to show gratitude, even those who seemed to respect him. Their nature must be more extreme when it came to obstinacy and, lack for a better word, arrogance. "Pride" sounded too easy on the feelings, and too soft. It should be used for a more tender race like hobbits.
He normally loved nature of the night, but not when it was a crescent moon added that it shone over his face, the light too strong to shut out from his sight abilities. The air was hot too, the accusing reason being that they all were sleeping in such a tight place. Judged from the look of comfort on the other creatures' sleeping faces, it didn't seem to bother them in the least. But he was no dwarf; giving him a natural right to feel uncomfortable.
He would never understand whatever went wrong with hospitality. But he would never say that out loud, thank heavens for inner monologue.
A shaky sigh made it's way out of his nostrils. Deciding he wouldn't get any sleep soon, he kicked off the blanket. Thinking of the risk of being caught by no one else than an orch, he chose a better joint to spend a few moments at. Carefully, he stepped in between the sound asleep dwarves, almost accidently tripping on one of them, successfully barely, which he later assumed probably was Thorin, on account that he had been observing him when he spoke with Balin a few hours ago on this spot. Bilbo walked a safe distance from the sleeping mass.
There was always that roughness with Thorin, and he never liked it. It made the blood run cold for a while, and he hated cold.
But what had striking a sore spot of him, was that he had noticed them talking about him, or according to Thorin, the "burglar".
"Calling him simply the 'burglar' is as illiberal as it can be. True, he's no dwarf, but he is one of the emotional species, maybe even more than the kin of our own. He has marking, a warrant for his individual. That his name is Bilbo." Balin had said, just now realizing in awe that it was pretty daring of him to speak up to their own dwarf king in such manners. He was not at fault; Bilbo just wished that he had the same guts as him.
Then there had been Thorin's final blow to the discussion.
"'Bilbo'? Do those creatures even have names?"
The hobbit in question kneaded the bridge of his nose at the memory, grinding one of his feet against the ground. He had never known that the king had thought that little of him. Maybe some amount, but not like that.
Since a few traveling days ago, there was one thing he could always turn to at times of need; sorrow, confusion etcetera. This time it was mix of the mentioned.
A shaky breath came off his lips as his hand made it's way down his pocket. Daggers up his spine had been felt everytime at the cold touch, fishing up the ring and observing it with the dignity it possessed. His precious.
Indeed. Such a dulcet word for it, much better than simply the "ring", in which sounded too plain for his tastes. This beauty was so much more.
He stroked it along the smooth skin of his cheek, suddenly loving the cold feel which he normally despised. If his precious possessed frigidity, then why not be it? After all, everyone had flaws, even the ones who seemed the most perfect.
The feeling when he had time to look upon the ring, which he couldn't with the others around, was bringing him to a deep emotional level a lover could never. It completed him, his soul, and his flesh and blood. If it was to be taken away from him, it would be the emptiest he had and would ever feel in his life. No, actually, it would be worse than that. It would feel like the heart itself of his would be ripped out, then mangled to bits and lastly grinded coldly into dust.
He couldn't stand the thought, so he tightened the grip on his precious as a safety blanket. It would be enough to keep it safe.
No one could have it.
"What do you got there?" Bilbo flew meters high up in the air in surprise at the sudden talking of another voice, and wasted no time to turn around and see who dared to interfer his and his precious' quality time.
None other than Thorin, it turned out to be. Bilbo swallowed thickly at the sight of the dwarf with suspicion written all over his face, and as subtle as quickly, he slid the ring back into his pocket, or what he preferred to call it, it's home.
He presumed he had awoken the dwarf king up, as he had reduced the effects of tripping on Thorin earlier, in which may have cost his innocence of the group. He couldn't read the king's facial expressions other than suspicions, scrutinizing every move he made. Another swallow oiled his throat.
"What are you doing up at this hour?" Thorin's swarming tone rang, demanding an explanation for dismissing the group, which the others soon may have assumed as an attempt at fleeing, which was not the case. Actually, it had been the last on Bilbo's mind at all. He chose to take a minute to avert his eyes and lay his eyes on anywhere but eyelock with the other, not wanting to read any possible depraved faces for the night. But why would that be the case? He was just out taking some fresh air, there was nothing weird about that.
He hoped the thought was mutual, just as the will to maintain the distance between them.
"I'm just out taking some fresh air, admiring the sight of the trees. I hope it's not something worth babysitting over?" His last line mocked, couldn't bring himself to stay little sarcastic when even talking to anyone of royalty, that was just him. The king didn't seem to acknowledge the sarcasm even, by his response.
"You were holding something. What was it?" He pressed on, pulling slightly at his own beard.
"It's personal." Something you dwarves seem to know nothing of. His mind delivered, giving a mental kick back.
Bilbo still wondered if Thorin held a hostile eye upon him just as he said earlier that day, or one for his own well-being. He had yet to find out if his insults were just a cover up. But all speculations sounded ridiculous; as it did out loud.
He would probably never want to do with a simple-living hobbit such as himself. Not that it bothered him. He just wanted the quest to be over with and safely return to the Shire.
The train of thought didn't go further when he took note of Thorin approaching him. So the will hadn't been mutual after all. It was no surprise.
They stood face to face now, Bilbo not knowing what Thorin may have in mind. A hand was clasped down onto his shoulder, the dwarf forcing the hobbit in eyelock. It told him one thing; he couldn't turn away now.
"Did you find the Arkenstone?" So he's changing the subject. Bilbo thought that the dwarf is possibly trying to get his point across from a different angle.
"I-I well..."
"Did you find it?" His voice snarled, tightening his grip on the hobbit's shoulder, Bilbo feeling spit drops covering his face, that hard he yelled. Naturally, he wanted to wipe some off it off on his sleeve, refraining such so not to offend Thorin.
Silence.
The question was asked, and it seemed that Thorin decided Bilbo had heard him so he needn't to repeat himself. The hobbit's eyes were in the size of dinner plates, doing the opposite of before; instead of avoiding eye contact, he flat out took advantage of it in some sort of manipulation ritual.
That he wanted to be left alone. Though he was not surprised that the dwarf king didn't pick up on that, or refused to obey. After all, he was the king. He would never listen to a minion.
Unless Bilbo was his advisor, and wasn't that a funny thought.
"No." He finally answered honestly after minutes of silence. "I did not find the Arkenstone."
'Actually, define "did", because I did find it, just that Smaug the dragon distracted and scared the living daylights out of me, making the gem bounce away like a frog, which winded up in me bumping into you and there you asked the same question for the first time.' Bilbo desperately wanted to add, but he was fearing that the story would be falling for deaf ears. Hearing about how nearly you got something but didn't get it was as irritating as mosquito bites in the summer season.
"Then how about this." Thorin began and took a few steps back enough for Bilbo to have space, "you show me what you've got there, and we're even."
The hobbit's eyes widened again. Show him his precious? That was only meant for his own eyes? What kind of blasphemy was that?
"Why is surprise upon your face, hobbit?" The higher man asked sincerely, "It's only natural to want to know about your companion, isn't it?" He made a mettlesome smirk, working as adrenaline for Bilbo in case he needed to act swiftly. Maybe he was paranoid, but had he been planning this? Had he been planning to make him hear all those things about him, make him feel like a crawling snail on Earth? It all started to make sense, but it also made little sense. When you were panicked, you took in any possibility. That's what Bilbo did, in any case.
This is invasion of his privacy. This would not be put into action, this would not be shaken on!
"Why? I mean, it's nothing special. Nothing special at all." He lied through his teeth, silently forgiving himself for saying those things. The ring was indeed special to him, and it would be only special to him. Not to Thorin, not to Gandalf, not to that little creature he encountered.
To him.
"I've kept my eyes on you, burglar." So he was right after all. He had held an eye upon him. Now the question remained; was it of hostility or his self-being?
Probably neither.
Thorin looked at him as though he was a dead tree, but it was at least more bearable than the damnable smirk he had previously on his bearded face.
"I've seen the obsession in your inferior eyes. The longing you've had for something we have yet to see. It is very selfish to keep a thing with such power in your own possession. And I know it's special. So let me see it."
'Oh, Thorin, son of Thrain, how I wish to see your distasteful head on a silvery plate.'
Bilbo found himself silently wishing, to his horror, and let his hand fly up to his mouth in insight. But now Thorin looked down for a moment, giving him time to notice the sweat meshing with his locks on his forehead, fingers oily and moved them to dry in the light breeze, regarding his own large hobbit feet below.
"No." He looked up with boosted confidence, "I wont let you see it." And that is final, he thought to himself, aggravating the situation for the man before him.
"I expected that from you." The dwarf turned his back on him, "When the villagers of Laketown accept me as a king, I can let them take that thing with force if wanted them to. So your resistance matters not."
The way he said that sounded much worse than the line itself, annoying chills up his spine and penetrating into other bones. And with that, he dared to walk away, with no other word. At first, Bilbo thought he should show him the ring after all, but it actually wouldn't make much difference. He would still want to keep it, ergo Thorin would take his precious away from him, ripping his heart to shreds until dust was left and empty emotions would take their toll.
"..." He opened his mouth over and over again for a good comeback, but nothing came out, not even sounds.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Bilbo Baggins." Was the last he heard of the king before he left the hobbit behind, whose mind was lost as if in hurricanes. He grabbed the fabric were his heart was placed, shaking his head frantically in hope to wake up from this nightmare.
"Don't call me that," Bilbo spoke shakily, falling to his knees, feeling the comforting cold of his ring. The 'burglar' had a better ring coming out of the king's mouth, not his full name, he didn't want to be called that by him.
"Don't call me that."
The hobbit woke up to the sounds of birds chirping, accompanied with the sunshine beaming over his face. He held up his arm to make shadow, gently hoisting up to standing level. His limbs shut down at the nights memories, and felt once again horror swept over him, his stomach tying a knot, combing his perspiration-soaked locks out of his eyes. It must have been a dream, it's got to be. He didn't know what would happen if he was to lose his love. He couldn't stand the thought.
Bilbo walked the path he assumed he did yesterday, where he had fallen asleep and dreamt everything up, he hoped, and spotted the masses of dwarves surrounding a log fire. He wasted no time to join them, taking a seat beside Balin and plopped his hands onto his knees. Everyone greeted him with surprised stares.
"Hey, lad! Word got out you probably ran away from us." Balin said, taking a bite of his bread in a rather voracious manner, not unlike the viking's style to dine.
"I-I wouldn't do that, would I? I would prove to everyone I was capable of being a burglar." He mustered with every pore to hold his vocal cord in balance, trying to stay ignorant to the king's eyes drilling into him from the other side of the log fire. Was it just him, or was the king smirking?
Later when they gathered their provisions and everything else they had brought, they set off to continue on their journey. Bilbo smiled slightly to himself in relief, convincing himself through the meal that it had all been just a dream. No one would want to take something so dear to him away from him, right?
Unless they were the enemy. And as he looked around at the group of the dwarf species, he knew they were not.
He was still not convinced it had been real when he felt Thorin's hand grab his shoulder and squeeze. But of course he changed his mind when he felt himself punctured at Thorin's words.
"Good morning, Bilbo Baggins. Prepare for descent."
A/N: There you have my sucky story! Flames are welcome, because I know it's bad.