Disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the Hobbit belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien and anyone who was involved in the making of it. No disrespect is intended while writing this story.

Author's Note: Hope you enjoy.

Chapter One

It was a wet and soggy day. The Company was grumbling. Their ponies were damp and wet, and Thorin glanced back at his Company, narrowing his eyes against the swift and hard rain.

"It would be best to find shelter," Balin advised as he caught up to Thorin.

"Aye," Thorin muttered. He shook his hair out of his face and glanced around. "We shall continue on until we find suitable shelter!" he called.

There were mutters and murmurs, but no one raised any strong objections, much to Thorin's satisfaction. To their utter relief, as they escaped the dark forest, the rain began to slow and soon the sun came out. Gandalf, the wizard who was assisting them on their journey but suspiciously disappeared every once in a while, grunted, looking satisfied.

"Thorin, do you mind if we rest?" Dori said, his pony trotting to catch up. "I'm afraid Ori will catch a cold. Besides, it's getting dark. We should rest, and then continue on tomorrow morning."

Thorin glanced back. Ori, Dori's younger brother, was soaked to the skin and was shivering and looking cold. No matter how much Thorin wanted to continue, Ori looked so miserable that he called for a stop and allowed Dori and Nori start a fire near a cliff wall.

There was a slight roof above them, in truth rock that actually jutted out from the wall, and if it rained it would protect them. Yes, this was appropriate shelter. Thorin slid off his horse and beckoned Kili and Fili, his nephews over with a sharp jerk of his head. "Fili, Kili, scout around. Check to see if there's anything dangerous nearby. And be careful."

Fili and Kili gave him nods and hurried away, disappearing as they went around the corner of the wall. Thorin sighed and began to unpack his stuff. He was quite worried about this Quest, in truth. Thirteen was an unlucky number, and though Gandalf had partially joined, Thorin did not think of the old wizard as one of the Company. Not yet. Thirteen dwarves on a Quest to reclaim the mountain taken by a dragon, Thorin thought bitterly as he watched Dori and Nori finally succeed in their efforts with fire, for the ground had been wet and the wood was damp.

"Thorin?"

Thorin glanced up. His childhood friend, Dwalin, brother of Balin, was looking at him questioningly. "Thorin, come near the fire. You must be cold. It would not do if you got sick."

Thorin glanced down at himself, just then realizing that his clothes were soaked and his skin cold to the touch. He gave a curt nod and strode over before seating himself next to Dwalin, and on the other side of him Balin. The three had been childhood friends, and out of the entire Company, Thorin had to admit that he was closest to Dwalin and Balin, sons of Fundin.

"Where are Fili and Kili?" Bofur called. He was stirring some stew, occasionally scolding Bombur, his brother, as the fat dwarf tried to steal a bit whenever he got distracted.

"I sent them out to scout," Thorin said gruffly, accepting the bowl of stew from Oin with a nod. "They'll be back soon. Assuming there isn't any trouble."

Fili grinned as his brother grunted with a frown on his face as his leg got stuck in a bramble bush once more. "Don't laugh," Kili muttered indignantly as he tugged himself free. "It's these darn brambles. It's like they have a mind of their own!"

"Yes, Kili," Fili agreed sarcastically. "Blame the brambles. The bad, bad brambles."

Kili grumbled at his older brother, but otherwise remained silent. As they scouted around, their clothes started to dry, though Fili still gave an occasional shudder every once in a while. "Uncle Thorin could have allowed us to change our clothes before sending us away," Kili complained, obviously just as cold as Fili.

Fili silently agreed. He glanced around, alert and tense, not wanting to disappoint his Uncle. There wasn't much chance nor the time to prove themselves to Thorin and make him proud, though he did often tell them that no matter what they did he would always be proud of them.

The sky darkened, and Fili and Kili were nearing the end of the pathway. Then they would have to return and trek back to where the Company had camped out. "Nothing," Fili said as he stopped at the end.

"It's clear," Kili agreed. He stretched and pulled his cloak on tighter. "It's getting cold, Fili. Can we hurry back?"

Fili gave a nod. They began to jog not so silently back the trail they had just walked on. Fili saw Kili trip to the ground and skid a few feet forward in his haste to get to warm fire and food. "Kili!" Fili exclaimed, rushing forward. He helped his brother up, sighing in relief when he saw that Kili was fine, though he did have a few bruises.

A soft whimper sounded from nearby. But it wasn't Kili, nor Fili. The two brothers exchanged glances, and Fili's hands slowly dropped to the hilt of his knife. Kili was looking wary, his quiver and bow strapped to his back. The bush rustled and Kili snatched up and arrow and nocked it.

"Eeeeek!" And out came a rock and hit Kili in the forehead.

"Ow!" Kili dropped his bow and arrow and clutched his forehead, wincing. A small blur flew out, rocks being thrown in front of the blur as it did so. Fili narrowly dodged one and grasped the collar of the shirt.

"Noooooooo!" In his hand was a small, wriggling ... something. Fili could tell it wasn't a dwarf, nor an elf. It wasn't a human either. Fili examined ... it more closely, and the curly locks of the youngling caught his attention. It was a Halfling. A Hobbit, but a young one. He remembered Gandalf the Gray saying that a young hobbit was called a "fauntling". And this one was obviously one.

The fauntling shrieked and wriggled and kicked and thrashed. "Hey! Hey, stop that!" Fili exclaimed, flinching back to dodge a well-aimed kick. To his utter amazement, and his brother's, the fauntling stopped and hung in Fili's grasp. He - at least, Fili thought it was a he - stared up at him and Fili stared at him as well.

The fauntling was wearing a light green vest and a pale yellow shirt. He wore dark green trousers and a sack filled of rocks and pebbles hung at his side. "Who are you?" Fili demanded.

Thorin was slightly getting uneasy. His two nephews should have returned by now, unless they had decided to fool around and had gotten themselves into trouble. Which did happen often. Dwalin, who had been Fili and Kili's mentor in battle training (Balin had taught the two young dwarves History and whatever else needed to be taught), glanced up at him.

"Thorin, they'll be fine," Dwalin said gruffly. "Unless you doubt my training skills."

"No," Thorin murmured. "I don't." So he sat down and took out his pipe, trying to seem relaxed. As he puffed his pipe, footsteps were heard and he and the Company glanced up. "Fili, Kili!" Thorin said as they appeared in his sight. "Where have you-" Thorin stopped, shocked.

In Fili's arms was a young Halfling. A fauntling, to be more exact. "Fili, what is the meaning of this?" Thorin asked in a low voice.

The fauntling stared at him with wide eyes, looking terrified. "This is Bilbo," Kili said. "We found him. He's a hobbit, and he got lost in the woods. We found him, and he doesn't know where he lives. Uncle, can he stay with us?"

"He has nowhere to go," added Fili. "We cannot just abandon him. He would surely not survive. Orcs would get him, or even goblins or beasts in the wild."

Thorin stared. The Company was silent and watching, obviously unsure of what to do. It was all his choice. His decision. Thorin hesitated. He was about to tell Fili to leave the fauntling back where he had found him, when Bilbo - was that his name? - and Thorin locked gazes.

Thorin froze at the look in Bilbo's eyes. It was a gentle pleading, a begging to be allowed to stay with them. His eyes were round and big and pleading. Thorin swallowed. It reminded him so much of ... Frerin. His younger brother. The big brown eyes that stared at him with such pleading. Thorin could remember Frerin's eyes. It was the exact same color as Bilbo's.

"Thorin," Balin said softly. "You cannot think to leave this youngling out in the world alone."

"Aye," agreed Oin. "He will surely catch some sort of sickness and die."

"Nor will he be able to hunt for food," Bombur added.

"Thirteen is an unlucky number," Dwalin put in. "If he joins, then our numbers shall become fourteen, fifteen if you count the wizard."

"He will not survive," Balin said quietly. "Thorin, choose wisely."

Thorin hesitated for a few moments, which obviously felt like hours and hours to the others. "Very well," Thorin said gruffly. "He may stay."

End of Chapter One

Author's Note: So, how was it? I wrote that Bilbo had a sack of pebbles and stones and rocks for his weapons because when I researched him on the wiki, it said that as a little hobbit, Bilbo had been excellent at throwing stones and squirrels and birds would flee whenever he did so. I put that in my story. If you find any mistakes, feel free to tell me, but please, no flames. Tell me your opinion of the story. I want to hear feedback!