NOTE: Partially based on an imagine I put up on Tumblr some time back; and partially based on the "parenting differences" prompt for Bagginshield Fluffy February!

"I can't believe he did that," groaned Bilbo, shaking his head and falling back into his seat by the fire. "What on earth was he thinking?"

Thorin chuckled a bit as he crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the door jamb. "It's not so bad, really."

"Not so bad?" An ache began to grow between Bilbo's eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Thorin, do you have any idea how long it is going to take to grow back? He's going to have to wear a hat out in public!"

"Why? Are you afraid of what people will say? That seems rather unlike you."

Bilbo lifted his head to the sound of laughter in the other room; some light and young, some deep and rolling - but joyful all the same.

"It's just... Frodo's a Hobbit," he said, his cheeks warming. "It doesn't look right on him."

Thorin looked back into the hall for a moment, then smiled as stepped over to the chair and kneeled down in front of Bilbo. "Who are we to say what looks right on him?" he asked, placing a reassuring hand on his knee. "Frodo likes it, and that's all that really matters, right? Besides, when you were young, I'm sure you did something quite the same."

Bilbo closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the chair. "Not quite the same," he said; though he had to admit that he'd done some quite silly things as a child, and he often wondered how his parents had put up with it all. "But... I don't know, Thorin. This is all so new to me! Am I supposed to just let him do whatever he wants, without question?" He looked at Thorin again. "You helped to raise Fíli and Kíli... surely you had to put your foot down once and a while."

Thorin's smile widened. "I had to do it quite often," he said. "But only when it mattered. When what they were doing would put them or someone else in danger, or when they were doing something they had been specifically told not to do, or when..."

"Are you trying to say that if I don't specifically tell Frodo not to do something, then I should allow it?" Bilbo interrupted him.

"I'm saying that, if it makes Frodo happy, how bad can it be?" Thorin grinned crookedly and tilted his head toward the door as he took hold of Bilbo's hand. "And I'd say Dwalin is quite flattered, as well."

Bilbo swallowed hard and squeezed Thorin's hand; then the laughter grew, and they both looked over as Dwalin rushed into the drawing room, followed closely behind by Frodo. The young Hobbit was swinging a wooden sword wildly around, and Dwalin quickly jumped onto the sofa and roared like a beast; and though Frodo halted for a moment, he then bellowed out a Dwarven battle-cry and lunged at him.

Frodo jabbed Dwalin in the ribs with the sword, and the old Dwarf howled and gurgled affectedly, then fell to the side, playing dead; and Frodo threw his hands up into the air and laughed deeply.

"Victory!" he yelled, then he sat on Dwalin's back and began bouncing up and down. "The dragon is dead!"

Dwalin chuckled, and Thorin laughed out loud; and Bilbo himself found that he could not stop a smile from creeping across his face as he stared at his nephew - who had, at some point in the early hours of the morning, decided that he wanted to look like his Uncle Dwalin, and so had cut the hair off his head and instead stuck it to his face with honey.

Bilbo nodded, then sighed. "Fine, then," he said, leaning close to Thorin and placing a kiss on his whiskered cheek. "But you are going to clean up the mess he left in the bathroom."