Dinner had been a measly affair, only broth with a hint of unknown flavor, until the hobbit found all eyes locked to his over the fire, cross the fire and near to him.
"A question for you, Master Baggins," Balin's voice wavered uncharacteristically, breaking a bit for reasons the hobbit could not fathom.
Dropping his spoon with a splash against his cheek, most embarrassing, he looked back and forth, scanning the staring dwarves all around him.
"Y-yes, Master Balin?" he squeaked with apprehension, wiping his face, catching the nervous quirk of lips from Bofur to his left on the log. Were they going to ask him to leave?
The company seemed to take a collective breath as Balin continued.
"We've all got to talkin', you see, and through many secret arguments, we have concluded that we all wish to try for a spot in your most esteemed favor, if you would allow."
Narrowing eyes filled with confusion, the hobbit tilted his head a little. "I-that is most gracious of you, but I do not…understand?"
"What I mean to say is," there was something foreign and undecipherable in the elder's crinkled skin, and Bilbo swore he'd never seen him so unsure, "we have all taken fancy to you and…To put it bluntly, desire your heart. We cannot take what is not ours, not all of us, so we ask permission to seek your favor. With your permission, we ask to win you. Choose which of us you like best by the end of it, and none of us will hold ill feelings. Even," he stressed, eyeing a now pacing Thorin whose gaze could no longer stand to watch the unfolding scene, "if you accept no one at all."
It had not been three weeks into the journey and no evidence whatsoever had presented itself to Bilbo to make him speculate this sort of inquiry would ever be made. Bilbo's hands began to shake so Bofur gently relieved him of his bland dinner.
"But you're- But I'm! Hobbits and dwarves- we- I'm shire folk- I…Tooks, maybe but- Baggins…oh…" Bilbo rambled, completely unable to grasp coherent thought, before he trailed off. Never before had he been so pink with fluster. He lost the ability to breathe correctly. So many eyes were watching him. No, no, they weren't simply watching they were leering! Even the dark figure of the Prince turned to observe him becoming a stuttering mess. How had he missed this? Too many years stuck in a tiny hole, he supposed, with no ladies (or dwarves for that matter) clouding his vision, no romance, and nothing unusual at all. Innocent- entirely too innocent- and he wished he could leap into his sleeping sack and pretend it had all been but a bizarre dream of his own concoction.
Except innocence never dared concoct such a concept.
Standing, worried tremendously that perhaps those sitting on either side of him, Bofur and Ori, would stare at his little rump as he did, he made to answer.
Truly he had meant to decline, but his voice box refused.
Instead, as the dwarves had predicted, he fell over into Ori's arms in a dainty little faint.
"Lads, I made the attempt," Balin sighed, scowling darkly as Ori smiled and affectionately ruffled the little one's curls.
"Aye," Dwalin snarled from besides his brother, "now remove your hand from him and we'll get him to bed."
Gandalf, who had been coming back to camp from his evening stroll, looked on with only momentary confusion, until he saw the entire company surrounding a now bundled in blankets hobbit, each quietly murmuring an apology and wishing the tiny creature a good rest.
It was almost adorable.