The Last, The Lost, The Least - (Sequel to Strangers Like Me)

by Hobbsy3

THIS IS NO LONGER THE ACTIVE SEQUEL: Feel free to read but see Dark Side of the Moon for the up to date story. A peaceful night in the Shire is thrown awry by a frantic wizard and a rider in black. Kili Baggins and his family make for Rivendell, and a fellowship is formed to deal with the nightmare that lives in Bilbo's pocket.

1. Chapter 1: The Return

Hello and welcome to The Last, The Lost, The Least! For those of you that have read Strangers Like Me – here is the sequel! For those who haven't, I hope this story will stand alone enough for you, and welcome to my writing :D

As ever, please do forgive any typos that I've made.

I really hope you enjoy :D

Chapter One # The Return #

It was a miserable excuse for a Summer. Not a day of sun was seen in the whole Shire for weeks, and the drizzle was constant and dull. Even the most excitable little hobbits grew tired of splashing in puddles, and it was often too wet for proper play. The farmers' crops were drowning in saturated soil, and already folk were talking about the horror of a potential 'low harvest'.

But the little village of Hobbiton, nestled in the West Farthing, was abuzz with excitement. The rain could not dampen the eager whispers, and the cloud could not hide the shining eyes of the hobbits that lived there. The whole generation of hobbits whose children were in now in their tweens were, for once, more wild than their offspring. They would run from house to house in pouring rain without so much as a hood, and they would stay out all hours of the night and come home trailing mud and twigs and fireflies into the carpet. Of course, their children were just as animated. They practically bounced off the walls of their homes and snuck away from distracted parents to search the horizon for hours beneath a dribbling sky.

By August, the excitement of Hobbiton leaked into the surrounding villages and other farthings, in particular the lands of Tuckborough and Buckland, and by the final days of the month it was unbearable.

Any day now, any day, Kíli Baggins and the hobbits of Erebor would be coming home. It was but three years since their last visit, so their return was a treat in itself, but more importantly it was the year of Frodo Baggins' 33rd birthday, and his coming of age. In a series of letters to Gaffer Gamgee, Bilbo had promised that they would be returning (in a group of thirty-three by some rumours, and three hundred by others) by Summer's end to throw the young hobbit a birthday party 'for the ages' in his home village.

The Bagginses had not thrown a party in the Shire for twenty odd years, not since before Masters Bilbo and Kíli left on their adventure with the latter's biological family, but people remembered the effort that the pair used to put into a good celebration. There was even talk of the wizard, Gandalf, making an appearance and letting off some world famous fireworks, but the Gaffer could promise nothing of the sort, and as the receiver of most letters from the Lonely Mountain he was often deemed the Shire's most reliable source.

"If the wizard's coming," he would say, "Mister Bilbo's said nothing of it to me, and neither has my Sam. I expect there'll be a fair number of dwarves, though. My Sam says there's a lot of them wanting to celebrate with Mister Frodo."

The younger hobbits were most excited about the presents. The last few times that the group had returned, they had brought with them magical toys from New Dale and Erebor, and any child with an invitation to the party could rightfully hope to get one.

On the last day of August it was foggy and poured with rain until midday, and the atmosphere cracked with anticipation and fear. It was a big, scary, wild world beyond their borders – they knew that all too well – so what if some horrible fate had befallen the group? What if they just were not going to come? They had promised to be back by Summer's end, and what was August the 30th if not the end of the Summer?

And then, as the afternoon hit its height and the rain slowly stopped, they were spotted – a large crowd riding towards Hobbiton on ponies and wolves at an impressive speed that was most likely the final sprint in a long, arduous journey. Folk ran out of their houses and down to the edge of the village, and the Gamgees were all but falling over each other to push to the front of the queue.

As the travellers grew nearer, it became clear that there were thirty-three of them, one for each year of Frodo's life. The first to ride into the village astride large wolves were Kíli and Meriadoc Brandybuck – who looked very grown up as a tween of thirty-one. When Merry was riding he would not sit upright as the others did, but lie on his stomach with his arms loosely wrapped around Denahi's neck. A specially made saddle shifted his weight to back and to the right, to accommodate for the wolf's missing limb.

No one would have believed that a three-legged wolf could comfortably carry a full grown hobbit, but this wolf could.

And they still beat the rest of their company into the heart of Hobbiton.

"Hullo, everyone!" Merry called, to a chorus of greetings. He began to unfasten himself as Kíli jumped off of Luno's back and slipped the wolf a slither of jerky. "I told you we'd beat you, Kíli."

"Aye, and I'm mighty impressed that you did!" Kíli grinned, trying to hug back the mob of hobbits – adults and children alike – that seemed intent on hugging the life out of him. "Hello, everyone. Why, Minto, you've gotten so big! You look just like your father, don't you?"

"That's what everyone says," the white-blonde twenty-year-old grinned.

Sam rode up next, his little pony's legs going a mile a minute, it seemed. Within the space of a second he had jumped off of the horse and into the arms of his father. Frodo Baggins was just behind them, with a tiny dwarfling girl in front of him on his pony.

Three of the four young Tooks were next in hugging distance – Pippin, Pearl and Pervinca, all now in their tweens. A trio of young dwarves rode in with them, though none were known to the hobbits. A few meters behind them rode Pimpernel 'Nelly' Took next to a dwarf who appeared to be of similar age. Their heads were bent together and there were grins on their faces that made several bakers in the crowd decide to move their goods away from the windowsills when they got home. Then came Paladin and Eglantine Took and Esmeralda and Saradoc Brandybuck, with Bilbo Baggins, his dwarven wife Dís, and their son and Kíli's brother, Fíli.

Their situation had become incredibly confusticated, and the genealogy scholars in the Shire had been quite irritated while they tried to put it into their carefully formatted family trees.

Fíli and Kíli, of course, were of no blood relation to Bilbo. The hobbit had raised Kíli when he had appeared in the Shire as an amnesiac dwarfling, and they had only met Fíli and the rest of Kíli's birth family by coincidence. That coincidence had led to a very unhobbitish quest and their introduction to Dís, Kíli's true mother. As it transpired, his biological father was long dead, and his mother later fell in love with and married his adopted father, Bilbo.

To make things more complicated, Bilbo had legally adopted his cousin Frodo, which caused several heated debates among the scholars as to where Frodo Baggins should be placed. Some wrote his name twice – once beneath his parents and once beneath Bilbo, with a careful symbol by his name, along with a footnote at the bottom. Others wrote his name only beneath his parents, and others only with Bilbo.

The whole situation was a nightmare compared to the simplicity that hobbits adored, but they put up with it because their Bagginses were their Bagginses. After all they had gone through together, good, bad and horrific, they were willing to allow them some oddities. Especially when those oddities benefited the Shire, too.

A loud cheer sprang up among the children when a familiar dwarf in a very familiar hat pulled up.

"Mister Bofur, Mister Bofur!" they cried. "Mister Bofur, what have you got in your pockets?"

The toymaker chuckled. "Cupboard love, that's all hobbits are good for."

"Mister Bofur, Mister Bofur!"

Bofur threw his head back and laughed, pulling out a little bag and retrieving an odd looking instrument. He blew it, sending out a stream of bubbles. The children squealed in delight, reaching up with open palms. They did not even flinch at the large group of strange dwarves that were pulling up just behind Bofur.

Of the rest of the group, only four were known to the hobbits. One was Nori, the hero of the battle of the Shire and usual companion of the Bagginses. The others were all younger dwarves, of roughly the same age as Kíli and his brother. Bragi, Soren, and Ehren were officially bodyguards to the royal family, but in the Shire and to the royals in question they were seen only as dear friends.

"Alright, alright!" the Gaffer called loudly, his arm wrapped tightly around his youngest son's shoulders. "These good folk have travelled far in this miserable weather and now they need to get inside a nice warm house. There'll be plenty of time to catch up soon enough."

With that, the bedraggled parade made its way up to Bag End. The Tooks and Brandybucks peeled away before the end of the road – they would be staying with Adalgrim and Daisy Took, Paladin and Esmeralda's parents – and Sam left the group to bring his belongings into his family home.

What that left, however, was twenty-one soaking dwarves, two dripping hobbits and six wet wolves squished into the foyer of Bag End.

"Move forward!" Bilbo called out from somewhere between Dwalin's underarm and Bifur's hair. "Keep walking, try and stay off the carpets! Into the kitchen now, single file, that's it. Right, have we lost anyone."

"Me!" giggled Eyja, Dwalin's young daughter.

There was a pause, a muffled squeak, and then a triumphant cry from Gimli. "Got her!"

"Right," Bilbo took a deep breath. "First things first… Bedrooms… Now Kíli, my boy, do you have the list?"

"Yes I do, my dear hobbit, in my head." Kíli cleared his throat. "Right! Amad and Bilbo are in the master bedroom, Frodo will be kipping on the floor in there. I'll be in my bedroom with Fíli, Bragi, Ehren and Soren, then in Frodo's room we have Dwalin, Elza, Eyja, and Frerin. Frodo'll show you where it is. Then, Guest Room One is for Bombur's brood-"

A cheer went up among dwarves of varying ages, with varying shades of red hair.

"Shut up, the lot of you!" Bofur thwacked his nearest nephew on the head with a grin. "I told your parents I'd keep you on your best behaviour, that doesn't mean interrupting your host at the first sound of your father's name!"

Bofin rubbed the back of his head. "Uncle, I'm seventy-two years old!"

Bofur thwacked him again for good measure. "Then act it."

"Ach-he-hem!" Kíli waited for the room to go quiet, then grinned. "As I was saying, Bofin, Bróin, Orla, Ola and Bodin will be sharing that room. That leaves Bofur, Nori, Bifur, Ori and Uncle Thorin in the last room, and then Gimli, you can go where you like."

"You didn't forget me again?" Gimli raised his eyebrows.

Kíli rolled his eyes. "Of course not. But you weren't coming until the last minute and Bilbo and I made The List before we then. I just thought I'd let you choose between bunking in with us, the adults or Dwalin. Or you could sleep at the bottom of Bilbo's bed with Frodo."

Gimli rolled his eyes. "How about the armchair?"

"Oh poppycock," Bilbo scolded the eighty-four-year-old as if he were a dwarfling. "As long as you're under my roof you will sleep in a bed. Or at least on a bedroll with a decent pile of blankets in a bedroom." Then the hobbit paused. "Or, if you wished you could sleep in the library. There's more than enough room for a bedroll on the floor."

Gimli grinned. "I'd like that, thank you Bilbo."

"Hey!" young Bodin frowned. "How come Gimli gets his own room?"

"Because Bilbo said so, now shush up with your whining," Bofur said lightly, though he did give the boy a quick hug and a big grin.

"Right, if everyone could proceed to their appropriate bedrooms and leave their belongings in a tidy pile. Then get changed and reconvene in the dining room for some afternoon tea."

"I told you," Dwalin chuckled to his wife. "We'll make a military commander out of the halfling yet."

"Hobbit, Dwalin, the polite term is hobbit," Bilbo sang. "You'd do well to remember that when surrounded by a great many of them. Mahal knows I've reminded you often enough. Now, bedrooms!"

There was almost a disaster when Bombur's eldest son – the most alike his father in stature – tripped over his sister. They knocked into Thorin, who in turn almost fell on little Frerin, the smallest and youngest of their company. Luckily the King managed to steady himself before he crushed Dwalin and Elza's son, and he pulled the boy up off of the floor, plonked him into his mother's arms and began to help Bilbo in directing everyone to the appropriate rooms.

When the entire group was settled, Bilbo lit a fire in the living room and patted the nearest wolf on the head. "Alright, you lot, come in here and get warm. And stay off my armchairs, Sokka."

The young wolf whined innocently and ducked his head down.

"Yes, yes, I know. I'm a cruel hobbit, it's very, very sad. Stay off the furniture, you're shedding like mad at the moment, though I don't know why. The weather's been awful."

Sokka whined again and shook all over Bilbo's good rug. The hobbit sighed sadly and went to put the kettle on. As he bent over the fire, a wet nose snuffled at the back of his neck, and he turned to see Luno staring at him with a slowly wagging tale.

"Bofur's keeping his nieces and nephews under control – if you could kindly do the same," the hobbit teased, stroking the wolf's ears. "If Lani was here she would've nipped that pup five times today, I think."

Luno huffed that odd, laugh like sound that the wolves would so often make and licked Bilbo's ear, before stretching out in front of the fire.

"Thank you," the hobbit muttered, wiping the slobber off of his ear. He rolled his shoulders and then his aching neck. At seventy-two he was hardly considered old, and indeed he neither felt nor looked any different than he had at fifty, but travelling in the rain always made him achy.

"Do you need a hand?"

Bilbo smiled, not needing to turn around to recognise his son's voice. "The Gaffer should've filled up the pantry – see if you can find some biscuits."

"I'm on it!" Kíli ruffled the hobbit's hair – an annoying habit that Bilbo could frankly do without – and bounded into the pantry.

Smiling, Bilbo watched as his hundred-year-old son began to search the shelves. So much had changed in the past two decades, and yet so much was the same. He had been concerned that their positions as princes would dampen Kíli and Fíli's spirits, but they still behaved like overgrown children whenever they could.

Kíli gasped. "Bilbo! Carrot cake!"

"Carrot cake? Oh, bless Hamfast Gamgee. I doubt there'll be enough for everyone, though-"

"No, but there's a box of gingerbread men and huge jar of cookies, so we don't have to worry about Dwalin and the little ones." Kíli emerged with his arms laden with goodies. "It was a good call, eating lunch at the Green Dragon."

"Aye, well I knew that I wouldn't fancy cooking the moment I walked in the door, yet people are bound to be hungry."

"Bróin's already offered to make dinner tonight," remembered Kíli. "He's going to rival his father in cooking and eating one day, even if he never seems to gain any weight. Oh, the kettle's boiled – you go and get changed, I'll make the tea."

"Thank you, my boy," Bilbo smiled, and Kíli wrapped him in a massive hug.

"It's good to be home," the dwarf whispered, before releasing the hobbit. "Ew. You're soaking. Go and get changed."

"I was on my way when you accosted me!" protested the hobbit.

"Shoo, you're blocking my path to the teapot."

"Ingrate."

"Bully."

Shaking his head, Bilbo smiled and hurried off. Bustling into his bedroom, he saw Frodo enveloped in Dís' arms, his face buried in the dwarf's shoulder. Bilbo paused.

"Is… everything alright?"

Frodo turned around and smiled. "Hello, Uncle. Everything's fine, it's all fine. Sometimes you just need a hug."

"Yes, I quite agree," Bilbo smiled back, studying his nephew's eyes.

"Is the kettle on?" Frodo asked.

"Yes, Kíli's starting the brew."

Frodo nodded. "I'll go and help him, then."

"Thank you, lad." Bilbo watched his nephew leave and turned to his wife. "What was that about?"

"I'm not entirely sure," she said, her eyes drifting away in Frodo's direction. "When I came back from the bathroom there was a strange look on his face, but he did not look upset as such… I couldn't put my finger on it. Before I could say anything he asked for a cuddle. Said that he was fine, simply tired."

"Well, that could very well be it," Bilbo peeled his shirt off. "Goodness knows we are all tired."

"I hope so," she sighed, opening the cupboard and throwing Bilbo one of the old shirts that he always kept in the Shire. "Not to worry, I'll set Kíli on his case."

"That is an excellent idea, and just what I was about to suggest," Bilbo said.

Dís threw more clothes at his face. "Hurry up and put your trousers on, Bilbo Baggins, I'd very much like a cup of tea."

"Well, Dís Baggins, I'm not stopping you from going to get it."

Bilbo could not help but smile at the way that Dís' eyes crinkled up as she grinned.

"Very well, I will see you in a moment," she said, crossing the room to kiss him for a lingering moment, before pulling away and slipping out of the door. Bilbo watched her leave for a moment, marvelling at how the few grey strands in her hair shone like silver. He still found it hard to believe, sometimes, that he was married to such an incredible woman.

He still found it hard to believe many things about his life, if he was honest with himself.

Still smiling, he grabbed a pair of nearby braces and headed back towards the kitchen. Fíli, Soren, Bragi and Ehren were all around the table in the kitchen, as were Nori and Ori. Already it was a little crowded, and Bilbo took a deep breath.

"Alright boys, into the dining room. You easily fit twelve around my table before, so all six of you can squash onto one side."

"Having fun, Bilbo?" drawled Nori.

"Lots of fun," the hobbit replied with a smirk. "Sit."

As the room slowly filled and Frodo began handing out tea-cups, Bilbo organised as best he could with a smile in his heart. For all the noise and chaos, he truly loved this odd family they had formed. Of course, half of it was still in Erebor – not all the high lords could leave at once, especially when the king was gone.

And speaking of the king…

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, thank you Thorin. Just sit down and make yourself comfortable."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. How is the room? I know there aren't quite enough beds…"

"There are no wonky tree roots and no unfriendly eyes, so I think it will be fine. Not quite my quarters in Erebor, but pleasant enough." Thorin gave a wry smile.

"I'm glad you came, you know," Bilbo said quietly. "It means a lot to Frodo. He didn't think that you could."

"I did not think I'd be able to, for a time," Thorin admitted. "But Erebor is stable, and Two is more than capable of handling things."

"Yes, he does live up to his namesake," Bilbo nodded, thinking of Dain's son fondly. Thorin Stonehelm was never called by his first name – and within his family he was rarely called Stonehelm either. Instead, he was known as 'Two', since he was second dwarf in their immediate family to be called Thorin.

"You think so?" Thorin raised his eyebrow.

"Oh yes. Fíli was giving me a history lesson – the first king Thorin of Durin's folk seemed to be quite a character."

Thorin rolled his eyes. "Well, in any case, I'm sure my kingdom will be intact by the time I get back."

"Balin's there to help him, anyway. I still don't see why you couldn't have left him in charge."

"As I have said many times-"

"I know, I know, Two isn't a lord in his own right yet, so he is traditionally allowed to sit in your seat and rule in your stead. Yes, I remember. But really, if there's anyone less likely to start a coup against you it would be Balin!"

"I know that," Thorin intoned. "As do most in the mountain, if not all! But law and tradition dictate that in the absence of the king, the throne must be occupied by one without lordship until his majesty returns."

"And Lord Arnor ruled the Blue Mountains in your stead because that was just a fancy chair, not a throne?"

Thorin stared at Bilbo. "When first I came to this house you did not dare to speak to me in such a manner."

"Well yes, you were a stranger and a guest. Then I got to know you and married your sister."

Thorin sighed. "The situation during the quest was different. I was king of our people, but not of Ered Luin. They were my halls, but not my mountains. There I was officially but a Lord, and in any case I did not intend to return."

"In any case, I am glad that you're here," Bilbo said again. "Right, take a seat, make yourself comfortable. Tea?"

"Please."

Finally, finally, Bilbo was able to sit down on an antique chair that had been shoved into the corner of the kitchen with a mug of tea in his hand. His other hand drifted down to his pocket and ran over the cool gold ring inside it.

He knew that it could only be his imagination, but the ring had seemed to grow heavier over the past few months. While he rarely had need to use it, the temptation to just disappear was growing too, but the last thing that Gandalf had told him had stayed his hand for the last six years.

Keep it secret. Keep it safe.

Bilbo knew that Gandalf was more than capable of taking care of himself, but the hobbit was worried. The wizard had been so frantic, so grim on his last trip to Erebor, and he had not been seen since. Bilbo had made a point to ask around the travellers' haunts in Dale every now and again, but there was no word of any wizard at all.

He had hoped that Gandalf would return in time to attend Frodo's birthday party, but now he would settle for a simple note to say that the wizard was still alive.

Still, there had been nearly forty years between Gandalf's last visit to the Shire and the quest for Erebor, so he was probably just doing… well, whatever it was that wizards did when they were not instigating adventures or getting perfectly good hobbits into awful trouble.

Bilbo smiled wryly and took a sip of tea. He was glad that Gandalf had dragged him and Kíli into trouble. Really, he would recommend a decent dose of trouble to anyone – not death and destruction of course, just a fair amount of discomfort and maybe even a dash of suffering for something really worthwhile. The rewards were always that much sweeter after a struggle.

There was an almighty crash from the other side of the room, followed by a yelp, a wail and a "Bodin! Look what you've done now!"

Jumping to his feet and hurrying towards the sound of tears, Bilbo qualified that trouble should come between very long periods of peace, and not bother those who had just finished travelling all the way around the world. By the time Bilbo got to the other end of the dining room, a crying child was already tucked away in Fíli's arms, while Kíli, Gimli and Bragi were siphoning people away from mass of broken china on the floor.

"Oh dear, that was my Great Aunt Lily's tea set," Bilbo mourned, turning to Fíli and Frerin in his next breath. "Are you alright, mizimith?"

"It bited me!" Frerin sobbed, holding up his hand to show a splinter sticking out of his little finger.

"Oh, dear!" Bilbo repeated, holding the boy's hand still. "Auntie Dís, we have an emergency and could do with your fingernails."

His wife was by his side before he had finished his sentence. "That's a big, nasty splinter, Frerin. You're very brave."

"I'm so sorry," Bodin choked, in tears himself. "I was carrying a tray of things be washed and he ran underneath my feet, I just tripped!"

"It's alright," Fíli's voice was as calm and soothing as ever. "It's alright, Bodin, it was an accident. And Frerin was more frightened than hurt, weren't you little one?"

"It made a big bang," Frerin nodded, wincing as Dís plucked the china from his skin.

"Brave boy," she praised, kissing the little finger.

"He'll be right, lad," Dwalin insisted. "Just a wee splinter. Isn't that right, kurdith?"

Frerin sniffed and nodded, resting his head on Fíli's shoulder.

"Grab a broom, Bodin," Bifur said in Khuzdul. "Clean up the mess you have made and everything will be fine."

"No, no, there's an awful lot of sharp edges," Bilbo insisted. "Bodin, how about you and your sisters take Eyja and Frerin outside to play? It looks like the rain is holding off off – in fact Kíli could show you the best play area in Hobbiton!"

"But I made the mess," Bodin chewed on his lip and wrung his hands. "I'm really very sorry-"

"It was an accident," Bilbo said. "No one was hurt-"

"My finger!"

"No one was hurt badly," Bilbo corrected. "And I never really liked that tea set anyway. Aunt Lily was a lovely woman, but she had horrible taste. No, let the adults deal with this and don't be so hard on yourself."

"To the trees!" Kíli threw Eyja over his shoulder and ran, cackling, to the door. A hesitant Bodin followed with his sisters, Fíli, and Frerin. Gimli, Soren, Bragi, Ehren and Bombur's eldest two boys stared after them like dogs being told to wait.

"Oh, off you go," Bilbo grinned, and the six of them all but fell over each other trying to get to the door. "You wouldn't believe half of them are of age, would you? Alright, Bifur, could you pass me that broom please? And Bofur, you know where the dustpan is – and grab one of those buckets? Thank you. Poor old Bodin – he looked so upset."

"It's easy to forget, sometimes, that he and Pippin are the same age," commented Bofur, waltzing over with a dustpan, brush and a bucket. "Hobbits grow up so much faster than dwarves."

"Aye," Elza nodded. "It's dizzying. Pippin's in his late tweens, while Bofin is still very much a child – he has decades before he fully hits adolescence!"

"It does baffle me," Bilbo admitted. "But all we can do is treat them their age as best we can."

"While the younger ones are gone, I'd like to ask you, Bilbo," Elza piped up, tucking her hair behind her ears and rolling up her sleeves. "Have you begun the plans for Frodo's birthday? And how can we help?"

"Oh, I've got plans," Bilbo grinned. "And I tell you, it will be a night to remember."

I hope you enjoyed the introduction to The Last, The Lost, The Least! If you have any comments I'd love to hear them!

If all goes well I should update rather soon, and I'll do my best to have regular updates. However, come September I'll be starting my third year at university, so I can't promise anything :'(

As a note to any new readers who have not read Strangers Like Me – the ageing rates of dwarves and hobbits are completely ridiculous in this story. When I began Strangers I didn't expect to go very far so I never gave it much thought at the start.

So, the long and the short of it is that they age very slowly, particularly dwarves, who hit their teens at around 60 physically, and then are fully grown at around 80. Mentally they would be more advanced than human children of a similar physical state would be, since they've been around for longer. As touched on at the end of the chapter, both Bodin and Pippin are 27 years old, but while Pippin is only 2 years younger than he was in the Lord of the Rings (so around 15/16 in human years) Bodin is physically and emotionally the equivalent of a seven year old. It's very messed up, I know, but I hope you can look over it for the sake of the story. Everything else world-wise is as canon as possible.

I really hope you enjoyed it, do let me know if you fancy :D