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The line of Durin had been broken.

There in the hall of Erebor, viewing his vast length of riches, stood a king without a heir. King Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror Oakenshield. He had survived the Battle of the Five armies, bruised and battered, but alive, for neither Azog now his spawn, Bolg could defeat the dwarf. His heirs, his sister's sons, did not share the same faith. They died shielding him and for that, he honored them and their courage, now with their bodies buried beneath the rich soil east of the mountain and among old Ravenhill, for it had a merry view on the Running River and what the desolation of the dragon, though in time its memories and it remains would pass.

The Mountain was reclaimed and Dale as well, for the king fulfilled his promise after the battle. Though he did it in grimness, he gave away all of Girion's jewels and riches to Bard, now King of Dale, who spread it to his friend, Thranduil the Elvenking (a spiteful choice that altered Thorin into fumes) and to the Master of the men of the Lake, to rebuild their town that had fallen.

What was left for Thorin turned him to fear.

All the wealth, robbed of him once and once attempted, could slip away and into the hands of the undeserving without a heir. Had he fallen into the embrace death during the battle with his nephews, who would have claimed what was rightfully his grandfather's, now his? Dain, perhaps, but how long could he have protected it from greedy men?

And as he pondered, he did not realize a figure lurking in the shadow.

He drew his hand to Orcrist and called out to the darkness, "Who goes there? Show yourself."

And by his command out came Bilbo, her common hobbit locks of vivid brown twisted into a braid, revealing a complexion darkened by age and dirt. She was fifty, Thorin believe, or close to that, but he never cared to ask. For now he only removed his hand and greeted her. "My Lady Baggins, I thought you had bid farewell to this place and was returning to your home," he said.

"I….I was just saying farewell….to Fili and Kili." She cleared her throat, swaying back and forth upon her heels. "Balin told me there will be a great feast tonight and you will honor them and their courage."

"You will not stay?"

"No….I must really be getting back. Who knows what the Sackville - Bagginses will have to say when I return!" Every hobbit in Hobbiton probably would frown upon her, oh how she thought of what Bungo Baggins thought of his daughter from the grave after her adventure. And for that she chuckled.

"Then I part you with my friendship," Thorin said, a hand over her breast to represent honor. "You have proven to be a most worthy burglar. And I am sorry I ever doubted you."

They exchanged a brief goodbye and Bilbo attempted to depart.

"Wait," said the dwarven King and the hobbit twirled around. "Please, stay and feast with us. Honour my nephews and drink to our victory,"

Bilbo had been weary from walking and walking and war and her stomach had been growling for hours. She had done what Gandalf had said and tightened her holster around her waist, for she has lost a vast amount of weight since she left her hobbit - hole, if you remembered happen months ago, though felt longer for the hobbit. A feast would be nice, so would an hour to rest her feet. So she didn't decline.

…

Beer and meat and bread was plenty. It tingled all their tongues to taste something other than cram.

Now Bilbo felt like a hobbit again, with a stomach full of food.

And then Thorin toasted his nephews, his company and their strength and they drank to battles to come. Once all satisfied, they leaned back in their chairs with grins upon their faces and then they retrieved their instruments and played a dark, serenity tune and sang to their victory, while some stayed back and lit their pipes.

Bilbo found herself releasing rings of smoke, larger than she had ever made and she had always been quite good at this. But Thorin, with a pipe in his mouth, blew one larger than hers and she was enthralled by it and yet a little envious. And this feel and her self competition continued on almost through the night. But now weariness had taken her.

Bilbo was half listening, half asleep dreaming of her hobbit - hole and her books, and the fireplace, flickering embers, producing a warm flow of air. She smiled to the thought. Home was calling her.

"Do was bored you, Miss Baggins?" inquired Thorin, his fingers halting their movement upon his harp.

" Oh no, no, no!" she protested. "Pray continue!"

So they took up their song once more and another hour went by. The dwarves were weary and Bilbo had already plummeted into a deep sleep.

Thorin came to his feet and lifted the hobbit off of her chair and carried her away to his chamber where she would sleep for hours upon cotton sheets and fur blankets. Heavenly, she slept and for that Thorin grinned. He leaned in closely, catching a whiff of her warm breath. And he gave a quick kiss to her forehead, sweeping his fingers through her brown locks.

"May I tell you something?" she asked, with her eyes remaining shut and sleep fastly taking her.

"Yes, pray tell," said Thorin.

"Back….uh, back in Mirkwood forest, when I climbed up the tree to find the sun and I saw the Lonely Mountain, a part of me asked myself if I would go back…." she whispered. "To Hobbiton, I mean. If I would ever go back to it…..and if I wanted to."

"It is your home," he said.

"Yes...yes it is. But perhaps Gandalf was right, perhaps I am not the same hobbit who left Hobbiton. Perhaps I was meant for more….more than books and dollies."

"Then stay."

And Bilbo said she would consider it and finally, the next morning she had chosen to linger in the mountain. In time a jaunt home, but until then, she would stay.