A/N: So I'm procrastinating on And There He Sits Forever, my Sherlock fic. Sorry, I should be diagnosed with ADHD-I. I'm a researcher. I still have to figure out an ending. I also have an orchestra audition in June. I saw the Hobbit, so now I'm writing crappy fiction stories about it, even the movie was boring and drawn out and should have been amazing and one film instead of three.

What did I just say: I should be diagnosed with ADHD-I. I'm all over the place and I apologize. Let's get on with the stories.

(I also apologize if this first story reminds any of you of the scene in Fellowship of The Ring when they're in the mountain during the blizzard and hide in the dwarf places. It did not occur to me at the time that it looked like I was plagiarizing. Because I wasn't.)

The Journey of A Thousand Miles...

Summary: Three times Bilbo was less than lucky on his trip with the dwarves- and sometimes Gandalf- to the Lonely Mountain. Contains all fictional stories.

Chapter One: ...May Knock You Off Your Feet

Bilbo Baggins could not feel his nose. The same went for his ears and the tips of his fingers. In fact, he could barely feel any part of his poor body, for that matter, save for his leathery hobbit feet.

For once, he was grateful for the oversized cloak that he had been given, because it seemed to block out the cold just a little bit better than one that fit him would. It would have helped if the harsh winds were not blowing the hood back from his head so his face was exposed to the blizzard.

Bilbo glanced at the dwarves around him. Snow whirled around them, making it hard to see, but he could still make out the bearded men's frigid faces and frozen facial hair. The hobbit had none to speak of, though wished he did, because he was sure it would make him warmer, and at least his lips wouldn't be blue around the edges like they were now.

They were all very cold in the blizzard mountain tops. Gandalf led the way as they trudged on, shivering and holding themselves, and Bilbo was sure that he was not the only one imagining sitting at home in front of a nice fire with a hot cup of tea, smoking his pipe.

Gandalf's grey beard and eyebrows were white with the frost and he leaned heavily on his staff. His sharp eyes darted around through the onslaught of snow, searching, perhaps, for shelter. At least, Bilbo hoped so.

Bilbo was not a particularly strong hobbit, as he had little to no work to do in the Shire, though he was not quite as round with idleness as some of the older- and even younger- hobbits were. In fact, he was rather peaky for a hobbit, but that was mostly because of the minuscule rations they had with them. His attenuated form didn't help his predicament at all, except that it only gave him more of his cloak to envelop himself in.

The trail was narrow and winding, and Bilbo could feel himself bumping and grazing against the dwarves, who seemed to be faring far better than he, though cold all the same. As he walked next to Fili, their shoulders touching as there was no room for them not to, he was shocked to feel a violent trembling. It took him several moments to realize that the one shivering so harshly was himself.

Bilbo let out several shaking breaths, his teeth chattering loudly. "Don't worry, my friend," Fili assured, noticing his state,"Gandalf will have us there soon." Bilbo could not say or do anything in response, nor did he have enough energy to question where "there" was.

On they went, growing colder and colder, until even Bilbo's hobbit feet began to chill from the blizzard and he wanted nothing more than to curl up right then and there and fall asleep. He wondered if the other dwarves had noticed his violent shivering and decided that it would not be a surprise if they did. After all, he was a hobbit, and not a sturdy dwarf or a mighty wizard. None of the others had red ears and fingers, or blue-tinted mouths.

Bilbo felt almost blessed when he tripped over his own two feet and fell into the snow. He let out a little "Umph" as he hit the ground, but almost didn't bother getting up. He wanted to let go and allow himself to slip off, just for a little while, but someone strong- two strong someones, in fact- were tugging at his cloak and pulling him upright.

At first, snow blocked Bilbo's vision completely. He blinked and started to shiver again, with his quaking being so strong that it shuddered away the snow from his eyes.

"There, there, friend," one of the two dwarves who had picked him up said. "You must continue with us! We shan't leave you behind!"

Bilbo realized that the party had stopped. "Gandalf!" the other dwarf who had helped Bilbo stand called over the wind. The wizard stopped and turned to acknowledge them. "We cannot go much further! We must find shelter, as our poor hobbit is already colder than this mountain!"

If he had not been so cold, Bilbo would have blushed at being noticeably weaker than the others, not being able to stand the blizzard as long, but his body burned with the cold already and he felt very lethargic. He met Gandalf's grey irises, but a furious shudder wrenched itself throughout his body and his eyes clamped shut. He felt the wizard's gaze sweep over him and take in everything: the hobbit's violent shivering, his chattering teeth, his lips blue around the edges, his hair white with the snow.

Finally, Gandalf nodded and led on. "We will find shelter until it is safer to travel."

As they continued, Bilbo was thankful that at least Kili and Bofur were kind (as they were the two who had helped him up). The hobbit stumbled too many times to count, the blue beginning to wander into his chapped lips, and his big feet clumsily staggering about, and he was grateful for the two for keeping an eye on him. But the wind blew harder, and it was tougher to see, and the two couldn't help Bilbo anymore as they were helping themselves.

The hobbit couldn't possibly keep his eyes open any longer, but they were not quite there, yet, so he tried his best. He kept walking, kept walking, even as his eyelids slipped over his brown irises.

He hadn't noticed his eyes were closed until he didn't feel any ground underneath him.

The hobbit let out a gasp as his foot slipped off the edge of the mountain and his other foot was forced to follow, because he had begun to tumble forwards and had no time to lean backwards. He felt a tug on the hood of his robe, but, being smaller than everyone else on the journey, and the robe being so large on him, his head slipped right through the clasp. The last thing Bilbo felt was his curly hair being pulled on slightly as the last of him fell past the neck of the cape.

He reached his hands up to grab at the green cloth, but his fingers merely brushed it.

Too late.

A gasp was all he had time for, because he, Bilbo Baggins, was tumbling off of the snowy mountain, through the daggers of the wind, all the way down to his assured death. He greeted the ground with his back, his arms and legs flailing about. He shut his eyes tightly and waited.

It seemed to take a very long time to fall. And falling didn't feel at all like it should. He still kept his eyes shut tightly, though, afraid that maybe he was falling and he didn't want to see the end. It was strange, though. The wind still whistled past him from the left, and he had no sensation of tumbling through the air.

Instead, he felt as if some unseen rope had been pulled through both of his feet and met in his middle to form one whole rope, and was going up and out through his head, all the way to where his associates had lost him.

"BILBO!" came a cry from above. He opened his eyes. All he saw was white. Have I died? he thought as his eyes and his mouth opened wide, but nothing came out of the latter. Surely I must be in the afterlife.

Bilbo had always thought of the afterlife as an eternal bliss, free from pain and worries. Yet here he was, seemingly suspended in the air, the wind coming at his numb body like an army, stabbing the freezing flesh with icicles, and he was frightened out of his mind.

"BILBO BAGGINS!" the call came again, this time in a different voice. Bilbo looked up, and now he could see that it wasn't entirely white. It was darker above him, the outline of a cone in the sky, and what seemed to be fourteen silhouettes gazing down at him, one much taller than all the others and pointing something long at Bilbo's head.

For the life of him, Bilbo couldn't make out anything of this predicament in his head. He had slipped and fell, and it was snowing. That must be why he was so cold! He heard shouting from above, and squinted to see the figures. The shorter men were all turning on the taller one, demanding something from him.

Then Bilbo felt himself lift a bit.

It was a little jolting, and the hobbit let out another little gasp at the feeling, though only because he wasn't expecting it, and so suddenly, and that it gave him a strange sensation on the soles of his feet.

Something about it being magic crossed Bilbo's mind, but he payed no attention to it as he was lifted in the air again.

This kept happening, one lift after another, until he was being pulled smoothly up through the air by the invisible rope. Bilbo desperately wanted something to grab ahold of, but there was nothing to hold and his fingers were too numb to curl around anything, anyway. He was too afraid to do anything but wait for the rope to snap and for him to fall. With each tug, his brown eyes became wider.

Then his shoulders made contact with a hard object that dug into them, and the word "mountain" flashed across his mind, but that, too, escaped him because he was being dragged onto a ledge, through something that was wet and cold, though Bilbo was so cold already that he barely felt it.

The hobbit was only half-conscious now, and, though his eyes remained wide and open, he felt asleep. He was so drowsy and cold that he almost didn't notice thick hands taking ahold of his wrists and arms and clothes, and the invisible rope inside of him disappearing. He stared up at the sky, wondering exactly what had just happened. His eyes were huge, as if he couldn't let his eyelids fall, but the hobbit could swear that they were closed. Bilbo was far too petrified and out of it to be embarrassed when he felt himself being picked up by a set of thicker arms, sturdy and stronger than possibly all of the others that were grabbing at him put together, though they held him as gently as a parent to a child. One hand was under his knees and the other beneath his back, and his legs dangled in the air as his vision went very white, fading in and out. He let his head bob against the stranger's chest, his eyes staring at nothing. As he stared past the person's head, he caught a thick black mane of hair and beard. He wasn't sure what he was looking at, though his hearing remained intact somewhat.

"...how he shivers, Gandalf! I knew we should have stopped sooner!" The voice came into focus as the wind stopped its rampage on Bilbo, though still he heard it. This was the person carrying him. They were now in a cave of such.

"There was nowhere to stop sooner, and if we had simply sat there, the poor hobbit would be dead." This was the person who had saved him, their voice smooth, wise. Stern yet concerned at the same time. The arms of the person carrying him shook slightly with Bilbo's own fierce trembling.

A new voice. "Would be? I thought he was gone already! He doesn't look to be breathing, Gandalf, he's pale as the snow outside, and his lips are awfully blue-"

"Quiet, now, 'course he's breathing!" a rough voice reprimanded. "He's just tired, Kili, now quit putting ideas into our heads!" A thump, and a huff of pain.

"Now stop bickering," the person who had saved Bilbo insisted,"and gather rocks to place in a circle. We need a fire, and desperately, too. Quickly, now!"

Bilbo felt himself being set down on hard rock, and it seemed to drain his body of what little heat was left in it. This only made him shiver harder than before, and he heard little whimpers close to his ears. It took him a moment to recognize the sounds as coming from his own mouth.

"Gandalf!" a voice from before exclaimed now,"he still shakes like a frail little leaf, even more than that! And look at his eyes! He stares at nothing; I believe not he sees beyond the ceiling! Can't you-"

"Bofur, I am touched at your concern for Bilbo, but what he needs at the moment is a fire, and for me to create one, I need rocks, so please help the other dwarves in following directions."

There was a silent pause, and then the shuffling of feet that got quieter and quieter. Bilbo heard a rustling noise and then felt something thick and warm being draped over him, and it was long enough to cover him from his neck to well past his toes. Bilbo's shivering quieted though refused to stop rattling him. He never took his eyes off the roof of the cave, though he wasn't focused on that or any other part of it. The others knew not what Bilbo gazed at, and neither did Bilbo.

He heard the clanking of stones near his head, the person who had carried him murmuring something to himself that the hobbit couldn't make out, but then there was a sudden roar and his vision was a dull orange instead of just the blank ceiling. He felt himself thawing out and relaxing.

"Will he be alright, Gandalf?" the person who had carried Bilbo asked, though it didn't sound as if they cared one way or another.

"Yes, just let him sleep."

"But he won't close his eyes! His eyes are vacant! Is he mad? I refuse to continue on this journey to kill a dragon that has killed all of my people whilst dragging along a mad hobbit!" The voice now shook, quite like Bilbo, though it was with rage and not the cold.

Something wrinkled and pale moved across Bilbo's vision, reaching down to touch his eyes, and the world turned black.

"No, no, merely a bit shocked from the fall. I'm sure he'll he quite alright, Thorin."

That was when the hobbit fell asleep.

A/N: So there's your tiny bit of Bagginshield, fangirls who support such strange gay pairings. Twas Thorin who hoisted Bilbo in his arms like a fair damsel in distress. Because Bilbo has doilies.

Manly doilies.

I will take suggestions, but they have to involve some whump for Bilbo. I'm horrible, I know. And I hope I used the word 'whump' correctly...oh dear, that'll be strange if I didn't.

I also created this really awful story where Bilbo has MAJOR bad memories and traumatic experiences and is all pensive and sad. I'm too afraid to post it. Sorry.