Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or actors from The Hobbit. Everything belongs to the great and powerful J.R.R. Tolkien.

Chapter III

The dwarves were just as rowdy and messy at meals as Bilbo remembered; apples, scones, and buttered rolls flying from one direction to the next as they fought over who'd get the best slices of glazed ham. Bilbo just sat back and watched the show, his own plate a safe distance from the dwarves at the head of the table. Frodo was seated on his lap, two small pieces of ham and several healthy vegetables on his plate as well. The dwarves had protested at first, not wishing to cook anything green, but Bilbo had put his foot down and wasn't going to budge on the matter.

"I don't know about you dwarves, but a young hobbit needs his greens if he wants to grow up nice and strong," Bilbo had explained. "Now, do you want Frodo to have poor nutrition and an unhealthy diet, Bombur?"

The rotund dwarf had a bowl of assorted vegetables on the table five minutes later and the grand feast was then underway, various foods soaring through the air whenever there was a request for something in particular. Fíli and Kíli eventually started a game of catch-the-flying-food, scones and small cheese blocks being tossed into the air as every dwarf at the table tried to prove their worth. Frodo cheered every time one of them managed to get a piece of food into their mouths, his hairy little feet kicking in time with the banging and clapping of their raucous companions.

"Bombur!" shouted Fíli when the large dwarf returned with several more trays of food. A block of cheddar cheese came flying toward him. "Incoming!"

"Got it!"

The cheese flew right into his mouth and everyone in the room gave a loud cheer, Bombur giving a quick bow before depositing the trays on the table. He situated a smaller tray right beside the two hobbits.

"And some homemade mince pies for the tiny one," said Bombur with a flourish, his trusty soup ladle smacking any hands that tried to get close to the pies. "I'd give them a good minute or so to cool off, though."

Frodo hungrily eyed the flaky pies. "Thank you."

Bombur gave the small child a pat on the head before returning to his own seat at the far end of the table. "Any time, lil' one. You can be my taste-tester in the future. Few people around here appreciate good food."

"Why don't I get one, Bombur?" whined Fíli. "I appreciate good food. I love good food. By Mahâl, I've let you poison me before!"

"Because you're neither tiny nor a hobbit. That's why."

Fíli crossed his arms with a pout. "So hobbits get special treatment around here."

"Of course."

Bilbo smiled at the dwarves surrounding him. Kíli and Nori were bickering over a slice of apple pie while Bombur somehow managed to stuff an entire third of said pie into his mouth. Fíli threw a small chunk of meat high into the air, Bofur catching it in his mouth with a boisterous cheer. Bifur and Dwalin appeared to be having a drinking contest, heads thrown back as they chugged down their tankards with gusto. Dori seemed to be keeping tally on who was winning, pieces of meat, cheese, and berry tarts apparently being the prize for the victor.

"I missed this."

Frodo dug into the mince pies as soon as Bilbo gave him permission, small fingers covered in paste and crumbs within seconds. His uncle tried to keep up with the mess, but it was increasingly difficult since Frodo seemed to already be emulating the dwarven style of stuffing their faces. Sticky fingers were even bold enough to smack Fíli's hand away, a wicked smirk gracing Frodo's face when the blond dwarf gasped in faux-pain. Bilbo gave him a light swat on the thigh for such naughty behavior; the last thing he needed was for a dwarf like Fíli to have too much influence over the young hobbit.

"Now, Frodo, you know I don't—"

The boom of a loud horn cut him off. Every dwarf at the table suddenly leapt up, a weapon appearing in each of their hands as they rushed out of the room. Bilbo just looked around, Frodo clutched tight against his chest and food completely forgotten as Bofur and Dori grabbed him by the arms. The hobbit was going to demand an answer about what the horn meant when a voice boomed through the hallways.

"ORCS!"

Bilbo felt his nephew's arms tighten around his neck, the shouting of the dwarven sentries frightening the small hobbit. And Frodo wasn't naïve, he knew very well what an orc was and the destruction that they could cause to a settlement. They'd seen plenty of it during their journey to Erebor.

"INCOMING FROM THE WESTERN HILLS!"

Strong hands guided Bilbo through the hallways, numerous fully-armed dwarves running past them towards the entrance of the fortress. The horn continued to sound, loud and raucous in the once peaceful air. Dwarfs yelled to each other in Khuzdul, their orders clipped and to the point, even to a foreign listener like himself. Bofur stayed right behind them the entire time, Dori leading them across the high walkways of Erebor's central hall, directly left of the main causeway out of the fortress. A familiar full-armored figure stood at the front of the path, shouting orders to the gathered soldiers and directing them towards several different balconies and entrances.

"Is that Thorin?"

Bofur glanced to the side and gave a quick nod. "Aye, that'd be him. In all of his royal gruffness. He always leads the orc counterattacks with King Bard. Ugly bastards just keep coming back for more, no matter how many times we crush them."

The hobbit looked on with concern. "Won't he…I mean, is he healthy enough to engage in combat? Last time I saw him…"

"He's healed well," Bofur assured. "Enough scars to match an old pack mule, but as strong and fit as any dwarf could ever desire to be. Slicing through orcs like butter has become his favorite pastime as of late."

"I thought the orcs were gone from these parts," said Bilbo. He could see Fíli and Kíli running towards their uncle now. "After the battle, that is."

"Not entirely. They've still got a few strongholds in the foothills to the northwest, a couple along the northern reaches of Mirkwood. Thorin's been sending scouts out on an almost monthly basis for recon, but our numbers are still too few," sighed Bofur. "It'll be at least six months before the next caravan from the Blue Mountains arrives, so we'll just have to make due until then."

Bilbo watched the dwarves as they readied themselves for the skirmish. Fíli stood beside his uncle, obviously speaking with him about something important. Unfortunately, because of Bilbo's small size compared to the average dwarf, he was barely able to see or even glance over the sides of the walkway. However, he was tall enough to see through some of the lower, decorative portions, which was when Bilbo spotted Fíli pointing up towards his current location. At the feel of Thorin's intense gaze turning his way, Bilbo gave a sloppy wave before Bofur pulled him further into the mountain fortress.

"We've got a series of safe rooms where we place the children during an attack," explained Bofur. "The walls are thicker than any other place in the mountain. Frodo and yourself will be perfectly safe down here." Dori broke off and went in another direction a moment later. "And I'll be staying with you, just in case."

The hobbit nodded, following Bofur down several flights of narrow steps, Frodo a constant warmth against his front. They eventually arrived in a spacious room, a dozen or so young children already sitting along the back wall with their dwarf mothers. Bilbo was surprised to see so many females, mostly because of the various stories he'd heard during the Quest to Erebor. Many of them were fairly pretty, in a decorative side-burns and stout stature kind of way. And, of course, they were all carrying their own weapons, faces grim as the horn continued to sound from above them.

"Do you still have that glowy letter-opener with you?" asked Bofur as he signaled for Bilbo to sit down on a nearby crate. "The one from the cave?"

"Oh, umm, yes," said Bilbo, carding his fingers through Frodo's soft curls. "But I left it on the bedside table in our rooms. I didn't think I'd be needing it in the city. It doesn't have a chance of getting stolen, does it?"

"The orcs have never come close to getting into the city, so there's no reason to fret," the floppy-hatted dwarf assured. "But it might be wise to keep it at your side in the future, especially if you plan to venture anywhere near the perimeter. That glowing...thing it does whenever an orc's nearby could come in handy. At least until the next caravan arrives and we've got a few hundred more guards in the city."

"I'll do that," said Bilbo with a jerky nod. "Would you like to hear some stories, Frodo? Maybe the one about the brown wizard?"

Frodo, who was seated on his uncle's lap, gave a sharp nod. His hairy feet were nervously kicking back and forth, a clear sign that Frodo was uncomfortable with their current situation.

"Aye, I know that one," chuckled Bofur with a knowing smile. "Strange fellow, Radagast sure was, even for a wizard." He leaned down to Frodo's level and patted the small hobbit on the arm. "Hey, did you know that Radagast outpaced a whole, big pack of wargs on nothing more than a sled of rabbits?"

Frodo looked a little curious at that. "Rabbits?"

"Rhosgobel rabbits!" said Bofur with a grand flourish. "Fastest lil' buggers you'll ever see in your life. The wargs didn't stand a half-chance against those furballs. And the brown wizard flashed right under their snouts while we…"

As it turned out, Bofur was a master storyteller when it came to children, with all of the little dwarves and hobbits sitting at his feet in the center of the room. Bilbo looked on with a big smile, amused by the embellishments that Bofur had funneled into some of the Quest for Erebor stories. If listeners believed Bofur's stories, then Thorin would have to be the strongest, toughest, and most majestic king in all of Middle-Earth's history. Not to mention the many misdeeds of the elves, who were portrayed as arrogant tree-huggers, especially those from Mirkwood. Bilbo tried to interject with a few corrections on how the Rivendell elves gave them some much needed assistance, but the matter proved futile when Frodo kept shushing him at every turn.

"Well, I see where I stand," muttered Bilbo.

"What happened next?" demanded a little blond dwarf next to Frodo. "Did the elf keep His Majesty imprisoned?"

"Ahh, well, it looked like that would be the—"

The door slammed open a moment later, an unfamiliar dwarf peeking his head through the doorway to inform everyone that the skirmish was won and over now. Cursing all of the time they'd lost on their work, the dwarf mothers gathered up their children and went about thanking Bofur for entertaining the little ones for so many hours. Apparently, good stories and spirited tales were one of the few things that could keep a dwarf child amused for long periods of time, and Bofur's storytelling had been an excellent reprieve for the mothers. Listening to their words of thanks from his crate, Bilbo was very thankful that Frodo was not such an energetic terror on a daily basis.

"Looks like the walls held quite nicely," said Bofur with a proud smile. "I'd swear the orcs have no brains, trying to sneak into Erebor like they do. But alas, our home is just too irresistible for them." He gave the stone floor a loving pat. "No one'll be taking Erebor from dwarvish hands ever again. Not with a Durin on the throne."

"Aye, aye!" echoed the female dwarves.

"C'mon, my good Baggins hobbits," said Bofur. He dragged them out of the room and into the hallway, walking up the stairs at a fast clip. "Lets see how Thorin and the rest fared against those nasty orcs on this rainy evening."

Frodo's pointy ears perked up at the familiar name. "Uncle! Uncle? Are we going to meet the King now?"

"I do believe so."

They took more turns than Bilbo could count, but they eventually came to a small chamber that was connected to the throne room. Bofur said it was officially referred to as the Royal War Room, but most of the Company instead liked to call it Thorin's Thinking Room. A scoff escaped from Bilbo's throat at that explanation. The thought of Thorin, a self-professed dwarf of action, sitting in a dusty old room with legal documents scattered all around him was pretty difficult to imagine. Of course, Bilbo had only known the King during times of adventure and combat, so maybe there was an intellectual side underneath all that rugged and prideful masculinity.

"We've arrived," declared Bofur loudly. Every head in the room turned to stare at them, both familiar and strange alike. The King and his nephews stood at the head of the center table. "And our favorite burglar has returned."

"So my eyes and ears didn't deceive me," whispered the King. "Bilbo Baggins…"

I love playing with the 'less handsome' dwarves and their personalities, so expect to see a lot more of them than in most other stories.