Honestly, there's SO MANY THINGS wrong with this story, such as timeline and all that, but I didn't care I just wanted a cute little story of Thorin trying to find his One. So yeah, ignore the totally wrong timeline stuff and it'll be fine.

This is a fic that takes place in a world where Erebor never fell. It focused more on Thorin than Bilbo, though.

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Third: In which Hobbits are very good hiders

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Hobbits had once been a nomadic race. They wandered the lands of Middle Earth and met inhabitants of shapes and sizes. They hid from Orcs, avoided Trolls, and learned to fear the Goblins as every other race did, but it was not just the dark ones that Hobbits learned to fear. In their travels they became wary of merciless Elves, scared of the wrath of Men, and horrified by the greed of Dwarves. Yavanna's children were a gentle sort, content to simply sit among the flowers, and the dark nature of others shook them to their very bones and instilled in them a fear that drove them into permanent hiding. With time, as Hobbits continued to hide and even Elves could no longer remember the last time they laid eyes on such a creature, the Hobbits were forgotten with time and became little more than sweet stories mothers told their children of a gentle people who could not survive in such a world that was simply too harsh for them.

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"Ye sure about this?"

Thorin cast a glance at who his closest friend and personal guard as he swung his leg up and over his pony. The question needed no answer and they both knew it. Each and every dwarrow was born to meet their other half, a gift from Mahal, that would ensure them a full and happy life. Like his brethren Thorin had a voice, a soft murmur in his mind that spoke to him in a language he could not understand. For years now he had searched high and low for the Voice of his heart, and if it was leaving Erebor that would find him than he had no choice, but to leave. Ever since his Voice had appeared, forty years ago, Thorin had driven himself near mad trying to find his heart. Balls had been held with all the dwarrow of Erebor, and when that had not resulted in anything they had sent invitation to Ered Luin and The Iron Hills, but still there was nothing. He been the cities of Men, even questioned if any Elves had been born when his heart song had emerged, but still there was nothing.

It seemed his only choice was to travel himself, searching every small settlement there was along the way, in hopes of just a whisper of the unknown language and the lilting accenting of his Voice. Thorin would find him. Thorin needed to find him.

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They were lost. Thorin had decided that they would travel the path to Ered Luin first, then when they got to the mountains they would rest and replenish their supplies before heading out again. With a deep frown Thorin urged his pony on through the forest, sure that the path would emerge again if he just continued on straight. Behind him he could hear Dwalin moan as they came out into a valley that most certainly was not on the map, which meant it wasn't the right way. He heard his friend dismount his pony as he brought his own to a stop.

"We may as well rest here for the night, Thorin. It's getting dark and no good travelling foreign woods with no light," Dwalin sighed as he set his pack on some a patch of blue flowers.

Thorin glared at the flowers that filled the valley in front of him, before dropping his own back. "We'll continue at first light." He approached his friend and kicked up more flowers as he went, taking out his frustrations on the useless plants in front of him. "I thank you for joining me on this, my friend, I fear you may of signed yourself up for more lost nights than you counted on."

Dwalin snorted and smirked at his prince, "I've travelled with you before, I accounted for the fact that we'd be lost." Thorin gave him a strong shove as they both laughed, settling amongst the flowers and setting up their bedrolls.

It was early the next morning that Thorin was awoken by soft voices, speaking in a language that had his heart hammering in his chest. He remained as still as possible as the voices hovered over him.

"What do you suppose they are?"

"Trespassers, that's what they are! I say we leave them here and hope they'll be on their way."

"Well that doesn't seem very polite at all…"

"Who gives a hoot about-!"

Thorin opened his eyes, just in time to scare the living daylights out of the odd creature staring down at him. The girl jumped back to fall into the two boys who had been standing just behind her and Thorin got a good look at them. They were small, smaller than any dwarf, with curly hair, soft cheeks, and hairy feet. Keeping his eyes on the three he nudged Dwalin awake before he gave the creatures his full attention again.

Seeing the fear in their eyes he raised his hands in front of him as he slowly got to his feet. "I mean you no harm, I am Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son-" The creatures took off running and with only a moment of shocked pause Thorin took off after them, Dwalin right behind him. He could not lose these creatures, not now that he'd finally heard that language and was a step closer to finding his Voice. The three bounded over the hills that filled the valley, and Thorin had just made it to the top of their latest hill when he saw the first one diving down into what appeared to be a hole. The second boy followed not a moment later, and the girl was almost disappeared into the hole when Thorin caught the back of his dress and stopped her descent into the ground.

The girl squirmed in his grasp, flailing and screaming as Thorin tried to avoid being hit by her wildly swinging arms. "Mama, MAMA!" On the other side of the hole Thorin could hear voices approaching and realizing that this probably looked like he was attempting to kidnap the odd thing he dropped the girl and jumped down the hole after her, narrowly avoiding Dwalin crashing into him as his guard followed. He watched as the girl went tearing across the room, all hysterics and tears, into the arms of an older women he stared at him wide eyed.

In the few moments of relative peace that followed Thorin took in his surroundings. The same flowers that covered the valley above were prevalent here in what seemed to be a smaller valley with doors and tunnels lining the walls, and hundreds of lights hanging from the ceilings.

In the next moment a large group of the strange creatures rushed out from a tunnel behind the girl and her mother. At the sight of the dwarves, and the crying girl, there was a tidal wave of noise. The strange language filled the air and Thorin could feel Dwalin tensing besides him, his hands reaching for his axes should he need to defend his prince.

"Calm down, I think what we have here is no more than a misunderstanding caused by curious children and lost wanderers." The crowd quieted as an older man made his way through them, to approach the two intruders. He cleared his throat once he had stopped a respectable distance from the two, and sent them a kind smile. "Good morning, or it should've been at least. What business do two dwarves have here in the Shire?"

Suddenly, Thorin was thankful for the years of training he'd received on how to act as a dignitary. He and Dwalin bowed to the man in front of him, who he assumed to be a leader of these people, "Thorin, Son of Thrain, Prince of Erebor, at your service."

"Dwalin, Son of Fundin, Head of the Royal Guard, at your service."

"We were simply passing through and fell asleep in the fields above. I meant no harm to your people, I am searching for someone, and when I heard the lass speak I was sure I had found where they were. I did not intent to create such a spectacle." Thorin apologized and was surprised when the old man laughed.

"Fortinbras Took, Thain of the Shire," The man introduced himself once he'd stopped his laughing, "I'm sorry, but I find it hard to believe you're looking for anyone here. We hobbits haven't had contact with the other races for quite some time."

Dwalin sucked in a breath as his eyes widened at the shock, "Hobbits!"

Thorin wasn't faring much better as he stared at the group in front of him in shock. "We were told Hobbits no longer existed."

"Like I said, it has been some time since we have had contact with the other races. Now, tell me Prince Thorin, what leads you to believe the one you search for is here amongst my people."

"It was the language." Thorin starts, and explains to the Thain of the Voice and all that it means. By the end of the story, seeing there would be no more problems, much of their previous audience had tapered off and the Thain is leading them through the tunnels and back to his home where they will stay until Thorin can find his mystery Voice.

"It's called Hobbitish," Fortinbras explains, "Many of the Hobbits here can not speak the common tongue and see no reason to learn. The only reason I know is because the Took family is always taught out of tradition just in case. That's what we've been saying for generations now, just in case. Haven't seen an outsider my whole life, but just in case. I guess it helped after all."

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It would take two weeks before Thorin is sure he is losing his mind. When he'd stumbled down that hole he'd been so sure that he was about to find his Voice, but with each day that passed he talked to more Hobbits, and none of them were ever right. Dwalin seemed to be having a good time, accepting baked goods from the Hobbit lasses, and being flirted with down in the markets. Thorin almost wanted to remind the man that he had already found his Voice, but knew his friend was simply in awe of the discovery of Hobbits. Dwalin had always been found of soft things.

"My cousin is coming to these parts today, he lives further into the valley in Hobbiton, but he's a storyteller and makes trips to this area quite often. If nothing else, I can see if you could stay with him in Hobbiton to see if this voice of yours is there." Fortinbras offered, seeing Thorin's frustration with the lack of results in his search.

The dwarf let out a sigh and gave the Took a small smile, "I thank you, Master Took, I would be most grateful for a way to Hobbiton."

Waving off his thanks, the older Hobbit, sent Thorin off to the markets, so he didn't spend the whole day pacing and waiting for the arrival of his guide. Thorin returned that night with Dwalin, a bag of food in hand, he figured he didn't know how long the journey to this Hobbiton was and he didn't want to take food from Fortinbras. As the two dwarrow entered the home they'd temporarily been put in, the soft buzz of conversation could be heard from the doorway and as they got close enough to make out voices, Thorin was frozen.

His voice, speaking in soft tones, in the language he'd just recently learned of, echoed in his head from the dining room. Dwalin was close enough to catch the dropped bag holding the food as Thorin burst through the doorway. All he could focus on, all that mattered, sat in front of him. Golden curls, blushing cheeks, light freckles, green eyes. Thorin tried to take it all in at once, tried to study the small hands, at the same time as he tried observing the large feet, and appreciating the crooked smile.

"Ah, this must be them. I'm Bilbo Baggins, nice to meet you, Thorin."