A/N: Back again! Thank you all who've stuck with this through my recent rather sporadic updates. I plan to update regularly now summer is here, and in fact plan to have Chapter 8 (Mr Durin will be back!) with you in a week's time (it would be earlier, but it's my birthday and I'm off to London).

Anyway, thank you once again to everyone who reads/favourites/reviews, and I hope you guys enjoy.


wandering bark

"The company in Bath was splendid as always father," drawled an unfamiliar voice. The smooth tone, and the deeper one of the Duke that followed after, both came through the door to the main parlour, just behind him. Bilbo gave pause a moment, eyes drifting to the sight of himself in the looking glass on the wall, windswept and pink-cheeked from his brisk morning walk.

Lindir, the butler, offered him a small, kindly expression.

"Lord Peredhel's sons have arrived just this morning, sir," he said. "Would you like me to announce you right away, or allow you a moment?"

Bilbo had just opened his mouth to request that perhaps he be permitted to at least remove his heavy overcoat before his introduction to Lord Elrond's two sons. Lady Arwen had already assured him were the most spirited of individuals and that would at least give him chance to cathc his breath after his hour of exertion. Bilbo's extensive family and acquaintance in Little Bagshot meant he was exposed to a great many spirited characters and found interactions with those of that ilk were best left for when one was not quite so tired following a bout of early morning exercise. However, any response was prevented by the sound of a voice, in the same smooth tone as before, in the doorway to the parlour.

"I daresay I hear someone out in the hallway," a man said, stepping out into the hall, but with his gaze still turned inward. Bilbo stilled on the spot, now at the bottom stair of the grand staircase.

The figure turned around quickly, barely sparing Lindir a glance before bright grey eyes locked into Bilbo and thin pale lips curled up - whether it was into a smirk or a smile, Bilbo could not tell.

"Ah, you must be Mr Baggins," he said, in a suave, lazy tone.

Bilbo inclined his head in acknowledgement. The man - presumably one of Lord Peredhel's sons, though he was not sure which - swept across the hallway, pausing several feet from Bilbo, a light smile on his face, but his eyes were sharp, assessing, steel. Heat prickled on the back of his neck at the scrutiny and the gentleman straightened his shoulders, conscious of the height difference and internally lamenting the tendency of all those in the house except himself to be so very tall.

"An honour to make your acquaintance at last."

The man bowed then, not a small tilt of the head as was customary, oh no, it was a great flourishing, dramatic thing and when he straightened, his lips were curled once again into the smile of one who was perpetually amused at the world and the people who inhabited it.

"I am Elrohir," he said. "Come," he continued, not exactly an order, but he proffered his right arm all the same, "I must introduce you to my elder brother."

Bilbo almost let himself cast one last forlorn look at his dishevelled appearance in the mirror, before he halted the movement abruptly, not wishing to show any kind weakness, especially self-consciousness, in front of one as discerning as the young Lord seemed to be.

Allowing himself to be led into the room, Bilbo took a brief moment to study Lord Elrohir's profile. He had the same long, elegant face of his father and sister, yet his skin was darker in colour, showing both his mother's Portuguese heritage and his time spent abroad.

When he entered the room, Bilbo started as he noticed that Lord Peredhel's elder son was in fact identical to his brother - something that Arwen had neglected to mention, though, now that he thought on it, she had described them as 'very similar' - and he regarded the gentleman at his younger brother's side with that same amused smirk.

"I see Elrohir has found you," commented the Duke wryly. "Allow me then, Mr Baggins, to introduce you to my eldest son, Elladan, Earl of Berkshire."

Elladan, unlike his brother, merely inclined his head and smiled graciously.

"It is an honour," he said, unknowingly mimicking his brother, "Father has spoken most highly of you already."

When Bilbo looked to Lord Peredhel, the man's lips quirked contentedly.

"I trust your walk was satisfactory?" the Duke asked instead of offering any sort of explanation.

"Perfectly so, Your Grace, I thank you."

He merely received a flat look in response and it was then Bilbo remembered the Duke's insistence the day before that Bilbo should call him by his Christian name.

"Come now, Mr Baggins," he had said, "You are my guest, and I think we are friends enough now that we should dispense with such formalities."

Before he could protest, Lord Elrond had called forth Lindir to relieve Bilbo of his heavy greatcoat and see to it that they were brought some tea.

Bilbo lowered himself onto the small sofa he had come to favour, joined soon by Elrohir, despite there being an empty chair on the other side of the parlour. Straightaway, Elladan pulled his father into a continued discussion of various goings on in society that he had unearthed in Bath.

"So, Mr Baggins," began Elrohir politely, "You must tell me of society in Gloucestershire. I am far too familiar with city life for my own comfort."

The Lord's expression was one of innocent curiosity, but Bilbo, finding his manners far too reminiscent of his Tookish cousins, studied him for a moment, searching his face for any signs of subterfuge. Finding none, he returned the polite smile and said,

"Oh not nearly so varied as it is here, my cousin and I, we dine with some four and twenty families."

"That does not so sound so very unvaried to me. And the familiarity must be pleasant."

Bilbo chuckled, "Indeed, of nearly all of my acquaintances there, I have known them all my life. Any new acquaintances are treated with great interest and suspicion, all at once. My dear friend Fundinson has lived there some four months now and still he remains a central topic of the town gossips."

Elrohir grinned, "You are not perhaps talking of the brother of Colonel Fundinson? I heard he had moved to the country."

Bilbo raised an eyebrow, "You are acquainted with the Colonel?"

"Indeed I am," replied he, sounding increasingly amused, "We are not so much friends for he declares me the most horrendous cad each time we meet, but if is always said with such affability, I cannot help but doubt his sincerity."

Bilbo snorted, "Have you ever met his fiancé?"

"Mr Ryson?" Bilbo nodded and Elrohir shrugged his shoulder. "Sadly I have not had the pleasure. Why do you ask?"

Bilbo hummed innocently, "No reason, I just have the strangest feeling you might get along."

Since they had breakfasted late that morn, it had been decided to forgo luncheon and thus it was that the conversations in the parlour continued, unhurried and undisturbed, save for the arrival of the tea, until Lindir entered, a crisp white letter on the gleaming tray he carried.

"A letter for you, Mr Baggins," he said, offering it to him.

Bilbo took it with a smile, "I suppose this shall be from Primula, though she has written back awfully quickly. Thank you Lindir."

When he glanced down at the direction on the paper, however, he found the script to be an unfamiliar one, a great sweeping cursive, rather different from Primula's own neat, controlled hand.

"If you will excuse me gentlemen," he addressed to the room at large, "I shall be in the library."

Lord Elrond smiled at him kindly, "Take your time, Bilbo, I was just about to order some more tea, would you like me to have some sent to you?"

"I am quite alright for now, thank you."

So much sooner than he had settled upon one in the parlour, Bilbo had chosen a favourite chair in Eärendil House's grand library the very first moment he had entered; a cushy, velvet armchair, deep, racing green in colour that strongly resembled the seat his grandmother always sat in in the western drawing room at Tuckborough. The chair in the library was positioned near the rightmost of the sweeping arch windows, providing ample light by which he could read the letter.

'My Dear Master Baggins,' it read, 'I trust this letter finds you in good health and that the same can be said of your family in Little Bagshot.

'My purpose in writing to you is to apologise; both for my most abrupt departure in September and my delay in writing to you with the explanation I feel you are due.

'The matter which drew me away was one of a most serious matter, concerning the health of a very dear friend. You will, I hope, remember my mention of my younger brother Frerin. Before duty called him to the East, he was, for a time, in the service of His Majesty's Navy and fought most fiercely in the great victory at Trafalgar. During the battle, my brother served under the captaincy of Bifur Urwin, the elder cousin of Messrs Urwin and the gentleman to whom we owe my brother's life. As a result of his injuries sustained in battle, the Captain is sadly now unable to live unassisted. At present, he lives at Erebor Hall, under the care of a nurse.

'Unfortunately, he recently contracted a serious case of the Boulogne sour throat and though he has almost made a full recovery and is - I assure you - out of danger, there was a brief period during which we did fear the worst.

'Rest assured, now he is well again, I am at my leisure to pursue my business in London and shall be there midway through the coming week. I hope I can take the liberty of calling on you, Thursday next at four o'clock? I will be staying at the residence of my cousin, Lord Ferrnock, at 34 Cavendish Square. Should you send your reply there, I will be in receipt of it upon my arrival in London on Wednesday.

Yours, Thorin Durin'

Bilbo sat back, staring unseeingly at the flowing script of the letter which he clutched in his hand. Whilst Mr Urwin had made passing reference to his cousin in the navy, he had no idea as to the true extent of the man's acquaintance with the Durin family, or indeed that the man was a hero, in the truest sense of the word. It was no wonder that Durin had been quite so agitated when he came to take his leave of Bilbo, or indeed had taken so long to write. Truthfully though, Bilbo had largely forgotten Durin's promise to write and in the brief moments when the thought had crossed his mind, well he supposed the gentleman had forgotten; after all, Bilbo, though his friend, did not have all that great a claim upon his thoughts - indeed not! With a mournful glance towards the writing desk, far across the library, Bilbo set about composing a reply in his head, having no desire to move from his comfortable seat in the armchair.

He would need to assure Durin that there was of course no need for him to apologise, and he would express his sympathies at hearing of Captain Urwin's illness and his subsequent delight at the recovery. Then, he would most graciously accept Mr Durin's offer to call on him.

Bilbo did not realise quite how long he had been sitting in the library until Lindir appeared at the door, looking apologetic for disturbing Bilbo's solitude. The gentleman gave the butler a reassuring smile, which prompted the man to step further into the room.

"Lord Peredhel thought you might like to know that you have around an hour until the dinner bell, Mr Baggins."

"Thank you."

Once Lindir had left, Bilbo moved swiftly to the writing desk, hoping he would have time to set all the words of his letter to paper before he had to go change for dinner.


Though he had already enjoyed a great many parties and gatherings during his brief time in London, Bilbo was yet to experience an honest to goodness ball, a fact which was to be rectified that weekend with an assembly, an event the Duke had very kindly insisted on outfitting him for. Whilst residents of Little Bagshot keenly kept to their manners, in London, customs regarding dress code were much more strictly observed. It was not that his own attire was unsuitable, per se, merely that, as Gandalf insinuated, its style was such that it would set him apart as being from the country. The last thing Bilbo wished for, was to draw attention to himself in such a manner in Town for it may bring embarrassment upon his host, and Elrond was most generous that Bilbo would hate to inconvenience in any way.

As such, though he did not draw any discerning eyes at the assembly, Bilbo did feel a little uncomfortable in the stiff, unfamiliar clothes and so skirted around the edges of the throng of ladies and gentlemen, keeping an eye out for Elrohir, by whom he had been coerced into dancing the first. Bilbo was not certain that the lord would be able to find him in time - especially since his black frock coat and short stature hardly made him easily distinguishable amongst the many people there.

Barely had Bilbo a chance for such thoughts to grasp hold however, when Elrohir sidled up alongside him, a willowy, pale gentleman strolling in his wake. He was the kind of gentleman who exuded class and superiority in rich, lazy waves and he joined Bilbo and the young Lord, paying more heed to the dark wine he swirled in a crystal goblet than to either of them.

"Mr Baggins," said Elrohir, "Before we dance, you must allow me to introduce an old friend." This, Bilbo noted, was said with even less sincerity than usual. In all likelihood this fellow was one whom Elrohir had known for too long, and too intimately to be considered a mere acquaintance, yet was not regarded all that favourably, in the usual manner of friends. "Baggins, this is Thranduil Greene, the Duke of Somerset. Your Grace, may I present Mr Bilbo Baggins, an honoured guest at Eärendil."

In response to Bilbo's polite inclination of the head, the Duke merely smirked, flicking his gaze from the deep red of his claret to run it up and down Bilbo's frame, assessing.

"Ahh yes," he drawled, "The gentleman from Gloucestershire. An honour, I'm sure."

"Likewise," Bilbo replied a little tersely. He could well understand Mr Ryson's earlier remark of the man being well-pleased with himself - indeed even Lobelia Bracegirdle would take exception to such a self-congratulatory manner.

At that moment, they were saved from any further conversation as the band struck up the first notes to begin a quadrille, and Elrohir, who had already secured the first dance with Bilbo, excused them both from the Duke's company as they moved towards were the other dancers had gathered on the floor.

"You must forgive Somerset," Elrohir muttered in Bilbo's ear, "His supercilious manner is worse at present for he feels the need to defend himself from the vicious gossip."

Bilbo sent him an enquiring look, but they were forced to separate to step into formation.

"I believe he is engaged at present," continued the young Lord Peredhel as the dance drew them close. "And the gentleman in question is in fact not a gentleman at all, for he has a profession."

"Indeed?" Bilbo was certain his face was the picture of skepticism at that moment, so sure he was that such a condescending noble could not hold affections for one quite so far below his station.

"Most certainly - though the man is descended from the last Baron Dale, the family is quite destitute, which is why he works in the first place."

They moved away from each other again, and Bilbo took a moment to think on this as he went through familiar steps. He had heard of the Baron Dale - many had - it was oft held up as a cautionary tale of the folly of excess. The last Baron, Girion Bowman, had paid dearly for the indulgences of his forebears and had been forced to sell the family's estate and title yet still he had died an indebted man. The Duke's behaviour however, if his betrothed was indeed as Elrohir described, would suggest some level of shame on his part.

"Father tells me he waits until he is married to bring his husband into society to protect him," Bilbo's dance partner added, as if reading Bilbo's very thoughts, "I think he believes as husband to a Duke the man will be spared some of the ridicule."

"One would think a man as worldly as Somerset would not be quite so naive when it comes to the virtue of society," Bilbo commented wryly, "Still, I suppose his intentions are admirable."

"Yes, and I would say many of us are somewhat foolhardy when love enters unto the stage." The statement was said with a bitter twinge to the young Lord's normally, smooth, upbeat tone and Elrohir ducked away from Bilbo, a little early than the dance dictated.

Bilbo pondered that for a moment, what he referred to - did Elrohir perhaps harbour unrequited affections for some lady or gentleman? Though they had formed a fast friendship in the few days Lord Peredhel's sons had come into residence at Eärendil House, Bilbo realised then just how little he knew of his friend, and indeed how little he knew of the man's acquaintance outside of the small circle Bilbo had been exposed to thus far in London. In all likelihood, Elrohir's heart was held by some famed society beauty in Bath.

As the dance came to an end, Elrohir led Bilbo back through to where their small party had gathered, though now they found only Gandalf and an unfamiliar gentleman with a riot of unruly red hair.

"Bilbo!" Gandalf greeted cheerfully. With a smile, Elrohir left Bilbo with the other two gentlemen and excused himself to go in search of his brother.

"You must allow me to introduce my friend here," the baronet addressed his companion, "This is Mr Bilbo Baggins, of Little Bagshot, Bilbo this is Dáin Durin, the Baron Ferrnock and the cousin of your friend Durin."

The Baron grinned. "Mr Baggins!" he enthused, "It is an honour to meet you at last! I have heard much about you from my dear old cousin."

"Likewise, My Lord," Bilbo smiled, "And I can only hope it has all been praise."

"There'll been none of that 'my Lord' business laddie," admonished Lord Durin affably, "And of course it has all been praise. A fine gentleman such as yourself could incur no such thing as insult I'm sure!"

"You would be surprised," replied Bilbo sardonically, "Your cousin for one succeeded within mere moments of having been introduced."

The Baron laughed, a great booming sound that drew several heads but seemed to to deter him. Gandalf spared a chuckle too, and with a mournful glance down at his empty goblet, he told them he would go in search of more wine, to return momentarily.

"Now this I must hear," Durin declared, "For Urwin told me, and this he got second-hand from Fundinson, that his first night in Little Bagshot, Thorin did not dance a single dance. Surely this cannot be true!"

"I am afraid it is," said Bilbo with feigned regret, "Durin told me himself, he was of an awfully ill humour that day, and so, instead of engaging in the merriment, elected instead to stay brooding in the corner." The Baron snorted at this. "And when Fundinson tried to encourage him to dance," Bilbo continued, "Pointing out me since I was nearby, he not only outright refused, but called me a farmer."

Lord Ferrnock guffawed loudly, "Shame on my cousin! Insulting a fellow such as yourself! It has always amused me how ill he recommends himself to strangers, yet upon closer acquaintance, I know him to be so very kind," Lord Durin paused at the moment, a satisfied grin appearing on his lips as he noted Bilbo nodding in agreement as to his observation on his cousin. Bilbo could not fault such a description, having since been exposed to that very same warm side of Thorin Durin that the gentleman's cousin spoke of.

"But then again," he added, "He always did manage to have the most tremendous sulks when we were young, you know. Thorin absolutely hated Geography lessons and would go to great lengths to avoid them. He disliked the fact that Frerin and I, being his juniors, were so much better at maps than he. No sense of direction, I tell you - he once got lost in the grounds of Ferrnock, my home, and a place he has visited since a child."

Bilbo chuckled, then smiled indulgently, "Now this is a tale, I should like to hear."

"But of course," answered Dáin, "First, we must go find some punch, for what is a tale without proper lubricant?"

The Baron quickly cemented himself as some of the wittiest and most pleasant company Bilbo had even been introduced to. He never allowed the conversation to grow stilted and instead it was filled with many humorous and lighthearted observations that meant the evening passed most agreeably. His wife Elizabeth was similarly amiable and by the time he had taken his leave of their company an hour later, Bilbo had an invitation to tea at Cavendish Square at his earliest convenience and an open invite to dinner should he ever find himself in Yorkshire.

When he returned home in the early hours of the morning, Bilbo collapsed into a chair in the parlour, taking the nightcap proffered by Lindir with a welcome smile, his legs feeling each step of the many dances he had partaken in and his mind replaying various parts of each of the warm conversations. He could scarcely believe that just a week of his time in London remained, for though the thought of Bag-End beckoned, he should quite like to remain in Town a while longer.