Author's Note: Hi everyone. Early Happy Easter! I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's from a completely different POV to any other chapter I've so far written so I hope you all like it.


Chapter Nine

A Father's Input

Bungo Baggins woke to what sounded like every pot and pan in his hobbit-hole being clanged together repeatedly. He thought for a moment it might be his little grandson, who had quite a knack at getting his hands upon pots and pans and a liking to bang them together. But when he heard what sounded like several male voices speaking from the direction of the kitchen, he immediately dismissed the thought of his grandson and got up to see who exactly was causing such a commotion this early in the morning.

It better not be any Took or Brandbuck relations making themselves at home. They're almost as bad house guests as his awful nephew and his dreadful wife.

Oh, how he would like to give that woman an earful for the things she had dared to say to his daughter yesterday afternoon.

"Only," he muttered sadly to himself as he dressed carefully into one of his best waistcoat and trousers, "I never seem to have the strength to say what I think these days. Drat this illness of mine!"

Once he was respectably dressed he made his way slowly, with the aid of his walking stick, down the hall for the kitchen, his frown deepening as he heard the male voices more clearly.

They don't sound like any of his in-laws, but who else could it possibly? It didn't sound like Gandalf, the mad wizard who visited his daughter and grandson periodically and had convinced him to allow his daughter to leave home, the eve of that blasted wedding, to go one some adventure or another.

Bungo Baggins had never quite forgiven the wizard for this, not when his dearest daughter returned to him unhappy and heartbroken with a swollen belly but with no word to speak about her child's, his grandchild's, father.

Yes, the wizard had kept his promise to bring her back to him alive, but had broken the promise to bring her back whole, which he most certainly did not do!

His daughter was far from whole, even though her smile was slowly coming back and she was no longer looking off into the distance with a pained and wistful expression. She was no longer the happy hobbit lass that she was before that mad adventure.

He took one step into his kitchen before freezing at the sight within.

Dwarves! What are dwarves doing in his kitchen this early in the morning?

They appeared to be cooking breakfast though he was baffled at how they could produce such loud noises!

"Good – good morning." He stuttered out causing, to his ever so slight amusement, the dwarves in his kitchen to jump. He would have fully smiled if he had not gotten a good look at the dwarves.

Did one have some kind of metal sticking out of his forehead? Another had a terrible scar across his face with a great chunk of his nose missing!

"Good morning." That very dwarf merrily greeted him with a wide smile and gesturing for Bungo to take a seat… at his own kitchen table.

"Bofur at your service" the dwarf added with a bow.

"Bungo Baggins at yours." Bungo replied weakly as the other three (well it was more like two). The third, the one with the bit of metal sticking out of his head was introduced by Bofur – introduced themselves along with offering him their services.

"May I ask when you four all got here?" Bungo asked weakly as he watched the dwarves move around his kitchen with surprising familiarity even though this was the first time that he knew of they had ever been in his kitchen.

"Last night, my good sir." This was supplied by a younger dwarf than Bofur, one with thick dark locks but without much of beard, unlike the other three who had beards that were elaborately braided with beads decorating them.

Bungo gave this dwarf a particularly long, hard look as he had the same colour hair as Bungo's young grandson. And it wasn't just the hair colour either, there were several features that this dwarf had the Bungo was sure his grandson shared.

Was this dwarf his grandson's father? If he is, Bungo should be giving him a good chewing out for abandoning his daughter during her time of need and for not marrying her like a respectable fellow.

However, words refused to pass from his lips as usual. So he simply sat at his kitchen table and watched the dwarves cook up his pantry without a word. They spoke plenty without his input and yet he understood very little of what they spoke even though they spoke in the common tongue.

They seemed like a friendly bunch if he got nothing else from them, cheerful and not arrogant like he had always been led to believe all dwarves were. He tried to remember what little his daughter had told him about her adventure, about the dwarves that she had gone with.

"My-my daughter, she knows that you are here?" Bungo asked softly once the dwarves had started to slow in their mad cooking frenzy.

"Oh yes sir, she was the one who let us in last night." A meek young dwarf – at least Bungo believe that he was young; he looked it, even though he had more of a beard than the dark haired fellow – with reddish brown hair and beard said.

Bungo gave a jerky nod. Funny, his daughter told him off for opening the door to whoever knocked.

"You-you are the dwarves. The dwarves from that mad venture my lass went on." And came back to me broken-hearted, he left that unsaid and watched as the dwarves nodded.

"Yes, there are nine more of us from our original company, but we're the only ones who have come to visit." Bofur informs him with a smile.

Bungo nodded, relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with thirteen dwarves all at once.

"Are you," he tried but his tongue tangled and already he could feel his mind start to wander. No, not now, he mentally groaned and forced himself to focus, "none of you – are any of you the – my grandson's?"

"No." Bofur shook his head gently, a sad look in his eyes, "no, none of us are your grandson's Pa. We didn't even know of the lad until last night."

Bungo shoulder's slumped, half with relief as this would mean his daughter and grandson would not be leaving him and annoyance that his grandson's father was still refusing to show himself, that wretch!

"He doesn't know either." The young dwarf, Kili was it added.

"So he is a useless bugger than." Bungo grumbled before blushing for he hadn't meant to say that out loud. He had always made a point of keeping his thoughts about his grandson's father to himself so as to not upset his daughter with them.

To his surprise the dwarves laughed.

"Apologies." Bofur offered once the dwarves had calmed down, "it's just we've been thinking a similar thing about our esteemed leader."

"Esteemed leader?" Bungo asked in bewilderment.

"How much has Bilbo told you about our adventure?" Bofur asked slowly and carefully.

"Not very much," Bungo replied huffily, crossing his arms against his chest. It had always frustrated him with how tight lipped his daughter was about her venture, " all she's told me about her venture was that she met elves, that there was a lot of walking involved and something about reclaiming a mountain and treasure or some nonsense like that."

"Don't know whether to be insulted or amused." Bungo heard Kili whisper to the other young dwarf who giggled behind his hand. They both quieted down when Bofur shot them a warning look.

"Yes, our adventure went something like that," Bofur agreed, "and the leader of our venture goes by the name of Thorin Oakenshield and…"

"And he's my grandson's father is he, this Mister Oakenshield?"

"Oakenshield is more of a title, but yes, he is." Bofur replied with a nod.

"I don't care much for titles; I care about my daughter, about how she came home to me with a broken-heart and a birthing a child all by herself. I care about my grandson who is growing up without a father. I care about the fact that there are awful people around the Shire who are talking badly about my child and grandchild because this dwarf hasn't taken responsibility by doing the right thing by my daughter as any decent fellow should, be him hobbit, dwarf, man or elf." Bungo felt both weaken and exhilarated as he finished. It had been a long, long time since he had spoken so many words without breath. He was pleased to see the dwarves were all hanging their heads in shame.

"You are right, of course." Bofur replied slowly, "Thorin should be taking responsibility for what he had done and please believe me when I say he most likely would have if he had known of Bilbo's condition before she, ah, left us to return home. But he did not, and so he has no idea that he has sired a child. But," Bofur continued on quickly when he saw that Bungo was opening his mouth to protest, "that is of course no excuse for all that Bilbo has suffered these past few years. So on our leaders behalf, please allow us to ask for your forgiveness and speak our humblest apologies for all the grief and suffering that Bilbo has suffered on Thorin's behalf."

"Well now," Bungo says feeling quite at a loss for the dwarves before him look quite genuine in their remorse.

"Well now." He said again, "I suppose it's truly up to my lass on whether or not to forgive you and of course him, but I suppose…" he gave a weak shrug of his shoulders before nodding his head, "I accept your apologies."

The four dwarves actually looked relieved, as if they truly cared to have his forgiveness and for him accept their apologies.

"I don't suppose I'll come into my kitchen to find him cooking breakfast will I?" he asked, feeling quite comfortable in the dwarves presence now, comfortable enough to even bring out his pipe and light it, despite the chastising he will receive from his daughter for smoking in the kitchen.

The dwarf known as Kili snorted. "Unlikely."

"Will there ever be a chance that I meet the fellow?"

The four dwarves hesitated.

"Depends." Bofur started cautiously.

"On?"

"On whether he ever finds about the lad." Kili replied flopping down beside on the bench.

"You're not going to tell him?"

"Bilbo doesn't wish us to and," the young dwarf grinned mischievously, "I don't feel so inclined to tell him myself. Do you?"

"For my daughter's sake, no." Bungo agreed, chewing on the end of his pipe, "but for my grandson…"

"Bilbo spoke of telling Frodo about everything on his thirty-third birthday." Bofur offered.

"Did she? Yes, that does sound like something she would think of doing. I don't suppose this fellow is anywhere near to here, is he?"

When the dwarves shook their heads, Bungo sighed.

"Thought as much. Always did find it curious that nobody besides you lot came after her. Can't imagine why anyone would even think to let her go but," he blushed again, "of course, I am her father, so I am biased."

"No, we agree with you completely. Thorin was a fool for letting her go." Kili grinned back at him.

"Did he love her?" Bungo asked, not sure if it would make the situation a little better or not if he knew that this Thorin fellow loved his daughter or not.

"We thought he did..." Kili started, but Bofur interrupted him.

"He does, he just… has a hard time showing it to rest of Middle-Earth."

"My daughter included?" Bungo asked a little dryly.

"Your daughter in particular." Bofur nodded. "But he does love her and misses her greatly."

"Then why isn't he here then?" Bungo asked hotly, "begging for her forgiveness and…"

"It's complicated." The dwarves sheepishly interrupted him.

"How so?"

Before any of the dwarves could answer him, a cautious voice spoke out from the doorway of the kitchen.

"What's going on?" Bungo looked towards the doorway of the kitchen where his daughter stood, his grandson on her hip, looking into the room with a guarded, caution expression.

"Morning." The dwarves greeted his daughter with wide cheerful grins.

"Morning." His daughter replied with small smile playing on her lips and as her guarded expression started to slip.

"Orning!" he smiled at his little grandson who was squirming in his mother's arms to be let down, his big blue eyes wide with delight as he took in the strangers in the kitchen.

"Warves! Mama, warves!" the little lad squealed in absolute delight. "Warves ayed!"

"Yes, yes they did. I told you that they were still here, did I not?" his daughter said to her squirming child with an indulgent smile that had the little boy beamed in return.

"We cooked breakfast." The red haired dwarf said with a wide grin, gesturing to all the food lay out on the kitchen table.

"Yes, yes, you did." Bilbo was laughing as she shifted Frodo on her hip. "Is there any food left in the pantry?" she teased and the dwarves rolled their eyes at the way she teased them.

"Of course." Bofur said as he moved forward to her side, his arms moving shyly to take the lad from his mother, the boy more than eager to be in his arms and examine his odd face.

Bungo, who had watched his daughter rebuff many an offer to hold her son for her, was surprised when she relinquished her son into the dwarf's arms without so much a word of protest before moving forward to get herself some breakfast.

Something, he realised at the grumble of his belly, he should do himself.

And so he did, sitting back contently at his kitchen table, watching in silence his daughter move and talk amongst these strange dwarves with ease and comfortable air that she never possessed when talking and moving amongst members of their own race, their own family!

A part of him, the very pure and ridged Baggins side of him knows he should be disturbed by this, horrified even, but the more mellow side him, the side that had him fall head of heels for the Great Took's eldest daughter, the wild and beautiful Belladonna, is simply pleased to see his daughter happy, a sight too rare for his liking.

A part of him fears that she will leave him again, this time for good. He thinks back on those few and rare moments that she had told him about her adventure. How her eyes would glow and sparkle as she spoke of far off place, of grand people who never aged, of great eagles and men who can turn into bears. Of proud and magnificent dwarrow lords and warriors who never forgot and never forgave, of a lone mountain that stood tall above all others.

How she looked then was how she looked now as she talked with the dwarves, her eyes glowing, the infamous Took side of her coming forth and once more shining out as it had done when she was a young hobbit lass.

He wondered how these dwarves saw her. They clearly thought of her as an equal, respected her and thought her one of them. One in particular looked at her with an expression that Bungo could only describe as one of love.

Would they try and take her away again? Bungo wasn't sure, and he feared the answer, feared it because he knew she would go. If they asked, she would go with them, he was sure of it, for she no longer belonged in the Shire.

Once I'm gone, he thinks sadly, she and Frodo will leave, leave the Shire to see the world and visit the places she spoke of and the ones she did not. She'll leave and never return.

His heart aches a little at the thought, but he doesn't allow it to overwhelm him. Instead he enjoys seeing his daughter happy, content to allow these dwarves to stay with them for a time, for as long as his daughter wishes, for her happiness is what he wants most in the world.