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 X

"You're spoiling them."

The hobbits' illness had passed after two weeks, Bilbo recovering much quicker than his young nephew. Frodo's croupy cough and wheezing had persisted long after the other symptoms were gone, a constant annoyance for the curious little hobbit. In order to guarantee a full recovery, Óin had advised Bilbo to restrict Frodo to their bedrooms and the royal wing, with only occasional excursions to the outer walls for some fresh air. An ever resourceful hobbit, Bilbo had decided to use the time in between excursions to read through the books he'd taken from the library and freshen up on his favorite cooking and baking recipes.

"They deserve a bit of spoiling," reasoned Bilbo, "After everything they've been through and fought for over the last few years. And they're good boys. Now, are you still going to help me or should I find another volunteer?"

"Fine," grumbled Thorin. He reached over and took a bite of the cherry tarts Bilbo had spent his afternoon working on. "It tastes…delicious."

"Excellent," crowed Bilbo. "And I'm almost done with the vanilla cupcakes, I just need to ice them and we'll be ready for a hall full of hungry dwarves."

"Fíli's always been quite fond of icing," said Thorin.

Bilbo chuckled. "He practically inhaled those iced cookies I made the other day. So, lots and lots of icing for these cupcakes."

"And the carrot cake?"

"Oh, that's for me," said Bilbo with an unashamed smile. "I've always had a great love for carrots. And if nobody else likes it, then more for me."

Thorin's eyes wandered over the tables, which were covered in warm foods and a variety of baked goods. "How did you even find all of these ingredients? Our markets are well-stocked, but they're certainly not this diverse yet."

"Bombur knows a human trader in Dale," explained Bilbo, "He apparently travels to the south on a regular basis. If you catch him early enough in his arrivals, he still has a lot of these ingredients in stock. I caught him on the first day."

Thorin helped Bilbo arrange everything on the table, from banana muffins to shire pies to stuffed pumpkin and strawberry cheesecake. The cherry tarts and vanilla cupcakes went to the far left once they were iced, Bilbo's personal concoction of orange marmalade and tea cakes right beside them. A few loaves of apple bread were still toasting inside the ovens, an old recipe that Bilbo had inherited from Belladonna Took. Steaming plates and bowls of roasted potatoes and onions were next, followed by a carrot cake, warm pot pie, and a market salad for those who weren't scared to touch green food. And atop the stove rested two large pots of creamy mushroom and cheddar soups.

"There we go," said Bilbo with a sigh of relief. "All done and ready for dwarvish consumption. Forks and spoons?"

Thorin rolled his eyes and pointed to the corner of the table. "I can't guarantee their effective use, but they're there to satisfy your hobbit-y habits."

"You got that from Kíli, didn't you?" teased Bilbo. "Like uncle, like nephew. I'll have to keep an eye out for any more…dwarvish habits from him."

The hobbit was standing at the stove, carefully inspecting his mushroom soup for inconsistencies in texture or overall taste. He barely noticed the Dwarf-King's approach, mind firmly focused on making the yummiest feast imaginable for his friends and little family member. So the sudden feel of Thorin's large hand on his lower back was quite startling for Bilbo, a pathetic squeak escaping his throat when Thorin chuckled in amusement and did not bother to move an inch. A blush worked its way up Bilbo's entire body, the tips of his pointed ears burning bright red in embarrassment and something else the hobbit preferred not to name or dwell on.

It was unwise to allow such ridiculous fantasies to cloud his daily life, after all.

"I could've smacked you with the ladle," warned Bilbo. "Death by cheddar soup and wooden spoon isn't the most dignified way for a king to meet his end. Especially if hobbit hands are behind that end as well."

"I can think of far worse ways to go," rumbled Thorin. His behavior was thoroughly baffling Bilbo, who was attempting to busy himself with the soups. It wasn't working at all. "The patrols should be well over by now. This place will be chaos once my nephews catch a whiff of your cooking. Do you need any more help?"

Bilbo tried valiantly not to stutter or make a complete fool of himself. "Well, this soup will need some—"

"What's that smell?!"

The sound of Kíli's excited voice pulled Bilbo out of his blushing stupor, eagerly turning to watch the reception his feast would receive at first sight. The King's nephews were easy for Bilbo to deal with, their faces open and their actions straightforward in the eyes of a hobbit. Thorin, on the other hand, was a perplexing enigma who could shift on a whim from hot to cold with any given subject. Most of the time, Bilbo did not mind it, an easy acceptance existing within himself for the Dwarf-King's stoic personality. But on a day like this, when Thorin was in close proximity for long periods of time, it became very hard to keep certain...feelings under tight lock and key. Focusing his attention and nervous energy on Fíli and Kíli was an ideal escape for the hobbit.

"Sweet Mahâl, we're dead!"

The royal nephews stood in the dining hall doorway, shocked expressions and twitchy fingers a testament to Bilbo's delicious-looking feast. Extremely pleased with their reaction, Bilbo glanced to his right side and was equally shocked to see Thorin with a small, happy smile on his face.

"Well, don't just stand there," scolded Thorin. "Come inside and thank Bilbo for the feast. And stop catching flies, your mother would be appalled."

Both youths were across the room and hugging Bilbo before their uncle was done reprimanding them, whooping and hollering and praising the hobbit for being their most-favorite person in the whole world. Bilbo just hung on for dear life, nearly choking on a blob of blond hair that had found its way into his mouth.

"I smell cheese," said Kíli.

"Ahhh, yes, that would be the cheddar soup," stated Bilbo from where he was still dangling in Fíli's arms. "And possibly the pot pie over there as well. There's quite a bit of cheese in that dish, too."

"This is amazing," exclaimed Fíli, rushing over to the table to snatch up a cupcake and stuff it in his mouth. "I can't believe you—"

"Ah, ah, ah," said Bilbo. He grabbed the iced cupcake and set it back on the table. "No desserts until you've at least eaten some of the main course. And that would be all of the dishes over there."

Kíli poked at one of them. "It's a stuffed pumpkin."

"He's very observant, isn't he?" Bilbo said to Thorin. "Must run in the family."

"You have no idea."

"Well, if there's anything that you desperately want to eat, you'd better grab it up now," warned Bilbo. "The others should be arriving soon and once Bombur's sees all of this, well, I think you boys can imagine the result."

"He made banana muffins!"

"Oh, and roasted potatoes! The others will just have to…"

Bilbo smiled, delighted to see the two young dwarves so excited by the feast that he'd toiled away at and laid out for them. He dished them up some hardy bowls of soups while they told Thorin about their patrols, setting each bowl down with a soft pat to their unruly heads of hair. Yes, Bilbo was not a warrior or a blacksmith or a miner like so many of the dwarves in Erebor, but the hobbit could use his own special skills and talents in other ways to help out with the reconstruction efforts. And if feeding the Company or unearthing an old batch of blueprints was the surest way, then Bilbo would do it.

"And the spiced beef should be just about ready now," said Bilbo. He went over to the oven and pulled the meats out, Fíli's excited whooping a musical song to his ears. "I've saved the best for last, my dear boys."

"What is that delightful aroma?"

Balin walked into the dining hall with Frodo beside him, the boy holding another stack of books and fairytales in his small arms. The elderly dwarf had been taking Frodo every other afternoon for lessons, teaching him about the long history of Erebor, how the mines worked, and even a few words in Khuzdul. That final part had genuinely shocked Bilbo, who had always heard that the dwarves jealously guarded their secret language, a well-known fact across the whole of Middle-Earth. When he'd asked Thorin about it, the King Under the Mountain had simply replied that very few outsiders ever lived in dwarf cities, so very few outsiders were ever trusted enough to learn it.

Apparently, Frodo and himself were a very rare exception.

"Bilbo's made us a feast!" said Kíli. "It's delicious! Hey, get your own taters and cider, that's mine!"

Balin chuckled and took a seat. "You truly do spoil us, master hobbit. And is that spiced beef that I see over there?"

"Indeed it is," said Bilbo. He gave Thorin a smug glance. "I heard it's one of your favorites. And I've made Dwalin some pumpkin cupcakes."

"Oh, he'll be mighty pleased, indeed," smiled Balin. "Our mother used to make a huge batch of them every month for him as a child. I'd say that it's been eight years or so since he last had any of them."

"Well, he'll certainly be getting them more often than that with me here," said Bilbo as he dished up some soup for Balin. "I've gotta make myself useful somehow. And I've had a knack for cooking my whole life, so why not?"

A hand landed on his shoulder. "You're plenty useful without all of this. We're all just happy to have our burglar back."

Bilbo looked up at Thorin, more than little tongue-tied about what to—

"Stuffed pumpkin!"

His nephew was standing on the table benches, leaning forward to grab at a big slice of carrot that had dribbled out of the pumpkin itself. The Baggins side of Bilbo reared up at the sight and charged past the dwarves.

"Frodo Baggins, you step down from that bench this instant!" admonished Bilbo. "You know better than to behave so crudely at the supper table. And look at your hands! I haven't seen them this filthy since…"

The two younger dwarves just watched as Bilbo ranted about the dreadful mixing of dirt and food, scrubbing Frodo's face and limbs while reminding him that good hobbit boys did not dive into their dinner like untamed wild dogs. Kíli glanced down at his right hand, observing all of the dirt and blood that was caked under his fingernails. He chanced another glance up at Bilbo, who was now staring at his brother and himself with a crossed-arms posture that reminded them a whole lot of their mother, Dís.

"Ugh…"

Bilbo pointed to the sink. "Get over here and wash up. I'll not have Frodo running around like one of Farmer Maggot's prize hogs just because he's trying to emulate one of you dirt-covered dwarves. And that includes you, Dwalin."

The huge warrior dwarf had just arrived, barely making his way through the doors before Bilbo was shuffling him towards the sink. Wide-eyed and puzzled, he didn't put up an ounce of resistance, too focused on getting to the food to care about it.

"Wash up and you can eat," ordered Bilbo, dragging Thorin over as well. "I've got a tray of pumpkin cupcakes on the counter for you, Dwalin."

"Truly?"

"They're all yours," said Bilbo. "But leave the blueberry tarts next to them alone. I'll be giving those to Bifur once he arrives."

Frodo tugged on his uncle's trousers and held out his arms for an inspection. "All clean?"

"All clean." He pushed the little hobbit towards the table. "Now sit next to Thorin and he'll help you with your food." The Dwarf-King looked quite bewildered, but Bilbo had faith in him. "Here's a napkin. Have fun."

The rest of the Company filed in pretty quickly after that, all of them entering with their noses in the air like a pack of dogs. Bifur and Bombur were the most enthusiastic of them, the former giving Bilbo a giant bear-hug when he brought the blueberry tarts out to him. Bombur, of course, was very pleased to have someone else make a meal after he had spent all day toiling in Erebor's main kitchens.

"Can I have dessert now?" asked Kíli after his third bowl of food. He'd already been smacked with a dish cloth for snatching tarts, so the young dwarf was more than a little wary of the hobbit at this point. "See, no stealing."

"Of course. But use your fork."

The young dwarf gave him a wide smile, dark eyes roving over the table to locate what he wanted to put into his stomach next. Everyone was seated now, including Bilbo himself, so it was extremely crowded, loud, and boisterous with all the dwarves partaking in their very favorite pastime: feasting. Even Thorin seemed to be relaxing, quietly eating a big bowl of mushroom soup while Frodo munched on a cherry tart in his lap. For one of the first times ever, the King Under the Mountain looked genuinely content and happy, an occurrence that Bilbo hoped he'd be seeing more often in the future.

"Pass the strawberry cheesecake! Over here!"

"Mmmm, pumpkin…"

And it was, in Gandalf's own words from Bag End, a very merry gathering.

And this, my friends, is what I like to call literary food porn. Apparently, looking up recipes for a party results in me writing about everything that looked delicious on a cooking website. Especially those pumpkin cupcakes. I really, really wanted those pumpkin cupcakes. I've also got some extra space in the next chapter, so is there any dwarf in particular that you guys would like to see more of?