AN: I do not own any of the characters or places in The Hobbit, they belong to Professor Tolkien and he would kill me for how I have corrupted them.
A Love of Leaves.
It wasn't the superb food that drew Ori to the small hobbit the Company were expecting to be their burglar. Nor was it the male's polite attitude in what was obviously a stressful situation for him. While the halls of Bag End were comfortable and welcoming with their wooden beams and rich colours, it wasn't those either.
It was in fact a moment in the middle of the night when Master Baggins had found him bent over a small table and sketching in a worn journal. The hobbit had smiled the first real smile Ori had seen from him that night, took the dwarf's hand in his own and towed him to a door that had remained firmly closed during the night. He had let go of Ori's hand long enough to light an oil lamp before carefully opening the door and showing him a room filled with books and scrolls. From that moment Ori gravitated to Master Baggins' side. They talked poetry, fables, songs and tales as they rode. Their campfire conversations turned to the differences of inks and paper.
Ori smiled as he looked down at the gift he had found in his tent the day the hobbit had left them. He let the tears roll freely down his cheeks as he caressed the leather bound journal filled with leaves of an elvish make. While he knew he may never see Bilbo again, he knew he would forever count him as a friend. For who but friends could bond over a love of leaves.
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