They'd been at the mountain for almost a year when it happened, on a warm, sunny spring day. It being a Saturday, they had the pleasure of Fíli and Kíli's company, and Bilbo had made his way down to the mines for the day, just to see how things were progressing. The road up the mountain had been repaired to allow for transport of people and supplies, and was now a broad, easy path to travel. The little village they were in the middle of creating was only a bit further up the mountain, but cars couldn't go there. Bilbo was waiting for a shipment of goods to restock their supplies, and was most glad of the lovely weather.

Most of the family were there, even though they weren't really working the mines on a Saturday. There were always more details to arrange, small things to set in order, and there was rarely a time that they were not working. Bilbo thought privately that they were making up for two decades without honest work, even as he wished they would take a bit more time to relax. Thorin was hard at work deep inside the mine, and Bilbo didn't particularly want to spend his day underground, so he sat carefully in the warm heather and waited.

Fíli came out after a bit and sat down by him, knocking their shoulders together.

"How's the job, lad?" Bilbo asked lazily.

"Yeah, it's good," Fíli said. "Gandalf is letting me do more investigative work on my own these days. I'm hoping they'll let me out of the office to work independently someday!"

"I'm sure they will," Bilbo said fondly. He squinted up at the sky, which was the brilliant kind of blue they only see once every few months. He didn't really think he'd mind much if the delivery took a while longer to arrive, giving him some time to relax.

The sound of a large motor chugging up the mountain made Bilbo give a little groan, and he stood slowly, stretching. Fíli popped up next to him, looking down the path with interest.

"Who's coming?"

"I'm sure it's just our deliveries," Bilbo said with a sigh. "We've got to haul them all up the path by hand. I should really get Thorin to put in a better track."

"I'll help," Fíli offered. "And my lump of a brother volunteers, too." He jogged over to the mouth of the mine and called for Kíli, while Bilbo wandered closer to the road, waiting for the delivery truck to come into view.

Only it wasn't a delivery truck at all. It was a large white mini-coach with huge windows, and the large green letters on the sides spelled out 'Rabbie's'. Bilbo gaped at it, even as the coach pulled up into the wide, flat space that they used to unload equipment, and the doors cranked open. A handsome young man in a blue and green kilt bounded out, and waved an arm dramatically around.

"Here we are, Ladies and Gentlemen! Step right out this way, and witness the splendour and majesty of Beinn Chùirn for yourself. You may know it better as The Lonely Mountain, or simply as the long-lost home of the Sons of Durin!"

There was a chorus of oohs and aahs as a starry eyed group of tourists climbed down from the coach, all clutching cameras and bags, and dressed far too warmly for the weather. All but two of them were middle aged women, and one of the others was clearly the daughter of one woman who was clutching her arm and talking excitedly in a low voice. Bilbo backed away a step, completely bewildered.

"Yes!" The tour guide continued speaking in a loud, overly-cheerful voice, with what sounded to Bilbo like a rather fake Glaswegian accent. "This very location is the site of the battle for the mountain! If we're very lucky, we may find the man himself at work in his mines today!"

Fíli had re-emerged from the mine and was blinking at the tourists in startled horror, and Kíli darted out of the darkness and crashed into his brother, who had frozen at the mouth of the mine. Fíli's startled yelp was enough to grab their attention, and the whole group headed for the lads. Bilbo started over as well, barely able to blink in his surprise.

"Look!" one woman called, in a voice far too loud for the situation. "It's the children! Aw, bless them!"

Fíli and Kíli stared at one another, and Kíli grabbed his brother's sleeve desperately. They were quickly surrounded by the crowd, who were snapping pictures and asking rapid-fire questions.

"Wait, which of you is which?"

"Will you sign my arm?"

"Is it true you can't be more than ten feet apart without getting sick?"

The lads looked at Bilbo with mounting panic, and he tried to shove his way through the crowd, but their elbows were very pointy, and he kept getting knocked back.

"You poor children," one woman said, pinching Kíli's cheek. His eyes were very wide. "To have suffered so much, and now to be locked away here in this lonely place!"

"Uncle Bill?" Fíli called in a strangled voice. Bilbo ducked under one woman's arm as she went to take a picture, and put himself between the lads and their new found admirers.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you can't just barge in like this!" Bilbo said firmly. The tourists blinked at him, startled. "We're operating a mine here!"

"Who is that?" A woman at the back whispered her question to a friend, but no one seemed to have an answer. Then they spotted Dwalin a ways up the path toward the village, and the whole crowd were off in a rush, cameras at the ready. Fíli and Kíli clung to the back of Bilbo's jacket, startled beyond speech.

Bilbo spotted the enthusiastic kilt-wearer, who was now perched tiredly on the steps of his coach, frantically eating a sandwich. He stormed over as best he could with the lads so close on his heels, and put his hands on his hips as he stared down at the man.

"Excuse me," he began sharply. "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm fairly sure I would have remembered hearing that you were bringing a tour group here!"

"Oh, sorry, mate," the man said, and Bilbo gaped at him. His natural accent seemed to be Australian. "I was meant to take this lot up into the park, find Rob Roy's grave and all that, but then I got a call that the road we'd need is blocked. Trees fallen or some such. I had to think of something else to keep them busy for an hour, and you were just here."

"But they knew us!" Kíli said, horrified. "How did they know who we are?"

"Kid, I don't think you know how much time the media spent on your case," the driver said with a laugh. "You were plastered all over the telly, and all the papers, and the internet. Celebrities, aren't you?" He took another bite of his sandwich. "I'm Chris, by the way."

Fíli had pulled out his mobile and was loading a site. What he saw made him nearly drop the device in the mud, and he turned to Kíli, looking startled. They grimaced at one another, and Fíli looked determined. "I'm getting Uncle Thorin."

"Brilliant! Cheers, mate!" Chris said happily. "The old biddies will love that. They've been going on about him non-stop since I said we'd come here. We'll have to put this place on our regular tour schedule! Maybe I can design a tour round it. "Lost and Won: The Road to Beinn Chùirn" - whaddya think? We could hit all the big places you went, and then wind up here at the end for photos!"

Fíli didn't walk away - he ran. He was inside the mine in a minute, just as Bilbo saw the tourists disappear round the bend toward the village. From the shouts he could make out, it seemed like they were following a few of the Sons of Durin, who were beating a hasty retreat. Bilbo turned back to Chris.

"But they sound like Americans, mostly," he said, bewildered. "What do they even know about the Sons of Durin?"

"It's a sob story, isn't it? All that loss; years of exile; finally prevailing over the evil politician? It's made for media!" He chuckled a bit, pointing at Bilbo. "There's at least three different books making the rounds now, each saying they've got the whole story, and none of them can agree on anything!"

The tourists came back down the path, looking distinctly unsatisfied, just as Fíli was re-emerging from the mine - and Thorin was just behind him. He was in work-clothes, face smeared with sweat and dirt, and he looked more angry than Bilbo had seen him in a long while. The group spotted him at once, shouts of delight going up as they swarmed toward him.

Bilbo found himself hauled away by a very enthusiastic and determined lady, who pressed her camera into his hands and insisted he take her picture with Thorin. For his part, Thorin stood like a statue, eyes burning with a rage that promised very bad things for young Chris once the small army of women was out of his way.

"Oh, he's so handsome!" a woman breathed as she waited her turn for a picture. She turned to Bilbo, who was trying to work out how to operate the camera that had been pressed into his hands. "Is he seeing anyone, do you know?"

"Yes!" another woman asked, whirling around to stare at him with protuberant eyes. "Is he taken? I'm sure the poor man really just needs some love and affection after everything he's been through."

"Taken," Bilbo snapped, giving up and just pretending to take a photo. "He is most definitely taken."

"Oh, what a shame!" the first woman sighed, looking thoroughly downcast. She snapped another picture of Thorin, who was glowering.

They milled around the site even after they were done mobbing Thorin, taking pictures of random stones and bits of grass, and murmuring to each other about how quaint and charming it all was, and Bilbo thought it was a very real possibility that Thorin's head would explode. Kíli, who he had seen face down armies without a flinch, was hiding behind the coach, and Fíli had sat himself down in the grass with a pair of headphones in his ears, staring worriedly at his mobile screen and refusing to acknowledge anyone who tried to talk to him.

Some of the rest of the family had made the mistake of coming down to see what all of the fuss was about, and Bilbo winced for all of them as they were systematically mobbed and questioned. Dori had to answer a thousand questions about how he had done his braids, and Balin was being shown pictures of everyone's children and grandchildren, as though he ought to respond in kind. Dwalin stood with his arms folded, glaring down at everyone, and they had to content themselves with taking pictures of mostly his forearms. Bofur had been cornered, and somehow wound up being forced to hug nearly every member of the party, half of whom looked about ready to cry.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" Chris finally called, fake accent firmly back in place, drawing their attention. "We're going to get back on the road now! Stirling Castle may have been there for centuries, but let's not chance being too late to see it today! Five minutes, please!" They began to gather up and step back onto the bus, and Bilbo seized his chance and darted over, grabbing Chris by the arm and hauling him aside.

"Listen to me," Bilbo said quietly, keeping his voice calm. "You are not going to come back here - not ever again."

"But it's perfect!" Chris said cheerfully. "We come up here an hour or so a day, maybe six to ten times a week, and take a few photos. You fellas pose a bit, maybe put on some more heroic looking outfits, and let them take pictures. I'm sure we can work out a deal to give you a piece of the profit, especially if Thorin and his nephews will appear on the promotional literature. This will be good for everyone!"

"No, it won't," Bilbo said firmly. He pointed at Thorin and Dwalin, who both looked ready to kill. "You want to remember that these are the Sons of Durin. For twenty years, they were the most feared group in this country. If you come up here again, for any reason, they'll show you exactly why they had everyone so terrified." He gestured to Fíli, though the lad was a bit of an unimpressive sight, huddled in the grass. "Fíli there can destroy your company faster than you can blink. I'll set him on you in a heartbeat if I ever see another tour come up here - yours, or anyone else's. You'd better make it clear to everyone."

Chris was looking pale, and he swallowed hard, staring at Bilbo in shock. "Who are you?" he muttered. "I didn't know they had a PR guy!"

"No," Bilbo said with a wicked little grin. "I'm their burglar. I stole from Gollum, and from Smaug himself. I outsmarted the Goblins, outfought Spider, and freed the most wanted criminals in Scotland from prison, right under the noses of their guards. So what you'll be wanting to ask yourself here is - why haven't you heard of me? And what else could I do?" He let his grin morph into something more frightening. "Now get your tourists out of my home, and see that they don't return."

Chris was on the coach in an instant, banging the doors shut as he quickly counted heads, and took the coach back down the road in a rush of diesel fumes.

It took the family a while to gather themselves afterwards. Thorin finally ordered everyone back to their little village, which was still a work in progress - but Oin had the fire roaring soon, and they sat around it's comforting warmth in stunned silence, staring at the flickering light as evening fell. Bilbo barely processed the fact that his delivery had never come. It was something to worry about another day.

At Bilbo's side, Kíli gave a massive shudder. "They wouldn't stop pinching my cheeks," he said sadly, rubbing at his face. "I so need to grow a beard."

"No, lad," Balin said glumly, running a hand down his own massive white beard. "They've half pulled mine out."

"I don't care what Dori says," Nori grumbled darkly. "If they come back, I'm robbing every one of them blind."

"They didn't even notice I was there!" Ori said, his voice a near wail of despair.

"Too much knitting," Dori said wisely, patting his brother's back. "Probably thought you were a sheep."

Fíli was glaring at his mobile, and Thorin nudged him with a foot. "Put it away, lad. I won't have you in jail again."

"You don't understand," he said, his voice quiet and horrified. "The websites they've made about us!" He shoved his mobile in his pocket with a shiver, and punched Kíli in the arm. "You're never allowed online again, d'you hear me? It's not safe."

Thorin seemed mostly frozen in shock, so Bilbo explained quietly that he hoped he'd taken care of the situation. He shrugged at the end. "Who knew we were so popular? Well, you lot, really."

"That lad said there were books about us," Bofur said slowly. Bifur was at his side, fingers moving sporadically, as if in quiet murmured thought. Thankfully, their uninvited guests had mostly left him to himself. "Wonder what they've said."

"They won't have gotten it right," Dwalin grumbled. "No one ever does."

"Someone should write it, though," Bilbo said suddenly, staring into the fire. "Someone who knows. Because it's become a story now, all on its own, and it's not going to just go away. Someone should tell what really happened."

There were rumbles of agreement from all around the fire, and Thorin leaned closer to Bilbo, until their arms touched. "We'll leave that to you," he said fondly. Bilbo gaped at him.

But it wasn't a bad idea, really, and Bilbo had always fancied himself a writer. Maybe someday he would do it, and set the record straight for everyone. For right now, though, he was content to huddle a little closer to Thorin as the evening grew cooler, and watch his family as they settled down together, shaking off the strange trauma of the day. The tourists had it all wrong. It hadn't been romantic or glamorous, the running and hiding, and it wasn't quaint and charming, trying to carve a new life out of their land. It was good, though, in ways that they couldn't understand.

A stick popped and cracked in the fire, sending sparks up into the sky, and Bilbo grinned, resting his head on Thorin's shoulder. It was all good.

OK, I'm not quite sure what's going on with this, but this is the fourth time I've tried to post this chapter! Fingers crossed it works this time.

There! Fluffy and happy, and hopefully at least a bit amusing! It made me giggle a lot when the idea occurred to me. See, I can write more than angst sometimes! :D

Hope you enjoyed, my darlings, and that you're all having delightful weekends!