Finding Glóin was an easy task if one knew him well enough.
Bilbo searched around outside, trying to find him, then going back to where he'd last seen Glóin and Óin, but was forced to give up, realising that his guardian was nowhere.

Making his way to their sleeping quarters, he peered at each bundle of straw, sighing as each one revealed itself to be empty. As he drew closer to his, he prodded at it with his foot as though Glóin was hiding inside it.

Of course he wasn't, but the action gave a sudden CLANK! moments before a shining, silver object came into view. Crouching, he pulled it out, sharply inhaling once he discovered what it was.

His sword.

No longer covered in the sticky, thick blackness of the blood of Goblin, Orc and Warg, it shone brightly as ever while its current owner set his jaw and trembled, remembering how he'd stabbed, sliced, wounded and killed creatures with it.

It seemed to burn him and he flung the weapon away, the blade making a loud clattering.
His legs were turning shaky and weak. He didn't want to fall and tried to remain standing, but his legs won the battle, taking him to the wooden floor.

"Laddie? Are you alright?"

Strong hands carefully gripped his shoulders. Bilbo shivered and his guardian knelt beside him, and lurched forward, grabbing onto him as though afraid Glóin could and would disappear into thin air. He was distantly aware of something rubbing his back, of a gruff voice murmuring something to him, but paid no heed to this, preferring to bury his face in the Dwarf's shoulder, auburn hairs lightly tickling his jawline and cheeks.

"Is it wrong to kill other creatures?" he eventually whispered, pulling back.

"If they were trying to kill or harm you, no it isn't."

"But they were living creatures."

"They weren't good, were they?"

"Well, no, but shouldn't... I shouldn't.." Bilbo paused. He didn't know how he could relay his feelings to Glóin and sighed softly.

"Your first killing?" Glóin asked in a gentle tone.

"Yes." Bilbo whispered.

"What do you feel?"

"Shame and.. guilt." Bilbo answered.

"That's normal," Glóin assured him. "But you have to know: You're not like them, killing for the sake of it. You did what you did out of self-defence and loyalty."

Bilbo shook his head and shuffled closer. "When you first.. um..."

"When I first killed?"

"Yes. Did you feel like this?"

"Everybody does. It's natural to feel like how you feel afterwards."

"Were you very young?"

Glóin stilled, removing an arm to reach around and rub at the crown of his head. "Yes," he answered after some time. "I was a bit young."

"How old?" Bilbo wanted to know.

"I was.. I was sixteen years old, if you must know."

"Sixteen?" Bilbo's eyes were wide, as Gimli's had been when he'd been told the tale. "But that's very young! Why did they let you?"

"They didn't. I went with Óin and our father, only because I told them I'd help Óin with the less injured. The minute he turned his back, off I went."
Glóin stopped his tale for a moment, recollecting his memories. "You've heard of this battle before," he told Bilbo. "The Battle of Moria, Ananulbizar, in our tongue.
It was a very loud environment. No place for one as young as I, though I wasn't the only young one. There was no stopping with the attacks. Flashes of silver, steel and other dark metals whirred around, accompanied by ringing clashes and the unearthly howls of the dying ones.
I didn't know where I was going. There I was, barely growing stubble, smaller than you, with only an old miner's ax for protection. My poor father, Mahal rest him, likely thought he was going mad when he first saw me."

"What did he say?"

"I'm not repeating those words to you." Glóin told him firmly. "He wasn't pleased to say the least of it.
We discussed the situation as we fought. Our uncle, Fundin, was bellowing at my father and I to stop chattering and watch what we were doing instead. We didn't.
I don't know what happened. One minute I was aiming at an Orc, next thing I knew, Óin was there and I was staring up at canvas."

"Your father?"

"He was looking for Fundin. Our uncle fought bravely and well, but didn't survive the battle." Glóin inhaled slowly. "I'll never forget it. Our father came in, sat with us and said, 'You are one of the rare few who haven't lost a brother today.'"

"That's awful."

"It is. He wouldn't let himself sleep for fear of what he would see in his dreams."

"What about you?"

"Had the worst nightmares you could imagine." Glóin replied. "I'd wake up, convinced everyone was dead, convinced I was dead and worse.
I'd been far too young for war. It was my own fault I had those dreams. Didn't stop my father from staying with me through it."

"Parents protect and care for their children." Bilbo murmured.

"They do," Glóin agreed, curling his free arm back around Bilbo.

"What did you call your father?" Bilbo asked.

"Hmm? What d'you mean, laddie?"

"I called my father my 'papa'. What did you call yours?"

"Adad. That's what we Dwarves call our fathers."

Bilbo shuffled a tad, trying to discover the right words. "Would you mind terribly if I called you Adad?"

Glóin moved his head, lightly knocking his jaw against Bilbo's forehead. "You've decided already?"

There was such surprise in his tone that Bilbo nearly laughed. "Yes, I have."

"I told you I'd sort it, didn't I?"

Óin gave Nori a steely look. "Less they know about it, the better," he warned. "Why'd you help, anyway?"

"Well, who knows how long it would have taken?" Nori replied. "He's got less patience than you, even."

Óin sputtered in indignation. "Of course I have patience!" he said crossly. "When you were little and had broken bones and refused to stop wriggling about, I never lost my temper."

Nori grinned in reminiscence. "Hey. Speak of the devil."

Bilbo, Óin noticed, had something different about him. The right side of his head, where his curls spiralled up and down, looked subdued. The halfling turned his head, revealing a gleam of silver. So. Nori's influence had paid off.

"Add yours in." Glóin suggested, gently pushing Bilbo towards Óin. "Not too long, though."

Bilbo's hair was short, but it was near his shoulders, courtesy of the long months spent without scissors. Still, the longest tresses had more or less been used up, making Óin glare at his stoic sibling.

"Aye, that's right, leave the hardest bit to me!"

Bifur, who had been watching with solemn eyes, suddenly grinned and went to whisper something in Óin's ear.
Whatever he said, it was too quiet for the healer's brother to know, but it made Óin twist his head and give Bifur a look of stunned disbelief.

"You cheeky..."

Bifur's grin only widened and he wandered away, lightly chortling to himself as he did so.

Óin muttered something inaudible and ignored repeated requests for knowledge of what Bifur had told him.

Bifur is so mischievous! Well, I don't know if I can update next week. I'll certainly try, but if I can't, it's going to be a couple of weeks before I actually can, because I'm going abroad for the summer holidays :)

Many thanks to Mira, who helped a lot with this chapter. Couldn't have done it without you, my friend!

Hope it was enjoyed!

Love from Shania. xx