Disclaimer: I do not own any familiar characters/settings/plot featured in this story. They all belong to (most likely rolling in his grave) J.R.R. Tolkien.

Act II: The Rogue

Chapter Seven

"Are you sure you're ready to return to work? Because I'm sure Master Óin wouldn't mind if you stayed home another day," fretted Dori as he hovered over Bilbo like a pesky fly.

The Hobbit waved him away with one hand as he double-checked his pack for work. "I'm well enough now to handle checking in on my patients, Dori. That hardly takes much effort on my part."

"But what if you get tired? Or tasked with something difficult?" pushed the Dwarf, frowning.

"Then I'll sit down and rest or ask for someone else to complete the job," he replied, rolling his eyes. "Really now what do you expect to happen at a clinic full of healers?"

Dori kept frowning but finally stepped back and gave Bilbo some space to breathe. "I've packed you a lunch," he admitted, nodding to the neat package wrapped in a vibrant pink cloth. "I put in extra apples. I know how much you like them."

"Thank you," he said, shooting the old Dwarf a smile. "I—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the front door. They both turned to face it before Dori clicked his tongue. "That must be Bofur. He volunteered to walk you to work," he explained, reaching over to pick up the lunch he had packed and handing it to Bilbo.

"Why is he walking me to work? Did you think I was going to get robbed or something?" he wondered, taking the package.

"It was Nori's idea. He would have taken you himself but..." Dori trailed off, and gave him a helpless look.

"But he's still angry at me," he finished for the Dwarf, sighing. "I understand. Well, I best get going. It's going to take me a good amount of time to get there as it is."

Dori followed him to the door where, as the weaver had predicted, Bofur stood waiting dressed for work with his tools. When he noticed the duo, he tipped his hat in greeting and gave them a wide, dimple smile.

"Morning, Bilbo! Morning, Dori! Isn't it a wonderful day?" he chirped, looking far too awake for so early in the morning.

Bilbo gave the Dwarf a look of disgust. "Ugh, I hate morning people," he muttered, turning to face Dori. "I'm off to work then. I'll see you tonight for dinner."

Dori nodded. "Yes. Be safe," he said, his mouth tilting down in warning, "and please, if possible, stay out of the Lead District."

Bilbo and Bofur shared a grimace. "Yes, Mother," Bilbo replied, limping off before Dori's look could descend into something worse.

"Bye, Dori!" Bofur shouted behind him before hurrying to catch up to him. Once at his side, the Dwarf reached down to snag Bilbo's lunch with one hand while the other looped around Bilbo's elbow.

"What are you doing?" the Hobbit asked, stopping to look down at the arm now wrapped around his.

"Helpin' ya walk to work," Bofur replied, blinking down at him innocently.

"I can walk just fine. Now let go of me," he ordered, pointing a finger at Bofur's face.

The miner did as bid and held up his free hand as he took a step away. "As ya wish. But if ya fall then I'm afraid I have to carry ya. Promised Nori and all that, and don't wanna be makin' him any angrier than he is already."

"Ugh. Nori needs to get over this whole thing and move on," Bilbo grumbled, hobbling off again towards the staircase that would lead him to the Amber District. "I'm not dead and my wounds are healing—what more does he want?"

"Askin' the wrong person here. I don't hold onto the past if I can help it," said Bofur, following and easily rejoining him. Though he walked closer to the healer than he usually did, Bilbo decided not to call him on it.

"Dori says he's trying to deal with the idea of caring about someone else for the first time in his life," he explained, wrinkling his nose as he recalled the conversation. "Apparently, I'm the first friend Nori has ever made. It's so pathetic that I can't even make fun of him for it."

Bofur's face broke out into a smile so wide that Bilbo was momentarily afraid his jaw was going to unhinge. "Awww, Bilbo, that's so cute! You're his One!" the miner practically cooed like a proud grandmother.

Bilbo leaned a bit away from the beaming Dwarf, and tried to recall where he heard the familiar phrase. "His One? What the hell is that?"

"It's something like a Dwarrow ideal. A One is the first person ya learn to care for that isn't yourself," explained the miner, smile never breaking. "It's a big deal 'cuz it means ya supposed to become more aware of others and shit."

"Oh. I think I heard of it before, but it had more to do with romance," he said as he recalled the stories he had heard in taverns. "Something about Dwarves loving once one in their life?"

"Nah, that's just what the bards like to sing to make a copper," Bofur replied, shaking his head. "They get that idea 'cuz the first Dwarrow to ever coin the phrase did fall in love. See, long ago, when the Seven Fathers were still around, there lived a Dwarrow named Gíti son of Forseti of the Seven Fathers. Out of all the Sevens' sons he was the second eldest and most gifted at creating chainmail. None of the others could come close to his skill or his dedication to his task. Gíti lived only to learn his father's teachings and strived everyday to make both sire and Maker proud of him. But this also meant he never paid any mind to his fellow apprentices or the world around him. His narrow focus kept him secluded and oblivious to how great life could be outsides' his workshop.

"Now one day this Dwarrow was at work at his father's forge when a voice called out to him. When he looked up to see who it was, there stood a Dwarrow with hair the color of fire and eyes the color of iron. It was Hergrímur son of Dellingr of the Seven Fathers; fifth eldest of the apprentices and most beautiful of them all. Gíti fell for this beautiful lad then and there, and from that point on could no longer focus only on his craft and Mahâl. For he had seen the one person capable of drawing him away from both, and from then on whenever a Dwarrow meets a soul who makes them see beyond them self, they become their One forever more."

"That's very... interesting," Bilbo said slowly. "I didn't realize how much more meaning there was to it. I think I like it better this way."

"Yeah, the one outsiders like to tell tales about don't really describe it right," acknowledged the miner, pushing his hat up with two fingers as it slid down his forehead. "A One is so much more than just someone ya share ya bed with."

"Hmm." Bilbo scratched his injured thigh, mindful of the stitches there as he mused over the story. "What were their names?"

"Who?"

"The Seven Fathers," he clarified, looking up at his friend. "I've only ever heard of Durin and no one else. So what were their names? What did they do? What happened to them? And why aren't they mentioned as often as Durin?"

Bofur blinked a few times before chuckling. "Ya sure do like to ask questions, huh?"

Bilbo shrugged one shoulder in acknowledgment. "I like to learn. Now will you please answer me?"

"Mmm. Well, as ya know, Durin the Deathless was the first born and started the Sigin-tarâg or 'Longbeards' as ya would know them 'cuz that's who most of the locals be," explained the miner, waving an arm around them. "After him was Alvíss the Wise who awoke in Ered Luin and founded the Broadbeams. With him, in the same mountain range but not the same mountain, awoke Dellingr the Shining who started the Firebeards. The fourth to awaken was Hermóðr the Warrior who founded the Ironfists in the north of Orocarni. With him awoke Forseti the Judger who started the Stiffbeards also near the north of Orocarni. To the south of them was Meili the Wild who started the House of Stonefoots, and then finally Vör the Watchful from who the Blacklocks descend."

"So... the Seven Houses are Longbeards, Broadbeams, Firebeards, Ironfists, and... Stonefeet?" Bilbo listed slowly, trying to recall all seven names only to come up short.

"Stonefoots," corrected Bofur, nodding. "And the Stiffbeards and Blacklocks."

"And which House are you from?"

"I'm a Broadbeam just like Bombur and Bifur. Bjarte is too but he's also half Firebeard on his ma's side. That's where he got them green eyes."

"Green eyes are a Firebeard trait then?" questioned the healer.

The Dwarf nodded. "Aye. Green eyes and red hair and thick frames. Broadbeams always have dark eyes and dark or blond hair. We also tend to be better looking," he replied, giving the Hobbit a wink.

"Bombur has red hair," Bilbo pointed out, raising his brows.

"Mmm. We probably have some Firebeard in us too, but don't know where it comes from," Bofur admitted, nodding. "The bloodlines get kinda muddy after awhile. Only royalty and nobles really keep track of their lines."

"Why?"

"To prove their right to rule. All kings gotta link up to Durin the Deathless in some way to prove they got a right to the throne."

"That's a stupid rule," Bilbo said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "What about the other four clans? Did they stay in Orocarni?"

"Most did, yeah, but I think some of the Stonefoots and Stiffbeards migrated over to the Iron Hills and Erebor. I know the Crown Prince and his brother be part Stonefoots from their pa's side."

"Really?" Bilbo said in surprise, blinking a few times.

Bofur nodded as he smoothly dodged a pair of arguing Dwarves. "Yeah. Ya can't really tell with the Crown Prince 'cuz he mostly pulls the Durin side, but it's obvious with Prince Kíli. He's tall and lean and got them wide eyes and darker skin. Those are all Stonefoots traits."

"I had wondered why he and his father were taller and skinnier than other Dwarves," the healer admitted, thinking back on his tea party with Prince Vílin and Prince Kíli and the Princess Dís. "It didn't occur to me that the reason was because they were from different clans. Wait, what is Hamide then?"

"She's a Blacklocks through and through," Bofur said, grinning. "That clan don't really like to mix with others if they can help it."

Bilbo groaned, and rubbed his forehead with both hands. "I'm getting a headache from all these new names. I'll need to write this all down later so I don't forget."

"Do you really write down everything we tell ya?" wondered Bofur, arching one of his shaggy dark brows.

"Of course," he replied, raising his chin high and giving the miner a judging look. "It's important stuff and I don't want to forget it—why are you looking at me like that?"

Bofur—whose smile had grown into another disturbing, jaw snapping heights—shook his head, and turned back to the staircase they had arrived at. "No reason, Master Healer. No reason at all."

Bilbo's first day back to work was a slow and boring affair filled with worried coworkers and fussy patients. Óin had spread the word that he had been mugged walking home and therefore Bilbo had to endure endless questions and fretting from everyone at the clinic. Even the guards—who usually ignored the healers—expressed some concern when they saw the Hobbit limping about. It was both touching and annoying as all he really wanted to do was focus on doing his job. When his shift was finally done, he slipped out before anyone could notice, and thought he was nearly free when a familiar voice called out to him.

"Master Baggins?"

Bilbo turned around, blinking a few times when a Dwarf he knew all too well stepped out from behind a pillar. "Thorin? What are you doing here? Besides creeping around like a weirdo, I mean."

Thorin—dressed in a plain blue tunic with the sleeves rolled up and black pants matched by black leather boots—sashayed over to him while looking him up and down. He had his hair loose this time; unbraided and wild without a hint of shame. Only his beard he kept neatly braided and tucked into his belt.

"I was not creeping around," scolded the guard as he joined the Hobbit. "I was waiting for you."

"For me?" he repeated, blinking in surprise. "Why? Do you have another murder you need help in solving again?"

Thorin smirked and shook his head. "No, not to my knowledge," he said, lacing his hands behind his back. "I had heard news that you were injured down in the Lead District so I came to check up on you."

"Oh." Bilbo blinked a few times, honestly taken back. He hadn't been expecting the guard to care enough to go so far as to visit him. "Thank you. I'm fine now as you can see."

Thorin arched one dubious brow. "You're limping."

"Well, my leg is still healing," he defended, raising his chin in challenge. "And how did you know I was injured in the Lead District? Óin has been telling everyone it was a mugging."

"I was present when he came to the palace to rant to the princess about it," explained the guard, shrugging his broad shoulders. "He was quite upset about it. Do you requite assistance getting home?"

"No, but you can walk with me if you like," granted the healer with a sniff before turning on his heel and shambling off. A few seconds later Thorin was at his side; pace obviously slower than normal in consideration of Bilbo's injury.

Bilbo felt something in his stomach jump at the realization, and absently wondered if he was coming down with something.

"You sure do have a lot of free time for a guard," he commented after a few minutes of awkward silence.

"Do you think my princes have only one guard between them?" Thorin scoffed, arching a brow. "I am but one of a dozen of the best warriors in the kingdom who have pledged their lives in service to the Royal Family. My princes are always safe whether I am at their side or not."

"Fair enough," Bilbo granted, nodding. "In that case, would you mind answering some questions I have about the guard?"

"That depends. What are your questions?"

"How many different guard factions are there? Since I arrived, I've noticed a lot of different colored uniforms," he explained, gesturing to a pair of guards passing by dressed in iron armor with red lining.

"Those are the Sentinels. They walk the streets and guard the common people," Thorin clarified, nodding to Bilbo and the other Dwarves passing by. "They are the lowest of the three sects of guards and can always be identified by the red markings on their uniforms. Above them are the Imperial Guards who protect the palace, the guildhalls and ministries, and other important locations. They are easy to spot as they wear white with their uniforms. Finally there are the Royal Guards whose sole duty is to protect the Royal Family, and who always wear blue and gold."

"But those aren't all the sects of soldiers, right?" Bilbo pushed, recalling the Office of Investigations and the guards he had seen there.

"No. There are other departments, but their focus is not on protecting people or monuments. Not like the guards," explained Thorin. He then studied Bilbo for a moment before asking, "You are very interested in Erebor's history and culture. Why?"

He shrugged. "No reason. I simply love to learn, and history is my favorite subject. Usually, when I arrive at a new place, I would find a book about it and read it to educate myself. But here all your books are written in Khuzdûl, so now I must ask others in order to get my answers."

"Hmm. That is a problem." Thorin furrowed his brows for a moment as he seemed to think hard over something. Bilbo had to resist the urge to warn him not to hurt himself. "Well then, until you are satisfied, I will answer any questions you have regarding the kingdom as long as they are not too inquisitive."

The healer raised his brows in surprise. "Really? But I thought you Dwarves hate to share your past and society with outsiders?" he teased.

"Some Dwarrow do not like to share as they are possessive and easily roused to jealousy," Thorin admitted easily, nodding. "But I personally enjoy showing off my people and our kingdom to outsiders. We are noble race with a rich history and even richer culture, and to inform others—why are you laughing?"

Bilbo held up an apologetic hand while the other covered his mouth as he tried to muffle his giggles. "I'm sorry, but you just look so proud of yourself there! Like a child who is telling an adult about their new sibling."

Thorin sniffed and raised his nose in the air. "Why wouldn't I be proud? My people are remarkable. Don't you do the same for your kind?"

Bilbo blinked in surprise. "Well, I suppose I would, but most folk don't care to ask," he explained, thinking the question over. "Once I tell them we're nomads, they tend to lose interest or assume they know all there is. But I guess there isn't really much more to know. My people are pretty simple to understand—we like good food, value family and friends, and strive to win back the Shire from Smaug. There's really nothing more to know."

"I find that hard to believe," disagreed Thorin, shaking his head.

Bilbo simply shrugged. "So how are your charges doing?" he asked, changing the subject.

Thorin gave him a look that said he knew what the Hobbit was doing, but still went along with it. "They are well. Prince Kíli has completely recovered and is back to his normal self. Prince Fíli, meanwhile, is helping prepare for the arrival of Lord Dáin of the Iron Hills and Lady Hafsa of Orocarni. They should be arriving within the next few weeks."

"That should be interesting. I haven't heard much of this noble lady, but I've heard plenty of Lord Dáin. He sounds like a good sort," he commented, keeping Óin's warning words to himself.

"Lord Dáin is a Dwarrow of virtue," agreed Thorin, his face relaxing into a fond smile. "Having him around is always a pleasure. The... King is very close to him as are Princess Dís and... Prince Frerin."

Bilbo raised his brows at the pause in Thorin's voice when he spoke of Prince Frerin. "I haven't met Prince Frerin yet," he said carefully, watching the guard's face. "Óin mentioned he doesn't like to stay in the palace much. Why?"

Thorin licked his lips as he seemed to think the question over. "Well, Prince Frerin is very independent, you see, and the King can be a bit... overprotective of His Highness," he said slowly, wincing when he mentioned the King. "Prince Frerin doesn't care to be caged or coddled hence why he lives outside of the palace."

"Why is His Majesty so protective of him? Is Prince Frerin weak or something?" wondered the healer.

The Dwarf scoffed and shook his head. "No, no it's nothing like that. It is simply how the King is. He's the same with the rest of the family," he explained before stopping as the duo came to the staircase that led down to the Tin District.

"I'm afraid this is as far as I go," Thorin said, brows scrunching together as he met Bilbo's eyes. "Will you be able to get home from here?"

"Of course," he replied, rolling his eyes. "I wounded my leg, I didn't lose it. Thank you for walking me this far though. I appreciate it."

Thorin's lips twitched into a small, upward tilt that could almost be called a smile. "It was my pleasure. Until next time, Mas—I mean, Bilbo," he said, quickly correcting himself when Bilbo raised his brows.

"Until next time," the Hobbit agreed with a smile as he ignored the strange flutter he got in the pit of his stomach at the thought.

That night, when he returned to the 'Ri home, Bilbo found a surprise waiting for him.

"A letter? For me?" he said, dropping his pack onto the ground of Ori's room.

Ori nodded from his desk, and held up a crinkled and worn envelop for him to see. "Yes. Nori said it came this morning after you had set off for work."

Curious, Bilbo reached out and took it, and easily slipped it open. Inside he found a five page letter written in the familiar swirls of his uncle Isengrim. Reading through it quickly, he found that his uncle had received the letter Bilbo had sent explaining his situation, and agreed that the healer had made the right call in bailing out Nori. From there it advised Bilbo to work hard on earning back the money spent, and then went into the usual format of informing him of everything that had occurred since he had left.

"Who's it from?" asked Ori as he folded his arms on the top of the chair to rest his chin upon.

"My uncle back in Rivendell—Isengrim," Bilbo said, half his attention still focused on the parchment in his hand. "He received my letter and wanted to let me know how things fare. Nothing too interesting, honestly."

"That's the one who raised you, right? After your parents passed away?" Ori questioned.

He nodded, still absorbed in his letter. "Yes, that's correct. He took me in personally and raised me to adulthood. I owe him a lot for that."

"Oh." Ori went silent for a long moment before quietly asking, "Do you... Do you miss them a lot?"

Bilbo looked up and blinked a few times as his brain caught up with the conversation. "Who—? You mean my clan? Of course I do. They're my family. I always miss them when I'm away."

Ori frowned and sat up straight. "Are you not happy here?" he demanded, a hint of anger coloring his words.

Bilbo chuckled and shook his head. "Of course I am happy," he replied. "You and your brothers are very good friends as are Bofur and his family, and even Óin when he's not being a grump. I've even come to enjoy living in Erebor."

"But?" pushed the Dwarf.

"But I miss my family too," he added, giving the scribe a sad smile. "I miss arguing with my cousins and teasing my uncles and listening to my aunts. I miss my Aunt Holly's apple pies and listening to my Uncle Hildifons try tosing. I miss waking up in the middle of the night because of my cousin Flambard's snoring, and nicking sugar cubes with my cousin Primula. I miss... I just miss being with them."

"Oh." Ori slumped back down and returned to resting his chin on his forearms. "I'm sorry, Bilbo."

"For what?"

"For not thinking about how hard this must be for you. For being happy to have you here and wishing you would stay forever," the Dwarf said, his face turning a light pink. "Bilbo, you've become one of my best friends, and I don't want you to leave. Even now, knowing how miserable you must be, I'm still happy you're here with me instead of with them."

Bilbo set down his stack of letters, and reached over to pat Ori's head. "You have nothing to be sorry for," he disagreed, shaking his head. "I do miss my family, yes, but I'm also really happy here. You and your brothers have made me feel welcome and safe and happy. That's not an easy feat to manage."

"Oh. That's good then. Bilbo?"

"Yes?"

"When you get your army and leave to fight this dragon, I want to come with you."

Bilbo nearly fell over from shock. "What?! Ori, that's—"

"I want to help you and your people get your land back," interrupted Ori, sitting up straight again as his green eyes went steely. "I don't want you to have to worry about where you'll go to next, or when your next meal will be. I want you to be safe and happy even... even if it means you'll leave Erebor. So I'm going to help you fight Smaug and get your kingdom back."

Bilbo opened his mouth but could not find any words to voice his shock and sudden surge of affection. No one outside of his clan had ever made such a meaningful promise to him before. No one had ever looked him straight in the eye and made such a claim. It was... strange and new and touching all at once, and he had no words to express such emotions.

"I... Thank you, Ori," he finally decided to say though it lacked the meaning he wanted. "No one has ever made me such a promise before. You're the first."

Ori smirked, and tossed some of his braids out of his face. "Don't worry," he said, green eyes glinting in the candle light, "I'm sure I won't be the last."