Dear, oh dear. I did like three chapters while away and it looks like you're about to get bombarded with 'em! Brace yourselves!

So. Dwalin was to be his new tutor in the fighting arts. Bilbo would be lying if he said that the thought alone was not daunting.
Originally, he'd thought Glóin thought he wasn't doing well at all with his sword and had been worried about it 'til his adad realised and made haste to assure him it was nothing of the sort.

"I am not so skilled with the sword as I am with the ax. Dwalin can teach you better than I."

"Well..." Bilbo had been put out by it all. "Are you sure?"

"I think it'd be a good idea." Glóin answered.

The lesson didn't end well. Glóin could see that with half an eye. Bilbo was shooting Dwalin withering looks which the warrior returned.

"Aim. 'Tis all in the aim." Dwalin muttered.

To which Bilbo growled,"I'll show you aim, you great pillock!"

Glóin tutted and pulled Bilbo onto his lap. "You shouldn't say that, my laddie. Even if it is true."

"He's a fool."

"I won't deny that."

"Aim! I was aiming! He's such a lummox."

Glóin tweaked a curl. "Enough now. You'll make his ears burn!"

Bilbo paused, contemplating Glóin's words. "I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose he does mean well."

"He does," Glóin assured. "Always has. When it comes to teaching people, he's exactly like Balin. He's a perfectionist and would have you keeling over with exhaustion if he had his way."

"Am I right to assume you warned him otherwise?" Bilbo asked.

"You may be. For his protection, of course."

Bilbo snorted and tucked his braid behind his ear. "I doubt I could do any damage to him. He's as tough as stone."

"Did I ever tell you of my first lesson with him?"

Bilbo blinked. "He taught you?!"

"Aye, he did."

"But...I thought he was younger than you!"

Glóin stared at him for several moments. "What?" he finally asked. "Why, he's eleven years older!"

Bilbo looked positively horrified. "He isn't!"

"I promise you, little one, he is." Glóin assured.

Bilbo was quiet, nibbling his bottom lip, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere than with his adad and murmured,"oh dear."

Bilbo seemed so distressed that Glóin put on his least intimidating expression and carefully clasped him closer before requesting why, exactly, Bilbo had thought such a thing?

"It's not my fault." Bilbo sighed. "Having such big beards, particularly yours, makes it so hard to tell ages!"

"Thank you for the compliment." Glóin answered. "So, my beard ages me, does it?"

Bilbo looked stricken and fidgeted slightly. "I do wish you hadn't asked that."

"It's alright to say 'yes'. I told my Da the same thing when our poor uncle, Mahal rest him, was still with us."

Bilbo's gaze was astounded. "You did? Really?"

"I was only seven years of age. It takes time, little laddie, to learn these things."

"So, you're not unhappy with me?"

"Of course not." Glóin promised. "You're hardly the first to make the mistake."

Mahal only knew who the first was. Probably some Elf who barely knew what stubble was.

"I do have the most terrible luck with guessing people's ages." Bilbo sighed. "I insulted one of my uncles horribly when I was younger."

It sounded like a good story and Glóin prompted him to continue. "How did you manage that?"

"Tell me your story and I'll tell you mine." Bilbo offered.

Glóin chuckled. "Aye, that's what I'll do, then."

Bilbo looked elated. Shuffling closer, he looked expectantly up at his adad as the Dwarrow collected his memories and began his tale.

"Mostly, we begin training at twenty years of age, maybe fifteen. Óin was one of those who started younger and as I grew older, I longed more and more to be able to fight like he could.
When I turned 10, our Da finally had enough of my constant asking. I'll never forget, he took me along to the Training Hall, wished me luck and said he'd be back in a couple of hours." Glóin paused, looking into the sharp green eyes of his intrigued listener. "What my dear adad failed to mention was by 'a few hours', he meant five."

"Five?! That's cruel." Bilbo accused, though he couldn't stop giggling at the thought.

"Might well you laugh. It was painful. When Adad got me home, all bruised and bleeding.."

Bilbo gasped. "Bleeding?! What did he do to you?"

"It wasn't Dwalin's fault." Glóin said. "He was very careful indeed, I just didn't watch myself. He'd rather impale himself than wound his own kin."

Bilbo agreed with this, nodding. "When you got home?"

"Yes, when we returned, Amad..our mother, was livid with our Da. Her bellows echoed through the house."

Bilbo's eyes travelled to Glóin's eyebrow, the one with the split scar running out of it. He didn't say anything, but his own eyebrows knitted together in thought.

"Battle, not practise." Glóin corrected him.

Bilbo jolted. "Sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"Apology accepted, my little pundurith. Will you tell your story?"

"I hoped you'd forget to ask." Bilbo murmured to the amusement of the dwarf. "It was on my uncle Isengar's birthday. I didn't know how old he was and he thought it was just hilarious that his nephew didn't know his age. My mother got annoyed with his teasing and said to me 'How old d'you think he is?' She knew I had difficulties telling ages."

Glóin tried to hide a smile. "I take it you got the wrong age, then?"

"Yes. I said I thought he was sixty years old. He was actually forty-nine..."

"Neither of those ages are old to Dwarrows, but it seems they are to halflings." Glóin voiced.

"Not old, exactly, but hardly the youngest of ages either. My poor uncle. Still, he didn't seem to dislike me for that mistake."

"No, he couldn't begrudge such young kin for that."

"He was my favourite uncle. We rarely saw him, but when we did, he had incredible stories to tell. He saw the Sea once!" Bilbo stopped to smile, though he looked strangely sad. "After my parents died, he was the one who ensured I didn't follow them."

"What about your other family?" Glóin asked, frowning. Surely they didn't leave him alone to grieve?

"My father's side got over my mother's death very quickly and expected me to do the same." Bilbo muttered bitterly. "Her side lived far away and all had their own, large families. Her younger brother, my uncle Isengar, never had children and he stayed with me 'til he felt I could be left alone."

Glóin didn't need to ask why Isengar had felt his sister's son needed a carer. He'd seen Dwalin and Balin after the death of Fundin. Miserable, quiet, haunted, not caring enough to keep themselves alive without the aid of kin.
Without his uncle around, Glóin doubted Bilbo would be alive this day.

Thank Mahal for Isengar.

I missed you all, but it was so nice and hot and the sea was so beautiful that I couldn't regret being away! I hope you've all been okay!

So, this is it. New chapter!

Hope it was enjoyed!

Love from Shania. xx