CHAPTER 24

Of Unwanted Visitors

It started out innocently enough, really.

A sesame cake, golden and still warm from the oven, had been waiting on Bag End's threshold when Bilbo had stepped out to see to the ponies. He had spotted it half a second before he had almost kicked it and sent it flying down the stone steps. How strange. Then again, Mirabella had promised that baked goods were to be expected from her for the days to come; Bilbo had simply not thought that she would start right away.

And so he had shrugged and brought the cake inside for elevensies. Only one small portion actually made it to Thorin's bedside, though, since he was stopped along the way by six gluttons in dwarf skins. However, the claws of slumber were having such a firm grasp on their King that he hadn't minded.

Then, right before lunch, Fíli and Kíli went for a short walk only to come back with a large basket of fruit and sweet-smelling cheese. Around a mouthful, they claimed to have found the basket sitting before the door upon their return and that – the deceiving rascals – they had barely touched it; the missing apples had been given to the ponies as a treat. There had been no note in the basket, no name connected to the gift.

Foolishly, Bilbo had figured that maybe this was how his neighbors had chosen to apologize. Harsh as they had been, Thorin's words from the night before had been true. Nobody in Hobbiton had had the full story of what the one they called 'Mad Baggins' had been up to, on his journey to the Eastern Reaches, and he was certain most of them referred to him as such because they felt it was the proper thing to do. Perhaps this basket was a big 'We're sorry' note in itself.

The cheese was divided and eaten with delight. Not only because it tasted wonderful, but above all else because it came with the feeling that Bilbo had regained some level of respect from his kin, something he had given up on when he had strolled up Bagshot Row with seven dwarves tailing him. He only regretted that Thorin and his love for good cheese were still napping in the master bedroom.

By the time Glóin and Bofur were done with the dishes, two more baskets had found their way to Bag End's door. Inside there was food, of course – deliciously-crispy quiches with tiny bits of bacon peeking from under the golden surface, nestled in-between sausage rolls and apple turnovers which had Bombur's eyes doubling in width – but also something that made Bilbo's jaw slacken and his eyebrows shoot high on his forehead.

Crowns of flowers. One in each basket.

White carnation. You are sweet and adorable. My love for you is pure.

Multi-colored gloxinia. I loved you at first sight.

Bilbo's cheeks had suddenly grown very hot. Thankfully, the dwarves around him had been completely oblivious to his discomfort, for they had been far too engrossed in the other items the baskets contained and were very ignorant of the language of flowers. While the Children of Mahal fought over who would get to eat the turnovers – since there had only been four of the baked treats – Bilbo's eyes had caught on the corner of a note. When Kíli had shouted that he was still growing and therefore needed more energy than 'old, useless geezers', Bilbo had taken advantage of the following mayhem to snatch the note and shove it into a pocket. He had quickly excused himself with only a warning that he'd better not find his kitchen damaged in any way when he came back.

Now, as he sat in his study with the tiny piece of paper unfolded, Bilbo could not quite believe his eyes.

I hope you will find time for a little stroll and dinner. I will drop by this afternoon.

C.B.

Last time he had held such a note had been months before his coming of age, when he had caught the fancy of a farm boy from Tuckborough, when his mother had taken him to visit their Took relatives. He had escaped the endless chattering of his aunts and great aunts in the middle of the afternoon, paper crumpled in his hand, and hurried to the farm on the outskirts of town. He had found the lad in the barn and… well, that certainly explained why he had to look twice whenever he came across a haystack.

He would have never thought he would one day receive another one.

As the first sounds of a dwarven brawl floated from the kitchen, Bilbo sat back in his chair and sighed. Truth be told, he was quite flattered – innocently so, of course; if a dangle several yards above solid ground with hands strangling him had not convinced him to give up on Thorin, then it was safe to assume that nothing short of death would – by the attention, however fruitless it would prove to be. Yet, no matter how much he secretly appreciated the kind thought, there was the problem of letting his faceless admirer down gently.

C.B. It could be any unmarried lass or lad from the Boffin or Bolger families, and that was only the more represented lines in Hobbiton – baring the Baggins clan, of course. Extended to the whole Shire, the message could come from a Brandybuck, a Burrow or even – Yavanna forbids – a Bracegirdle.

For a whole hour Bilbo paced in his study, mentally debating how he should go about rejecting someone's advances while marvelling that, after cheating death a dozen times on his journey to Erebor, he still found such things to be of importance.

Twice, he poked his head through the door of the master bedroom to check on Thorin. His first peek found the dwarf to be asleep and he left him be; the second time around, however, Thorin awoke to a great coughing fit that had him sitting and clutching at his throat. Bilbo soothed him with soft words and even managed to sweet-talk an entire cup of camomile tea down the dwarf's damaged throat. Soon, Thorin calmed down enough to mumble his thanks and drowsily nuzzle back into the pillow, his eyelids heavier than anvils.

Bilbo walked back to his study, empty cup in hand, and left the door open in case his suitor had need of him. Still lost in thoughts, he wandered into the kitchen to wash Thorin's cup. There, he found Fíli and Kíli sitting by the window, each sharpening a dagger with mute vigor – which, Bilbo had come to learn, was one of the ways the brothers chose to sulk – while four adult dwarves were scarfing down apple turnovers at the table. The outcome of the previous fight was fairly obvious, then.

"Boys, no weapons in the kitchen," Bilbo called over his shoulder, but he did scowl at the four other males, for good measure, and snatched two cinnamon rolls in passing. He was, after all, the one the whole basket had been gifted to.

He munched on the soft treats in the relative calm of his study, his ears strained for any sound of discomfort coming from the master bedroom. All the while, gears were still turning in his head, shaping sentences and pondering how well certain words would be received.

When the sound of knocking finally echoed in Bag End's halls, Bilbo was ready.

"I've got it!" he cast as he trotted past the kitchen, and held back a sigh of relief when Dwalin sat back down. He had no need for any dwarf to stick his big, rude nose into this; he would take matters into his own hands and settle this by himself, thank you very much.

"Coming, coming!" he said a bit loudly when the poor soul on the other side of the door knocked once more. "Keep your pants on, you're not shedding them anytime soon in this smial anyway," he added to himself in a whisper. He chuckled, privately amused at his own cheek, and turned the doorknob.

A pretty, pleasantly plump hobbit was waiting on the other side, her long curly hair cascading in blonde waves across her shoulders and down her back.

Mentally, Bilbo grimaced. He had hoped for a lad; they were less prone to crying fits.

"Hello? How may I help you, miss?" he greeted, disguising his nervousness under a generous layer of politeness – though he knew that there was only so long he could play dumb and get away with it.

Surprisingly enough, the lass did not look very flustered or nervous herself. She actually seemed a bit… disappointed? "Is this where Bilbo Baggins lives?" she asked, her hands sitting together on the front of her white dress. "Is this Bag End?"

"Yes, you are correct," Bilbo nodded.

She could not have seen more than three years past her coming of age. Her bright green eyes, sweet and hopeful, were looking at him in a way that almost had Bilbo stall for time some more. But well… Belladonna Took had raised no coward.

"Listen, I don't-"

"Are the dwarves from the East staying here?" his visitor asked abruptly.

The question caught Bilbo off guard and sent his carefully planned words tumbling down the hill like a mountain of pebbles. "Y-yes, they are," he sputtered. "What… what does that have to do with everything?"

His interlocutor's eyes took on a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Doubt clawed at Bilbo's better judgement; could it be that the reason the lass was here had nothing to do with romance at all? "Oh, nothing. Why are you here, may I ask?" he asked cautiously, tucking his well-prepared declination speech in a drawer at the back of his mind for later use.

That managed to bring bright pink spots on the nameless lass' chubby cheeks. She fiddled with her dress, eyes cast downward, for a moment before she finally spoke again. "I-I heard in the market that there had been an accident, last night, and that a dwarf saved two kids from a wolf."

Bilbo fought an annoyed huff. Trust Mirabella and Asphodel to babble and you won't be disappointed. "It's the truth," he answered simply, shrugging.

"I was wondering if… well, can I see that dwarf? I believe he's called Thorin, something like that."

Bilbo's first thought was that his dwarven suitor was once more in danger, the threat of hobbit gratitude hanging over his poor head, and an amused smile made the corners of his mouth twitch. The lass was probably one of Samwise's aunts or cousins – who knew with the Gamgee family being so renowned for its huge litters – who meant to thank Thorin for his heroic deeds.

But then he took in the flustered, nervous stance she had adopted, and it suddenly dawned on him.

Romance was on this young lady's mind. It was merely not directed at Bilbo.

There was no mistaking the full-blooded blush and fidgeting hands, now, or even the outfit she had chosen to wear. That green dress was far too stretched around the hips, pulled taut to hint at the supple flesh hidden underneath, and the collar cut far too low – by the Green Mother, her cleavage would be on full display if she so much as bent to pick up an apple on a table.

Scandalous. Even more so considering dwarven standards.

"Yes, he does go by the name of Thorin," Bilbo drawled dryly, storm gathering at the forefront of his mind. He could not tell if he felt more offended because the romantic attentions had not been meant for him, though they would have met a dead end anyway, or annoyed by the possibility that this lass may be trying to snatch Thorin away. "He is resting, at the moment. What business do you have with him?"

Surprise registered on the girl's face at the change of tone but she quickly swept it away. "I wanted to invite him over for dinner, just down the Hill. I wondered if perhaps-"

"Yes, hm, I am sorry to interrupt," Bilbo cut in, massaging the bridge of his nose as he fought a fresh wave of irritation, "but you wouldn't happen to have been at my cousin Adelard Took's wedding yesterday?"

Again, confusion, and a good deal of annoyance as well. "Actually, I was."

"Then certainly, as all of Hobbiton did, you heard that Thorin and I are courting."

How many shades of surprise could those green eyes exhibit, anyway?

"I had thought… well, after your fight last night, rumor has it that you called the courtship off and sent him packing. Not my own words, of course, but…"

Anger dug lines into Bilbo's forehead and his hand twitched, still gripping the doorknob. He briefly realized that he had never invited his visitor in, as any proper son of Bungo Baggins would, and was suddenly glad for it. "So let me get this straight. You come here trying to start a courtship with somebody who, according to very unreliable sources which will be known as 'rumors', has only just been rejected by his suitor and had to face a wolf's attack in the course of the same evening. Never mind the fact that he is a dwarf, staying in Hobbiton for a couple of weeks only and that he still somehow lives under the same roof as his supposed ex-intended. Have you really thought this through or have you spent too much time under the Sun?"

For a moment, the young lass was speechless. A myriad of emotions flashed behind her green eyes; embarrassment and disappointment ruled over all others, but Bilbo easily recognized the hint of anger as she spoke again. "Well, courting or not, he can still speak to whoever he wants, and I would like to see him."

Oh, the nerve of her! Implying that she could… that Thorin might… that nerve!

"I'm afraid it's not possible at the moment," Bilbo replied icily, trying to keep his voice to a decent level lest he alerted the bunch of dwarves in his kitchen. "Thorin is wounded and needs rest. But rest assured that I will inform him of your… visit. Now, you'll excuse me but I have things I must see to."

"Tell him the invitation is still open. I am-"

"Getting back to minding your own business, absolutely. Good day to you."

Bilbo wondered if there was, somewhere, a law forbidding people from slamming doors in their bothersome neighbors' faces. The pure joy he felt at finally getting rid of the lass' eager face certainly felt illegal. In a sinfully good way, too.

The blond-haired hobbit leaned his back against the round door and racked a hand down his face. What kind of rumors were being whispered in-between stalls at the market, now? What kind of foul talk was being spread about Mad Baggins and his temper, terminating a courtship with a perfectly fine fellow just because of a small fight?

That a hobbit lass could find Thorin attractive, Bilbo understood. Not only was the dwarf disgustingly handsome, he was also well-spoken, incredibly polite and charming enough when he put his mind to it. Add to that his dancing skills, his hearty appetite and his devotion to children – that little story with the 'wolf' certainly had a few ladies fanning themselves frantically – and you had the most perfect suitor a hobbit could ask for.

Bilbo suddenly froze; Bag End had received more than one gift that day. Could it be… that Thorin had stirred longing in more than a single lass' heart?

With a pained groan, Bilbo unlatched himself from the door and walked over to the kitchen to pour himself a strong cup of tea.

If he was to spend all afternoon shooing ladies away, he could use the help.

By the time Bilbo called the dwarves over for tea, two other girls had tried to negotiate their way to Thorin's bedside.

He had dealt with the first one himself, but the second one had taken on such an awful, haughty tone when he had denied her access that he had let Dwalin take over. With absolutely no remorse whatsoever.

"Why are they so smitten with Uncle?" Fíli asked with a puzzled look, watching as Bilbo poured himself his fourth cup of tea of the afternoon. "I mean… why today all of the sudden? He's not any different from the dwarf he was yesterday."

"Except that he's been snacked on by a warg again," Kíli chirped, munching on a cinnamon roll with enough manners to make a mountain troll proud – loosely translated: none. Even the Goblin King must have known not to lick his fingers like this.

Bilbo sighed. "That's precisely the problem. Hobbits have always had a deep-rooted fear of wolves, it was only worsened and consolidated after the Fell Winter. Living through an encounter with a wolf is already a very remarkable feat in itself, but to kill one… you're likely to be looked at as a hero by all Shire folk."

The dwarves around the table nodded solemnly and the air grew a bit thick with tension at the mention of the dreadful, dreadful event that had befallen the residents of Hobbiton. That is, until…

"What's Fell Winter?" Kíli asked innocently, blinking a few times in surprise when his question brought forth a collective groan from his kin. "What?"

"Mahal's beard, Kíli, did you actually go to those lessons with me or was I dreaming?" Fíli sighed at the lost look his brother shot him. "History of the Third Age, the chapter on the Shire. Remember?"

"Third Age, Third Age," Kíli repeated, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as he tapped a spoon against his sparsely-bearded chin thoughtfully. His eyes lit up suddenly. "History of the Third Age, yes! I remember now. Same time as weapon practise for those over fifty, you could see them from the window. There was that pretty brunette with the short sword and- ow!"

Fíli retrieved his hand from where it had cuffed his brother over the head. "Balin will be happy to know just how interested you were in his lessons," he said with a disapproving frown. "Maybe I'll speak with him when we return to Erebor. I'm sure he'll take it upon himself to fix your lack of knowledge and force you to attend his future lectures with the youngsters."

The look of pure horror on Kíli's face almost measured up to the scandalized expression that had adorned Bungo's face the day Bilbo had come home with a wriggling, mud-covered piglet in his arms.

Soon, however, the mortified look turned sly and Kíli snorted. "Like you're a flawless fairy of perfection! If I remember well, you were quite distracted yourself in crafting classes, ogling that redhead's rear-"

Thump! Fíli's fist slammed down on the table with enough force to rattle the teacups. The blond-haired dwarf wore a murderous expression to match his snarl. "Shut up!"

"You shut up!"

"Boys, boys! There's no need to shout!" Bilbo said a bit louder than he originally planned to, but this succeeded in nipping the impending quarrel in the bud. The brothers exchanged one last thunderous glare before they both looked away. "That's a lot better, thank you. Now, Kíli," the hobbit pursued as the youngest heir of Durin's line turned his attention to him, "The Fell Winter happened about thirty years ago, back when I was a young lad in my early twenties. It had been a fairly regular year, with a beautiful spring and a summer of plenty. But then, winter strolled in, and with it everything froze and died. I don't think I've ever felt such cold again in my life, not even in the icy waters of Laketown. In November, it began to snow, big fat snowflakes falling in great curtains and painting everything white. At first it was amusing; children building snow forts and having snow fights everywhere and the like. But months passed and still snow poured down from the skies, hindering the trade routes and turning our farms into useless barns. Our food stocks were running low and we all thought we were going to die of either hunger or cold and that it couldn't get any worse; but then, the great white wolves came.

"One day, they crossed the frozen Brandywine River. Huge, fearsome things which were just as famished as we were, but unlike us they would not settle for carrots and potatoes. When we heard the Horn-call of Buckland, we didn't know what to expect, as it had never been sounded before. We only knew that a threat was heading our way but we didn't know what, or where. Many ran back home to take shelter but a good deal of hobbits waved it off as a childish prank, as the Horn was only to be used as a signal of extreme emergency, the kind that never happened in the Shire. Those were the first to die, soon to be followed by many others."

A small shiver rolled down Bilbo's spine as he remembered the howls at night, blood-freezing sounds that had him running to his parents' bed at the age of twenty-one. The memory of the wild wolves' growls and pants had almost begun to fade in his mind but all it took was a small conversation and he could see them again; feral, massive beasts the three of them, stationed right under his bedroom window. They had stayed there for days, only wandering away for a few hours to grab a bite to eat, so to speak.

But always they had returned, darkening his days, haunting his nights. Once in a while they would turn one blood-soaked muzzle in the direction of the window just as Bilbo was observing them. His dreams that night would be filled with sharp fangs and reddish drool, and in the morning he would convince his father to push another table against the door, just in case.

"That's a much better story than when Balin's the one telling it," Kíli commented.

This earned him a scowl from his older brother who was, apparently, still fuming from earlier. "They were lessons, you idiot, not bedtime stories to keep you entertained. Balin's duty was to educate your sorry ass and teach you everything a dwarven prince should know, it's sad to think that all he did was waste his time."

Kíli visibly bristled, his fingers squeezing his cup so hard he could have shattered it. Before Bilbo could call the dispute off once more, the young dwarf sprang to his feet, knocking his chair a few feet behind him. "And what does it matter, whether I listen or not? Nobody gives a goblin's ass about what I do or don't! Everyone knows I'm just a spare heir anyway and I'm sick of you belittling me as though anything I do actually matters!"

Fíli's eyes, wide and bewildered, were staring at his brother in mute incomprehension. This was getting out of hand. "Kíli, it's not-"

"Don't! Don't try to deny it. Haven't you noticed how Uncle kept allowing me to scout around on the journey but always had you stick close to his side?" Again, Fíli's protest was cut short by a rude hand gesture from his brother. "I know I'm of little importance, that it will be you on the throne one day and that you're the one Uncle's putting all of his efforts in. That's fine by me, I've accepted it. But don't insult me by pretending that I'm worth more than a backup stash of royal blood to be used in case you go and get yourself killed!"

By the end of his tirade the young dwarf was positively seething, his fingertips white from his deadly grip on the table. Before anyone could speak and with one last scorching glare to make Thorin proud, Kíli whirled around and stormed out of the kitchen. His heavy steps echoed in the parlor for a while before the tell-tale creak of the front door opening was heard, quickly followed by the loud sound of that same door slamming close.

"How… what has just happened?" Bilbo whispered, almost afraid to rupture the thick veil of silence that had settled over the kitchen.

It was a relief to find that Fíli looked at least as flabbergasted as Bilbo felt. "I don't know, I… I never thought he felt that way," the young prince mumbled, gazing at the doorway his sibling had disappeared through.

For all he exhibited carelessness and playfulness all the time, Kíli was far from stupid, Bilbo mused. He must have known from a very young age that his contribution to the Line of Durin would be limited and probably would not go beyond having his name sewn on a few tapestries in Erebor. Second in line to the throne, he knew that any child Fíli may have would have an even greater right to rule than he would in a lifetime, even though he had fought and bled and almost died to reclaim the Mountain they now called home.

Those ponderings were very unfamiliar to Bilbo, yet he felt like he could understand the young dwarf.

The hobbit was about to speak and reassure Fíli, whose shoulders were looking far too tense with worry for Bilbo's gentle heart, when the now unsurprising sound of knocking echoed down the entrance hall.

"Oh bother!" Bilbo growled, setting down his untouched tea cup on the table firmly. "This one's mine, when I'm done with her she'll wish she was chosen to face a live dragon!"

A chorus of muffled chuckles accompanied Bilbo as he rose to his feet and marched to the door. Honestly, he hadn't thought even the most persistent of hobbits would defile the sacred meal that was tea time! Oh, this lass' ears would be full by the time he was done explaining just how silly he found her behavior to be, whoever she was.

Deciding she needed a fair warning, Bilbo grabbed the doorknob and spoke loudly. "Yes, Thorin is here, no you can't see him! I think I've covered everything you needed to know! Now, if you're still here when I open this door, let me tell you, you're in for a-"

The words died in his throat when he finally yanked the door open and revealed who was standing on the other side.

There was a thing or two to be said about the Baggins family and its members' ability to get all flustered at the most trivial things. However, the look of shock on Drogo's face was completely uncalled for, even though Bilbo's shouting had been quite fierce. While his wife Primula didn't look as gobsmacked as her husband, there was something akin to uneasiness in the way she shifted from side to side, favoring this leg or that as she balanced a peeved Frodo's weight on her hip.

"-surprise?" Bilbo finished in a whisper, breaking the spell around them as he shook his head. "Ah, I'm… I'm sorry, I thought it was somebody else at the door. We've been getting a few… unwanted visitors, this afternoon."

Both of his cousins visibly relaxed. "We wouldn't want to intrude," Drogo began.

"Nonsense, nonsense." Bilbo stepped aside to let them through. "Come in. There's tea in the kitchen, you can join us if you'd like. When I left there were two or three helpings left but I can dish up more if those gluttons already wolfed them down."

"Are Fíli and Kíli there?" Frodo asked hopefully as his mother set him down on the floor of the entrance hall.

Bilbo couldn't help but smile fondly as he closed the door. "Fíli is in the kitchen, yes, but Kíli went for a little stroll. He'll return soon, though, I think," he added when Frodo's face fell a little.

The boy's face brightened a bit and he gave a little nod. Before he could scamper off, however, his father's voice stopped him.

"Don't you have something to give to your uncle, Frodo?" Drogo asked, not unkindly but with one raised eyebrow.

The fauntling's smile wavered and when he turned to Bilbo, he almost looked apologetic. "I… I went back where Mister Thorin was attacked last night," he admitted quietly, "because this morning Mister Glóin said that Mister Thorin had lost something there."

Frodo fished around in his little pocket, his nose scrunched up in concentration. When he finally retrieved his tiny fist, he turned it up and revealed its content to Bilbo whose eyes widened a bit in surprise.

There, nestled in the cradle of Frodo's outstretched palm, Thorin's ear clasp shone dully in the late afternoon sun.

It had been torn from the King's ear in the scuffle, doubtlessly caught by the edge of a nasty fang or a vicious claw, leaving the shell almost cleaved in half. Bilbo had not thought about it much, Thorin's health sitting so firmly at the forefront of his mind, and when he had spared a moment to give it a thought he had believed it lost or, worse yet, swimming in warg stomach fluids.

But no, here it was, spotless and whole if not a bit worn by the years. Even the runes and round patterns carved down its length were free of dirt and dried blood, surprisingly.

"It was almost buried, someone must have walked on it," Frodo muttered, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as though he couldn't decide if he ought to feel more sheepish – he had after all gone back to where a warg had been sighted – or proud that he had managed to recover the lost trinket.

Bilbo smiled at the boy's uneasiness. He then noticed that Frodo was still holding the ear clasp out for the older hobbit to take. For a moment Bilbo considered picking it up and slipping it into his pocket; but when he reached out he carefully curled Frodo's fingers around the piece of metal instead.

"I think Thorin will be very grateful, Frodo. I'll take you to his side when I wake him for his tea, how does that sound?"

The fauntling briefly looked surprised but soon he smiled, pocketed the clasp and sauntered over in the direction of the kitchen. A chorus of gruff laughter and deep baritone chuckles vouched for the lad's safe arrival in said room.

Bilbo shook his head with a small smile. "They are all very fond of Frodo, those lumps, almost as much as he is fond of them."

He watched as Drogo and Primula exchanged a knowing gaze; no doubt his cousins had heard all about the dwarves and the silly antics they got up to with the kids.

"Yes, there's no mistake about it," Drogo nodded. When Bilbo made to turn away and join everyone in the kitchen, his Baggins cousin stopped him. "Before a much-appreciated tea, there's something we would like to ask you."

"Oh?" Bilbo diligently turned back around, his curiosity tickled. "All right, what is it then?"

"Before we tell you, please, do not feel obligated to say yes," Primula said, concern plain in her blue eyes.

"We have to leave for a few days for Buckland," Drogo began, obviously a bit nervous about whatever request he was about to make. "We… my father is not dealing with my mother's death very well, we may have to spend the remainder of the summer here. But we need a few things from home and to let Prim's family know where we are. I don't want to leave my father for too long so we have to travel quickly and… well, if you would be willing, we would like to leave Frodo under your care while we're away."

The request took Bilbo off guard and he gazed at his cousins in mute surprise for a few heartbeats.

"It would only be for two days, three at most in case of bad weather," Drogo pursued, probably mistaking Bilbo's silence for reluctance. "I originally thought about asking Hamfast and Bell, since Sam is a good friend of Frodo's, but they already have so many children on their hands and with the next little one on the way…"

"There's nobody we trust more than you when it comes to our son, Bilbo," Primula said softly, and if Bilbo's mind wasn't already made up, her kind words and gentle eyes would have done him in.

"Of course, we'll all be delighted to have him for a few days," Bilbo smiled. "Fíli and Kíli especially, I suspect. So, is there anything I should be warned about? Banned food, run away tendencies?"

Drogo laughed quietly, visibly relieved that Bilbo had agreed to watch over his son. "None of that, though the boy tends to wander if left unattended for too long and has a fondness for playing hide-and-seek but often 'forgets' to inform you that the game is on." The younger hobbit wriggled a bit and Bilbo wondered for a second if his cousins' feet were itching, before he saw the rucksack slide off Drogo's back. "Here are a few clothes. You may think there's a lot of it but believe me, that lad can find ways to come home drenched in mud easier than Lobelia manages to spread fake rumors. I also put a few of his toys in here, though with so many dwarves to play with I doubt he'll need them."

"Indeed," Bilbo agreed with a chuckle. It was nice to see how his cousin had warmed to the company these last few days; it was such a far cry from the speechless and nervous Baggins that couldn't stand in the same room as Dwalin without getting the sudden urge to flee. "Who needs rag dolls when you can have life-sized, bearded ones?"

"Still, don't hesitate to punish him if he misbehaves," Primula instructed, a stern frown not quite managing to break out on her gentle features. "He's getting at that age when they try to test the limits and see how far they can go before they get scolded. He's got a bit of a potty mouth these days, I suspect his little friends are to blame but don't let him get away with it all the same."

More like threaten to wash Dwalin's mouth with soap at the first curse word. Duly noted.

"I'll keep an ear out," Bilbo promised, "but frankly, I'm not worried. So far I could only see how you raised him to be a proper gentlehobbit. And anyway, you say you'll only be gone for a couple of days?"

"Across the Brandywine and back, no longer than that."

"Well then," Bilbo grinned, accepting the rucksack from Drogo and swinging it over his own shoulder. "What's the worst that could possibly happen?"