AN: I don't own any of The Hobbit characters, I am just taking them out of Tolkien's toy box and playing with them.

No beta for this chapter. Any mistakes are my own. Hopefully will have her back for the next one.

Listening to a bit of RUN-DMC :D. Am on holiday for a week, and my plot bunnies have returned home, so I am in a very good mood.

I am using the Scottish form of Gaelic for the language of the Shire. I hope this doesn't offend anyone and that I can do such a beautiful language justice.

Warning: Mentions of Bilbo's religion.

punky warhammer: Ah a wool wearer. Did I make any sense? You are welcome, I do like filling people's heads with random and useless factoids. I don't think you lost me, I probably was just being really poor with updating (like I have been recently) so I do apologise for that, however if you did loose me welcome back.

Nelsanna: Thank you for taking the time to leave me a review and I am glad you enjoyed the chapter.

LovesDragons: My plot bunnies all ran away from me and it has been so long since I wrote for this story I have completely forgotten what point I made about Nori. The distraction won't happen for a while yet (I am assuming you mean the one Dori mentions), but so am I, vengeful hobbit protecting his kits is not to be trifled with. Yes I thought it was time to let you all know something of Thorin's past, people were beginning to love to hate the poor dear. Yes I suppose they can, after all there are different types of love, however I can swear she was not his One. Yes, he did, and yes he is a poor hobbit. I will promise you their reactions (and if I can't get it to work in the story I will add it after as an OMAKE or write a one shot in Worth for it).

ladyalaniel: Thank you for your comments. I am glad you can see the parallels, most of the older generation in my family were either soldiers in WWII or children and yes I am aware it can be uncomfortable to understand why they are how they are, but that is not why I wrote the story. I do have a couple of the recipes in another story, but not many of them I must admit, I have been remiss in my duties. Does England count as another continent? Thank you, if I could I would cook for my readers, as it is I will just torment you with discriptions of food. The Khudzul is a combination of a Tolkien dictionary and (this I am ashamed to admit) several other sources, he really didn't do much with Khudzul for me to work with.

Chapter Fifty Four – Forever Young.

Grandmother Baggins had many names and many faces, even within her closest family circle. This Bilbo had always known, and yet the day he had hidden in her library, after carefully sneaking away from several maiden aunts, had driven home to him just how unique his màthair athar was. Despite having only recently learnt his letters Bilbo knew that the parchment that had fluttered to the floor in front of him was not common knowledge in the Shire. He was so distracted by the story of what had happened many years ago that he failed to hear the library door open and so jumped wildly, upsetting yet more parchment when his grandmother crawled under the desk with him. From that day forward he had been inseparable from his seanmhair.

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Bilbo refused to tell any of his Dwarrow just what Thorin had disclosed to him. He knew the leader still had misgivings about him being anywhere near his people and so he would treat anything the dwarf told his as being in the strictest of confidences. He had first ventured to Óin for a balm to ease the stick of the cuts from the rose thorns and then ended up sticking near the old healer since no questions had been asked. Dwalin had accepted his silence in good form, but the boys were worried about their uncle and he had been unable to shake the attention from the two until Thorin had finally returned and drawn the two off.

Hours later Bilbo looked up from his discussion of healing herbs with Óin to find the three Durins still absent, but the rest of the Company asleep in various positions around the room. Taking note of the late hour the two exchanged humorous looks and Óin apologised, but left claiming the need to sleep.

Instead of taking offence or heading to his own rooms, Bilbo smiled serenely and set about making sure his Dwarrows would be comfortable when they awoke. Thanks to his quick friendship with the ladies of Rivendell the terrace had gained several more blankets and these he tucked carefully around their sleeping forms. Satisfied they would remain asleep Bilbo slipped into his room and from the mess of his belongings withdrew a small leather bag, tied tightly at the neck.

The moon was bright above him as he slipped into the gardens of Rivendell and along the silent and unoccupied paths of the valley. There was an area to the edges of the elven wards, were the river split into two, which would be perfect for his purpose. On silent feet he made the distance in little time. When he arrived a quick search told him the area was clear of anyone who could witness what he was about to do. Mentally he was berating himself for not having made the offerings to the Valar while in the Shire, but then his home had been filled with Dwarrow and had he done so out of season then his neighbours would have asked awkward questions.

Stripping down to his britches rapidly Bilbo carefully opened the leather bag, sighing in relief when everything in it had remained intact.

In the fine sand of the river shore he drew a circle of runes using a bronze blade, in the centre of this circle he placed a carved clear stone and white candle on a flat rock he had found. The rock glowed with the colours of the rainbow where the candle light hit it. As he had no herbs to burn or food to offer Bilbo used his own body in a ritual his Càirneach had taught him was only for prayers of the most importance.

The tiger's eye at his throat glowed under the moonlight as Bilbo offered a prayer of reverence to the Valar. The river water seemed to sparkle as the temperature dropped.

"Cluinn tha impidh Ban-dia Màthair. Cluinn tha impidh Dia an t-Athair." He drew the rune of Yvanna onto his right hand with ink, before shakily doing the same with the unfamiliar rune of Mahal onto his left.

"Beannaich ur n-clann an thaobh às na dachaigh. Thoir dhachaigh sinn." He dropped to his knees and pressed the bronze blade to the Mahal's rune.

"Cobhair orm dìon daoine a tha lag so-leònta! Cobhair orm dìon mo teaghlach!" A drop of blood dropped to the sand at his knees and Bilbo switched the blade to the symbol of Yvanna.

Raising his eyes Bilbo allowed tears to form as he though on everything he had learnt of his Dwarrow's past up until this point. "Ban-dia Yvanna cobhair orm! Chan is air feum iùl."

The flame on the candle flickered, went out, while the clear stone glowed with an internal light, seeming to have absorbed the candle light. The second drop of Bilbo's blood hit the sand at his knees and he focused on his dwarrows. Found himself unable to speak as tears rolled down his cheeks as he remembered. The scaring on Nori's skin, the terror in Kìli's brown eyes, the lost tone of Fìli's voice, Bofur's tears, Ori's terror at Bag End, Dwalin's explanations, Thorin's admittance, Bifur's promises, Dori's helplessness, Bombur's thanks.

He felt his own anger well as he offered prayers to the father that had deserted his own Clann. The children he had defied his the great father to create. He felt his own thanks flood threw him at Yvanna's aid, even in the darkest of times. The sadness she had shown when the remaining Càirneach had returned to the groves to offer the prayers for the dead.

Focusing on the images flooding through his mind he slowed the torrent to a trickle and offered the bonded pair he prayed to how he felt towards his Dwarrow.

He showed them Kìli's skill with a bow, the mischievous light in the brown eyes. He brought up the memory of being asked if he could be called uncle. The blushes on young cheeks, the laughter at Bag End, the seriousness occasionally shown when the situation needed him to be mature.

He showed them Fìli's determination to learn to carve, the humour in bright blue eyes. The pride at being able to win a match against Dwalin. The protectiveness of everyone he deemed family. How the king shone through his young demeanour, blinding everyone in rare moments.

He focused on sending Mahal the images he had of young Ori. The passion at learning new things, the joy he'd had at learning to cook and the skill he possessed at doing so. The kind face becoming more so when he smiled that smile of his. How the dwarf had claimed him as family. The dry sarcasm the young dwarf possessed.

Yvanna he showed images of Bombur. Of the rotund dwarf's love of food, and abilities in the kitchen. The kind demeanour with a core of steel. The love he had for his family, how he was teaching himself to read and write in the common tongue so he could send them a letter.

He showed them both Nori's wicked smile, and the kindness he kept well hidden. He showed them how a dwarf was fond of a hobbit, shedding a tear at her death. He showed them both the skill with the blade, and the love of books. The tenderness in green eyes when they gazed on Bifur, Ori or Dori.

He showed them Bofur's skill at creating something out of a simple block of wood, the miner's cheery smile and the warmth sparkling in brown eyes. He showed them the dwarf's love of music, his devotion to Fìli before he had figured out they were One. He recalled the passionate speech given about how he perceived the blonde prince.

He fought to push his anger down again as he showed them how he saw Bifur. The knarled hands easily creating beauty from a block of wood. The dwarf's harsh, but beautiful laughter bubbling as he crossed weapons with Nori. The kind eyes and the hug he had bestowed upon simply being included in a song. The promise of protection and the joy at finding out Bilbo understood him. He sent Yvanna the images of the dwarf merrily eating flowers, and Mahal was shown the skill in which he wielded the boar spear.

He showed them Dori's pride and love for his brothers. How the delicateness in which he drank or discussed tea, contrasted in the strength he showed time and again. How he could go from knitting a beautiful scarf or jumper to a verbal spar with anyone. He showed them the protectiveness and love that simply radiated from this dwarf, how his treasure wasn't gold or gems, but good food, a warm hearth and his family safe.

He found himself smiling as he thought of Balin. The grandfatherly twinkle in shrewd eyes. The strength hidden behind the softest of red velvet. The lack of braid, but proper pride in appearance. The gentleness tinged with humour as he spun a tale for young Estel and the elven twins. The political mind, the love of games and how the dwarf was both a graceful winner and loser. He showed them Balin standing back to back with his oldest nephew, both with twin swords in hand as they faced down a trio of trolls.

Gloin came next and despite Bilbo not knowing this dwarf as well as the rest of his dwarrows he found himself showing the two Valar the fierce love of family. The educated mind and confusing manners. The wide grin the dwarf would bestow on anyone or anything that pleased him. The simple pleasure Gloin found in taking a nap in warm sun light, or the fatherly pride he looked upon most of the Company with by the time they had reached Rivendell.

He showed them Oìn's knowledge of healing, of herb lore. How despite his hearing loss the white haired dwarf had a wicked sense of humour. How the rest of his senses were sharpened. He recalled the gentle conversation only hours before, and the softness in which callused hands had treated his rose damaged fingers. He recalled an image of a fierce warrior protecting his younger brother, spinning to take a hit meant for the youngest prince, before physically removing the youngest Ri from harm's way.

Thorin was harder for him, but he still called the dwarf family despite his prickly exterior and it chaffed that the story Thorin had told him was merely a small portion of the ill suffered by the dwarf. He mentally ask Yvanna for patience as he threw images at Mahal, the blood dripping from his clenched left hand. He showed the Valar Thorin's smile at his nephews, the pride that shone behind blue eyes as the Company grew. He showed him the protectiveness of his people, the willingness to die to protect them. He showed the skill with weapons both elvish and Dwarrow made. The political skill and sharp mind as he exchanged quips with Gandalf and Elrond. He showed the friendship struck up with the elven twins. The love of baking, the flush on bearded cheeks and the humour that changed the harsh lines of his face.

Finally Bilbo called up images of Dwalin, offering apologies to Yvanna for his temper he allowed them both to see the dwarf he had fallen in love with. He showed them the first time he had laid eyes of the warrior, the joy in grey eyes at the idea of a bath, the image of braids being formed in front of him. The two of them just relaxing in Dwalin's room, the dwarf humming a hauntingly beautiful tune, the laughter as they rambled around the Shire, the dwarf haggling for vegetables. He showed them the skill his dwarf had with his weapons and how those weapon hardened hands could be gentle when soothing a skittish pony. He showed them the childish glee at finding out what was in the chest locked away at Bag End. He showed them the protective dwarf, the gentle dwarf, the warrior, the brother, the friend, the uncle and the lover.

When he had finished the blood had dried on his palms and the only light around him was from the clear rock in the rune circle. The moon was close to setting, but the sun had not yet risen, the trees surrounding him taking away the natural light. Silence filled the air until the trees shifted without breeze and the ground shook ever so slightly.

Bilbo kept his eyes focused on the stone glowing softly as he sensed someone walking behind him. "Bilbo Baggins." The voice was deep, like grinding rocks wrapped with velvet. He could smell molten ore and the sharp tang of limestone and chalk.

A tremor ran through him. He had been warned that this ritual was only for pleas of the most importance, he hadn't been warned why, not being high enough on the Càirneach roll before he had been forced to take on other duties.

"Leave him be husband." Bilbo drew in a sharp breath, the voice was distinctly feminine, yet the power in it was that of the storm, of the ancient oak trees in his home land. He could smell a floral scent, yet it was tempered by the scent of deep woodland and rain on a summer evening.

He finally found his voice, "Mo Morair! Mo Leadaidh!" He began, still remaining as still as he could.

"My little one." A gentle touch on his shoulder, as if he had walked under the boughs of a weeping willow.

"Such strength for one who is not of my making." A firmer touch, which left his skin feeling as if he had been in the sun's warmth.

Bilbo swallowed as the more feminine presence stepped back leaving him with the presence of Mahal. Before he could speak the rumbling voice was filling the air.

"You feel deeply for my children small one." A statement not a question and so Bilbo stayed quiet. "You would call on us for aid. You would show me your anger at my treatment of them."

Bilbo found he suddenly didn't care if he was in the presence of one of the Valar and pushed to his feet. "I bleed freely for them Mo Morair! I would kill for them!" There was a feminine gasp of shock that he was hard pushed to ignore.

Bilbo raised his eyes and found himself peering at what appeared to be a very old dwarf. The power rolling in eyes that forever changed colour made him aware it wasn't. He found his courage as he thought of his dwarrows.

"Yes I would show my anger. You abandoned them. Our mother never once left us, even in our darkest hour we could feel her fighting for us. You made them and you abandoned them. You left them to find darkness again and again. You let them be forced from their homes, not once, but twice. You have let the young be abused, hunger, feel hated and despised simply because they are your children. Yet they have never once turned their backs to you. Have they ever once cursed you? Felt anger at you? It was the mother of my race who saved one of yours from death. One who had done no wrong in his life. And you have the nerve to think I wouldn't show you my anger!"

Silence fell over them, yet Bilbo didn't have time to feel afraid as his eyes landed on the radiant smile of Yvanna. "It is not so strange that out children would start to care for each other husband. Young Bilbo has a point."

Bilbo swallowed as her ever changing eyes landed on him. "It was the honesty in his heart that brought us here after all. Yet I doubt he truly needs our aid. Husband?"

"You speak the truth my love." Mahal's form suddenly shifted and Bilbo found him looking up at a handsome humanoid. Easily standing at eight feet Mahal dwarfed him and yet he struck less fear into Bilbo's heart in this form. "Sleep now small one. You have called my eye to the harm done to my children and I will not let it befall them again."

Bilbo found his eyes become heavy even as Yvanna's hand closed around the rock, her bare feet scuffing through the runes he had drawn in the sand. "Thank you." He managed to mumble before his body hit the sand silently.

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Dawn crept across Rivendell, its pink tinged rays illuminating the tall forms of Gandalf and Elrond where they stood on a balcony. The Istari had retreated to Elrond's quarters after seeing Thorin faint and Bilbo handle the situation. They had been drinking an age old wine when a blast of power had them surging to their feet to freeze on the balcony. The power was benign and yet was no mere maiar to feel it in Rivendell froze the marrow of their very bones, and yet started their blood pumping more fiercely.

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Thorin raised his head from where it hung on his chest. His fingers were curled in the hair of his nephews and his eyes remained closed. A smile twisted his lips as he finally placed the feeling. "Boys."

They shot awake instantly, their own eyes peering in the darkness as they reached for their weapons. Thorin chuckled low and long.

"Wait." He commanded. "Just feel."

They settled back against him, feet of all three dangling over the rock edging the waterfall. The air smelt of the forges in Erebor, the air momentarily rang with the sound of hammer and anvil. A strong breeze shifted this away and they found themselves inhaling the smell of rich loamy soil and the sounds of idyllic country life.

When Thorin finally opened his eyes the sun was almost risen and his boys seemed to glow. Brown and blue eyes looked at him and he nodded slowly. "I have been a fool. Apparently you have been right all along about our burglar."

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Bilbo awoke to the sound of whispering, a pounding head and pain in the palms of his hands. The whispering stopped as he sat up slowly. He found himself by the river shore, leather pouch carefully hung from his neck and his clothes still folded neatly. The blood was flaking on his palms and there was no sign of the runic circle he had drawn. If he ever made it back to the Shire he was going to be having strict words with the Càirneach. Groaning he pushed to his feet, wondering how he was going to explain the symbols of Mahal and Yvanna that were neatly carved into his palms to Oìn. A thought hit him. How was he going to explain them to any of the Company? To Dwalin?

AN:

Translations (Scottish Gaelic to English):

màthair athar – paternal grandmother.

Seanmhair – grandma.

Càirneach – Druid/priest.

Cluinn tha impidh Ban-dia Màthair– Hear/Harken my entreaty/prayer mother-goddess.

Cluinn tha impidh Dia an t-Athair – Hear/Harken my entreaty/prayer father-god.

Beanaich ur n-clann an thaobh às na dachaigh– Bless your children in their pursuance of their home.

Thoir dhachaigh sinn – Bring us home.

Cobhair orm dìon daoine a tha lag so-leònta – help me protect the weak and vulnerable.

Cobhair orm dìon mo teaghlach – help me protect my family.

Ban-dia Yvanna cobhair orm– Goddess Yvanna help me.

Chan is aim feum iùl – I am in need of guidance.

Clann – children.

Mo Morair! Mo Leadaidh! – My Lord! My Lady!