The halflings were still asleep past the break of dawn, and Bombur was glad for it. It was not so long ago his own children had been Frodo's age- or at least in that stage of life. Misfortune fell on the young and the old but it was never easier to witness. The fact that Frodo and his Uncle had come through mostly unscathed was no small relief.

They had been an active but disorganized bunch the night before. Bombur had feared the worst finding the elder Baggins soaked to the bone and unresponsive. But Halflings were hardier than they looked. No doubt sunshine and a hot meal would restore their spirits. He hesitated to call them a simple people, for no people were, but Halflings shared such different concerns. No doubt Bilbo Baggins would be worried over a lost set of spoons or the ruin of their picnic blanket. It was a blessing of the Shire not to have to worry about such things. Bombur tried not to begrudge them for it.

Bofur gave him half a grin from across the fire. His brother had kept it low but going during their watch for the halflings' sakes. This sort of behavior was nothing new. Bofur doted on his nieces and nephews as well as just about any other child in sight. None would know it by looking at him. In fact, most in Ered Luin thought of him as a much less concerned and more carefree character than the one turning a stuffed toy over and over to dry.

"He won't hardly notice." Bombur murmured at last. "At his age, it is bright and familiar. Not much else matters."

His brother's eyebrows went up and he looked to the stuffed lizard. It seemed he hadn't realized he'd been messing with it at all. "You're probably right, being the resident expert on children... and their origins."

Bombur tried to shoot him a dark look but couldn't stop himself from laughing. Irrepressible Bofur! If Dwalin didn't end up killing him one of the others might, whoever they ended up being. He supposed there would be many a moment on the road where a laugh or a song would do them wonders. His brother had a knack for that too.

"Only because my brother never stopped being one." Wordplay was not his strong suit but being related to Bofur provided enough opportunities to hone the skill. "But I suppose Halfling children aren't so different… Perhaps they eat more?"

Bofur eyed the stew they had been warming for when the rest awoke. Hot tea would have been ideal to ward off the chill of the water, but they'd made due with what they had.

"Ah well… Maybe they'll reward us with a feast when we return them to their kin. Bif and I went to a dinner in… in Needlehole I think it was, where they had pies as big as bucklers. They pride their recipes as we do our crafts and moulds, or so I'm told. The lass I spoke to may have been under the impression that we bake our axes like bread, and I suppose she's not completely wrong…" Bofur trailed off as if in thought but there was a twinkle in his eye.

"We all know that, gravel-head." Bombur reached over and stirred the stew pot once. "It's like saying the Elves love trees and the Men... love bonfires."

Bofur gave him a skeptical look. "Bonfires, brother? That's what you'd have the Men be known for? Not their love of politics or shoddy stonemasonry-"

"Tell me they don't love a good fire." Bombur gestured with the spoon defensively. "I have never met a Man who could resist throwing something into the cookfire, or one that ever gathered kindling in moderation. Why, when we met that caravan from Emyn Uial-"

"If you're bickering it must be dawn." Dwalin growled from somewhere near the ponies. After Bilbo's escape the night before, he'd been quick to sleep near the mounts less the halfling try running again. Bombur would never let it be said Dwarves were the only race mistrustful of outsiders. And if Dwalin was up, they would all be up. Bombur turned to find Bifur stretching and blinking at the sunrise.

Bofur seemed to be trying to think of a rebuttal, or something to say to get on Dwalin's nerves. Bombur knew the look. His brother outwardly pondered the landscape, but his hands were quick to turn over Frodo's toy again. Never idle in tameness, always active in mischief. Luckily Dwalin seemed to sense trouble and gave them both appraising looks as he stepped up to the fire. After a rather long moment of this, he spoke.

"You three know aught of Halflings?"

Bofur and Bombur exchanged a surprised look.

"Aye, a thing or two." Bofur chose to respond. "You mean like how much they eat or what sorts of things they get up to in the Shire?"

From Bobmur's perspective, Dwalin didn't seem impressed but his focus was too steady to be diverted by wise-cracks. "That," the warrior started, "and how one could leave our camp without any of us noticing."

Bombur was sure he and his brother were wearing the same gobsmacked expression now. He hadn't thought about it, but there hadn't been any sign of trouble before Bilbo Baggins took a tumble into the Baranduin and young Frodo started screaming. A splash and some yells, that's what had alerted them. Odder still was the fact that Frodo had been sleeping between them and the dying fire. How his uncle had managed to sneak past the both of them, take Frodo, and then leave without any of the four of them seeing was a mystery.

"You and Bifur er- that is to say, he was too quick for the pair of you too?" For once, Bofur seemed to think before bringing down Dwalin's wrath with his words. Bombur thought highly of his cousin, but it wasn't impossible for something to sneak by him. Dwalin on the other hand was more of an unknown, but his skill in any discipline shouldn't be disputed without sufficient cause as a matter of pride.

Luckily again Dwalin saw Bofur's meaning. "Neither of us saw him. Or heard him. He could've killed the both of you and made off with the lad and we wouldn't have known. Not that I think he could've pulled it off, little thing he is. Him falling down the bank probably saved his life."

True enough. Bombur didn't think Bilbo Baggins was in any shape to travel on foot, at least not by himself. He might've made it a little farther with Frodo, but if some misadventure had befallen them… They'd all pretended not to see how black and blue the older halfling was. The bandages spoke of something prior to the boat incident. In light of that, it seemed little wonder he would run from perceived danger in any form.

"He walked like that trick of going unseen has served him well in the past." Dwalin continued. "Had he not been hurt already, he'd have got away clean."

Whatever Dwalin may think of his companions, Bombur knew they were far from careless. The roads weren't without peril, and none who lived in Ered Luin were truly isolated from danger. They had two veterans of war on the watch. Bombur had children of his own, and knew well the sounds of quiet feet in the night. Yet none of them had so much as sensed something amiss.

Dwalin shocked them all by speaking again. "I think Thorin should like to meet him."

Three heads whipped around to stare at the warrior. Surely the halfling wasn't that remarkable? Maybe they should be introduced as an explanation if they were delayed but… Thorin Oakenshield was not known as one who suffered fools. This Bilbo Baggins- Bombur wouldn't call him a fool, but in the eyes of the king of an exiled people suffering hardships on a grand scale… Thorin Oakenshield wouldn't 'like' to meet much of anything beside the dragon-cleansed halls of Erebor.

Bofur wore a highly skeptical look and seemed about to tell Dwalin what they were all thinking. Then the subject of their conversation sat upright. Bilbo Baggins had once again woken without a sound.

"Good morning." The halfling's tired smile looked forced. "Very kind of you to let me sleep in, very kind. Have you all had breakfast? I should- I should like to lend a hand in making it if that's not imposing… What I mean is you have all been too kind to us and, by your leave, I should like to assist you some way in turn. If that… doesn't make more trouble for you."

Four dwarves blinked back at him in astonishment. Bilbo Baggins squirmed under observation and his eyes flitted around until they honed in on the stew pot.

"Oh! Oh you have been up for some time I see. Well. Perhaps… Perhaps I could fetch the picnic plates, so there would be no need for you to get out your dishes-"

"The boat," Bofur interrupted gently, "sailed further on in the night, Master Baggins. I went to see about it this morning. I'm sorry. But we have plenty of bowls for the lot of us."

It looked as if this might be the blow that crushed the halfling's spirit once and for all, but he rallied behind the mask of forced cheerfulness.

"That- that's quite alright. Not… really our boat anyhow. And please, none of this 'Master Baggins' business. You have been so generous as to give me your names, please be free to have mine as well." Conscious of the eyes on him once more, he moved his hand to Frodo's shoulder. "Come along, dear one, it's time for breakfast."

Bombur watched the young halfling carefully. One of his own sons had seen far too much grief in the wilds before joining their family, and he hated to see any child burdened so. As of yet Frodo seemed to be handling things very well. For good or for ill, his Uncle was keeping him distracted.

"It's just like on a walking holiday, my boy." Bilbo helped Frodo into his dry clothes. "Sleeping under the stars, traveling light, and you'll get to meet those beautiful ponies I'm sure."

The lad remained silent but looked toward the campfire expectantly. Bombur watched as he plucked up the courage to walk over to Bofur and the stuffed toy. Frodo took up his lizard and sat cross-legged by the fire while Bilbo took a moment to collect himself. The older halfling was a puzzling mix of readable and surprising. It was plain he was in distress over the incident, but his behavior was not what Bombur had expected. The small folk tended to be skittish and as mistrusting as Dwarves, yet Bilbo Baggins behaved as if he was a guest in the halls of lords.

Dressed now and carrying himself in a oddly businesslike manner, Bilbo joined the campfire circle. "I would like to extend my thanks once again for your timely rescue, Master Dwarves." He was all niceties and dignity, which may have been an effort on his part to regain a semblance of control over the situation. Bombur decided to keep watch.

"You are most welcome, Bilbo." Bofur said congenially. "The Shirefolk have done us many a good turn in the past, but we would have stopped for any troubled traveler."

Dwalin looked as if he was about to say otherwise, but Bilbo carried on. "Of course, of course! I meant no disrespect, certainly not. You have been uncommonly kind to us… Only… I wished to inquire on your destination and- and whether or not we would be… imposing by joining you for part of the way?"

There was the source of the nerves at last. Bombur could see the panic under the practical demeanor. It was as much of a show for Bilbo as it was for his nephew. Frodo had seemed to sense a boring discussion in his uncle's tone and decided instead to stare at Bifur while he whittled down a broken spoon. It was obvious the well-mannered halfling was used to some sort of negotiating, though probably not for these stakes.

"We're going to Bree." Dwalin jumped in before the rest of them could say anything. Bofur looked as if he'd been about to assure Bilbo he wasn't a burden again and was surprised to have been interrupted. Dwalin continued without noticing. "The rest of our traveling companions will be there. If you decide to return to Buckland, it would be easier to arrange travel from there than trying to pick through that forest."

Bombur knew the one he meant. He'd only been to this area of the Shire once before, and all the halflings had tavern tales of the Old Forest. They didn't much like going in there if any of the rumors were to be believed. It seemed more of an elvish type of intrigue than any of his companions had been interested in hearing, so they moved the subject along to woodworking and then back around to the trading network as it stood.

For his part, Bilbo considered the offer. He glanced to the north east where the Old Forest likely stood, then back to the rest of them. "I... " his eyes flicked to Frodo, "I think that may be for the best. We don't… I don't know the situation as it stands in Buckland. What do you think, Frodo? Shall I finally whisk you away to visit Bree at last?"

Bilbo had managed to erase most of the concern from his voice as he asked. For the lad's part, Frodo pondered this in a mimicked and thoughtful posture.

"Will we get to see the Elves, Uncle Bilbo?" That had a few eyebrows jumping and looks were exchanged across the cookfire.

Bilbo laughed. "We very well might, my boy. There are many strange and wonderful things in the world, though hopefully we won't stray far enough to see too many of them! This is a walking holiday, my dear Frodo, and we are respectable Hobbits after all, and we aren't prone to wandering willy-nilly about the countryside, goodness no."

Frodo giggled at the pronouncement but puffed himself up. He began fussing with the front of his shirt and found a way to look down his nose at his Uncle. "We're proper Baggins-es of Buckland and Bag End. Absolutely no willy-nilly!"

For the first time since they'd met, Bombur saw a genuine smile on Bilbo Baggins' face. He looked used to smiling, used to ease and the pleasantries of home. While Bombur supposed all halflings must look like that to some extent, he wondered if this pair was particularly ill-suited for this kind of trouble. What Dwalin was thinking, suggesting they present these two before Thorin, he'd never guess.

"We're to have breakfast and move on. The leader of our Company is expecting us." Dwalin nodded to Bombur. His way of saying 'time to eat' that the rest of them had become familiar with. The warrior treated them as much like soldiers as he did partners in a quest. Perhaps even more so. It did lend to the nature of the errand that they be prepared for swift travel and swifter combat, but even so Bombur rather liked being able to take a meal at his own pace.

As he passed out bowls, he noticed that mischievous look was back on his brother's face. What that could mean, he couldn't possibly know. Only that it meant trouble for him. Or trouble for Dwalin…

"Best eat up, Frodo my lad," Bofur started, "or my brother here will steal away your stew." He wiggled his fingers and made all sorts of motions with his eyebrows for emphasis. Bombur already knew where this was going. While he may be perceived as the more respectable brother there were a few party tricks he simply couldn't resist.

Bofur started breaking off pieces of hardtack. "Look alive, Bom!"

His own children never got tired of the act. It had been a holdover from when they were younger, and traveling acts brought near as much coin as smithing. The brothers could juggle and balance and pull a little sleight of hand with the best of them. But when Bofur had discovered they could do a little show with a handful of blueberries in their own caravan, well, a family favorite act was born.

Bombur caught Bifur grinning as he proceeded to amaze their guests with his coordination and Bofur's aim. There wasn't just the pressure of getting told off for being wasteful if they missed. It was a matter of pride to catch every piece in his mouth without fail! With a flourish, Bofur tossed the last of the hardtack in a tall arc and Bombur caught it expertly. The brothers threw their fists into the air in triumph as their audience (except Dwalin) clapped. Frodo cheered especially loudly.

"Again! Again!" The lad was bouncing with excitement. "Please, Mr. Bombur, catch some more! Here, use my soup!"

The bowl sloshed dangerously and would have spilled if not for Bilbo's quick intervention. "Now now, Frodo my boy, you have to eat it. We don't have Second Breakfast in the wilds, so you'll have to make do with this one." It looked as if Bilbo wasn't altogether pleased with the performance, impressive as it was. Parents and guardians all over regarded that particular trick with skepticism. Then again, children were far messier than well-practised Dwarves.

"How many meals do you usually eat in a day?" Dwalin asked unexpectedly. Perhaps he wished to steer the attention away from further feats of athleticism. He had an odd look on his face, though. One Bombur wasn't sure about just yet.

Frodo raised his hands eagerly. "Six!"

His uncle smiled kindly. "One more than that, Frodo dear. It's seven."

"Nuh-uh! There's Breakfast," the faunt began listing, "Second Breakfast, 'Levensies, Luncheon, Tea, Dinner, and Supper!"

"Count on your fingers, Frodo."

Frodo scowled but dutifully made his list again with the aid of his hands. He reached the desired number and his face morphed in surprise. "It is seven, Uncle Bilbo! Where did it come from?"

"It was hidden in between the others, dear boy." Bilbo ruffled his nephew's hair gently. "Numbers can be tricky like that."

Bombur alternated between studying the pair and making silent communication with his brother. Dwalin was being awfully tolerant of the delay. Not, Bombur admitted, that he thought the warrior cold enough to ignore them. In his own way, Dwalin seemed to have a fondness for Frodo. The lad was adorable- likely even by Halfling standards. No, it was the peculiar looks being directed towards Bilbo Baggins that had him and Bofur exchanging eyebrows.

But Dwalin was unlikely to say and they weren't truly bothered enough to ask. Breakfast was a quick affair and Bilbo made sure to lend a hand in packing. They were traveling light for the time being. Dwalin had said something about resupplying in Bree, but as ever his details had been sparse at best.

"You'll be riding with me again, Ma-... er, Bilbo." Bofur grinned and nodded to his pony. Bilbo adopted a confused expression while Frodo cheered in delight.

"We get to ride the ponies again! Can I ride the pretty spotted one? Please , Uncle Bilbo?"

Bofur bit back a laugh at that and jumped in with some pertinent information. "That's Cousin Bifur's pony, lad. You'll have to ask him as well. If it's alright with your Uncle."

For a moment, Bombur was saddened at the likelihood of Bilbo's firm refusal. Few people really trusted Bifur- or knew him for that matter- because of the appearance his injury gave him. It wasn't so bad back home where they could all speak their own language and Bifur was almost his old self. They'd catch snatches of the way he used to be, and more often than not things were good. Other places held more difficulty. The Shire, for instance. Untouched by war, the Halflings didn't take kindly to armed strangers or strange armaments. He could see Bifur tending to his pack with a sad smile, pretending not to notice the topic at hand.

To his surprise, Bilbo Baggins directed his worried look to the pony instead. He held Frodo on his hip and didn't look as if he was about to let go for a long moment. Finally, some tension seemed to ebb out of him.

"You promise to use your best manners, Frodo? And do everything Mister Bifur and Bofur tell you and- and to not, under any circumstances, try to leave your seat?" His face was every bit as serious as his words. Frodo was eager to ride the pony but not too eager to ignore those kinds of terms and conditions.

"I promise , Uncle Bilbo!" Frodo reached around to find his uncle's hand. "Promise-promise!"

Bilbo let out a snort. "Well, if you promise-promise , I'll have to hold you to it! Now, you'll still have to ask Mr. Bifur if it's alright with him. And remember to say please-" Frodo was actively wriggling out of his uncle's arms and was soon sprinting away. Bilbo's expression was more wistful now, and he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"You said we'd be riding together again… I take it I've survived one journey on horseback already?"

Bombur stifled a laugh lest he be accused of eavesdropping. The cookery was all stowed and he had little left to do but mind his own pony before they set out.

"Aye, uneventful as the rest." Bofur was quick to confirm. "Bifur's pony can take him and the lad, but a full-grown Hobbit's a different weight class."

"I see." It didn't sound as if Bilbo did. Though, they must all appear varying degrees of large to him. "Well, now that I'm awake to say my piece about it, you should know I'm… not particularly used to travel by pony. Hobbits do a lot of walking, you see, and a Baggins in particular won't be found far from home or family."

Bombur found himself wondering what Bilbo could mean by that. Were the Baggins family some type of Halfling- Hobbit , he supposed- nobility? Nothing he or Frodo wore looked like finery. They had been on a picnic to be sure, but there would have been signs of wealth even in the broken remains of their meal, surely. Wooden plates and jam jars were hardly a sign of means.

The conversation had been carrying on while he pondered. "Not to worry! You'll be safe as an egg with me. Ol' Betina's a gentle and sturdy soul, as I was told. She's carried me the last couple of weeks as carefully as a mother carries her babe."

"Betina?" Bilbo's eyebrows rose. "I've got a cousin Betina Proudfoot. Not a very Dwarvish name for a pony…"

Bofur continued to grin. "Well, we picked the lot of them up on the way. In er… Bombur, did we stop in Greenholm or Whitwell this time?"

"Whitwell." He said, hoisting his pack over his shoulder. "Greenholm was where you got your head stuck in that-"

"Yes yes!" Bofur waved him off and Bilbo's lips folded in on themselves to stop his laughing. "Just mind your own things and let's be on our way."

Bombur responded with his own grin but let it lie. It wasn't often he got the better of his brother like that. Still, he'd had his moment and was content to quit while he was ahead. Knowing Bofur, they'd be swapping embarrassing travel stories in no time at all. A quick glance at Bifur confirmed that the little hobbit had firmly wormed his way into his cousin's heart. They were both already in the saddle and Frodo chattered away while petting the pony's neck.

"Let's move out." Dwalin ordered. His pony stamped with anticipation. The rest of them got to moving.